#anyway I’m honoring these games with my blood sweat and tears

[sucharandomwolf]

Cackletta’s Soul

[hetalia-reacts]

Can I request platonic hc’s for America, Japan and Russia with a little brother?

Yes uwu I love platonic hc’s so much especially family related ones it’s just so wholesome also this was so easy to write since I have a little brother of my own

America

Alfred promises their little brother the world and all the stars in the sky

He’s so happy to be a big brother

I see a lot of headcanons say he’s childish and hates responsibility, but honestly I feel like he doesn’t hate it but it makes him wary and scared since he is still really young for a country and he’s scared to mess up

So he’s scared of having to be responsible for his younger brother, but he’s only scared because he doesn’t want to mess them up or disappoint them

Alfred is terrified of having a strained relationship with his younger brother like he has with England

This may lead to him being really lax and kind of a push over at the start

Once he gets into the swing of things and maybe reads some of those parenting/becoming a big brother help books he starts to buckle down and get more serious

Alfred keeps his fun loving and child-like personality all throughout

Him having a younger brother will never change that

If anything having a younger brother encourages Alfred to act like a kid

Constantly rough housing and wrestling

Plays catch with them a lot, and maybe even tried to teach them some sports

Of course makes sure that his younger brother meets his twin, Canada, how could he not have his own 2 brothers meet each other

Alfred may be a little hesitant at letting his little brother meet England

He’s kinda scared England may try to take him away or that his little brother might think England is more dependable than he is

Of course that doesn’t happen and honestly England’s really happy and honored Alfred came over to have him meet his little brother

Depending on how old his little brother is might tuck him in at night úwù and tell him stories of his heroic past so they go to sleep

Heck even if his little brother isn’t super young definitely stops by their room every night to say good night and sweet dreams

It’s just how Alfred is

Wants to play video games with them

Tries to let them win some but his competitive nature makes that hard to do

Often suggests playing coop games so he doesn’t hurt his little brothers feelings

Always very concerned for his little brother

Are they sick? Injured? Heart broken? Who does he have to hurt to avenge his little brother?

Annoys the hell of his brother

This is completely on purpose and an everyday occasion

Does that “I’m not touching you” thing with an annoying look on his face

He loves his little brother but that doesn’t mean he gets special treatment, not like that anyways

100% buys his little brother everything he wants

Alfred likes to spoil and he can’t deny such a cute kid like his little brother

Russia

Ivan would cry tears of joy at having another sibling and to finally have a brother at that

He has nothing against his sisters…for the most part…but it gets lonely being the only guy ya know?

He treats his little brother like a prince at times but makes sure he knows discipline and hard work

Doesn’t want his brother to grow up a slacker but doesn’t want him growing up like he did

Another one that would buy his little brother anything they wanted

Ivan doesn’t want his little brother to meet his big sisters

It takes him a long time to let him even meet Ukraine

Ukraine loves her new little brother and wants to see him more

Hell would have to freeze over before Ivan willingly let’s his little brother meet Belarus

He’s terrified of what may happen if she meets him

Honestly the meeting didn’t go bad at all, if you count her adding her new little brother to her viciously protect list as not bad

It’s a little scary but at least she likes him ^^”

Ivan is very scared of messing his little brother up

He knows he’s not the stablest, knows he’s got a lot of scary rumors about him, but he hopes his little brother doesn’t grow up hating him and wants to stay close with him

He tries his hardest to make his little brothers life perfect

Doesn’t matter how old his little brother is he insists on tucking him and saying good night to him

If his brother is really young might sing or read them a bed time story

Knits them a scarf that looks like his

Honestly might find them a wardrobe that is similar to his

If his little brother were to ever say they admire him or want to be like him when they get older Ivan has a moment of awe and then a moment of panic

Like thank you but please reconsider yes? ^J^”

Really touched though

Is someone ever hurt his little brother Ivan would become really scary

Doesn’t matter if they hurt his brother emotionally or physically, they are going to pay

And Belarus is backing Ivan up on this one, maybe even Ukraine too

Always worried his brother is cold

Will wake up in a cold sweat at 2 am to rush to his brothers room to make sure he’s covered and his room is warm

Will not let his brother leave without a mountain of clothes on

Ivan just wouldn’t be able to take it if they got sick and felt miserable because of his country’s coldness

Loves to just hug his little brother and reassure him that he’ll always be there to protect him

He’s not sure if that’s weird to do but he just needs his little brother to know he’ll always be there to save him if he needs it

Japan

Kiku is conflicted with having a little brother

On one hand he’s happy to have someone to take care of and pass on his knowledge to

On the other hand he’s scared the relationship is going to go bad like it did with China or South Korea

He is really happy though to have a little brother

Is really touchy with them which shocks a lot of people

Kiku can easily hug, comfort, and live with his little brother

Even if his little brother is the complete opposite of him and is full of energy and loud

Kiku blames it on being related but even then he knows that’s kinda bs since all of his other family members (blood related or not) can’t do what his little brother can

Kiku is also hesitant on letting the rest of Asia meet his little brother

He likely starts easy with Taiwan and Vietnam, they’re likable and they end up loving his little brother to death

But when it comes to China and South Korea he isn’t sure where to start

He lets his little brother meet South Korea first, no matter his little brothers age he feels him and South Korea are closer in age anyways and will get along

It’s a messy meeting but it seems like his little brother and South Korea got along well

Meeting China wasn’t as easy, there’s a huge age gap and honestly Kiku is terrified China is going to be rude

He would relent and finally have the both of them meet but Kiku is ready to dash at any moment

The meeting is really formal and honestly probably scared the heck out of his little brother

Kiku does not easily relent to his little brother’s wants

Strong believer of you’ve got to earn it

Will teach his little brother discipline and respect early on

He cant tolerate having his own flesh and blood being a brat or causing trouble for others

Never really gets angry at his brother though and likely always takes his side as long as his little brother isn’t notorious for lying

No matter the age Kiku would want to say good night to his little brother every night, but his little brother would have to be really young to be able to convince him to sing or tell them a bed time story

It’s just not his style and he has a bad habit of telling scary folklore stories that aren’t meant for children

Literally drags his little brother to every festival and celebration

Kiku just gets really excited about his country’s celebrations and now he has someone he wants to show them to and teach them about

Plus he really wants his little brother to have fun since he knows he can be a little boring at times

He tries to get out there more so his little brother can see the world and have fun, but he still acts like an old man at times lmao

[allegra-writes]

“Teeth”

Peter Parker x Anti-hero!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut, chocking kink, rough sex.

Part XI of the "Mercy" series

SERIES MASTERLIST | MY MASTERLIST

"Something in the way you look into my eyes... I don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive"

Teeth - 5SOS

Peter was going to be sick.

He hadn't felt sick in years, ever since the spider bite, but he was sure his stomach was about to turn any second now.

It was all in front of his eyes, the darkest, most confidential of S.H.I.E.L.D's files. Project Lazarus. Nick Fury’s  unethical, insane scheme to get the original six back together, using the kree blood running through Captain Marvel's veins to reanimate the fallen ones. And you had been the ultimate guinea pig, the final test.

And Peter had been the one to authorize it.

The name on the files was your father's, but Bucky had only consented after Peter…

He ran, barely making it to the ensuite on time to empty the contents of his stomach into the sink. He let the water flow to wash the foul liquid away.

That wasn't even the worst. Oh no, that was barely the top of the iceberg. The most horrifying part, the part that was going to give him nightmares for weeks, was that protocol. The T.A.H.I.T.I. protocol, a machine wired directly to your brain, with your skull splitted open, erasing everything Fury considered you didn't need. There were even fucking reports about how much more docile and happier you were after forgetting your mother's death, and your subsequent murderous rampage.

And at least half of it was bullshit. They had told you about Natasha the very same day you had woken up, asking for your mommy in russian, breaking their hearts in a thousand pieces once they understood what was going on.

He sprayed some cold water on his face, trying to regain his composure. As bad as he was feeling, it was probably nothing compared to what you were feeling. He had to get it together, for you. He rinsed his mouth and dried his face with a towel, stepping back into his room.

But you were nowhere to be found.  

His heart fell to his stomach. He scrambled to put on a pair of sweats, cursing the valuable seconds he was wasting, before running at breakneck speed through hallways and flights of stairs until he reached your floor. By the time he barged into your room, he was out of breath.

“No” It came out as a whisper, a barely audible gasp at finding his worst suspicions confirmed.

There you were, fully dressed, a backpack open on your bed with a few clothes thrown haphazardly inside as you raided your bedroom for weapons.

“No” He repeated, more firmly, when you passed by him. He was met with more silence, as you took your small Glock 42 and checked the magazine. You wouldn't even look at him. You couldn't. You knew that if you as much as met those warm coffee eyes, bright with tears, you wouldn't be able to bring yourself to do it, you wouldn't be able to leave him.

And you had to. Peter didn't know, you were certain, he didn't mean to do so, but he was playing right into the role director Fury intended for him to play: A distraction and an anchor, something to stay for, to keep you loyal to the avengers.

Just like Hydra had used your father to keep your mother in line once, a long time ago. She had told you that story, told you about your dad's face, frozen inside a cryogenic pod. And she had taught you, with tears in her eyes, the motto you had lived your whole life by, up until now: ‘Your first and most important loyalty, must always be to yourself’

You counted your bullets, and tucked the gun into the thigh holster under your skirt. It was time to honor that law.

Peter stepped in front of you, halting your advances,

“Y/n, stop, talk to me, please!” He reached for your hand, but you avoided his touch. You knew what would happen if he touched you.

“It’s over, Peter” Your voice washed over him like a bucket of cold water, chilling him to the bone, “I’m leaving”

The words knocked all the air out of his chest, like a physical blow. He knew your first reaction would be to fly, your mother had raised you your whole life to make self preservation your first instinct. He had feared you would leave him behind.

But somehow, Peter had never pictured you would want to leave him.

He could feel his eyes burn, smell the salt of his own tears. He choked on the question that wanted to escape his throat, it was useless questioning why: He was still pretty much a stranger to you, all of them were. You weren't one to trust easily in strangers, and you had just been proven right. But comprehending didn't make it any less painful.

“Take me with you” He was conscious of the futility of his request as he said the words but he had to try. He had to.

You stopped your packing, meeting his eyes. But he found nothing in yours. No warmth. No trust. Nothing but the cold fire of your barely contained rage, algid and terrible. Peter had seen that look before, back in a barn on a stormy night. He regretted, for what was probably the thousandth time, not running away with you then, instead of asking you to stay with him.

“I was there” He tried again, “the night you tried to kill Clint”

“I know” You interrupted him, “I just read the file”

“I asked you to stay that night. You wanted to run and instead of asking you to let me go with you, I asked you to stay. I’m not making that mistake again. Let me go with you”

Unknowingly, Peter had just confirmed your worst suspicions. He had been the key piece in Fury's chess game from the very beginning, sending him after you over and over again despite his failures, he had set the bait. And you had fallen straight into his trap, forgetting all your training, giving up your own freedom… for a boy.

You weren’t making the same mistake twice either.

“Goodbye, Peter.”

He watched as in slow motion how you grabbed your bag and headed for the door, realizing then that the only way to stop you from leaving was to physically stop you. Desperate, he let his instinct take over in one last attempt to keep you there.

He tackled you, your body hitting the floor hard, all the air knocked out of your lungs at once. Your wrists hurt where his hands pinned them to the floor as he straddled you, a feeling of deja vu washing over him as he looked down at your furious face, but you weren't the same girl he had webbed down to the faded hardwood of that dingy apartment almost a year ago. Not anymore. Six months of training with the winter soldier, the handler of widows himself, had made you even deadlier than you already were.

You tangled your ankle around one of his own, bucking your hips up, pushing him out of balance as you rolled him over, landing on top of him, hand firm around his throat.

“You think you can stop me?” There was venom, and contempt, in your words, his spider sense flaring up. But tried as he may, he couldn't move, couldn't even look away. He was a fly, trapped and defenseless, in your web. He had always been. How foolish and conceited of him, calling himself Spider-man, when there, laying underneath you, he finally understood what a real predator was.

“You think you can get on top of me? Think you can dominate me, boy?” You felt Peter's gulp under your palm. It was tempting, so tempting…

So you squeezed, just a little, watching his pupils blow wide with adrenaline, equal parts crisp trepidation and desire.  Peter’s head was spinning, and it wasn't just from lack of oxygen. He didn't know the exact moment you went from fighting him to claw at his clothes, but you were, and he was aiding you, ripping yet another one of your panties, another casualty in the warfare of your relationship, guiding your hips down as you braced yourself, one hand on the floor, the other one still around his neck. Unlike him, who was hard from the moment he felt your hands on his skin, you weren't ready, nowhere near wet enough, but you didn't care: The slight burn grounded you, made everything sharper. This wasn't about placer anyway, this was a punishment. For Peter, for making you feel the things he made you feel; and for you, for allowing them to grow and fester in your heart.

He seemed to like it, though, hips bucking to meet yours, breathless sounds leaving his lips as you fucked yourself on his cock.

“You like this, don't you?” You marveled, “Like it rough, boy?”

It wasn't your old ‘baby boy’, the one that belied your tenderness as you did the most depraved things to him. But it was close enough to get his heart racing.

“Pathetic” You decided, as you felt his pulse pick up under your hand. He whimpered, tears pricking at his eyes, and at last, you let go of his neck, placing both hands flat on his muscular chest for leverage. It wasn’t long before you were breathless too, as taking his cock became easier and easier with every downward stroke.

“Shit... I’ll give it to you, spidey… your dick feels amazing…” You gasped, little frown of concentration on your face, lips parted, unable to contain your little moans. How could he ever let you go, when you were the most exquisite thing Peter had witnessed in his whole life?

“Too much for you, little spider?” He could do nothing but sob as you teased him, cruelly, tightening your muscles around him “...Or not enough?”

You leaned forward, tracing your tongue over his open lips, but quickly withdrawing when he tried to capture yours in a kiss. You changed your pace, no longer bouncing but rocking on top of him, grinding your clit against his pelvis, enjoying the electricity that the friction created on your little pearl of nerves.

Meanwhile, Peter was a mess underneath you, tears now flowing freely, whimpering, and shaking, fisting the fabric of your skirt so hard that you heard it rip. But still not daring to complain.

“You're such a good boy, aren't you? Could do anything I want with you… use you anyway I wanted to…”

You felt him twitch inside you at your words, another whine escaping his chest.

“I could ruin you, ride you so hard… get you so close… and stop right before you come”

He shook his head frantically, desperate, but still, he kept silent.

“You don't want that? But you'd take it anyway, wouldn't you?”

He closed his eyes, unable to meet yours, ashamed. That was all the answer you needed,

“You would. Because you are mine… my pretty toy… to use… to fuck…” You picked up your pace, bouncing up and down his cock, and he couldn't contain himself anymore,

“Yes!” He cried, “I’m yours! All yours!”

“My slutty boy” You praised, legs burning with the strain and exhaustion of the night, but stopping was not an option. You were close, drunk on the power of having such a strong superhuman submitting to you, such a gorgeous man turned into a needy, desperate puddle between your legs.

“Please” He begged, pitifully.

“What do you need, little boy?”

His fingers closed around your wrist, guiding your hand until it was back around his neck, and you understood. You could have mocked him again, humiliated him farther, make him beg for it. But something inside his coffee eyes stopped you. It wasn't trust, no. You could practically smell the fear, the sharp tang of epinephrine coming off his pores, every hair on his body still standing on end, proof of his spider sense still on high alert…

No. It was deeper than that. It was surrender. He knew you could as easily give him what he wanted, as turn on him. Never, not even back it that farm, had been more evident to him that the hand he loved to hold was a weapon.

But he couldn't help never wanting to let go.

“Я тебя люблю” He croaked, throat dry and sore from your manhandling, but still clear enough to make your hips falter.

“What did you just say?” You breathed, stunned.

“Я тебя люблю” He repeated, more clearly, hands sliding up your thighs, till he had handfuls of your ass, “I love you…”

“Shut up” You hissed.

“I won't. I love you” Peter felt as your nails dug on his chest, until he had five bloody crescent marks to match the ones on his back, “I love you…”

You squeezed his neck harder, until he was really struggling for air, black spots dancing in his vision.

“I love you” It was nothing but a gasp.

You made a frustrated noise, but there was no denying the way your walls fluttered around him. And there was no stopping your hips, working him ferociously, fucking yourself on his cock without mercy. You were falling already, falling apart for him.

“Come with me” It was a command. It was a request. It was an invitation.

And Peter knew you weren't just talking about his release.

To be continued...

[widowsofchaos]

Hey boo. I see your requests are open and I would love another medieval Bucky if you're vibing. Maybe something simple like Bucky cornering our reader in the corridor during a banquet and taking advantage of the distraction of the celebrations? Anyways, love you and your wonderful work.

❝ Forbidden Fruit

summary: as you mourn for the love of your life, unbeknownst to you, you catch the king’s eye.

pairings: dark king!Bucky x black!reader / former village witch!Wanda Maximoff x black!reader

Warnings: dub non-con, murder, choking, breeding .. ya know the whore vibes.

A/N: Requested by Roo, aka my wife — historical smut is our mutual kink. <3 another medieval Bucky?! Fuck yes. I’m drooling right now. And dark medieval Bucky?! A fucking wet dream. I hope you enjoy this, Roo. I wrote it with love. <3

p.s. I was listening to this medieval cover of Creep, and it just fit the mood for me. Medieval covers of modern songs is my JAM. P.s.s. I haven’t written in over two years so sorry if I’m rustyyyy <33

(Creep medieval cover)

Do Not Repost My Works!

Grief is a strange state of mind. You are alone -- loneliness constricts your soul -- in this world -- a blight of death lingers upon your days.

The stench of a decaying heart oozes from your pores, zombified mulling has become your stature -- living has now become a chore you could no longer bear.

Attempts to find solace in your small garden, or seek tedious conversations with your close confidantes -- Natasha, and Sharon -- in search of comfort -- but it was fruitless. Your soulmate was gone, burned into crisp.

Her brown auburn hair frayed in flames, her blood-curdling screams deafened your ears -- you can still hear her cries at night.

Hog-tied, and bound for a false crime -- the cheers and chants of kill the witch, kill the witch, kill the witch ring like crackling metal cowbells battering your eardrums.

The ashes of a smolder cadaver salvaged into an urn, tucked under your arm, scurrying in the dead of the night to bury her.

Dug a hole deep enough of a familiar grave -- tears watered the disturbed soil, as dirt and grit littered nimble fingers gingerly laid the urn to rest upon the coffin.

Here lies the brave warrior, Pietro Maximoff, a Slovakian immigrant, who died in battle in honor of King Barnes, now reunited in the afterlife with his other-half -- Wanda.

A brother and sister now soaring high among the clouds, two pure souls now cradled in the hands of the almighty Lord -- the heavens have gained another angel.

Putrefying flesh forced to be paraded in stitched elegant cloth crafted by your hands, forced to attend a banquet -- not just a regular fest -- no -- the young princess of the royal Barnes family has been wedded off, Princess Rebecca of Brooklynite now bares the noble title, Queen Rumlow.

The palace erupted in splendor, overwhelming in joyous celebration. The wind band at full swing -- drunk royal allies merrily wailing, and dancing upon the banquet floor.

By default of your entrusted role of handmaiden, and personal dressmaker of the youthful highness -- you were expected to make an appearance.

The atmosphere was flooded by a mouth-watering aroma, platters of cooked meals -- pig head, wild game, smoked fish, roasted peacock, cut steamed vegetables, sweetened desserts, and dried fruit coated in dribbled honey.

The Great Hall is decorated in silk curtains draping on the high windows, never-ending refills of ale, lively minstrels, and troubadours of noble high-regards. King Barnes will go above and beyond of excellent splendor for his sister.

The royal family is seated at the stretched mahogany table at the center of the corridor: King Barnes, his mother Queen Barnes on his right, his sister on his left. Beyond seated next to the aging monarch was the curia regis, himself -- Steven Rogers.

Swathed combed blonde-hair, piercing blues, sharp mighty jaw, magenta and navy color patterns resemble him to be a pampered aristocrat, but he holds himself to be a knight -- ready for the fight of honor.

A bitter taste lingers in your mouth, as you witness Steve shamelessly flirt with Sharon. It hasn’t been nearly a year since his “betrowed” Dutchess Peggy Carter has passed, and now he mingles with her youngest niece.

You often ponder if he used Peggy’s status to gain more of popularity favor, and her wealth? He does prance in fancier clothing -- besides the ones Bucky spoils him with.

You never brought the conversation to Sharon, fearing to offend her, and provoke her mourning of her great aunt. But the tasteless courtship nerves you.

King Barnes cheekily pecks his sweet little sister on the cheek as she sits by his side with a pure grin clasping onto her new husband’s hand -- as you sulk in the farthest corner, distancing yourself from the lively crowds.

If it was left to your decision, you would be isolated in your chambers -- drowning in your tears, and mead. It’s been three full moons since the passing of your lover, and the wound of mourning is still fresh.

