#at least it was quick (blood loss) but i imagine he got overwhelmed

[heniareth]

Crying over Adralen, elven Grey Warden who's already been dead for a few weeks by the time Astala arrives at Ostagar

[aalbedo]

tartaglia x injured!reader

request: Hello! How about scenario where character offers help to injured!gn!reader, who is very mistrustful of and reluctant to accept it? I smh love the dynamic "no I don't want your help or anything to do with you but I don't really have a choice". And yeah, I feel like Tartaglia fits it well though you may choose whoever you feel like T v T

format: two-parter (part two here)

ship: tartaglia x reader

tags: reader is the traveler-ish (a completely separate character from aether and lumine, but still the traveler, does that make sense?)

warnings: blood, mildly graphic depiction of injury, stitches and needles

words: 1951

notes: this request awoke something in me, i feel like i could’ve written an entire 70k words fic on this if i had the energy. im sorry anon but i kinda went off the rails with this one hfjdkhfd i hope you still enjoy it. also yeah the header is mildly fucked up because i don’t have the energy to find a better png ok.

You fell to the ground, placing your hands right in a small puddle of your own blood, while a ruin hunter laid on the ground, defeated. Your legs had given in, as a sharp pain hit you through your entire left thigh. There was a large cut on your pants, through which you could see a long, bloody, wound on your skin left by the mechanical monstrosity. It wasn’t too deep, but damn if it hurt.

You squeezed your eyes closed, and let out a loud groan. Reaching a hand into your bag, you pulled out the antiseptic solution you always brought with you, and found out that the bottle was empty. You rummaged more through the bag, looking for a numbing cream, an analgesic potion, even just a remnant of a bandage, anything that could help. Nothing.

Panic started settling in your chest, you were completely alone, in the middle of Lisha, where Hilichurls could attack you at any moment, and you were injured just enough that you wouldn’t be able to walk, let alone run away or even fight. You laid down with your back