You stole a glance at Rebecca, envy’s hideous head rearing -- why couldn’t you be in love? Why has fate -- the heavens -- have forgotten you so? The creamy white fabric sewn, and gracefully stitched draped her magnificently, her natural beauty gleams.

Skin as fresh milk luster within opulent cloth, satin silk embroidered with lace under the cuff. A lace trimming that separates the top of the sleeve from the bottom cuff which is adorned with silver and pearl brooches — as if you captured the twinkling night stars, shooting moonbeams and soft haunting orbs sunlight to fabric.

A sense of pride hummed over you.

At last, you buried the jealousy deep in your shattered cavity, genuinely happy that at least love still prevails.

Mindlessly plucking ripped pieces of fessant off your plate, popping it into your mouth, as the heel of your other palm propped you up by your chin -- hazily staring at the drunken fools berating themselves.

Your other hand flickering with your long braids -- fingers twirling, the curled ends grazing against your chavile.

Your brown orbs scan the room, hazily observing the charade, till you reach back to a giggling Rebecca -- your breath hitched.

Cerulean pools pierce through you, sternly unwavering. Five seats away from you is his Majesty himself, Barnes. Gawking at you intensely, like a wolf sniffing out his prey.

Your eyes widened, frozen in your seat. He lifted his chin up, his hues looking you up and down -- as if he was inspecting you. It made your skin crawl, immediately pulling your gaze from his.

Luckily everyone was drunkenly distracted, unable to see the king making daggers at you -- through your peripheral vision, he’s still staring at you.

Drinking from his goblet, above the rim was his pools peering at you. He finally tore away from you, at the very moment his sister, Rebecca tugged on his arm; hugging him. He caressed her cheek tenderly.

You nervously stand up, your shaky hands rubbing against your gown, drying your clammy sweat into the fabric.

Dashing feet snuck you out of your seat, quiet footfalls snuffed by uproarious chatter, and music. In a flash, you bolted out of the grand hall, exiting through a barren entryway; heading straight for your chambers.

Entirely missing Barnes’ amused grin, and arched brow. - Silence. The corridors were deafening, the only cadence is your nimble feet clicking against the pavement.

Splotches of ignited dimmed carnelian glow against your flesh gleaming a haunting sepia. Fingertips grazing against the stone walls to maintain balance from your tipsy stupor.

Confusion over-rides in your mind, why did King Barnes stare at me? So … intensely? Never has the king been so vehement before -- especially with me. Of all maidens, his attention falls upon me. Why?

Unanswered questions swirl in your head like furious wasps, stinging nerves throb painfully, soothing your temples by your tips, glossy quartz blankly glimpt at the lit torches nailed to the wall -- there she is. A small dark figure dances in the flames, thriving limbs swirl around; she’s in pain.

If you could just grab her, and keep her -- maybe she can sleep on a flower-bed, your own Thumbelina. Your heart aches, desperate fingers slowly try to touch the fire, but blazing heat torment you.

At last, just like before -- you couldn’t save her from her fate. The smoky figure stills, it waves solemnly, and simmers in ashes.

“Do you often stare at fire, my lady?” A husky timbre pulled you out of your trance, flinching at the sudden intrusion. Hot tears slip down your cheeks, quickly wiping it away.

Through blurry vision, shrouded in darkness, is Barnes. “No, your Highness. My apologies, I’ll take my leave now.” Fidgety fingers, and averted eyes, you turn to move away but he caught your elbow.

“Do not apologize, I’m sorry if I offended you.” Barnes pulled your body closer to him, offering a small smile. Both gigantic paws grip your elbows, “No, your Highness. You haven’t offended me.” You meekly spoke, a timid smile, shallow breathing.

“Bucky.” You snapped your head upwards, “Beg your pardon?” You quizzically question him, “I bessek you to call me, Bucky.” You gasped at him, soft shake of the head in refusal. His voice was kind, but it came off as more of a demand.

“Your Hig--” He glared at you, cowering underneath his intense stare, “Bucky, that would be inappropriate of me. It’s not my place.” He shushed you, his knuckles nuzzling your cheek.

“Tis only fair, we’ve known each other for a few years.” The spot where his fingers touched heated, tingling. Traveling the terrain of your face, fingers find refuge in your hair, toying with the silk ribbons woven within the braiding, intently inspecting.

“Rebecca’s gown is magnificent. Your touch is impeccable.” Twirling curled ends pinched between his fingers tips.

“I thank you.” You awkwardly lower your eyes away from him, his finger lifting your chin, “You’ve been crying.” His brows furrow, inspecting your sheen eyes. “Why ales you?” His palm cups your face, lowering his face closer to you, low pants of fear, you tilted your head away from him, a cough to cover the awkwardness.

“Nothing, Bucky.” You finally free yourself from his grasp, the brisk air from the open windows cooling your skin.

Walking towards the stone window, staring at the village located in the distance -- a burnt wooden pillar stood mockingly in the village square. Your facial lines morphed in discomfort, sobs wrecked your chest.

Bucky’s warm palms contrasted your icy skin, twisting you around to face him, “Please do not cry, such a beauty shouldn’t be pained with sorrow.” Bucky’s nose flared, his eyebrows twisted sympathetically. Cupping your cheeks, his thumbs swiping away tears.

Bucky slipped into a trance of adoration. You weren’t like the other noble women who would bleed themselves to achieve pale skin.

He can inquire of a memory of his former flame, Dutchess Dorothy -- who he fondly donned Dot -- who would walk weakly due to losing some blood. When he asked her why would she harm herself, she would tenderly reply, “Beauty is pain, my King.”

But you didn’t have to reach extreme techniques. No, you were a specimen of worldly beauty. “Bucky?” you tried to coax him out of his trance; his dilated eyes, and curled smile sent a shiver down your spine. Your dainty palms hold onto his hands, weak tugs to free your face -- but it is fruitless.

“Your Highness, please release me.” Your timid voice broke his haze, he growled lowly, “I thought I told you to call me, Bucky?” A grin, all teeth.

“My apologies.” Your watery eyes instinctively travel to your right, eyeing the burnt log standing proudly beyond the distance, hiding among the wild trees of the royal acres -- you sniveled a bit. A snort stralted you.

“A fitting punishment for such sorcery.” Bucky sneered, a smug smile as he stared out in the distance. Your eyes snapped back at him. Your nose flared, rage, and grief murking deep in your gut, strangling your spirit.

“I disagree.” Stern, and hardened. “Disagree?” Bucky glared at you, “A witch was among my circle, and you disagree?” Bucky’s hands left your cheeks, gripping your shoulders harshly.

“She wasn’t a witch, but a healing doctor.” You winced, earning a hiss, “You’re hurting me.” You cried, as Bucky towered over you.

His snarling face hairs away from yours, “Hurting you? Not as much as you have hurt me over the few years.” He angrily pleaded, pushing you against a nearby stone wall, his weight pinning you.

“How have I hurt you?” Your confusion befuddles you. Limbs wiggling under his clutch, like a hungry wolf, Bucky’s nose nuzzling your scalp, inhaling his sweet aroma of rosewater, and a twinge of spikenard. He grunted from the deep inhale, you stiffened -- truly terrified.

“Two years of desiring you.” His nose trailing from your hair, to the terrain of your forehead to your nose, heavy breath against your cupid-bow.

“Watching you being tainted by that sinful wench.” His hushed roar makes you whine, shutting your eyes as hot tears trail down your cheeks.

Bucky’s lips hairs-away from yours, “I remember when I first met you, when you were engaged to that local blacksmith, I felt immense rage.” He mumbled against your mouth, “How can a peasant have your hand in promise?”

You trembled in his touch, “--but I broke it off with him--” Bucky cut you off, “Yes! To be with that foul woman!” He nibbled on your chin, “I later saw the signs. I watched you glance at her. Lovingly. Remember the walls see all.” Bucky exhaled as he hovered his mouth over yours, the tip of his tongue tantalizing outward.

“Sneaky fingers reaching for each other. I am your shadow. I see what you do, even when I wasn’t around -- I have even watched you slumber a few times, I touched myself as you slept.”

He inhaled once again deeply with gravel. “I loathed her whenever she slept by you.” You were taken-back at his confession, Bucky leaned into your ear, “I have even witnessed you touch yourself in the dead of the night; you coming undone is such a sight.”

His husky timbre sent shivers down your spine, “I had to be rid of her.” That was the hay that broke the camel back.

Impulsively you bite at his shoulder, your teeth sinking into his flesh, he groaned but not in pain. He growled, “That’s what I love about you, my dove. That fiery bite.” You unlatched your teeth, you squirmed beneath him; he tightened his grip on you.

“You killed her! Why?!” you cried, babbling at your words, “Why Bucky?” Clinging onto the fabric of his silk robe. Tears flood your cheeks, dripping down your chin, Bucky’s unrelenting hands cupped your face once again.

Menacing oceanic meets fearsome brown orbs, brows furrowed -- the glow of fire above ignites upon him, illuminating a crown of malice -- the face of the Devil himself.

“I had too, my dove. At first, I was just going to make her spend her days in the dungeon. But then, those -- love letters, promises of running away. It gave me more reason to discard her!” Bucky smashed his lips against yours, all teeth and tongue. Gripping your jaw tightly, forcing you to open wide for his intrusion.

“That whoring wench was going to take you from me!” Bucky’s tongue dove inside your mouth, you gurgled in disgust as his tongue toyed with yours.

“I will burn down the whole kingdom in search of you.” Bucky declared. A wicked kiss of sin. Furious fingers tug at the hem of your dress, nails scrap your flesh as Bucky rips your bodice at the seams; your chest, and belly now exposed to the elements.

Your breasts heave free, and he licks his lips like a rabid dog. “Beautiful.” He mutters as you stand frozen in fear as if roots from the soles of your feet grew within the flooring. Bucky’s hands find your breasts, rubs his thumbs over the nipples, mixing with the cool air bellowing from outside -- your nipples erect.

Your heartbeat thrumming rapidly in your chest, a harsh rhyme matching the muffled cadence from the grand hall. Nibbling your neck, tasting the salt of your skin. Sneaky hands rummage through layers of fabric of your dress; Bucky knelt a bit to bunch your dress upward.

“Please --” You begged, more fresh tears brimming your eyes. “Silence, my love.” Bucky shushed you tenderly. He yanks your hosens, tearing the linen to pieces, exposing your mound. His knuckles glide within your velvet folds, his fingers soaking in your juices. Popping his fingers in his mouth, moaning at yout taste.

“Delicious.” He grumbled. You gain some ounce of confidence, moving your feet to dash out of his grasp, but you fail. You stumble on your feet, as Bucky man-handles you against the wall.

“Stop it!” He barked. Twisting you in his arms, maneuvering you around as your cheek squash against the stone wall. Pinning you with his weight, his chest against your back; his hand wedges between the wall pavement and your stomach.

You try to scream, but he quickly slaps his palm against your lips.

“I shall give you my seed. Let it bloom inside your womb.” Bucky rubbing your exposed belly, his warm breath fanning in your ear, “You will give me an heir.” You whined against his thick fingers squishing your lips shut, hot tears squeeze out shut eyes.

“You should be so grateful.” He hissed, slightly shaking your head by his grip, “Many women have tried to bed me, to gain the gift of carrying my legacy. But they weren’t you -- it’s only been you.” Sloppy kiss on your cheek, a string saliva trailing from his lips. Tiny sobs pull out of you.

With the same palm that was touching your stomach now slithers its way to his undergarments, detaching his robe, so he can have more of a spacious reign. “I can’t wait to feel you, my love. Feel your wetness soak me.” He hissed.

Harshly arching your back towards him with the guide of his hand from your mouth traveling to your pelvis, separating your feet by his. Both his palms cup your ass cheeks, separating to reveal the valley of your gaping asshole to your slit.

Clutching his cock with his thick fingers, stroking it a bit as he hedged the swollen tip against your slick folds. Leaning against you, securing you, Bucky thrusts himself deep.

No hesitation nor preparation for you to adjust to his size. You shrill at his fullness -- thick with girth, and mighty long.

“What a sight you will be swollen with my child. Your breasts --” Quickly groping your tits, “Will carry the nectar of life. Not only will my child fest from you, but so will I.”

You babble incoherently as he plunges. Sobbing at the stretch, hissing as warm liquid slowly trickles down your thighs dripping on the cold floor.

He can’t stop -- but it’s too impulsive, too thrilling. Your face is forced to tilt, facing him, sticky kisses, and moans. Your folds were fluttering, red wine stains his tongue as it plays with yours, husky gruff grunts against your gaped mouth between his fingers.

Moist slick gushing a bit from your pussy, coating his balls that slap against your swollen clit, you involuntarily clench onto him.

“Peach-sweet.” Bucky drinks, slurps your spit. A surge of euphoria surges throughout your body, shame floods you as your subconscious tries to float away to a lighter space.

Limbs go lax as you await the inevitable. An empty stare into his blue daggers, as if he wasn’t even there. Your nails digging into the gravel, futile escape. A sharp thrust against your g-spot made you cry out, breaking the daze of compliance “Don’t. Never try to escape me. You will feel everything I give you.”

A creek of a door halts Bucky’s actions, you try to scream, but Bucky shoves his fingers between your lips. A familiar drunken cackle looms at the end of the hall, “Your Highness --” slurred, and taunting. “--Finally claiming your queen.” Bucky snorts, your eyes close in shame, your immodesty exposed to another gentleman -- but it wasn’t just any gentleman, it was Steve.

Bucky tugs your mouth by his fingers, moving your face to peer in the other direction. You screamed, despite it being muted by Bucky’s digits. Your teary eyes pleading with Steve, but he all but ignores you.

“You couldn’t wait till you got to your chambers.” Steve teased, a grin on his flushed face. A feminine chuckle approach behind Steve, a twirling stumbling body leans on his bicep, “Stevieee…” Appears is Sharon, her face is flushed pink.

“Oh --” She covers her mouth with her dainty fingers, “Well, what an interesting sight.” A knowing smirk on her face, she turns to Steve, “Darling, I feel like --” She stutters, “What’s that Greek chubby winged baby again?” Steve turns to her with an adoring smile.

“The one with the bow and arrow?” She wobbles a bit, fingers sloppily mimicking a shooting arrow; your brows dented in frustration, and confusion at her ignorance of your defilement.

“Cupid, love.” Steve steadies her, she squeals, “Cupid!” Sharon grabs both of Steve’s hands, pulling him along down the hall, she tsks at your fuming eyes. “Y/n, you should be glad. If I haven’t told Bucky about the letters, you would’ve left.”

Your eyes widened at her words, your own friend betrays you. “Alright, Sharon, time to leave the love-birds be. I must take you to my chambers.” Steve guides Sharon by the elbows, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Enjoy, punk.” A friendly jeer.

“As always, jerk.” Steve winks at you, as he pats Bucky on the back.

You dry-heave a bit, Bucky removes himself from your lips, shushing you, “Shh. Just enjoy it. Look at them.” Bucky points to the couple fading down the hall. “Steve did everything in his power to be with Sharon. You honestly believe he loved Peggy?”

Your shoulders firm, stiffening by the truth -- “A drop of Hemlock. A little favor from Dr. Banner. To everyone it was a weak-heart, to us” A flair of his wrist, “-- a mercy killing. She was old, and tiring.” Bucky gave you a small kiss on the cheek, stunned as you witness the confession of murder.

“Murderer.” You hiss. Bucky’s eyes hardened, “It’s not my only slaying.” He simpered, he snapped his hips against yours. You wail, bearing his teeth, “How you warm my cock. Soon my bed.”

Furious pasts, your body jolting against him, resuming his torment. As if your body wasn’t on display to his confidante, and your former friend.

A coil is slowly burning, and rolling inside the pit of your belly, no longer to hold back your cries. Teasing, stroking you to a dizzying climax.

Loose hands roaming your body, Bucky’s smug smile at your compliance, a delicious push. Heat blossoms in his eyes, “I love you.” It was breathy, and soft.

Erratic sloppy thrusts, your hips matching his -- reaching for that high, months of no touch. You should be repulsed by his, but just for this moment in time, you can pretend.

“I --” Pretend it's not his hands, a blurry vision of familiar brown locks, a strong Slovakian timbre of sweet whispers, “--I--”. Bucky urges you to say it, “Say it.”His voice hoarse, raw. Sweat beads at his brows.

You don’t hear him -- a kinder voice flows from him, morphing into the woman you mourn, and probably mourn for the rest of your life.

“Let go, moja láska.” Hot tears fall down your face, colliding down your chest. “I love you.” You shrill, you cum violently upon him, spraying the floor and his clothes, your thighs shaking and covered in slick. Bucky roars into his orgasm, painting your walls white.

Kisses on the nape of your neck, scarred, broken. “By fall, you will rule by me. Hopefully by then, you will be carrying my babe.” Bucky hummed, kissing you non-stop. But, you don’t hear him. You just keep hearing the ringing in your ears, the distant fog of Wanda’s voice fading into the darkness.

Gone.

Forever.

[chelsfic]

Leftovers - Part 6 - Nandor the Relentless x Reader Fanfic

Previous parts: Masterlist

Summary: In which the reader and Nandor engage in some smut. There are lingering effects after the attack by the unknown vampire. A fight breaks out! And Fucking Colin Robinson can’t help himself when it comes to Scrabble.

A/N: Yeah, hi. It’s me. I spent all day struggling with this unwieldy beast and trying to shape it into something the least bit consistent. I really hope this holds up with the rest of the fic. I am also thinking that a vampire orgy is on the horizon, lol. 

Warnings: Smut, Female Reader-insert, Reader is described as short and a roller derby player, lingering trauma from vampire attack, memory loss due to hypnosis

---

The horrible, empty echo of erased memories is still with you when you wake, like a forgotten dream that nags at the back of your mind. Nandor sleeps like the literal dead beside you and the inside of the coffin is utterly dark. His presence wraps around you. His solid body is a comfort and his scent fills the enclosed space--earthy and spicy with an edge of coppery-blood-soaked menace. It should raise the hairs on the back of your neck. Your primitive instincts should be screaming at you to run. Instead you draw closer to him, resting your head beside his, close enough for your breath to warm his lips.

The moment is quiet and still, despite the frantic beat of your heart as you recall the softness of his lips on yours and the proud, possessive audacity of his hands on your body. You think Nandor’s kisses must be at least as addictive to you as your blood is to him. Ever since that frenzied, blood-drunk makeout session you’ve had the memory of it running on repeat in the undercurrent of your thoughts. But, Nandor? Does he...want that outside the context of blood letting?

There’s only one way to find out, chicky, Nadja would say. 

You lean forward, pressing your mouth to his cool lips, marveling at the contrast with your sleep-warmed skin. For a long moment he remains unmoving... dead to the world. You dart out your tongue and stroke it along his full lower lip, thrilling when you brush the wicked point of a fang. Your hands cup over his bearded cheeks, and you drag your fingers along his jaw as he gradually stirs beneath your touch. He wakes with a deep groan that rumbles up his throat and into your kiss. His lips move with yours now, parting to admit your seeking tongue. He catches your bottom lip in his teeth and nibbles gently, eliciting a pleased squeak from you.

“Nandor...” you pant. He’s fully awake now. His hand roams down your side, into the dip of your waist and over the round curve of your hips. 

“Mortal,” he answers you, dragging his fangs along your lips with a shudder that wracks his frame. He brings his other hand up between you and brushes the tips of his fingers over your lips, “I can feel your blood. Here, and…”

He reaches down and just barely presses his flattened palm over the aching heat between your legs.

“...here,” he finishes.

Your breath falls from your lips in a shaky gasp. His touch is frustratingly light but thrilling all the same. You roll your hips forward, seeking the friction your body craves and Nandor obliges you, snaking his hand between your thighs to cup your sex and rub you through the fabric of your shorts. 

“I want you, Nandor,” you hiss in pleasure, peppering kisses to his lips, his cheeks, his nose. It’s a declaration and one you’re not sure he’ll accept.

His mouth curves in pleasure at your admission. He wants to plunge himself inside of you and tear into your neck, erasing the foul touch of that unknown vampire. You’re his human. A growl rips from his throat at the thought.

He lowers his lips to brush against the shell of your ear as he barely whispers, “When I am with you I feel like I did with 35 of my 37 wives…”

He captures your earlobe between his teeth, letting his fang break the skin with a stinging little pinch while at the same time increasing the pressure of his hand against the bundle of pulsing nerves between your legs. 

“...I feel as though I could never set another peasant aflame and...still be happy…”

He closes his lips around the tiny wound and sucks, moaning with the heady ambrosia of your virgin blood as you ride his hand.

“You’re in the habit of lighting peasants on fire?” you laugh shakily, your breath coming in heaving gasps.

He laughs haughtily, “I’ve killed a thousand peasants and drunk a thousand virgins, my human.”

Okay, pillow talk could use some...work. It doesn’t matter anyway because you soon lose your power of speech and resort to burying your face in the crook of his neck, breaking his hold on your earlobe in the process. 

When Guillermo throws open the lid of the coffin you’re clinging to Nandor’s body with his hand buried between your thighs and a completely obvious moan dying on your lips.

Guillermo’s mouth falls open in shock and you jump away from Nandor, scrambling over the side of the coffin and burning in mortification when you notice the camera crew lurking in the open doorway.

“Guillermo!” Nandor shouts. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

---

“So...things are getting a little complicated with the human…”

Nandor is still seated in his coffin, one arm draped casually along the rim, and addressing the camera with an uncomfortable grimace.

“It’s like, do I want to drink her or do I want to do the sex with her?”

He looks off to the side, shaking his head in confusion. After a moment he finally climbs out of the coffin, standing and revealing the massive erection tenting his trousers.

“I wonder where Laszlo is…?”

---

There’s a saying in the derby world. “Roller derby will save your soul.” Sure, it might ruin your knees, break your nose, and deplete your bank account. But when you’re skating on the track with your league you can let go of everything else in your life for a little while. 

The nagging black hole in your memories from the rave went away while Nandor touched you. But it returns with a vengeance soon after and you arrive at practice with a headache and a foul mood. Tonight is contact drills. Thank god. You really need to hit something. 

You go through the motions of warming up, tossing greetings to your fellow skaters and letting yourself be in the moment. Your body knows these movements like the lyrics to a favorite song. You’re strong, fast and in control. Everything that you weren’t last night when...whoever it was attacked you and stole your memory. By the time you break a sweat you’re grinning with exhilaration. 

You run through drills, losing yourself in muscle memory. The night ends with a short scrimmage and you on your ass after a truly impressive hit from one of the new skaters. The girl looks horrified that she’s hurt you but you just laugh it off, slapping your wrist guard to hers in congratulations.

By the time you step off the bus and make your way up to the front door of the house you’re feeling loose and pleasantly sore. And hardly frustrated at all after your interrupted moment with Nandor this evening.

Hardly at all.

As soon as you step inside Guillermo rushes up to you with a frantic look on his face.

“Nadja and Nandor are going to kill each other!” he cries.

Can you never have a nice, peaceful evening in this house? Maybe a game of Scrabble or a movie night?

All the vampires are assembled in the library and Nandor and Nadja are both floating in the air furiously hissing at one another like a couple of street cats.

“YOU BLOODY, SLUG-FACED ASSHOLE!” Nadja shouts, clawing out her arms and flying towards Nandor, who throws out a kick and sends her crashing into the opposite wall.

“Nandor!” you shout, disgusted. “What is going on!? I leave for a few hours and all hell breaks loose?”

“HUMAN! Tell your snake-ass boyfriend I am not to blame for what happened last night!” Nadja cries, breaking into a hiss as Nandor flies at her with murder in his eyes.

“Stop it, Nandor!” you shout, dropping your gear bag and reaching up to snag his ankle as he floats by. Rather than slowing him down as you intended, you end up getting dragged along the floor in his wake as he chases Nadja out into the hallway. 

“Gaaah!” you shriek, hanging on to him and trying to dig your heels into the floor to slow him down. When that doesn’t work you forcibly pull yourself up his leg, grabbing onto the thick belt at his waist and climbing until you’re wrapped around him piggyback-style. You clamp your hands over his eyes and shout, “Stop!”

“Fu-cking human!” Nandor curses, reaching up and prying your hands off his eyes. “You stop it or I’ll drain you right now. I mean it!”

The threat falls flat, considering he’s currently in an apparent fight to the death over your safety and honor…

“If you kill Nadja I’ll never kiss you again...or any other stuff!” you growl, digging your fingers into his thick hair and giving it a yank. He hisses and swats at your hands. 

Nandor actually pauses to consider your words, looking over his shoulder at you in hesitation before scoffing, “Psssk, you can’t resist my dark power, human. Now shut up and let me kill our roommate!”

Nadja has retreated up to the vaulted ceiling above the main entryway and Nandor surges upward after her. 

You shriek in terror, “I’m afraid of heights, you jerk!”

“I’LL RIP OUT ALL OF YOUR DIRTY PUBIC HAIRS AND SHOVE THEM IN YOUR EYEBALLS YOU--!”

Just as Nandor is about to collide with your astonishingly imaginative vampire mama, Laszlo barrels out of nowhere and rams into him with a dramatic cry, “I say, keep your hands off my lady wife!”

Nandor launches backwards and crashes against the wall, crushing you and knocking the wind from your lungs in the impact. You both crumple onto the upstairs balcony. Nandor recovers at once, making ready to jump into the fray, but you’re lying on your back, coughing and wheezing as you try to get in a breath.

“Stupid...jerk...vampires! Knock it off!” you gasp.

Nadja flies down from her perch to land at your side with a moue of concern.

“Poor, baby,” Nadja coos over you before turning on Nandor. “Now look what you’ve done, donkey dick!”

Nandor kneels on your other side and whines, “I did nothing! It was Laszlo!”

You lift yourself up onto your elbows and eye both vampires with as much exasperation as you can summon.

“Enough! Nadja...I forgive you for leaving me on my own. I know how horny you are--”

“Thank you, human,” she sniffs.

“Nandor...stop trying to kill Nadja,” you order, trying to instill the tone of authority into your voice that comes so naturally to him.

He rolls his eyes and pouts but finally murmurs, “Fine.”

“Good…” you sigh, getting to your feet with a moan of pain. “I’m gonna go lay in bed with an ice pack on my ass. Try not to kill anyone--er, well...at least try not to kill each other…”

---

After a shower and some icing of the blossoming red and purple derby bruise on your right butt cheek, you make your way downstairs to find that Nadja, Laszlo and Nandor have all gone out hunting. Colin is sitting by himself in the library with his newspaper and Guillermo is tucked away in his room, talking to his mom on the phone.

“Hey,” you greet Colin as you gingerly drop down onto the couch. “Do we have any board games? Maybe Scrabble?”

A grin spreads across Colin’s lips and you miss the sheen of blue hunger in his eyes as he replies, “I think I’ve got an old Scrabble set around here somewhere…”

---

“...And then in 2017 it was David Eldar who took home the championship. But, of course, today the reigning champion is still Nigel Richards. But what’s really fascinating about competitive mind sports, like Scrabble--”

“What the fuck!” Nandor appears in the doorway of the library and you immediately turn to him and make grabby hands.

“Save me!” you implore dramatically. 

Colin snickers under his breath, “Sorry, Nandor, I couldn’t help it. There’s just something about Scrabble that really gets me going…”

“Fucking Colin Robinson…” Nandor mutters darkly as he trails you up the stairs, following you right into your room and shutting the door on the camera crew behind him. 

You plop down onto your bed, wincing a little with the pain of your massive bruise. When you glance up at Nandor you notice a splash of red blood on his chin.

“Have a nice...hunt?” you ask, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

Nandor grins and perches beside you on the bed with a sweep of his cape.

“Jealous?” he questions with a smug smirk that bares his fangs.

Yes.

“No,” you insist. “I like my blood right where it is, thanks.”

Nandor narrows his eyes and needles, “Really...” His gaze falls to rest on the thrumming pulse of your throat. “Are you sure you don’t prefer it on my lips...or my tongue…?”

He crawls over you and the dark curtains of his long hair cascade down around your face as he bends to lay a kiss along your jaw.

“No biting!” you insist and he pulls back with a pout.

“Not even just to wash the taste of those joggers out of my mouth? They tasted like shit!” he complains. 

You really shouldn’t be pleased that he prefers the taste of your blood over others but…

“You’re getting spoiled,” you grumble, reaching up and idly playing with his hair. “But you’re very pretty…”

Nandor settles down beside you and pulls you onto his chest, running his hands over your back and down to the curve of your backside with a lecherous leer. 

“You’re the one who’s spoiled. I should have left you in the human cell to feed on when I choose…” 

The threat is comically empty.

You roll your eyes at him and squirm up to press a kiss to his bearded chin, “Yeah, but then I’d probably be dead by now...and you wouldn’t have someone to smooch and cuddle in your coffin, so…”

He cups your face in his hands, drawing you back down and pressing his mouth to yours in a long, passionate kiss that erases the taste of jogger’s blood from his tongue. 

“I suppose that there are certain benefits to mercy…”

Nandor picks up where you left off in his crypt. He kisses you senseless, until you’re a squirming bundle of need and then he finally reaches down between you and pushes his large hand down the front of your shorts and into your wet folds. His hands may have been made to hold a sword in battle, to bring pain and death, but they are also capable of the utmost tender and skilled care as he works you into a keening frenzy on top of him. You wail with the intensity of the orgasm that crashes through you and he keeps his hand on you, rubbing and stroking your oversensitive flesh until it almost hurts. 

His erection juts between your bodies, obscenely obvious through the thick fabric of his trousers. You’re still breathless with the force of the pleasure he’s given you when you make your first shy, tentative advances. As soon as your warm hand presses against him through his pants Nandor let’s out a fierce growl and he grabs your wrist, directing you to apply more pressure, rutting himself against your little hand. You reach for the waist of his pants with your free hand, tugging at it and fiddling with the absurd number of buttons until he finally assists you, opening his fly and reaching in to free himself.

Nandor’s smile is goofy and pleased with himself as he watches your virgin eyes roam over the impressive length of him. You reach out to touch. He’s thick and heavy in your hand. Your touch is feather light, experimental, hesitant. You watch as his eyes fall closed and his lips part. Nandor the Relentless is at the mercy of his mortal pet. Your touch grows firm, more confident. He fists his hands into the sheets and pants out the faintest, needy cries of pleasure until he’s twitching and shaking in your hand with his own release. The cold spurt of his seed falls over your fist and stains the rich fabric of his tunic.

Now that it’s over you’re unaccountably shy. You tuck yourself into his side and hide your face in his shoulder as he recovers himself. You fall asleep like that, clinging to him. And for the first time in centuries Nandor sleeps outside his coffin, curled protectively around you.

---

You’re sitting cross-legged in the high-backed armchair across from the camera man. His question hangs in the air and you pull the hood of your sweatshirt up, tugging on the drawstrings to hide your face as you answer.

“Yeah...I’m still a virgin.”

Memories of the previous night swirl through your head and you tighten the drawstrings until only your eyes peer out from the hoodie.

“...for now.”

---

“Guillermo!” Nandor shouts from his crypt. “I have clothes for the washer woman!”

---

A/N: Ugh---please send me soft, nice things. I’m entirely unsure if I’m happy with this. The only part I know I love was the fight scene with Nadja and Nandor.

Tags:

@festering-queen​ @glitterportrait​ @kandomeresbitch​ @scuzmunkie​ @redwoodshadows​

[ellewords]

daichi is the designated driver at parties (after everyone becomes legal, of course. if he catches anyone underage drinking, he purposefully lectures the hell out of them because he knows forcing them to sit through a talk where he is overly serious and overbearing and the like is more likely to work than yelling at them and getting on their case about it). he’s been doing it ever since the third years became of legal age to drink because asahi is a bit of a light weight despite his size, and suga, while not nearly as bad as asahi, tends to get out of hand when he has a few too many drinks. on days when he does feel like drinking, he caps it off at two, regardless of the type of alcohol, and he always makes sure that he (and anyone else drinking) has a ton of water and food in between. he’s not exactly motherly about it because he knows everyone is more than capable of taking care of themselves, but he does sometimes accidentally slip into his signature look/tone combo if someone doesn’t finish the water and/or snacks he gave them in between every two or three drinks.

there’s only been one time that daichi got legitimately wasted, and he vows to never do it again. if anyone asks, it’s because he didn’t like the feeling of waking up hungover the next morning, but suga accidentally lets it slip one night after he was a few drinks in that it’s really because daichi becomes a super emotional drunk. he cries at even the slightest inconvenience, he opens up about his feelings an embarrassing amount, and he becomes super affectionate. asahi even has footage of daichi crying all over suga about how much he loved the first years after going to the last game of their third year to cheer them on. (asahi doesn’t address the fact that his loud sniffling is also heard from behind the camera or that suga is literally cooing at daichi as he pets his messy hair down.)

daichi gives everyone the deadliest glare of his life when he walks in on the team watching the video play for the fourth time and laughing their asses off, and suddenly, it’s as if the video never existed in the first place. though asahi never deletes the video, everyone silently agrees that it will never be talked about again. though, the team does try to secretly get daichi drunk a few times afterwards. it doesn’t work. unfortunately.

i think this is the shortest hc i’ve ever sent in to you, wow. you proud of me, elle? 🥰 lol, jk, hope you’re having a good day, and good luck with studying and such! -🌙

—  from elle ! haha it might be the shortest, but it was still packed with such amazing *chef’s kiss* hcs >_< pls designated driver-emotional drunk!daichi ??? pls that’s literally me ngl lowkey feels like i was reading about myself hahaha but anyways as usual, a couple short lil scenarios with the team under the cut because the karasuno dynamics live in my head rent free ;-; tysm for this 🌙anon !! <3 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

asahi was the lookout, surely with all that height, he’d be able to see daichi coming from a mile away. he didn’t need to see the video again, having lived through the actual experience himself. besides, that video lived on his phone anyways. he could just watch it whenever he wanted to.

but suga didn’t have that kind of an advantage, phone in his hands as all the other members crowded around him, trying their hardest to keep their mouths shut. even kiyoko was trying to hide her snickers with the back of her hand. 

everyone knew that they were already on pretty thin ice with daichi, him having caught them three times just in the past week. but they just couldn’t resist, even as daichi shook his head and made them do extra drills as a response.

“and the first years,” daichi bawled, words barely understandable through all the tears that came from his eyes, “they have so much potential, so much ahead of them...it just makes me so proud, you know?”

daichi gently hits the area over his heart to emphasise his point, leaning his head on suga’s shoulder. his face was flushed red, a thin layer of cold sweat on his forehead. eyes puffy and nose very clearly runny, asahi hands him a tissue from behind the camera.

“awe,” suga cooed, brushing daichi’s hair back. it’s clear that he’s holding in his laughter, given that he was biting his lip each time daichi sniffled, “you gonna miss them?”

daichi nodded, using the tissue asahi had given him a few moments ago. “i just love them so much, i hope that we were at least good mentors to them. that they remember us when we go.”

the camera shakes ever so slightly as asahi could no longer hold back his own tears. if they listened close enough, they could hear a quiet, “yeah.”

“...and the second years,” daichi continued, unable to stop himself, “i just hope they know that they could still reach out to us...if they ever need anything. i know that they’ll do a good job but it would be nice if they updated us every now and—”

“and just what exactly are you watching?”

they hear a voice in front of them, chills creeping up their spines, blood running cold. everyone’s faces paled as daichi stood, hands crossed in front of his chest, gazing in front of them with the deathliest glare they had ever seen from him.

no other words needed to be spoken. asahi had his head hung low, already deleting the video as soon as suga tossed the phone to him. just like that an agreement was made, no one speaks of the video ever again.

__

the only time it was ever brought up was the little party they had in honor of the third years graduating. it was held at the gym, decorations kept simple — just a banner that yachi had made and a couple of balloons floating about.

the night was already winding down, everybody had eaten, music was kept at a low volume for ease of conversation. soon enough, it would be time for everyone to say goodbye.

“everyone!” nishinoya called out, loud as ever as he gestured towards ennoshita who made his way to the center of the room, “i believe our new captain wants to say something.”

 everyone gathered around him, cups of soda in hand as they anticipated his words. daichi had passed the baton onto him, the role of leader, captain. he wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t regret it.

“tonight we say goodbye to our third years...” ennoshita started, a sad smile making its way to his face.

“hey!” suga called out, a laugh threatening to break away from his lips, “don’t make us sound like we’re dying! we’re only graduating.”

“right, sorry.” a flustered flush colored his face. still, he continued his little speech, “you four mean a lot to us. taught us many things in and out of the court.”

the team nodded along, agreeing with his words.

“ i know that you think we’ll do a good job, but i just want you to know that we will definitely be reaching out to you whenever we need anything. we’ll definitely be updating you every now and then too.”

asahi’s eyes narrowed, why were these words just a little too familiar? oh no, these were daichi’s words from that video...

everyone else had caught on pretty quickly, smiles threatening to form on their lips as the video was still unable to leave their heads for the past few weeks. tsukishima was the first to add on to ennoshita’s speech, “yeah, and don’t worry, we know how much potential you think we have.”

tanaka smirked, a certain amount of pride lacing his voice, “i'm sure these first years definitely know how much they have ahead of them. but we’ll be good mentors like you were.”

“we’ll miss you too!” 

“we definitely won’t forget you!”

suga and asahi looked towards daichi, just a little bit nervous. by that point, they had assumed that everyone had forgotten about it and moved on. obviously that was not the case, since the entire team had the biggest grins on their faces. suga and asahi expected a glare, or at least an uncomfortable look.

but he’s smiling, fondly, gaze warm and soft. daichi could tell they were being sincere, despite the teasing tone in their voices. 

so he lets it slide this time.

and also because daichi just knew :  he was definitely going to miss this. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

a question: what are the hq characters like at a party?  |  written on the margins masterlist

taglist : @haikyuutothetop @crystal-lilac @tobioespresso @sushijimawakatoshi @itsmeaudrieee @pantherhappy @jesssobs @mysticstrawberryballoon @cloudedsky_29 @sakusasimpbot​

join my hq taglist here. <3

[sanchoyo]

25 + 41 Spinaraki (happy things for the boys)(or not, your choice)

Fantasy + First kiss! I hope u like this bc. I Don’t Know Beans about Fantasy as a genre. :”D TY for requesting! (And sorry for the delay, I have Weird Split Off Days :( )

                                    --------------

“I gotta kiss you, man.”

“No.”

“I gotta! We have to break this curse somehow!”

I said no!” 

Tomura was currently not hiding behind the couch; he was strategically crouching and avoiding, actually.

So, he’d been cursed. Their little guild of thieves and murderers had been attacked, and he’d gotten in the line of fire of a particularly skilled and spiteful witch. The stupid hag had declared ‘He who hates all cannot break the curse until he loves, realized the love, and seals the love with a kiss! That alone can break the curse!’

So. He’d been cursed in the most inconvenient way for him personally; corny as hell and unrealistic. Removing the witches head from her neck hadn’t broken the curse like he’d expected, his rot touch doing nothing to stop the hot pulse in his blood, the tell-tale, white hot pain of a curse. 

And sure, he’d been cursed before; this one was nasty, too intricate for him to untwine himself with his own black magic. His magic carried the death aura; it wasn’t a healing touch, it could only destroy.

He’d asked Sako about it, but the man had scoffed, declaring he was an illusionist, not a wizard or warlock. Magic was magic, wasn’t it? 

Toga was into blood magic, and knew a lot about love, and how to work with it alongside black magic- but she shrugged. She said wasn’t a healer. 

Dabi’s pyromancy would be useless; Twice’s doubling illusions didn’t even enter his mind. And neither did Spinner, because he couldn’t even use magic; sure, he was a strong fighter, but-

His head hit the underside of the abandoned tavern’s bar, alerting Shuichi to his location. He cursed.

“Dude, come on!”

“It’s not just a kiss to break it, I’ve said that already!” Besides, with his death aura, if anyone kissed him they’d probably die, right? “The hag said I have to love someone, and I don’t really love anyone!”

“But you like the league,” He pointed out. “So any of us could work, we don’t know until we try!” Spinner threw a toned arm against the wall, blocking the exit. “C’mon, I don’t want you to die, so I’m saying I don’t mind!”

“How generous,” He slipped under his arm, ignoring the indignant squawk. “No.”

“Really?! We need you!”

“Obviously, but I’m not going to die. I’ve almost died lots of times. We’ll break this curse. Besides, you probably suck at kissing. Have you ever even kissed anyone?”

“That’s- that’s rude.” He didn’t answer the question. “I just wanna help, man.”

And it would be inconvenient if he died; so what the hell? They were alone in the tavern anyway. He didn’t want it to seem like he wasn’t willing to try, and like hell he was flustered or something.

“Fine.” 

As many quests as they’d been on, Shigaraki had never even stopped to consider things like ‘romance’ or ‘kissing’; those were things reserved for normal peasants who needed more hands in the field, and royalty who had no say in who they married; Romance was a tool to sire the next generation of aristocrats and workers. 

To say he had a cynical view about the subject was an understatement, but he thought it was realistic. A fairy tale, to ensure the population didn’t plummet. It had it’s purpose, even if it was a lie.

“Fine? Oh, uh,” Shuichi slicked his hair back; there was a visible sheen of sweat on his face and on the pads of his palms. “Right, let’s do it!”

“Don’t make a big deal about it,” He snorted; but his own heart twitched, and his breath hitched. “And don’t regret it if there’s any side effects.”

“Nah, I won’t.” The other man’s voice was quieter. Their faces got closer, and…

They touched lips. Their noses bumped awkwardly, neither of them even shutting their eyes, or moving to- god forbid- open their mouths. After a moment, when he felt Shuici’s hot breath huff on his face, he pulled away.

“Well. That was stupid.”

“I was trying!” At least he seemed to be embarrassed; Shigaraki could barely tear his eyes away from him, amusement bubbling up. 

“Maybe we should try again; I still feel the curse.”

“Shit, stop teasing me! I’m going to go to the library and look into it!” He practically ran away; wasn’t that interesting? 

He tilted his head, and thought about it. It was a pretty bad kiss. 

So why’d be wanna try again?

                                  ---------

So he kept thinking about how Shuichi’s embarrassed face looked, and his own pride being at stake; besides, it was kind of sweet how loyal the dragonic knight was, willing to kiss his leader to help lift a curse.

“Hey, how are you? Is the curse..does it hurt?” A few days had past. All of them had been busy, looking into fixing it in their own ways; Spinner’d just gotten back from a binge at the library, and after pouring over the tombs, had admitted he couldn’t find a solution yet. 

“Yeah, not too different from normal.” It had faded in the background, like a hazy filter of constant pain, and he’d gotten used to it. It hurt, but he hurt pretty often anyway. Even if he was slowly dying, wasn’t that always the case?

“Hey, kiss me again.”

Shuichi sputtered, nearly spilt the drink he was holding, and looked at him with moon-sized eyes.

“What?”

“I wanna try again; don’t you think it sucked the first time?”

“Seriously, fuck you man.” Shuichi was mad? He frowned. He’d known he’d been a shut in before joining them, did he think he was honestly teasing him? 

“No, I wasn’t kidding. It’s distracting, I keep thinking about it.”

“...What, about the curse? We already-”

“No, about kissing you.” And he moved from his perch on the couch, putting a hand on the end of it and leaning over him. “As pushy as you were the first time, you don’t wanna now?”

“That’s- I…” Shuichi blinked. “You want to kiss me?”

“You don’t want to? I can do better.” he was determined to.

Shuichi’s eyes flickered to his lips, then back to his eyes. It was so quiet he could hear him gulp down saliva. “Sure I do.” He mumbled. “But it’s just a game to you. Ever since our last battle, when you were talking about how you’d show us that beautiful horizon, I wanted to, but it’s not..I’m your knight.”

“Since when,” He asked, slowly licking his lips. “ Since when do we follow the usual rules of the heroic guilds? What’s inappropriate for them is the norm for us; we have no honor, so don’t do acting noble now. Besides, remember what I said back then?”

“What did you say?” It was whispered, and Shuichi was looking so desperately at him that Tomura’s heart almost stopped completely.

“I said the wishes of my comrades were the only thing I wouldn’t destroy; they’re my wishes, too. So if there’s something you want, it’s my job to make sure you get it.” 

“I can’t break your curse.” Shuichi broke the gaze. “I can’t-”

“I wasn’t asking you to; I just want you to do what you want.” 

Shuichi hesitated, and was painfully gentle when he finally reached up, ran his claws through Tomura’s hair, and pulled him lower, closing the distance.

“Don’t regret any of the side effects.” Shuichi echoed his own words, softly.

“Like the witch said, I can’t love anyone, so I’ll be fine,” He tilted his head, and closed his eyes, and felt a glow, warm across his chest, bloom like a flower. 

He let his hands drift on Shuichi’s face, with care not to use five fingers. He’d never been this close to anyone; he felt like he had a fever, like he was melting. 

When he pulled away, Shuichi’s eyelashes fluttered open. He was left breathless; Was this what he’d been wishing for? 

How long had he wanted to kiss him back and hadn’t realized? He’d been jealous of the devotion the knight had had towards the blood rogue Stain, and wanted that, selfishly, to be on him; maybe he’d wanted it for a while, after all. Maybe he wanted more. Maybe...

The dull throb of the curse had faded, and he laughed to spite the witch, and because it felt euphoric to realize he wasn’t born solely from hate, but could also…

“S-Shigaraki?” Shuichi avoided his gaze. “Stop laughing, I actually tried this time-”

“You did fine; but I’m not happy with it.” He hummed. “I don’t like it if I’m not the best at it, so we have to again. Even if the curse was broken.”

“What?! I- I broke it?! Then- you-” Shuichi turned an adorable shade of pink, turning away. “What the hell, you can’t just- I gotta go!” A little spurt of fire blew out of his nostrils, making the room smell like smoke. 

He let him run out again, knowing full well he’d be back. And he fell back on the couch, grinning at the ceiling alone, heart racing, face hot.

Maybe Spinner was his horizon; beautiful, destructive, and bright. And Tomura?

 Tomura loved him.

[cherryplasmids]

☆ still my dove ☆

pairing: sandor clegane x reader fandom: game of thrones—season 8 anon request: Sandor x Reader where they’re involved in some sort of battle or they’re attacked by some bastards and the reader is greatly injured, losing an arm or a leg? “What use am I to you now?” notes: mentions of blood and violence and death.  — I am in no way an expert on disability. I don’t know the science behind having a leg chopped off or anything. I do not mean to offend anyone.

—check out my other works; masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

         The heavy bodies of four wights that struggled to desperately end your life, suddenly vanished, leaving your arms to drop at your sides. Besides immediately confusion—how in the actual fuck did they just disappear—soreness filled your body and you could finally breathe; inhale without fearing it would be your last.

After the initial shock, people began yelling out names or screaming in pain or crying when they stumbled upon dead loved ones or maybe all of the above. You wanted to feel emotional agony because you are certain you’ve lost someone in the battle but the exhaustion overwhelmed you, silencing any type of feeling besides content. Even when you heard your name being yelled, you just lied there waiting for someone to find you while thinking of a downing cold ale, kissing Sandor because you know your tall, brute lover survived, and sleeping for three days.

Whoever shouted for you came close and quieted down. Despite all the smoke in the air, temporarily disrupting your vision, Necalli’s distinct appearance captures your attention. He leans over, placing his hands on his knees and begins panting. His face is covered in a thick coat of blood and ash with streaks of sweat on his cheeks. Armor no longer rested on his chest or shoulders, instead, the thin olive tunic dangled loosely off his collarbones. Thankfully, you couldn’t find any major wounds, just little scratches decorating his tanned flesh.

“Y/N,” Obvious relief spilled out of him. He drops down to his knees and removes his Unsullied combat helmet which immediately makes you sad.

“I’m sorry about your friends.” You pointed at the helmet. “They nor the Dothraki should have died first. That’s just disrespectful.”

“Perhaps we were taken for granted.” He shrugs even though sorrow fills his eyes. “But we do what she asks of us with no question. If her intent was for us to die, I think we did a good job.”

It’s a poor attempt of a joke but you crack a smile anyway. “Is Grey Worm—”

“Alive, searching for Missandei. I looked for you as soon as the battle was over.”

You lift a hand up to touch his cheek. “Thank you, raqiros.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Good...I think? Just lightheaded.” You stop for a moment, pausing in order to take a deep breath. “Tired, really damn tired.”

Necalli doesn’t speak and looks you over, assessing your condition. He moves your head side to side, wiping away blood from your warm cheeks. You’re delirious to his ministrations because the exhaustion hits you. Hard. Like a sudden rainstorm or the Sept of Baelor blowing up.

Sleep; it’s alluring and the best idea you’ve had in ages. You just need uninterrupted sleep..forever. You, Sandor and the comfy beds filled with cozy furs that Winterfell had in abundance. Necalli is keeping you from fulfilling that desire. He needs to stop worrying—you’re completely and utterly fine, just exhausted. Nothing more and nothing less.

But then he starts shouting causing your ears to start ringing. You close your eyes and push your hands to close anymore sound from going into your ears. He’s screaming bloody murder for what? He needs to leave now because he’s being extremely rude now.

Despite his incessant screaming, sleep calls out to you—sending soft murmurs of delicate yearning. Your eyes close even further, darkening the outside light from penetrating your eyelids. It feels warm.

It doesn’t last long because you begin involuntarily shaking—violently as if you’ve basked in ice cold water. Eyes snapping shut, you see Necalli shaking you, his face filled with the utmost concern and worry.

“Necalli?” Then you feel a jolt in your lower region, shocking you into an upright position. There are so many people crowding you, all shouting incoherent nonsense. Sansa is there, tears spilling, and head shaking. Everything is suffocating, too hectic for you to focus until you notice her eyes shooting back and forth from your own gaze to your legs.

So, you look.

Blood gushes from your left leg, dark red, almost black, but that isn’t the worst part about it.

It was gone.

Your left fucking leg from the knee down wasn’t there—just empty space where the shin should be. Your mouth opens up, but nothing comes out—or maybe it did but you couldn’t tell because of the high volume ringing in your ears.

The pain hits you now, shooting through your body like fire. Somehow, at the same time, it felt like ice and electricity replaced your veins, throbbing at rapid a pace that seemed to quicken your heart rate. It makes you reel, sending you back to your previous lying position, head thudding against the wet dirt which is the worst thing you could have possibly done. An explosion of blinding whiteness blows up in your head and the last thing you could remember is watching Sandor race towards you before your consciousness simply vanishes into darkness.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

          Beric’s death struck sorrow in Sandor. After all, the two men have spent many hours together, trying to survive all the obstacles life has thrown at them. They prevailed together, came to the North together, fought alongside each other, and buried comrades together. Although Sandor’s never been one for sentiment, there’s a bit of nostalgia coursing through him as his eyes wander out to the vastness of the North. Beric, an oddball, surrounded himself with other oddballs like Thoros, made Sandor feel welcomed. Not a hound—a brother who’s destiny is to survive. He’s not heartbroken, far from it, but he is sad.

Originally, he just drank a cups of ale in Beric’s honor. However, once he couldn’t find you among the dead or the living, he became inconsolable.

Three days after the battle, he still cannot find you. No one is telling him anything on account of you and Sandor not necessarily being in a relationship. If he specifically asked for you, people would be suspicious and Sandor was not the type to have his personal business under scrutiny by any means. Instead of sacrificing his pride and ask for aid, he helplessly searched for you throughout Winterfell. Every nook and cranny searched and stripped to find you. Three days worth of panic and innocent bystanders being shoved or yelled at and silent tears at night when he’s alone.

It registers after the fourth day that you might not be here. The sudden realization of your clingy self not being there to annoy him, jump on his back, or to play with his fingers when you’re nervous, suddenly slaps him so hard in the face, he physically caught whiplash.

Sandor’s thoughts increasingly became a jumbled mess as he kept drinking with his sight becoming a tad bit hazy. Tipsy is not the word to describe him at the moment. He’s intoxicated and smells like he took a bath in alcohol—not at all how he usually is. Nothing about him is normal anymore, well, as normal as he tried to be. Everything is different; the morning light disrupted by ash polluting the air, the frostiness of the North seems warmer, fewer people roaming around, even the ale tastes different. It’s dreary, dark, and depressing. And the only way he can combat that heartbreak is to drink until he’s dead.

He’s got nothing to live for anymore. He’s done his duty of protecting the Stark girls and without you around, he doesn’t see a future because he planned it with you. The brown cottage with cobble steps and yellow flowers planted beside it that you wanted to live in with him was a far fetched dream that is impossible to realize without you. All the little plans of being farmers and florists and chefs and any other random idea you had would never come true. He did not have the heart to continue, to move on without you because you were everything. How can he move on when you took his heart with you to wherever the fuck you ended up at.

That’s when he knew he could never be happy. The stars would never align for him to set him up with a good life. The one chance he did, the village had been slaughtered and the second time an opportunity came, you were taken from him.

Life’s a cruel joke and Sandor’s been the butt end of the joke since childhood.

So, he takes another gulp of ale, only to find the cup empty. He reaches over to the beer barrel to pour more but nothing comes out of the tap. Just one push of the barrel sends it over. Nothing sloshes inside of it. It’s empty.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

            Something slams heavily against the wall, but Sandor’s eyes are crusted shut. He can’t tell what the noise is and doesn’t want to. The massive pounding in his head makes him feel heavy as if his brain weighs a ton. It’s a heat stroke combined with a migraine, the frigidness of Winterfell doing nothing to cool him down.

Then he’s shaking. A second party is forcefully kicking him but he’s immune, numb. Kicking and stomping, loud slams, gibberish—nothing can shake him out of the thick haze and rut he’s succumbed to.

“Fuck off,” Vomit is on his tongue and it makes him gag.

Whoever is disturbing him speak again, more gibberish followed by another kick to his side. After that, they stop. Instead, freezing water with chunks of ice crashes down on his face, sending his body to jolt forward into a sitting position.

“Fuckin’ hell!”

“It’s about time you woke up.”

Sandor whips his head up despite the throb in his brain to find Arya standing over him, arms crossed over her chest with her eyebrows raised—unamused and certainly unimpressed. Light illuminates her tense silhouette which means it’s still daylight. He’s been sleeping for a few hours instead of a few days like he thought.

“Fuck you,”

She taps her foot and moves to sit on an ale barrel. “You’ve got some nerve.”

Sandor pushes himself to sit against the nearest wall, grunting the entire time. He can’t think straight without pushing his limits, can’t talk without feeling like he licked a shag carpet. Breathing heavily and eyes closed, he takes his time to calm down or else he’ll attack the younger girl. She might beat him, though. After all, he is intoxicated beyond belief.

“All this time you’ve been drinking your arse off for the fun of it and—”

Sandor shakes his head, brain sloshing around in his skull. “Dead,”

“What?”

“She’s dead.”

“Who—” Arya stops herself, sighing deeply before rubbing her forehead. “Y/N?”

“There’s not..nothing left.”

The young Stark girl gets down on her knees, leaning forward to meet his gaze. “You idiot!” Sandor’s eyes flare up in anger. She’s pissed too.  “While you’ve been here feeling sorry for yourself, mourning over her for no reason, she’ been screaming day and night about missing you.”

His eyes perk up, his body physically straightening as her words finally have some clarity. “She’s alive?”

Arya rolls her eyes and stands up. “Yes, been asking for you.”

Scrambling to get up, Sandor stumbles and trips over his own feet several times before standing properly, but his feet don’t have stability. Suddenly, he tilts backward, falls back and hits his head on a wooden barrel. It smashes and ale seeps out.

Arya remains unimpressed at the sight, offering no help to the groaning and probably concussed Hound. “Shower and sober up or she’ll have your head for smelling like an alehouse.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

            By the time Sandor sobers up, takes a shower, and actually attempts to groom a bit, it’s the next night. He didn’t think it would take him that long, obviously underestimating how fucked up he was. The hours leading up to the very moment he entered the makeshift hospital wing in the castle was filled with extreme anxiousness. It’s been five, almost six days, since the battle—fours days he deemed you dead. All the nasty thoughts of his lonely future remained in his head. Surely you wouldn’t want to be with him after he left you to deal with your injuries alone.

He assumed they were horrific since Arya refused to speak about them and even got a little teary-eyed mentioning it. Did you look like him now? Scarred flesh and ugliness tainting your features? No, no matter what happened to your face, he would still love you. It couldn’t be that. When Arya’s eyes got misty and somewhat pitiful, it reminded him of how she used to look when he brought up a specific topic on one of their adventures years ago. For the life of him, though, he couldn’t remember the subject.

When he reaches the wing, there are three Unsullied men guarding your door. They glare at him as he approaches. He expects them to part but they remain still, speaks held up high with their hands tightening their grips. He’s feeling particularly nasty at the moment and opens his mouth to swear but is cut short by your room door opening and swinging shut.

Necalli, your best friend, looks tired with bags under his eyes and terrible posture. His head is low even when one of the Unsullied guards speak to him. It’s in Valyrian, a language Sandor never heard of until the Targaryen girl invaded Westeros. You know it, though. You gave him cute nicknames and compliment him using that language. He never knows what you’re saying, but the little smile on your lips makes it okay.

“Sandor,” Necalli’s accented voice calls out to him, removing him from his memories. The tanned man looked a little pale but he smiled up at him anyway. He didn’t think the Unsullied were allowed to smile. “It’s really great to see you.”

He grunts and nods.

“Y/N has been in and out of sleep. She is awake now but might fall asleep on you. Just don’t do anything that causes her heart to quicken.” The sly bastard winks at him talk Valyrian to the guards before all four Unsullied members leave the wing.

As soon as he sees their bodies turning at the end of the hall, he pushes the door open. Firewood and lavender waft throughout the room, reminding him of his smell and your body scent mixing together. His boots noisily alert you of a new presence and before you can call out, Sandor is standing a few feet away from your bed.

Your breath hitches and hands tighten around the snow-white sheets.

“What—” You audibly gulp. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Well, I’m not. Off you go.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t want you here.” Your voice is tight, eyes filled with terror.

Visibly caught off guard, Sandor takes a step back at your words. Not even a week ago were you declaring your love for him, begging for him to fuck you, preparing all these future plans with him. Now you’re telling him to leave as if that hadn’t happened? Had he done something wrong? Why do you look terrified?

“What the fuck do ya mean?” He snaps at her, anger taking ahold of him.

You match his ferocity. “Are you deaf now? I said get the fuck out!”

Sandor stares at you for a long time, causing you to shift. He always does that to you when he knows there’s an underlying issue. And you’ve just outed yourself out by swearing at him, something you rarely ever do.

“The Stark girl told me you were hurt.” Again, he stares, searching for something. “I don’t see anything.”

His lingering eyes sends anxiety through your body and you feel panic welling up in your throat. Again, you tighten your hands around the sheet, bringing it up toward your body.

“Please, Sandor, just go.”

Your whispered words do nothing to ease the giant man and he moves toward you. Your eyes shut when he gets near you, attempting to hold back the tears threatening to cascade downward. Each shuffle, creak, and any other movements cause you to tense up because Sandor will inevitably find out what’s wrong. Of course, it terrified you.

He kneels down beside you and gently tugs the sheet out of your hands. You whisper in disagreement and for a moment, he stops. Eyes intense, you could feel his stare at you and eventually, you relent, completely releasing the sheet.

Agonizingly slow, Sandor peels the cloth off of you, bare flesh gaining goosebumps. He stops when he reaches your knees. Realization stuns him, causing him to release the sheet.

Tears slip out underneath your closed eyelids. Before you know it, you’re sobbing and shaking.

Sandor feels his heartbreak at the sight of you completely and utterly devastated. He understands now. Why you didn’t send someone to get him, why he wasn’t by your side. You’d rather have him think you’re dead than in this condition.

“Oh, Sandor,” He leans forward, tugging you into his chest and you awkwardly grab onto him, twisting your body enough to be practically on him.

“I love you.”

Somehow you cry harder, chest heaving. You shake your head at his words and look up, eyes shining with tears with absolute sorrow leaking.

“What use am I to you now?”

“Listen to me, dove.” Voice gruff and stern, he pulls you further to him. “Nothing has changed. You’ll still be annoying and clingy and will still jump on my back. We will get that cottage with yellow flowers and cobblestone steps.” You cry even more. “Everything is the same. Legs or no legs, you’ll still be my dove.”

He pulls you into him again, smelling your lavender scented hair and lets you soak his shirt in tears. You try to talk but he hushes you, knowing that you’ll need sleep soon. So, he climbs onto the bed. Like routine, you curl up to his side and grip onto his shoulders. It’s silent after that, just you two together with bodies pressed against each other and breathes mingling—thinking about life together away from all the deaths and injuries and wars. Sandor kisses your head and you know you’re safe and absolutely loved at that moment.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

word count: 3,034 published: may 16, 2019 edited: n/a

[ohsweetflips]

For the fluff/angst prompt thing, 85 and/or 40 for fargo? 🥺🥺

A/N: anon thank you for my life these prompts are a gift and i would lay down my life for you……………… i’m still playing around with ship dynamics and grad characterization but this was a lot of fun!!!! and also this feels a lot more pre-fargo still in that “what are we” stage

post-writing note: i ended up not being able to fit #40 in, but i still hope you enjoy!!! ....... might try to find another fic to work that prompt into

(also just thought i’d say to the general public that, while im doing a lot of taz grad shipping w/ fitzroy/rainer and fitzroy/argo, i am not looking to force anyone to ship anything nor am i looking to start any “””ship wars””” omg, this is all just for fun!!!!)

(so anyways!!!!)

——————————–

85) “Don’t lie to me.”

——————————–

Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, Knight in whatever-the-fuck in the Realm of It-Doesn’t-Fucking-Matter-Right-Now was an idiot. A fucking idiot. Only he would get himself stabbed on a mission miles away from the school. Only he would run into the fray of chaos to stop it. 

Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt was an idiot and a bad villain.

But Argo wasn’t panicking. Not panicking at all. 

He was just near dragging Fitzroy down a dark, damp alley as blood seeped through his robes and into Argo’s own tunic. Which would be a bitch to get out. Blood always was. But it was okay. Fine, even! Because Bud had been able to heal Fitzroy… kind of. Not much, because spell slots were an issue, but, hey! It was probably enough to keep Fitzroy from bleeding out within the hour! 

And, yeah, they were supposed to be trying to work out a deal with two rivaling guilds and not getting ambushed by a group of bandits larger than the party they came with, but it was all good! And, sure, Rolandus, Rainer, and Bud might have had to run distraction while Leon and Buckminster try to get in contact with the school’s emergency hotline, and Argo might just be getting more and more lost as he pulled Fitzroy’s semi-conscious body through streets that he already didn’t know, but it was fine!

Completely, and totally, and absolutely, and… and…

Fuck, why did he have to get hurt?

“Argo,” Fitzroy, voice strained, managed out. He was barely walking already but, even so, his feet stumbled over each other and Argo had to secure him tighter. “Wait… hold on…”

Argo wanted to deny him, wanted to say that they needed to keep moving, needed to get somewhere they knew, but he looked down at Fitzroy’s grimace and the sweat on his brow, and found that he couldn’t.

“Okay, okay,” Argo said quickly, his eyes darting around for anything that could support Fitzroy, though the sentiment was short-lived as Fitzroy began to become dead-weight in his arms. “Okay, wait, wait, wait-” And, as carefully as he could (and trying to still his shaking hands), he helped lower Fitzroy down onto the cobblestones and watched him wince as he leaned back against the wall “-I, uh, are you- where does it hurt?”

Fitzroy, as Argo kneeled down in front of him, shot him a tired, pained grin. “What d’ya mean? I’m doing just fine.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Argo hissed, flashing his eyes from Fitzroy’s face to the ever-growing dark patch on his shirt. He ghosted his hand over it, wanting to see the damage but too scared to face it. “Not-” He cleared his throat, shaking his head “-not here.”

Fitzroy watched his face and, after a moment, let his head fall back against the brick wall as his eyes slipped shut. “Everywhere.” He swallowed thickly. “But maybe I’m just dramatic.”

“We already know that,” Argo murmured, hands moving to the buttons at Fitzroy’s collar and then freezing. It was silly, almost: Fitzroy was wounded and bleeding before him, yet Argo froze to unbutton his shirt, but-

“It won’t be a pretty sight,” Fitzroy said.

“Is this okay?” Argo asked, quietly.

Fitzroy nodded.

Argo was careful. He had to be; tact was integral in his line of work before the school, both in stealing and in patching up his own wounds, but now he found himself praying that his hands were defter, gentler.

Leave it to fucking Fitzroy Maplecourt to turn him gentle.

He had been right, though: it wasn’t a pretty sight.

The biggest problem was the actual stab wound in the left side of his stomach. Not particularly large and, wracking his brain, Argo couldn’t think of any organs that the wound would’ve hit (plus, Bud’s healing probably helped in that aspect), but, nonetheless, the wound was still bleeding much more than probably wanted. The rest of his stomach and chest, though, was marked with slash wounds, all varied in length and depth, and even some bruising already beginning to purple along his side.

“Shit,” Argo whispered.

Fitzroy was caught somewhere between a smirk and a grimace. “So, what’s the verdict, doc?”

“That you’re an idiot,” Argo said, though he was already tearing off parts of his own tunic for make-shift bandages. “Fucking villain rushing in to de-escalate a situation. That’ll show up in your report card, don’t you think?”

“Good to know that you care, Argo.” Fitzroy hissed as Argo pressed a bandage to the deepest wound, and Argo tried to not think about it too much.

Of course I do, Argo said, except it came out as, “Well, first time for everything.”

His relationship with Fitzroy was complicated, as most things involving Fitzroy were. The two cared for each other more than either would admit, not necessarily out of pride, but out of the rocky road it took to get them there. Working through their rivalry and stubborness had taken time, taken work, but, before long, Argo found himself willing to do what it takes to help Fitzroy, and, well…

Fitzroy threw himself into the bandits after one barely missed Argo with a throwing knife.

It was a devotion that the school almost expected of them: kicks and henches throwing themselves forward in defense, heroes and villains throwing them into the midst of it all for some big showdown. And, in practice, it was fun. The three of them laughed when Bud used his imposing form to simply block the two of them when Rattles rushed them with a dulled rapier. Argo found joy in sneaking around corners to catch Rainer and Fitzroy off guard in practice scrimmages, only for them both to laugh as Fitzroy charged him and missed at the last moment.

Practice was always fun.

It was when it was real, when there were no do-overs, that Argo realized it wasn’t always such. Maybe Fitzroy did, too. Maybe they realized, too, that the two of them—three of them—were stronger fighting together instead of letting one take the brunt of the damage.

Hell, Argo didn’t want Fitzroy to get hurt while rushing in for some final showdown.

Maybe Fitzroy didn’t want Argo sacrificing himself to take the damage, either.

As Argo’s hands finished tying a secure knot in the make-shift bandage, Fitzroy watched his movements. Even though blood still seeped through, he hoped that it was enough to slow it. All he could do was hope.

“It’s a knight thing,” Fitzroy said, tired, and Argo eyed him, confused. "Rushing into battle. I’m trained to protect people, so... that’s what I did.”

“That’s some pretty sidekick thinking for a villain.”

Fitzroy laughed slightly before quickly, painfully, catching himself. “Well, maybe those stupid human shield games stuck.”

Argo, barely managing a smile, shook his head. “You… you didn’t have to do that. You’re hurt now and… you’re gonna be fine, we’ll find the others, but… you’re hurt.”

“I know,” Fitzroy said. “But…” He released a breath and let his head fall back again. “I just couldn’t hold myself back. They attacked first, attacked you first, and I just…”

Argo wanted to say that he could handle himself, but he knew that wasn’t the point Fitzroy was making.

“Well, thanks,” Argo said. “But next time you’re about to go rushing in, at least give us a warning? A codeword, perhaps?”

“Come up with a cool pirate one and we’ll be golden.”

Argo nodded and, worrying his bottom lip, studied Fitzroy quickly. He was still looking a little pale, and his eyes were scrunched up tight, but his breathing was decently okay, and-

“I can feel you staring,” Fitzroy murmured. “My half-elf senses are tingling.”

“That makes no sense,” Argo mumbled, but didn’t deny it.

Fitzroy cracked an eye open. “Thank you, though, Argo,” he said. “For… helping me.”

Complicated or not, whatever their relationship was, first and foremost, Fitzroy was one of his two closest friends at Wiggenstaff’s, and the last thing he wanted was for his friends to be hurt.

Argo flashed a smirk. “Is that a proper honoring from Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt?”

“Think of it as me, Fitzroy, your roommate, your-” Their eyes, for just a second, caught each other “-friend, appreciating what you’ve done for me.”

Seeing Fitzroy pained like this, vulnerable like this, made Argo realize that he wanted two things: something more, and to never see Fitzroy hurt again.

Argo felt his face heat up, and was almost thankful of the darkness for hiding his flushed face before remembering that Fitzroy had darkvision.

“Well, of course, Fitzroy,” Argo said. “I would never leave you.” He swallowed, his eyes quickly darting around the alley. “Not to bleed out, that is. Or be stabbed by a bunch of sneaky bandits.”

Fitzroy cracked a smile and opened his mouth to say something before he was interrupted by a voice calling out, “Argo! Fitzroy!” which was followed by another saying, quieter, “Where the fuck could they have gone?”

Argo, nearly unable to measure how relieved he was, called back to Buck and Rolandus, “We’re over here!”

“Oh thank god,” Fitzroy breathed out and, at the thought of being able to return to the school, he seemed to sag further against the wall, almost as if he had been trying to hold himself together up until this point.

“You’re hurting, aren’t you?” Argo asked, quietly.

“Terribly so,” Fitzroy whispered. Footsteps, not too far away, could be heard hitting the pavement.

“We should probably get you up, though,” Argo said, feeling ready to hoist Fitzroy over his shoulder and walk back to campus if it was needed. “We… we have to get moving.”

Fitzroy sighed but, upon Argo standing, accepted his outstretched hand, and let himself be helped.

[cashtonsangel]

More Than a Bridesmaid

Summary: Planning your sister’s wedding leads to things you could only dream of.

Word Count: 2000+

Warnings: none!!!

A/N: hi the summary sucks but i tried right!! anyways i thought this was cute so i hope yall enjoy!! feedback is appreciated thank you!!! love you!!!

Tonight was the night that your sister had been waiting for since the day she got engaged. The past year had been one of the most tiring ones for your sister as she planned her picture perfect wedding, and it was all finally coming together as you finished the final touches in the room where the reception was being held.

Being her maid of honor, it was your duty to make sure that nothing about this night would go wrong, and you planned to not let your sister and newly wedded brother-in-law down.

The ceremony had gone great, and the reception was coming along piece by piece.

You watched as the newly wedded couple danced the night away while being surrounded by friends and family. You could finally sit down and take a break since the majority of your job was over. All of the formalities of the reception were finally over, and now everyone was just dancing and congratulating the couple.

Taking a sip of your drink, your eyes roamed across the venue before connecting with Calum’s.

Calum Hood. The best man of the of the wedding and your partner in crime when it came to coordinating this whole fiasco.

Calum walked over to where you were seated at the table, pulled out the chair next to you, and sat down. Lifting his glass to his lips he took a sip of his drink and admired the your view of the venue.

You knew of Calum through you sister, but the first time you actually talked to him was during wedding planning where you both had to coordinate with each other to make sure that everything would be a success. And now that everything was done, you couldn’t have been more proud of the blood, sweat, and tears that you both put in.

“We did pretty well, huh?” Calum’s gaze settled on your figure, a proud smile on his face.

“Nothing has gone wrong so far, so yeah, I say we did.”

Rolling his eyes at your response, he held his glass up inviting you to a toast. “To us, the best maid of honor and best man duo that has ever walked the planet.”

Laughing, you echoed his words before bringing your cup to your lips once again.

There was a moment of silence between the both of you. You were absolutely exhausted mentally and physically from the day’s events.

Your mind replayed the events that occurred in the past few hours. You really couldn’t believe that after a year’s worth of hard work would finally be over by tomorrow morning. It was surreal.

It was bittersweet that something that you’ve worked on was finally coming to and end, but you were glad that it was finally off your shoulders.

But it came with a cost.

While helping your sister plan her wedding, your friends and family constantly bombarded with questions about when you were going to settle down like your sister. Day in and day out you were constantly being held behind your sister’s spotlight. You were tired of always being her shadow in everyone’s eyes.

“What’s on your mind, Y/N.” Calum’s voice broke you out of your trance.

“Hmmm?”

“What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You turned towards Calum, confused as to where his question came from. Giving him a questioning glance, he started to explain.

“Well, you’re looking at your sister, but not like you did earlier. Not to mention, you look quite sad for being at a party.”

“It’s nothing, I’m just tired” You tried to shrug it off, but Calum could see through your facade.

“C’mon, Y/N. I know you, I’ve seen you when you’re stressed and sad, and I know that this is one of those times.” Calum spoke softly, trying to comfort you.

You and Calum had become pretty close throughout this ordeal, so it wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to be very candid about your feelings with each other.

Right now you were reluctant to open up about your feelings. It was supposed to be a happy and special day, and you didn’t want to bring the mood down with your thoughts.

Sensing your hesitation, Calum gave turned towards you to give you his full attention. He gave you a look that encouraged you to open up.

“I’ve always been stuck in the shadows, always being compared to others and could never measure up.”

Your eyes followed your sister’s figure as you said the words. Your sister and her husband glided from guest to guest, greeting everyone that they haven’t been able to talk to. You and your sister had been up since 5am preparing for this momentous occasion, but somehow she managed to still have an effortless aura surrounding her, while you were one song away from falling asleep.

“I’m just tired of always being the bridesmaid and never the bride,” you sighed before resting your head in your hand and closing your eyes for a brief moment.

“Well, maybe you don’t have to be the bridesmaid anymore.”

There was a slight pause before you finally registered what Calum had just said.

“Wha-, what do you mean by that?” Confusion was evident in the tone of your voice. Straightening out your posture, you turned towards his figure, curious as to where exactly he was going with this proposition.

He shot you a smirk, one that you have already grown accustomed to in the short week weeks that you have known him.

“How do you feel about getting out of here?” His hands gestured around the venue.

“What?”

“You heard me. Let’s get out of here.”

“I- I don’t understand?”

“C’mon, Y/N. You’re smart. Put the pieces together. I, Calum Hood, am taking you on an adventure. Let’s go.”

“Are you crazy? I can’t leave. I’m the fucking maid of honor; my family would kill me,”

“You said yourself you wanted to get out of your sister’s shadow. This is your chance. You think you can make a name for yourself by constantly staying within the status quo? You have to take chances and take risks to make your own path, Y/N.”

“Calum, I can’t. This is my sister’s wedding, I can’t just leave her. And you’re the best man. They’ll definitely notice if we left.” your voice slightly raising at the end with incredulity.

“Who cares?” His nonchalant voice bothered you. This was the big night for your sister and his brother, but it seemed like Calum couldn’t care less.

“We can’t, Calum. My sister would kill me if she couldn’t find me. I’m sure your brother would do the same.”

“The night’s almost over, Y/N. We won’t be missed too badly.”

“You clearly don’t know my family if you think that the party is gonna stop at midnight.”

“And you clearly don’t know me if you think that excuse is going to stop me.”

“I don’t know you, you idiot. We met only a couple of weeks ago at the wedding rehersals.”

“Your words wound me, Y/N,” Calum clutched his heart for dramatic effect, “but what better way to get to know me than going on a little adventure.”

“You’re insane.”

“I might be insane, but at least I’m fun.”

“Hey! I’m fun!” You were offended by his words.

“Then prove it. Go on an adventure with me.”

“I told you that I can’t, Calum. I can’t leave my family here when I’m the maid of honor.”

“C’mon Y/N. I’m sure everything will be okay if you leave. I’m pretty sure they won’t even notice that you are gone.”

“Uhh, have you met my sister? She is the queen of noticing things. Of course she’s gonna realize that I’m gone the second I walk out of that door.”

“She’s got a bunch of other things on her mind right now. Not to mention there’s like a million other people here to keep her occupied.”

“Yeah, but,” you paused trying to come up with another excuse not to go, “she’s depending on me.”

Both of your gazes fell onto the newlywed couple who were talking to one of your distant relatives that made it to the wedding.

“C’mon. They’ll barely notice our absence. And if they do find out, I’m sure they won’t miss us too much if we leave a little bit early.”

“Calum,” you sighed.

“C’mon Y/N, take a chance, stop being the bridesmaid for once and live for yourself, not for others.”

“I- I don’t know, Cal.”

“Well, what’s stopping you?”

Making a verbal noncommittal response, you shrug your shoulders. You truly didn’t know why you had so much reservation towards Calum’s idea of ditching the wedding. Sure, it was your sister’s wedding, but you knew deep down she would want you to take this chance and live a little.

Your sister has been trying to get you out of your shell and live on the wild side more. This adventure with Calum was something she would want you to do, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to go with Calum.

Excuse after excuse entered your brain as Calum looked as you expectantly. Each one was more ridiculous than the previous. But as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t convince yourself to go.

You couldn’t. There were too many unknowns.

Seeing the doubt cloud your eyes, Calum knew he had to step up his game if he was going to get you to abandon the wedding and explore with him.

“Come on, Y/N. I promise I’m the best company you could be in tonight. We can go out and explore the city. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Cal-”

Suddenly a look crossed Calum’s face, and his eyes lit you with mischief. Standing up and behind your chair, he took in a deep breath before belting out lyrics and moving his body to the imaginary tune of the song.

“Take a chance on me. Gonna do my very best and it ain't no lie. If you put me to the test, if you let me try.” You choke on your drink as he started to gain the attention of some of the people near you.

“Sit down and shut up, Calum,” you whisper yelled at him, trying to get him to stop his antics.

“I won’t stop ‘til you say yes.”

“Calum!”

“If you've got no place to go, if you're feeling down. If you're all alone when the pretty birds have flown. Honey I'm still free. Take a chance on me.”

You frantically looked around and saw that he was slowly attracting more and more attention.

“CALUM, PLEASE!” you whisper-yelled, one last desperate attempt to get him to stop. He just gave you a look before continuing his singing.

“Fine, fine, fine. I’ll go with you. Please just sit down and shut up. You’re literally so annoying.” You couldn’t handle the embarrassment anymore. Quickly pulling at his arm, you brought him back down to his seat and quickly conceded to his demand.

“You know you love it.”

You scoffed, “Yeah, right. You’re so lame. Who still sings ABBA nowadays?”

“You’re just jealous of my music tastes.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Hood.”

“You’re just in denial of my good music, Y/N. And I’m pretty sure you’re secretly in love with my singing.”

“Fuck off.”

There was a brief moment of silence between the two of you as you contemplate what was to be expected from this impromptu outing, while Calum was replaying his victory over and over again in his head with a smile on his face.

“So, where are we going?” You were the first to snap out of your thoughts.

Smirking, he replied, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“You don’t know, do you, Cal?” Worry laced your words as Calum gave you a look of fak annoyance.

“Shut up, Y/N and live a little, will ya.” Holding his hand out for you to take, you looked around the room making sure that no one was paying attention to the both of you.

Sensing your hesitation, Calum started humming to the tune of Take a Chance on Me in a threatening manner.

Rolling your eyes, you placed your hand in his and snuck out of the wedding towards a new beginning.

tag list: @gigglyirwin @jpgluke @mysticalhood

wanna be tagged???

[rhaella]

The Weight of Living

(read on ao3)

At every opportunity she finds, Arya likes to ride beyond the walls of Winterfell.

It’s not that she doesn’t love her home. Every day she is grateful to be there, to see Sansa with her two daughters, one of whom resembles Arya so strongly she gets mistaken as her own. To have Bran and Rickon back after so many years of thinking them dead.

And Jon, who still musses her hair at every opportunity like they are children and tells her he’s making up for all the time they lost.

But Winterfell has ghosts as well.

Sometimes she looks down at the training yard and can swear she sees Robb, swinging his practice sword and laughing. Robb was always laughing. Or she’ll walk by Mother and Father’s chambers, which have remained untouched since the Starks reclaimed their home, and hear her mother sweet singing and find herself pressing her ear against the door. Or she’ll see Jon from across a room and for a split second mistake his face for her father’s. Jon bears even more resemblance to him now than he did in his youth, especially as he grows ever-nearer to the age Father was when he died.

There are also ghosts in those who survived.

Sometimes she’ll catch Sansa wearing Mother’s dress as she brushes through her squirming daughter’s curls, trying to recreate a time long gone. She’ll see a haunted, empty look in Bran’s eyes, as though he’s lost in time. Rickon has never grown out of his skittishness and mistrust, and everyone has learned to walk loudly if coming up behind him to avoid startling him. And sometimes Arya will join Jon as he sits sleepless all through the night, staring at a spot on the wall and tracing the scars on his abdomen through his clothes.

All the Starks will wake up screaming most nights, panicked and sweating from some terrible memory playing on their eyelids. More often than not, they’ll all migrate to Jon’s bedchamber at some point in the night and end up piled in his oversized bed, curled into each other while Jon keeps his vigil. Sansa’s ever-patient husband has grown used to waking up alone by now.

The riding helps Arya clear her mind. The ghosts cannot touch her while she races through the woods, her hair whipping in the wind.

She’ll pick a direction and ride until she comes across some village where no one knows her name and she’ll walk through it, greeting its residents and asking to help them if she can. Sometimes it will just be buying fabrics from the women who spin them, or offering food and coin to hungry children. Other times she’ll help women cook, or weave, or repair their houses. Once, she ended up spending an entire day picking turnips in a elderly farmer’s field and had come home aching and sunburnt. He had offered her pay for her labor, but she’d only asked for a basket of turnips and had pressed several gold dragons in his palm, leaving him gaping behind her.

Today, on her way into a new town, she sees a few little girls playing a pretend game in the grass. She smiles, remembering when she and Jon had played as knights, with Sansa as the damsel and Robb her dragon. But she pays the girls little mind as she ties her horse to a tree, until she hears her own name being spoken.

She moves a bit closer to them to hear better, quietly and with her head turned so as not to scare them.

“I want to be Ser Brienne this time. I was Arya Stark last time,” the smallest girl with tangled brown hair whines.

“Well I’m the oldest and biggest,” says a girl with long, copper hair. “Ser Brienne was a fearsome warrior, and big as a giant. A little wisp like you could never slay the dead as she did.”

Arya dares a glance at the group.

The little one’s face is red as she glares at the older girl. “It isn’t my fault you were born first!” she cries. “I’ll tell Mother how you’re being bossy again!”

The third girl, a blonde, is stifling giggles. “You two can argue over who gets to be Arya and Brienne, but I will always be Queen Dany,” she says.

Arya finds herself approaching them. They look up at her with curious eyes, but don’t look afraid. They don’t even give a second glance to her clothes or the sword at her belt. These girls are young enough not to have known a world where women can’t wear breeches or carry a weapon.

“Hello,” Arya says, squatting to be at their level. “What are your names?”

The older girl takes it upon herself to answer for the three of them. “My name is Jeyne. This is Alys,” she says pointing at the blonde beside her. “And this little pest,” she says, gesturing to the little one, “is my sister Nym.”

“Named for the great wolf, leader of Arya Stark’s wolf pack!” she exclaims. Arya suddenly wishes she had brought Nymeria with her, if only to leave the little ones in awe. But she never brings Nymeria on her rides. She loves the feeling of being unknown, and traveling around with a giant wolf at her side would surely give away her identity.

“And she never lets us forget it,” Jeyne grumbles.

Arya only smiles. Sisterhood can be a trial, as she well knows. “I heard you talking about a game you’re playing. War for the Dawn, is it?”

“Yes,” the Jeyne says. “We always play as the women warriors. Mother always tells my sister and me stories about them and sings us their songs. Someday we will be great knights, too.”

“But I hope we never have to fight the dead!” Alys interjects. “I’m brave, but the Others sound so fearsome! I’d rather save a maiden from bad men who are living.”

“I would fight the dead!” little Nym insists, indignant. “I’m quick as a fox and would slash them apart faster than they can move their dead old hands to reach me.” She makes a slashing motion in the air.

Arya smiles. “I think the three of you would make fine defenders of the realm, and whatever else you want to become. Girls can do anything these days.”

If only she’d had someone to tell her this as a child, perhaps she wouldn’t have felt like such a misfit. She resolves to return to this village soon and bring the girls proper training swords to use in their games. Gods know there are enough in the armory, and too few children in Winterfell to use them.

“You know,” she says quietly, as if giving away a secret. The girls lean closer in tandem. “I knew Ser Brienne and Queen Daenerys. I fought alongside them in the war.”

The girls gasp, their eyes wide as saucers. “You fought the dead?” Alys asks.

“Yes,” Arya says, flashing a grin. “They were as fearsome as you say. If they were freshly dead, when you’d slay them you’d find yourself covered in sticky black blood.” Jeyne gasps. Nym leans closer, her eyes aglow.

“But the Others were most fearsome of them all. Cold and terrible with eyes the color of ice. And just when you were near to finishing the wights,” Arya says, and waits, watching the girls biting their lips and squirming, “they’d swoop in and raise new dead from our fallen armies.” This time, even the littlest looks afraid.

She does not tell them how sometimes the dead would come back with the faces of those you loved, and you’d have to shove your blade through their ribs anyway. No time for tears, because soon enough another would be upon you. Gendry, she thinks, and wants to weep.

“W—what if they come back?” Alys asks, her voice trembling.

“They never will. We made sure of that.” She remembers the dawn, in all its beauty and terror, as it illuminated the mountains of bodies. She remembers collapsing, half in exhaustion and half in grief.

“What were Queen Daenerys and Ser Brienne like in the war?” the eldest asks, obviously wanting a change in subject.

“Queen Daenerys was beautiful. I remember seeing her fly far above on her great dragon. A dragon black as the night and bigger than your whole village. Her dragon would shoot fire down at all the dead, burning thousands at once, and she looked fierce as a dragon herself holding on to its back.” Arya pauses, wondering how much to tell them. “I got to pet her dragon once.”

“You’re a liar!” Nym cries. “A dragon would burn you to death if you dared touch it!”

Arya smiles. “Not me. The queen allowed it, and thankfully so did the dragon. Its scales were rough, like a lizard’s, but hot. I still have burns on my fingers from the heat,” she says, showing them the faded scars on her fingertips.

She considers Ser Brienne. Brienne, the first knighted woman in the realm, is dearer to her than most, and still makes frequent visits to Winterfell to see her and Sansa. There is so much that she could say about her that she almost cannot choose.

“Ser Brienne was the fiercest warrior I’ve ever known. Big, and so tall she towered over most grown men, and when she swung her Valyrian steel sword she’d slash four wights open at once.”

“Oathkeeper,” one child says, incredulous.

“A beautiful weapon,” Arya says. “Now it belongs to the Starks, as it was forged from their father’s. But Ser Brienne wielded it well. She was stronger than most men. She knocked Ser Jaime Lannister on his golden rump on more than one occasion. She was an honorable woman, too, and kind. The truest knight I’ve ever known, just like from the songs of old. But back then, women who tried to be warriors were mocked instead of loved.” Nym wrinkles her nose.

“You must have been a fierce warrior yourself,” Jeyne says, “to have survived. Were you ever scared?”

“We were all scared, always. Even Queen Daenerys and Ser Brienne. It is one thing to battle men, but entirely another to battle the dead. Only the stupid are brave and fearless. The strong are brave, despite their fear.”

Arya’s horse whinnies behind her and shakes her out of her memories. She looks up at the sky. It must be mid-afternoon now, and she should head back before it gets dark.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your game,” she says to the girls, whose mouths still hang open.

“Wait!” says the smallest child, Nym, lunging forward. “Before you go, did you ever meet Arya Stark?”

Arya grins now, tapping her fingers on Needle’s hilt.

“I am Arya Stark,” she says as she twirls on her heel and struts toward her horse, leaving the children gasping behind her.

She’ll go back to her ghosts. They’ll haunt her until the day she dies. But if all her suffering has given hope and choices to little girls like the one she once was, perhaps it is a burden she can bear.

[koganeirou]

Ikemen Revolution - Fenrir’s Route

Aaaand here’s one for Fenrir’s route!

My main comments are: FUCK those avatar challenges. It took me five thousand years to finish this damn route because I was stuck grinding for Lin for five thousand years because according to cybird, I can’t get the good ending w ma man unless I look cute smh.

The night that Alice lands in Cradle, she pretty much goes out to the garden to sob her eyes out because of the stress of being killed (oh honey don’t worry this game doesn’t have any bad ends. If you were in a game like Amnesia then I’d start crying LMAO). Fenrir happens to see her and wipes her tears away (*๓´╰╯`๓). He decides to spend the month with Alice to make her have as much fun as possible, and makes her promise that so there will be no regrets, the two will not fall in love.

But we all know that’s not gonna happen.

I guess because the boys finally learned from Lancelot’s route to never send a nameless faceless nobody with Alice, Ray assigns Fenrir as her personal bodyguard. 

Fenrir takes it upon himself to be Alice’s personal tour guide, so they go on a date around the Central Quarter eating all kinds of sweets like a bunch of dorks D’AWW. Of course the red army are full of party poopers who crashes their alone time.

@Red army boys, I LOVE YOU ALL BUT YOUR SOLDIERS NEEDA CHILL. Like my grievances from Lancelot’s route carry over in twofold because the nameless red soldiers are once again, STILL a bunch of blood thirsty hooligans who are clearly letting “may glory flow crimson through our veins” slogan get to their heads WAYY too much. 

(☪̤̆_̆ ☪̤̆) THAT’S SO SPECIFIC LMAO.

But anyhoo I guess having a body guard with actual plot armor was really beneficial because Fenrir drives off all of the Red soldiers! And as it turns out, they were sent by Edgar (but of course why am I not surprised smh).

They return home and a few black army soldiers comes out shitting their pants because apparently there’s a ghost, and when Fenrir hears that HE shits his pants. 

Luka has his priorities straight.

Fenrir pussyfoots outside the army headquarters for a few minutes because GHOST but then big bear Sirius comes out RURL pissed because everyone keeps making a ruckus.

WHY DO I FIND THIS SO FUCKING FUNNY. LIKE IT’S PICTURE PERFECT. I CAN IMAGINE HIM DOING THIS IN MY HEAD FRAME BY FRAME.

So the ghost was actually a magic cult goon creeping around like a lech looking for women's’ underwear, whom Seth covered for. I had zero interest in Seth before but I do find it interesting that more hints about Seth’s connection to the magic cult goons are being dropped, and if anything it makes me want to play his route now.

I’d love to be your friend!!! But unfortunately Fenrir is a giant stick in the mud and won’t let me! But never fear because your route is coming out soon so soon I’ll be more than just your friend LOL!

 Fenrir gets news that some of their soldiers got cornered on the Red Bridge. Well what do you know, turns out the nameless red soldiers are still mad that they busted a nut in anticipation for nothing because they didn’t get to skewer any soldiers in Lancelot’s route, so now they’re taking out their pent up frustration here.

Luka hears the news as well and rushes to the red bridge just in time to see Jonah and the rest of the red soldiers man handling the black army soldiers (wtf Jonah I expected better of you). Luka goes from simmering with rage to boiling with rage and charges at the red soldiers. Obviously the red soldiers don’t care (or... they just can’t comprehend) that Luka is their superior’s freaking brother because all they can think about is reaping the reward for unnecessary stabbing and so they go into Ultimate Shish Kabobing Mode and decide to kill Luka.

Jesus christ... these fucking red soldiers. I am so sorry but I think the only people in this clown of an army that has any shred of honor or self control are the red army love interests LOL.

Anyway Fenrir drags Luka’s delirious bloody corpse back to the black army and the scene ain’t pretty. But it’s okay because we all know that this game doesn’t have the balls to actually kill anyone so it’s not like there’s any need to be worried.

See even Alice acknowledges it lol. This game’s too soft (not that that’s necessarily a bad thing... if I want angst I’ll just read fanfiction ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Apparently the one who actually made swiss cheese of Luka was Jonah. At first I was just SO CONFUSION?? JONAH WOULD NEVER DO THAT! until this bomb dropped and my only reaction was honestly just “...yikes”.

CRIES @ MY HEART

Jonah sneaks into Black Territory unarmed and Fenrir decides to arrange for him to see Luka like a the great wingbro he is. Alice’s left awkwardly keeping Jonah company but the ice quickly breaks and they end up spending the day talking about Luka ♡(.◜ω◝.)♡.

Fenrir successfully sneaks Jonah into Luka’s room but the two end up just having a screaming match and Luka boots Jonah out of his room. Understandable, considering how all the red soldiers are like little kids that you needa put those backpack straps on because who knows what the fuck they’ll do if left to their own devices.

me whenever I have any kind of guests over.

eat my ass @ Sirius 

When it’s decided that the Black and Red army are gonna go to war for realsies, Alice requests to go onto the battle field with Fenrir so she can repel magic. Sirius freaks out going all like “ojou-chan, you mustn’t! It’s not a walk in the park!!” but Alice ain’t having any of that and essentially tells Sirius to eat her ass. Fenrir being the amazing bro he is sticks up for Alice and asks Ray if he can take her with him, swearing he’ll protect her. Ray’s like sigh fine. This scene was honestly my favourite because I loved how much confidence Fenrir had in Alice and how he respected her desire to help. Unlike a certain someone ੧| ‾́ェ ‾́ |੭ (totally not throwing shade at Sirius LMAO).

CRIES SOME MORE THAT’S SUCH A CUTE NICKNAME.

I could have asked the exact same thing of you Sirius.

The rest of the Black Army can clearly see sparks flying between Fenrir and Alice but unfortunately, Fenrir has to join Sirius in the emotional constipation of “what is this feeling in my chest?! Definitely not love!” Granted Fenrir has an excuse because of the promise he made her, but it’s still frustrating nonetheless.

oh my god can you shut up about this dumbass slogan for one minute. 

Ngl despite the heart warming moment of resolve when Fenrir decides to take Alice into battle, it’s pretty damn hard to take the war seriously because it feels like a bunch of 14 year old teenagers doing a play-war considering of how almost comedic it is. Again, I’m not saying that this game needs to be an angst fest where everyone dies, but for a story about two armies on the brink of war, it does a pretty bad job at building any real tension or showing this war as a source of any real conflict with any real stakes or any real consequences.

I totally *do not* dislike that nickname 👀

We cut back to the red army who are all quite frazzled because they all had that “oh fuck” moment when they realized that they’re getting their asses whooped by the black army.  Lancelot decides to stay his hand, whereas Jonah rages at Edgar’s incompetence but Edgar’s ultimately like “¯\_(ツ)_/¯ King’s orders”.

Alice you’re doing amazing, sweetie.

Alice continues to fight with Fenrir on the front lines but she realizes that she really loves him and she doesn’t want to go home anymore! UNFORTUNATELY FOR HER, our lovely gentleman Fenrir “this feeling in my chest is totally love but I WON’T ADMIT IT!” Godspeed repeatedly dodges her attempts at confessing (¬_¬). GOOD SIR I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING. You’re just trying to put off having a heart to heart about your feelings until the full moon so you can boot Alice back to her world without ever having to talk about it (ლಠ益ಠ)ლ.

Alice tries once again for the nth time to confess her feelings to Fenrir but this time they’re interrupted by the magic cult goons who are hell bent on capturing Alice. This plays out exactly as you’d predict and the two get cornered at a cliff LOL. Alice gets blown off the cliff and Fenrir jumps after her to save her.

This, my friends, is what we call: plot armor.

They miraculously (and conveniently) survive their fall and end up in the castle ruins in the forbidden forest. I guess being lost in an abandoned forest with a totally not haunted castle next to them sets the mood for sexy time because they end up making out like their life depends on it. Conveniently, without actually saying they love each other ლ(ಠ_ಠლ). 

GUYS... THE DRIVER IS LITERALLY RIGHT THERE.... GUYS....

They make it back to Black Territory in one piece with the help of Loki and Harr and Ray loses his shit because he thought they died T T T.  Fenrir is sent back to the front lines and Alice is totally ready to go back and kick some ass but I guess all the fire and confidence in this power couple completely deflated because Fenrir becomes Sirius 2.0 and refuses to take Alice SMH. 

Alice finds Fenrir boarding a carriage to leave, and she stops him and tries to tell him that she loves him. Fenrir responds by pulling Alice into the carriage with him and at this point I was HYPED because “is he actually gonna take her with him?!?!” but my hopes are quickly dashed when he shoves her into the carriage, initiates round 2 of INTENSE MAKE OUT SESSION LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT..... then throws Alice’s sad ass back out of the carriage and leaves her behind once he’s finished (┛ಠДಠ)┛彡┻━┻.

UGH! FENRIR! JUST--- AGHHHHHHH. 

YOU CAN SAY THAT AGAIN. Like yea sex is great, but have you ever heard of proper verbal communication??

(I also find it funny how the driver was just sitting there the entire time they were making out doing a big boi sweat).

me with group assignments in school.

Fenrir comes back on the night of the full moon and Alice for the 100TH DAMN TIME IN THIS ROUTE, tries to tell him that she doesn’t want to go home, but Fenrir, again, dashes her hopes and tells her she has to go back he won’t be able to protect her all the time. Which we all know is bullshit, but nevertheless Alice decides to listen to him. 

Ha ha ha you are so full of shit.

And so Alice once again goes to the gates of hell garden portal which I officially dub as “The Hole Where Bad Things Happen” or more accurately, “The Hole That No Player Ever Wants To See”. 

Anyhoo Alice leaps back home and spends about a month moping in London until one day a black army soldier comes to London and begs Alice to go back with him because Fenrir’s in danger! Alice, having literally zero self preservation because I guess her time on the battle field taught her jack shit, blindly follows this fellow back to Cradle and the moment she arrives, the guy reveals himself to be a magic cult goon and so she’s kidnapped and taken to Amon’s sex dungeon.

Look. I’m not gonna accuse Alice of “dumb mc syndrome” and I don’t necessarily blame her for falling for it but at the same time, COME ON. THIS IS THE DUMBEST PLOT POINT EVER. Of all the possible reasons she comes back to Cradle, THIS IS THE ONLY THING THEY COULD THINK OF? What makes it so aggravating is that it’s stated multiple times that any person from Reason can repel magic, so if that’s the case, the cult goons could have just kidnapped any random off the street instead of wasting time and energy looking for Alice. And if they could conveniently stroll into the land of Reason, why didn’t they do that ages ago?!

You know that writing rule “make your villains smarter, not your protagonists dumber”, or something like that? Well in this case, everyone is dumb!

Anyway during the month Alice was gone, Lancelot finally decides to stop going radio silent and consults the Black Army about Amon and his weed stash. This felt really convenient and almost inconsistent with Lancelot’s character because in the other routes he was hell bent on not talking unless 100% cornered, but in Fenrir’s route he spills the beans like it’s no big deal. 

Fenrir hears the news of Alice being kidnapped by Amon and the Black army pretty much storms into the Magic Tower and fishes Alice out. Amon finally reveals himself but honestly he doesn’t put up much of a fight because Fenrir shoots him with one of those hiccuping guns and that’s enough to deflate all of Amon’s fighting spirit lmao so he gets arrested in the end. Talk about anti climatic as hell. This entire thing just felt really stupid because if all they had to do with storm the damn tower, they should have done so ages ago.

Admittedly I do like the resolution to this whole fiasco. Fenrir is totally ready to get down and dirty, but before that Fenrir and Alice actually, finally, and at long last, properly talk about their feelings and sort out their relationship mess. 

Dramatic End:

Alice officially joins the Black Army, and they hold her enrollment ceremony. Hosting it is usually Ray’s job since he’s king but since Alice is his best friend’s babe, he decides to let Fenrir take over. Unfortunately, Fenrir can’t keep his excitement in check and ends up picking Alice up and spinning her around in joy ╭(๑ ॔ㅂ ਂ ॓)و ̑̑. THIS WAS SO CUTE I LOVE THIS ENDING.

-----

Honestly I have a lot of mixed feelings about this route. There’s the good, the bad, and the ugly, but since I don’t wanna end this post on a salty note so I’ll just start with the ugly and work my way up.

The Ugly: The route starts losing momentum their promise of not falling in love morphs into the source for Fenrir’s self cockblock fest for the rest of the route and him repeatedly rebuffing Alice’s attempts to tell him she wants to stay in Cradle became unbearable frustrating. Playing Sakuya’s route in Norn9 alongside Fenrir’s route did not help at all because his route also had a “promise of not falling in love” premise and had the exact same problems as Fenrir’s route so honestly my frustration was just doubled at this point.

The Bad: The plot is balls off the rail in the second half if it isn’t obvious enough from my complaints earlier. The Hole That No Player Ever Wants to See making a reappearance in Fenrir’s route kills a lot of the build up between Alice and Fenrir and there was honestly no point of having Alice go back to London. The circumstances that lead her to returning were so stupid it had me head banging against the wall.

The Good: I think Fenrir and Alice have a very strong “friends to lovers” romance going on and it was honestly really sweet and wholesome. I loved how their friendship and subsequent romance builds them both up and makes them better people-- they’re both stronger together, they’re equals, they’re partners. You really get a sense of camaraderie between the two and their relationship is founded on mutual respect, understanding, trust, and confidence in each other which I’m 100% on board with. Fenrir taking Alice onto the battle field with him is a testament of the rock solid trust between them. They have a very strong partner in crime vibe that I love! 

I adore how Fenrir refers to Alice as his “best friend” or his “best buddy” and it was just so cute, it made my heart swell because I’m a firm believer that your s/o SHOULD be your best friend.

Overall imo, Fenrir’s route is about on par with Lancelot’s, though it has higher highs and lower lows than Lancelot’s route did.

Anyway, I’m making my way through Edgar’s route currently (♥ω♥*).

[allthefandomloveandimagines]

❤️I ship you with Brienne of Tarth❤️

I ship you with Brienne because you both seem to be ahead of the GOT time. You are both strong women with goals that won’t be easily stopped. Though you both may be a little intimidating both of you have gentle and loving hearts which you both see in eachother. You both have a sense of what needs to be done in dire situations and can work things put together. Though she’s not the best with people, you are more welcoming to those who can help you both finish you goal. While her focus is mainly on mainting her honor and status, you remind her about other things that make life fun and worth it. You are able to get her to loosen up in a way she forgot how.

❤️STORY TIME❤️

You meet Brienne in King’s Landing awaiting the return of an old friend of yours

You’ve spent most of your life on the road helping other houses with a variety of important tasks

You are a decorated worker

You hold a few separate titles that you gave your sweat and blood to earn

But you don’t worry about any of those when Jaimie pulls you aside to meet Brienne

“Lady y/n, this is-“ you step forward and shake Brienne’s hand

“Brienne of Tarth, it is an honor to meet you.” You’ve heard of her, many times actually

“You’re a huge inspiration in my home town.” You smiled and took a step back

“Well, thank you. And you are?” She looked at you with bright clear eyes

You just looked at her and smiled

“Your name?” Jaimie jabbed you with his elbow and you jolted

“Ah, yes it’s y/n of house l/n” you rubbed the back of your head and tried to play off your embarrassment

Thankfully Jaime kept the conversation light

“Anyway, Lady Brienne is actually heading back North. Aren’t you?” Jaimie turned to you and politely smiled

“Yes, in fact, I’m heading back to house Stark.” You grinned and admired her armor

“I am as well, should we travel together?” Jaimie pats you both on the back and wanders off while you and Brienne immediately got off

The next morning you were all to eager to wake up and get headed North

You packed up your horse and and rode to the edge of the woods were the two of you agreed to meet

But she did not come alone

That sparked your interest

“Who is this?” You asked politely watching the young dark haired lad follow behind

“His name is podrick and he is my——well I dont really know what he is”

You smiled “well hello podrick, are you ready for this long journey?”

“Yes m’lady” podrick stanmered quietly

Brienne eyed you carefully as you smiled at podrick

“Shall we head off?” She asked rather quickly. You nodded

And you were off

The road was long and for the first week

And none of you talked much

Podrick was excellent at making fire and you did your part in catching rabbits and small rodents for dinner

But you were all so worn out that most of the time dinner was silent and you went to bed immediately after

One day you found yourself in a thick storm

Rain was pelleting your group

Though you all wore thick clothing the rain was painful

And the wind whipped around you and tore you cloaks left and right

It was dark and cold and thunder made it almost impossible to hear

You were lucky that night becaue you happened upon an inn

Brienne was the first to point it out

It’s lights shown brightly against the dark storm around you

None of you had been riding you horses for hours

The weather was too unpredictable

And the thunder kept spooking the poor creatures

When you got to the in you all rushed inside

First Brienne, then Podrick... you ran out back and found a stable to tie the horses up at and you tried to soothe them before coming inside

As you opened the door the ground was a lot slicker than you thought

You came in and immediately lost you footing

You tried to flail your arms about to get a grip of something to break your fall but were unsuccessful

Instead you were caught halfway but a pair of strong armored arms

And in the same second dropped with a loud “clunk”

You laughed and pulled yourself up and looked over to see Brienne in the ground beside you

“Did you try to rescue me?” You were giggling

Brienne didn’t respond she just started laughing

“With haha armor on?” You threw your head back and and roared on the floor

“Didn’t think that through I’m afraid!” She teased slowly pulling herself up.

The lady behind the counter watched silently as Brienne came over and helped you up

You spring to your feet and immediately met Brienne’s beautiful smile

“Next time you should watch your step”she smirked at you and stepped aside towards podrick who was smiling you both

“Say nothing Podrick, I mean it.” You glared at the boy who obviously was sensing some 😉tension

You two headed to your available room

Thankfully the two rooms available were situated to fit both you and Brienne in one and podrick in the other

You helped Brienne with her armor and both of you changed into dry comfortable clothes

Neither of you were tired though so you decided it would be best to head down to the dining hall

You two stopped by, grabbed pod and decided to order some dinner and drinks

You all were content and quiet eating you food until that glimpse of Brienne’s smile flashed in your head

Desperate to see it again, you started up a conversation

Brienne wasn’t the most eager to talk but after a few drinks she was practically singing to you

You all played games naming off people you had met and told stories of about places you had been

You found out that both you and her were headed to the North for the same reason

To save the Stark sisters and bring them home

You had mentioned that you ran into Arya a few times but she had managed to slip through your grasp

You knew she was traveling with hound but you didn’t understand the nature of there relationship

Brienne was greatly concerned about this but trusted your judgment when you told her Arya would be okay

The night ended with you and Brienne asleep on your beds in your room and with podrick also in your room on the floor

When you awoke that morning podrick was snuggling Brienne’s armor and she had a pillow over her face

You forced yourself up and your head instantly started pounding

“Oh my.” You moaned placing a hand on your head

“We drank to much.” Brienne mumbled from under her pillow

You both looked down out at podrick

“Oh dear.” You whispered to Brienne

She grinned and tried to paw her armor away from pods grasp

She was unsuccessful and pod turned over towards you

“Why is he on our floor? Didnt he have a room?” You asked quietly, getting on your feet and stretching

“He said he didn’t feel safe.” Brienne shook her head

“Well I suppose he is safer in here with us.” You smiled “I’ve seen you use a sword. No one will bother us.” She got to her feet and rolled her eyes

You two eventually woke podrick up and emabaressed him a bit before setting off

Another two weeks passed until you hit the north

And when you arrived it was dead winter

Nights got longer and it was a lot harder to keep warm

You hadn’t seen Arya yet but you had caught wind that Sanda had returned home to the North

As you arrived to Winterfell you came upon a battlefield

You heart sank as you looked over the fields littered with blood and massacred bodies

“Brienne” her name escaped you lips as you tried to hold back tears

Never before had you seen anything like this

You slowly let you horses draw closer to the bodies

And the smell hit you

“These men.” They were torn to pieces

Brienne pulled up beside you and took you hand

“Y/n, we will find Sansa.” You felt a lump in your throat but kept a firm grip on Brienne’s hand

It was true in the past few weeks you two had made your affection for eachother obvious by the light of the campfire

Podrick despite how you assumed he’d feel was very happy for the two of you

In fact he referred to you in secret as his “moms”

Podrick cape up behind the two of you and looked at the battlefield

“Sansa is with the Bolton’s now, they own Winterfell.” You and Brienne looked at eachotheras podrick finished his sentence

“Then it looks like we are taking back Winterfell.”

[tenjouu]

DO-S STORY EVENT: I won’t let you say no tonight; Lancelot sweet + premium

VERY LONG POST:

You all may know this as the Lancelot-sensei event, or you will come to. for some reason, everything was 500% more embarrassing in chinese,, (i also wonder how they’re going to do the honorifics if they adapt this to english)

lancelot: ‘乖乖听老师的话‘ 

i nearly teared up from the secondhand embarrassment

also brief warning, the screenshots that i did save..... are out of order so THIS SUMMARY may also be out of order ahahaha

This post has both the sweet and premium endings!

As far as I can remember in the first chapter, Lancelot and MC are enjoying the good weather, and MC tells Lancelot that he should rest well and take breaks from work!! Lancelot says that he supposes he doesn’t really know when to take breaks (since there’s never really a good time), let alone how to take breaks. MC still insists that rest is super duper important, and no matter the work, he should still take care of his body—so Lancelot smiles at her for worrying.

Later, Edgar and Jonah catch MC in the hall. Apparently there’s going to be a ball soon, and naturally, MC should be the one to dance with Lancelot... But MC doesn’t know how to dance! Since she and Lancelot are lovers though, MC thinks this is something that she’ll have learn eventually, one of the many things that she’ll take up in order to stay by his side, and in order to,, befit him, I guess ;u;. So she says that she’s absolutely willing to learn (even with the time crunch), so Edgar and Jonah say that they’ll get her a teacher, and that they’ll meet in Lancelot’s room at night to start the first lesson.

MC wonders why it has to be Lancelot’s room but shows up anyway. Edgar introduces MC to her new dance teacher. It’s Lancelot LOL. MC’s completely surprised and asks, isn’t lancelot-sama busy though? and Lancelot confirms this and says this is why they must have these lessons at night. It makes sense for Lancelot to step in personally, since Lancelot will be the one dancing with MC anyway. Though MC is initially reluctant because she doesn’t want to take up Lancelot’s time, Lancelot gives some pretty good reasons, and Edgar says that they should start soon. (When MC says lancelot-sama, Lancelot says that it’s now lancelot-sensei, so MC switches to Lancelot-sensei during their lessons!) MC resolves to work hard and they begin! Lancelot says that being called sensei by MC is pretty refreshing.

Lancelot starts with a lot of technical positioning and tips on how to adopt proper posture, and tells MC to relax her stiffness. MC listens to all of these very carefully. He also demonstrates the footwork, and MC admires how seamless his form is!! MC repeatedly gets distracted by how beautiful Lancelot is. same

At one point, MC steps on Lancelot’s foot really hard too. His face:

He of course takes it very gamely and reassures her that it’s fineeeeee

(lmao while this is going on, edgar and jonah on the side of the room fawn over how good they are as a couple, out loud, and MC sneaks a glance at them, and then Lancelot also pins them with a heavy stare and they take that as their cue to leave LOL)

MC and Lancelot practice for a while, and then Lancelot ends the lesson there for the night. MC goes back to her own room, but later Lancelot asks to come in, checking up on her. Because MC was looking a little lethargic and lackluster after the lesson, he wondered if she was really tired out (best boyfriend) and came over. When she reassures him, he smiles anyway and kneels down by her bed. MC doesn’t react quickly enough, and he bares her foot and starts massaging it. And then THAT’S WHEN MC GETS FLUSTERED at the fact that lancelot is touching her foot, with his bare hands, she makes a sound of protest, and Lancelot gets worried, does it hurt?

mc: i can’t let lancelot-sama do these kinds of things....

Even though I wanted to stop him, he smiled without responding and even accurately pinpointed and applied pressure to the sore part of my foot.

lancelot: it’s fine. i’m doing it because i want to. (LOL i’ll leave you with two possible translations: (1) i’m doing it because i want to (2) i like doing it) so relax, alice.

MC feels kind of guilty about it, but since Lancelot insists and it feels really good, she lets it happen. She wonders at how Lancelot’s really good at giving massages too, but Lancelot says that he learned this from Kyle. He went to ask how best to take care of MC after the dance lessons because he was worried. MC is really touched and once again is reminded that she wants to work hard in order to honor the time and effort that Lancelot is putting in to help her—and so that she can be a good partner to Lancelot!

During the day, Lancelot works, and then at night, the two of them resume their lessons. AT ONE POINT Lancelot tells MC that during the dance, knowing the correct steps is important—but so is the appearance of the dancer. While dancing, one should keep a smile on their face. When MC smiles at him, Lancelot smiles back fondly (and a little wistfully, YOU KNOW HIS SPRITE’S WISTFUL SMILE) and says, ‘Exactly like that.’ He also tells her to keep her chin up, and the lesson continues!! During this whole period though, MC is worried about her progress because there are only a few days left. Lancelot tells MC that she should rest instead of practicing after their lessons are over, saying who’s the one who said that taking care of the body is the most important? so MC listens to him, but isn’t quite reassured. 

So she practices during the day too, and Loki catches her out shopping, doing some forms. Interested, he asks what she’s up to, and she explains the situation about an upcoming ball and how she’s worried about not practicing enough in order to dance well at Lancelot’s side. Loki playfully offers to practice with her, and MC thinks about it being better to practice with a partner and agrees with some surprise when suddenly, Lancelot appears and says very stonily there’s no need for that.

He approaches MC and Loki and draws MC close?? or behind him?? if I remember correctly,,

lancelot: alice is my student. there’s no need for the cheshire cat to step in. (lit: there’s no need for the cheshire cat to help practice but it doesn’t hold the same contempt in english when directly translated,,,)

loki: goodness, you gave me quite a scare. even you have your tetchy moments, huh?

Loki bids them farewell, and MC says bye. Though surprised, she’s still happy that she could see Lancelot in town (LOL and even if he got jealous, the depth of his feelings just made her happy too). She asks why he knew she was here; he explains that he was in the area for a meeting and heard her voice. But she notices that Lancelot turns his critical gaze to her; Lancelot asks if she thinks the lessons aren’t enough, so she explains that she just wants to do well for Lancelot, and she is a little worried about being able to keep up, so she’s just been practicing during the day too.

lancelot: to think that i didn’t notice my student’s feelings, it seems that i lack as a teacher.

lancelot: since practicing together during the day won’t be possible, i’ll be enforcing a more stringent regimen.

lancelot: i won’t show you any more mercy. you can look forward to tonight, alice. (手下留情 is so funny when lancelot is using this on MC)

e-eh? why does it feel like the situation’s always escalating?

Later that night, as promised, MC goes to Lancelot’s room. He’s notably stricter and is quick to point out all of the things that she’s doing wrong—to which MC panics on the inside because wow there are a lot of things and she can’t possibly fix all of those things at once—but Lancelot compliments her where it’s due (like when her posture is good!). MC is a little distracted because Lancelot’s expression this time is different from all the other lessons; he’s so serious. She wonders if this is the expression he has when he’s working, and when Lancelot’s side profile comes in close, she marvels at how handsome he is and then her heartbeat quickens.

Suddenly:

lancelot: though the waltz certainly is a dance between lovers, your gaze is far too fervent.

he lifted my chin to peer closely at me, causing heat to rush to my cheeks.

lancelot: are you thinking something shameful?

I regret not taking the screens... But this was his expression:

And here’s where it diverges!

Sweet (....i don’t remember this as well sdflkjf)

MC flounders a little, a little lost. Lancelot lets her take the heat a little longer before he breaks into a playful smile and says that he was just joking. They get quickly back to lessons after MC reassures Lancelot that she’s fine. Lancelot tells her that it’s okay that she was distracted, but during the dance, all she should think about is him. (MC is like, i can’t say that i am only thinking about him!!) and after that, I’m pretty sure things go off without a hitch. She gets back to focusing and does the smile and the head-raised-high thing!! Soft moment.

The day of the ball is then upon them. MC rushes to finish preparing and runs to the waiting carriage, apologizing for keeping Lancelot waiting. When Lancelot sees her, his eyes widen in surprise, and he pauses. MC asks if something’s wrong (if she overdid it / her wardrobe isn’t good), but Lancelot shakes his head and smiles and says that it’s because she looks beautiful. (;;;w;;;;;)

They pull up to the place, and even though MC acknowledges the blood, sweat, and tears she put into all that practice, performance anxiety is still inevitable... Lancelot notices that she’s tense and tells her again that all she has to do is focus on him, and that she practiced hard. And MC steels her resolve and they go in and destroy. Spectators watch in awe when Lancelot and MC dance together!

After they dance, Lancelot’s over talking to some other people (kingly duties), so MC approaches and greets Ray. Ray is (with his usual laidback cheer), ‘You were great out there. lmao talk about a surprise, you had me thinking you were some ojousama’ (probably meant noble’s daughter; he used 小姐 which is kind of to that effect but i couldn’t think of an english equivalent.... debutante? except without the debuting,, just an upper class young woman) 

MC thinks huuu, ray,, you’re exaggerating too much—

MC says casually to Ray that she actually didn’t even know how to dance before, but worked really hard to learn it in the short period of time before the ball. Ray’s like, ‘oho? you’ve worked hard’ and then MC says that Lancelot was her teacher,,

ray: lancelot? was your teacher? (his expression is absolutely baffled)

mc: (laughs) yes, he’s a very shrewd teacher.

ray: i can’t imagine it at all...

They laugh together while watching Lancelot with his crowd from afar. MC thinks to herself that she should properly thank Lancelot later, and so that’s how the event concludes.

Later that night, Lancelot and MC are in Lancelot’s room. Lancelot asks if MC’s feeling worn out from the anxiety, and MC says that she’s not, but rather than her, isn’t Lancelot tired? Lancelot replies that he’s not either, thanks to having an excellent partner, and smiles at her. MC deflects and says it’s because of Lancelot that she could become a good partner to him. Then she also happily reports to Lancelot what Ray said about mistaking her for a noble’s daughter and said that he was hyperbolizing, but was pleased about it. When MC tells Lancelot this, his expression suddenly turns serious.

lmao he then expresses his disagreement, and MC deflates a little, wondering aloud if it’s because she didn’t put in enough effort? But then Lancelot looks at her gently and says, that’s not what I meant. I mean that you’re incomparable to those other women. You’re unique to me. Lancelot then cards his fingers through MC’s hair and says that MC worked really hard this week. MC says that as long as it’s for Lancelot, she’ll do her best, and that after such a major learning experience, she feels like she’s gotten close to Lancelot. Lancelot says that hearing this makes him happy— (;;;w;;;) and they have some banter back-and-forth about being student and teacher:

lancelot: you’re a good student. a quick learner and eager.

mc: naturally, because i learned from the best sensei.

lancelot: the best sensei, you say. do you really think so?

lancelot: ‘the best sensei’ wouldn’t have such impure feelings for a student. 

Lancelot-sama smiled and lifted my chin to kiss me.

lancelot: even then, am i still the best sensei?

of course.

mc: of course. to me, lancelot-sama is the best sensei, the best lover.

And so concludes the sweet end!!

Premium (i never got the ‘do-s’ vibe from lancelot even though it was in his character profile...... but i finally got it from this event lmao)

lancelot: are you thinking something shameful? mc: no, nothing like that... lancelot: then why don’t you say what you were thinking aloud?

(ahh...) How could I possibly say something like ‘looking at Lancelot-sama up close makes my heart beat faster’ out loud......

lancelot: oh? you refuse to speak?

lancelot: answer me. be good and do as sensei says.

(I JUST HAVE TO SAY— lmao i can’t convey just exactly how embarrassing 乖乖听老师的话 is to me because it’s a bit patronizing (like something my mom would say to me ‘乖乖听妈妈的话’), which is the intended tone, but also because the reduplication of 乖 extra emphasis for MC to obediently, meekly do as what she’s told,, i was awash with straight embarrassment. if i were to convey the same level of secondhand embarrassment, then i bet official translations would go like: be a good girl and do as your teacher says but i’m not ready to step foot in that world so,, i’ll leave this text for you to decide)

BACK TO THE TRANSLATION

...It really is shameful, but all I can do answer honestly.

mc: .....when i was looking at sensei’s side profile.....i felt that [sensei] was very handsome

After I responded hesitantly, Lancelot-sama sighed in resignation.

lancelot: in other words, you ignored the fact that you’re in the middle of a lesson to think about such irrelevant things.

mc: i’m really sorry...

Ah, what do I do? I’ve let him down...

lancelot: get into position again.

mc: a-all right.

When I assumed form, facing Lancelot-sama and taking his hand, suddenly, he roughly pulled me close by the waist. 

i can’t remember if i screencapped the whole thing so

lancelot: students who don’t pay attention during class must be punished.

Keeping MC’s body pressed to his, rendering her unable to move in his firm grasp, he initiates a very heated kiss, so intense that all she can do is receive. When they break apart, MC starts off with a dazed Lancelot-sama, but he:

lancelot: right now......you should use sensei, right?

And then kissed MC again. at this point when i was reading, i thought to myself  i need to re-evaluate just exactly how pure i thought lancelot really was,,

Timeskip to the dance; after MC and Lancelot finish dancing together, Lancelot tries to get MC to take a rest, and takes her away from the crowd, towards the long table. At this point, the order of my screenshots went to heck and my RAM was shot from birth, so all I can do is throw out the things that happen:

(1) 

lancelot: (jokingly) won’t you call me sensei again?

(2) Lancelot hugs MC from behind. MC looks at him curiously, asking Lancelot-sama? and Lancelot says that when they’re dancing, he can hold her like this in his arms. sdlfkjfjf what a romantic

lancelot: during the lessons when you would call me sensei......it was a little flustering.

mc: it was?

He actually felt this way..... I didn’t even notice.

Feeling an affectionate warmth bloom in my chest, I let out a laugh.

mc: i really am very thankful towards you, lancelot-sensei.

Lancelot’s happy to have supported MC, for MC to depend on him—but then he says that he realized something when he was teaching MC how to dance. When MC asks him what this is, he says seriously, I don’t think that I could teach other people. 

(3) When MC wonders why, since Lancelot was a perfectly good teacher, Lancelot replies that it’s because he, as a teacher, was in love with his student. And then MC replies that then she’s also not a very good student, for falling in love with her teacher, and the both of them agree that they aren’t very suited to the student-teacher relationship model.

(4) lmao it’s not a premium ending if it doesn’t get a little frisky. So Lancelot ups the ante and drops his head onto MC’s shoulder and pulls the dress off that very shoulder to mouth at her collarbone. She makes a noise in surprise and pleasure, and Lancelot tells her to keep her voice down so that no one hears. lmao when MC is like, but this is a public area,,,, and tries to protest, Lancelot once again tells her to listen to sensei and repeatedly teases MC. in the middle of torturing her, and her having some trouble, he says firmly that no one else is allowed to hear the sounds that MC makes, lmao MC tries her best but let’s face it, lancelot’s really good—so then the two of them return to lancelot’s room, and that’s the end.

secondhand embarrassment was very strong. lancelot is wild. i never knew this

[trbl-will-find-me]

Every Exit, An Entrance (14/?)

There are two (and only two) possibilities: either she led XCOM to victory and they are now engaged in a clean up operation of alien forces, or XCOM was overrun, clearing the way for an alien-controlled puppet government to seize control of the planet. She’d really like to figure out which it is, but asking hardly seems the prudent option.

Read from the beginning here

She spends the time between the end of her shift and the memorial service writing and re-writing the letter to Gunda’s family. On the ground, XCOM’s finest do what they can to prop the haven up. Lily’s team finishes repairing the water purifier. Tygan restocks their depleted first aid supplies and does what he can to ward off infection in the wounded. The men attend burial after burial, heaping dirt over body after body. It is a long, trying day, and they all know the evening will bring them no respite.

Her thirty-fifth draft finally leaves her with something that doesn’t make her cringe to read.

The whole of XCOM, small as it is, files into the bar at the appointed hour. They pour drinks and look to her, their Commander, to offer some meaning, some comfort.

She hates eulogies.

She has only ever managed eloquence in debate, and even then, only on a few occasions. Central has always been better with speeches, with inspiring the kind of comfort and confidence she desperately wishes she could give the people gathered around her.

They are still looking.

“We lost a friend today,” she begins. “There’s no way to soften that blow. Asha’s warmth was contagious. You always knew you were in for a good time if she was in the mood to tell stories. You couldn’t hear her laugh and not join in.” She pauses to wipe at her eyes. “Asha wasn’t here for revenge. She wasn’t here to kick ADVENT’s teeth in. She was here because she believed we had the best shot at making the world a better place.” She shrugs. “I’m not gonna give you all some line about making her death worth it because that’s bullshit. You can’t commodify a human life --- and you shouldn’t. No act, no victory, nothing will ever make her death somehow... acceptable. Fair. Whatever word you want to use.” She pauses again, scrubbing at her eyes. “I’d like to think we carry the ones we’ve lost with us, that we honor and remember them in the things we do, the stories we tell. So, if you get a chance to make the world a better place, even if it’s just for one person, take it. I can’t think of a better way to carry her forth.”

She raises her glass and the room joins in. It is the best she can do for them.

Moon sits with Krieger, doing his best to console her. Thomas is uncharacteristically quiet, contemplating his beer in the corner, while Wallace and Royston do what they can to comfort Kelly. Knight and Dynkin, the newest additions to the science team, chat quietly with Tygan while Shen and her engineers huddle over what the Commander can only hope are some kind of improved armor schematics.

She doesn’t see so much as feel Central slide into the seat next to her. She’d be lying to herself if she blamed her hyperawareness of his presence, of his warmth, of his physicality in a space and how it relates to her own simply on Berlin, but it’s a convenient scapegoat and she tries not to think of how long it really would have taken her to develop such an acute sensitivity.

Wordlessly, he hands her his flask, already half-empty. She takes a shot and passes it back, wrinkling her nose as the bourbon burns.

I’m lost, she wants to tell him. I used to know the rules of the game with you, but they’ve changed. Or, maybe I’ve forgotten them. Maybe I didn’t know them in the first place, after all.

“I‘m sorry about earlier,” he says, taking another shot.

“Don’t worry about it. Was a tough day for everybody.”

“It was out of line.”

“Come on, you run the day to day around here. We really worried about rank?”

“Wasn’t what I meant.”

She reaches over the bar, takes a glass, fills it with water, and places it in front of him. “Like I said, it was a shit day. No one’s in a good place.”

He wraps his fingers around the cool of the cylinder. “You were right, though. Better that we bury her someplace she’ll be remembered.”

They sit quietly for a few moments.

“Tygan’s team did what they could to clear space free of dissection specimens,” she offers.

He nods. “They’re good people.”

She looks around the bar, hand rubbing at the back of her neck. “We’re gonna need more help if we want to win this thing. A lot more.”

He nods again. “I know.”

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the bar, and buries her face in her hands. Go back to bed, a voice in her head says. You don’t have to deal with this. It’s probably some bad dream, anyway. Go back to bed and maybe you’ll wake up where you’re supposed to be.

She’s brought back to reality by Central’s hand, warm and solid on her shoulder. “We’ll find it. We’re not out of doors to knock on yet.”

It’s fleeting, gone before she can even really react, and its absence hurts more than it has any right to. She’s lucky he’s even talking to her; with each day, she realizes more and more what a risky move delivering the datapad to him had been.

She’s missed him. She still misses him. She misses their history, the things that passed between them, glimpses of a life they might have once made for themselves. For as much as it’s the same old story, the same song and dance of blood and bullets and dead friends, it is an entirely new one. The players have changed and the plot too, but she is still here, scrambling for what was.

She can’t pinpoint a single source for the tears rolling down her cheeks. Instead, she simply wipes them away and accepts the flask that’s offered.

--

“Commander,” Central’s voice sounds in her ear. “We’ve got an incoming transmission from the Council.”

Her stomach drops and her mouth runs dry. We did nothing wrong, she tells herself. We obeyed the charter. We did nothing wrong.

“Any idea what’s up?”

“Negative, ma’am.”

Her heart races. This is it. They know. They’ve found some loophole, some detail we overlooked and they know. They heard something, saw something. Someone decided to see what Central was up to. They know.

She stands up from her desk and the world spins. “Alright. I’m on my way.”

She catches a glimpse of her reflection off of the glass set into the laboratory door. Her face is drawn and devoid of color. She shakes her hair loose from its bun, and fusses with it, hoping to lessen the appearance of the panic now gripping her.

Central looks concerned when she passes him in Mission Control, gently squeezing his arm as she heads for the Situation Room. She trusts him to understand what the gesture is meant to convey, even if she herself can’t quite narrow it down to a single message.

“Mr. Spokesman,” she says, frantically working to keep her voice calm and even. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her heart thuds against her ribs and she fights the urge to pick at her fingers --- they are already ringed with band aids.

“Commander,” the Spokesman intones, ominous as ever as he stares down at her from the screen. “The Council has received word of your recent developments.”

A cold sweat breaks out across her skin. “You’ll have to be more specific, Mr. Spokesman. Both Dr. Shen and Dr. Vahlen have teams at work on a variety of projects.”

She can feel her legs start to tremble, threatening to betray her terror. She hopes the jitter does not carry across the video feed.

“Dr. Shen’s recent AI efforts are of particular interest to a number of our members. They are requesting additional details on the mobile platform you call the SHIV, currently under redevelopment.”

She wants to laugh or cry or scream or maybe some combination thereof that she can’t properly imagine right now. Relief courses through her veins, and her heart begins to slow. “Yes, absolutely. I’ll have Dr. Shen compile a dossier on the most recent work.”

The Spokesman nods. “We will be in touch.”

The feed goes dead.

She collapses into the nearest chair, legs turning to jelly below her. She draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, trying to quell the terror that had so abruptly risen and been even more abruptly dispelled.

“Dr. Shen,” she says, pressing a finger to her comm link and hoping her voice does not audibly shake. “Please instruct your team to assemble a dossier on the most recent work on the non-weaponized SHIV experiments. Our friends on the Council are very interested.”

“They’ll have it within the week, ma’am.”

“Understood. Thank you.”

She rests her head against the cool of the tabletop and waits for the nausea to subside.

She plays and replays the conversation in her head, trying to determine if the request was sincere or merely an attempt to fish for more information. She’s always struggled to secure an accurate read on the Spokesman, and she suspects that’s purposeful.

If they know, she asks herself, why play the long game? Evidence? Maybe they know, and are waiting for us to make another request before they say anything. Maybe they’re waiting for us to slip up and violate the terms.

Or maybe, they don’t know at all, she counters. Central said he’d relied on backchannels. Maybe the requests have been buried, encoded or lost among intelligence chatter. The Council is powerful, yes, but there has to be a limit. No nation is that forthcoming when it comes to sharing intel.

She is still shaking when she emerges back into Mission Control, though she’s managed to pin her fair back up, some faint air of professionalism restored.

“Central,” she says. “Expect a report from Shen’s team  in the next few days. The Council’s taken an interest in ROV-R.”

He nods. “Word travels fast.”

“Doesn’t it just?”

“When you have a moment, I could use a word.”

“I’ll be in my office. Stop by at your leisure.”

He nods, “Ma’am.”

“Central.”

Back in the relative sanctuary of her office, she begins slowly, methodically disassembling the space. She removes the books from the shelves, and the computer from the desk. She runs her hand along edges, under tops, around corners. She pulls the drawers from the desk, the shade from the lamp, the cushions from the chair, looking for anything amiss, anything that should not belong.

She pries the cover from the outlet, the switch plate from the light, the corkboard from the wall. She will take no chances.

She’s reassembled the majority of it by the time he knocks.

“Redecorating?” He asks, surveying the remaining piles and the few drawers upended against the back wall.

“Ruling out a nasty feeling.”

“You find anything?”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t really think I was going to, but after that call, I was taking no chances.”

“You think they know?”

She shrugs. “I can’t get a read either way. They’ve always held the cards, and they’ve got no reason to clue us in. Guess they figure it makes us easier to control.”

“If they’ve got all the power, then we’ve got no recourse.”

“…Yeah,” she says, her shoulders sagging. “That’s a pretty good summation.”

“So, flip the table.”

She cocks her head at him. “What?”

“If you want power, control the narrative. Control the narrative and you dictate what happens.”

The realization comes to her slowly. “You can’t really be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

“The Council has us pinned because they’re our only source of funding. They can do what they want because they have no one to answer to. Why not change that?”

“Because we can’t hide de-cloaking. It’s not --- It’s not covert research. It’s a violation of the charter.”

“We play it right, and we won’t have to. Why did George Marshall rebuild western Europe?”

“Countering the spread of Communism.”

“Hearts and minds, Lizzie.”

“How?” She asks after a moment. “We’d have to be so careful.”

“There has to be a way to make it look like it’s not coming from us.”

She chews on her lip, contemplating. “We could make it look like a system intrusion --- right?”

He nods. “Gotta be a way.”

“If we fuck this up ---“

“We won’t.”

“But if we do?”

“Then, I’ll flip you for the top bunk in the brig.”

I love you, she wants to say. This is crazy, but if anyone can pull it off, it’s you, she almost tells him. I can’t imagine a better partner --- in this, or anything else, she nearly adds.

Instead, she settles for offering him a small smile. “Make it a best two out of three?”

[libraryscarf]

those who bleed and those who burn

(ao3)

this doesn't belong to the same AU as the rest of the snapshots in this series, but I decided to post it anyway. this is an AU based on Marissa Meyer's "Fairest"--an interlude story in the Lunar Chronicles told from the villain's viewpoint.

so what I'm saying is basically.......if Yato were Levana :')

Held against the coals his skin hissed and swelled and split.

“Come over here, little brother. I want to show you something.”

The thick, charred smell of flesh choked him, he couldn’t breathe, and he was on fire, and his face bubbled and broke open.

“Yes, good job little brother. Are you having fun?”

He screamed and screamed until his throat was raw and bleeding from the smoke. And he could only wait, wishing for his red, ruined body to give up and let him go, to leave the fire...to find someplace cool and quiet...

And then he woke up.

“Bad dream?”

Fujisaki sat at the foot of Yato’s bed, wrapped in a soft white robe and smiling angelically down at him. Yato called up his glamour instantly, though his skin was plastered to the sheets with sweat and the ashy, burnt taste of his own flesh wouldn’t leave his mouth.

“You should be up by now,” Fujisaki said gently. “People are arriving for the funeral. It is such a shame…”

He glamoured a fat teardrop to roll down his face, and it trembled like a star at the bottom of his chin. The tear was disturbingly at odds with the smile on his lips.

“I’m up,” Yato said, glaring back.

Fujisaki was the only person alive who didn’t react to the scorching ice of Yato’s stare.

His eyes were blue--not his real eyes, of course, but the ones he chose to wear. They were the kind of blue that hurt to look at.

The kind of blue that burned.

No matter how much his glamour changed, Yato kept the eyes.

: : :

Endless sympathies. Endless shoulder pats. Endless tears, most of them faked.

Yato knew no one actually cared who had died, even though the funeral was for the rulers of their kingdom.

He didn’t much care either.

The unsorry words kept eating at him.  “We’re so sorry for your loss.” “They will never be forgotten.” “This is truly a dark day for Luna...”

It began to sicken him.

Yato stopped making eye contact with the well-wishers. He was getting tired of their invasive closeness, the staring.

Someone stopped in front of him, and once again, he didn’t look up. He fastened his eyes on the pair of plain shoes facing him.

“I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” said a quiet voice. This voice, unlike the others, quivered with what seemed to be real feeling. Yato glanced up before he could stop himself.

The voice belonged to a young woman, whose face he was sure he had seen somewhere before. The memory skittered around his periphery like an insect.

“Your name?” he asked.

She clutched her hands close to her stomach, caught off-guard by his sharp question.

“Hiyori Iki, Your Highness. My husband had the honor to serve in the castle guard for many years, until…” She swallowed, and Yato caught the glimmer of moisture before her eyes turned down.

“Until recently.”

Iki...yes, he remembered that name. The guard who had been executed for protecting a maid: one of Fujisaki’s favorites, if Yato remembered correctly. He had been forced to pull out all his fingernails, then slit his own throat in front of the gathered courtiers in the throne room.

Even Yato hadn’t been able to watch that one all the way through.

“Then I think you can imagine, after all,” he said in return, surprising himself with the gentleness of his voice.

Hiyori looked him in the eyes for a long while, as though gauging his sincerity. He waited for the instant she would shy away from his stare.

Instead, she gave him a soft smile.

That was her only answer before she moved past him, down the line.

: : :

“Who was that you were so captivated by?”

Fujisaki caught Yato’s elbow as he fled the crowded ballroom.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Of course you do.”

Fujisaki grinned, and Yato recoiled in disgust as his brother’s glamour shaped itself into the appearance of Hiyori Iki.

“I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”

Fujisaki’s voice was mousy and high-pitched--a disgraceful mockery of her words that made Yato’s blood pound with rage.

“Really, a guard’s widow...and not even one of the pretty ones,” Fujisaki purred, still inhabiting Hiyori’s appearance while scraping his eyes lewdly over Yato’s body. “However, it’s good to see you even have that ability. I was beginning to harbor doubts.”

His eyes found their mark.

“Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten. But your...imperfections are all above the waist, aren’t they?”

Yato shrank against the wall.

“Stop it.”

Fujisaki gave a ringing laugh, and dropped Hiyori’s glamour to appear as himself again. This did not give Yato very much comfort.

“Well, little brother, if you want to toy with her, you have only to ask.”

Fujisaki gave Yato’s chin a playful tweak as he strode past, disappearing around the corner of the next corridor.

Yato slumped against the wall, pressing his aching forehead into the cool stone. No, he thought, he didn’t want her.

He didn’t want anything but quiet.

: : :

Yato shut the door behind her. Either he didn’t notice the way Hiyori’s eyes nervously flickered toward it as her only escape route was cut off, or he chose to be ignorant.

“You love me,” he said.

It wasn’t a question. He knew she did.

Hiyori’s shoulders tightened.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. She refused to look at him.

Yato exhaled slowly through his nose. He reached for her mind, slipping himself between the cracks in her armor.

Tell me the truth.

“Yes…” she breathed. “Yes, I do...love you.”

Yato sighed. The relief of hearing it lifted a hollow burden off his chest that he felt as though he’d been carrying for weeks.

But then she gave a quiet sob, and his heart froze.

“But I don’t want you to love me,” she said miserably.

Yato rushed to hold her, clutching her upper arms, careful his grip wasn’t hard enough to bruise.

“Don’t be silly. You’re still telling me the truth, right?”

Hiyori nodded weakly, still unable to look at him.

“Of course you want this,” he said, hating how his voice pleaded. How it was weak.

Her arms felt tiny in his hands, and Yato wondered frantically if she’d lost weight. That thought was immediately chased out of his head by her head shaking “no.”

“I don’t. I don’t want this. I can’t...please…”

His grip was getting steadily tighter.

“Why not? Hiyori, you do want this. I can give you everything. You and your son--”

Hiyori threw her chin up and stared him fiercely in the eye. Yato let go of her arms and took a shocked step backward.

“He’s why I can’t! The life of a child here, in this court...around your brother! I meant to leave with him as soon as the mourning period for the king and queen was over…”

Yato gaped at her, unable to believe he was hearing this.

“You what?”

Hiyori dragged her fingers through her hair, and the look on her face scared him. He had seen it on his own...on the faces of the women his brother had tortured…

“I was going to leave. We were going to leave, forever. But I...I couldn’t...I…”

Yato didn’t need to hear.

“If you want to toy with her, you have only to ask.”

Fujisaki had made this happen. It was the only gift he had ever given his brother. It was the only thing Yato had ever truly wanted.

His teeth bared.

“You want to stay now, though.”

He was angry. Angry at Fujisaki. Furious at himself. But Hiyori was here, and--

Couldn’t she see that he could protect her?

Her hands crept up to cover her mouth, and frustrated sobs hiccuped out of her. Each one drove a poisoned needle through Yato’s heart.

“Why couldn’t I leave?” she asked, collapsing in on herself. “I wanted to. I wanted to leave, but I didn’t--because every time I tried, it hurt...it hurt Yukine so much. He screamed...he tore at his skin…”

Yato shut his eyes.

Hiyori slumped to her knees, and Yato sank to the floor in front of her.

“You can stay here,” he said, reaching for her again. Her mind was soft, and it was easy to reach through her defenses, to convince her how right he was. How much he loved her.

How much she wanted it.

“You can stay here, and it will all be fine.”

: : :

Before he saw her so often, it had been easier for Yato to keep himself together.

Before there was the chance of running into her around every corner in the palace. Before she began taking care to avoid him--or, if he was impossible to avoid, to put him off with smiles and politeness. Before he saw her playing with her son in the nursery, and smiling like he’d never been able to make her smile.

His gut twisted in jealousy.

“Hiyori.”

She was kneeling in front of Yukine and wiping something off his face as Yato walked up to them. The glint of anxiety in her eyes didn’t escape him.

“Go now--go play with Hiiro,” she told the little boy quietly, who trotted off back to the nursery after casting a question-filled glance at Yato.

Hiyori stood.

“Your Highness?”

Yato flinched. Her formality was a rejection in itself.

“Hiyori. Please.”

The anxiety in her eyes darkened into fear. Yato’s skin prickled with frustration. Why couldn’t she understand?

He would never hurt her, never.

If she couldn’t understand that, then he’d help her.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” she murmured, just as he reached out for her mind. He stopped, and arranged his face into innocence.

“Do you think you’re helping me?” Hiyori asked, without anger. There was something in her voice besides fear, and Yato struggled for a moment to name it. Was it…

Pity.

“You’re imagining things,” he said hoarsely. She smiled.

“Yato. How long are you going to play this game? How long are you going to keep hoping I’ll change my mind?”

“It’s not a game. You love me, and soon you’ll see how important that is.”

She shook her head. Her face seemed to drain of life, and even the glint of fear in her eyes was chased out.

“It’s too late,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

The worst part was that it sounded like she actually was sorry. Yato hardened himself.

Hiyori was just confused.

She couldn’t just break his heart like this.

“It’s not over.” He reached out, pulling her closer to him.

He also reached into her mind, filling it with the warmth she had always given him.

“It isn’t over, because I love you.”

He barely met any resistance from her, and Yato hated his brother just a little bit more.

“I love you now, and you love me, and we’re happy.”

His arms tightened. He pushed her to respond. You are so happy right now.

“We’re happy. Right?”

Hiyori melted into his chest, her arms wrapping around him. She nodded.

: : :

It was close to four in the morning when he heard the footsteps. Yato lay perfectly still, his arm tucking Hiyori close to his side.

Breathe in.

A thump outside. A quickly muffled shout. Hiyori stirred.

Breathe out.

The door was thrown open so quickly it crashed against the wall and swung back. The man in the doorway propped it open. All Yato could see was the intruder’s helmet.

“Wh...what?” Hiyori sat up next to him. Yato let his arm fall from around her shoulders. Quietly, he slipped the idea into her head to stand up.

Hiyori stood.

“What is this?” she asked, her sleepy eyes blinking in the light from the hallway. She turned her head to look down at him. “Yato…?”

Yato caught the guard’s eye. Kazuma waited.

Then, Yato nodded, and Kazuma unsheathed a knife. Yato threw himself off the opposite side of the bed.

The rest he tried not to hear.

: : :

He crouched, shivering next to the bed, making sure to keep a grip on Hiyori’s consciousnesses with his glamour. Even if she wanted to run, her body would be frozen in place.

He trusted Kazuma to make it quick.

“I’m so sorry,” Kazuma’s voice murmured. And then, silence.

Then a scream.

Yato shot up from his crouch, electrified by the horror pounding through Hiyori’s mind. He retracted his will from her at once, dizzy with vicarious fear and agony.

“I-I don’t know--what did I...?!” Kazuma backed away, dropping the stained knife on the carpet. Yato’s eyes followed it. Light from the hallway splashed over the dripping, scarlet blade.

For a dead second, everything was quiet again.

Hiyori stood perfectly still. A coin-sized circle of darkness blossomed on her white nightdress, above her ribs. A second dark flower spread open over her heart. A third, in the middle of her stomach.

Her shocked, glossy eyes flickered between Kazuma’s face and Yato’s.

Then, she crashed to the floor. Her hands scrabbled, slipping in blood as she tried to press them against the wounds to staunch the bleeding. She stole rough, tortured breaths, and Yato felt sickness lurch in his throat.

Dumbstruck, Yato looked down to her, then back up to Kazuma. He was still backing away, as though only just realizing what he had done.

A harsh, sobbing whimper sucked all his attention back to Hiyori.

“Yato…?”

One hand was fisting over the wound in her stomach.

The other reached feebly toward him, and Yato’s fingers twitched.

It flopped to the floor again: a doll’s broken limb.

Yato’s eyes twitched back to Kazuma, and red erupted across his vision.

: : :

He was drowning.

He had already drowned.

He could smell nothing, could breathe nothing but the thick, coppery rust that filled the air.

He was alone.

In the dark, and alone, and drowning.

: : :

“What happened to him?”

Yato’s ears were ringing, but voices started to curl through the fog surrounding him. Footsteps. Panicked, gasping voices.

“He killed the queen.”

“But…”

“Remove the body.”

Shuffling, grunting. A heavy object being dragged, and then a gentle thump, like limp knuckles against the ground.

A horrified whisper: “Did...the king do this to his own thaumaturge?!”

A hissed reprimand:  “Do you want to die?!”

Yato closed their voices out of his mind, trying to claw his way back to oblivion. He felt a burning ache deep in his throat. It hurt too much to think about.

Surfacing from the cloudy depths of a nightmare, Yato’s body finally forced him into an awareness of himself and his surroundings. His arms and his back pounded with soreness. His throat was hot and gravelly, and he found he could only take short, shallow breaths. His lungs burned.

Yato’s eyelids twitched. His face was buried in something soft, and the lingering smell of flowers whispered through the air’s stench. Something rhythmically rattled in his ears: a soft, broken noise that sounded like a lost child.

He stiffened. The sound was him.

“Your Highness?”

A hand timidly tapped his shoulder, and his aching arms tightened. He was clutching something against him. Something soft and cold, that smelled faintly like flowers.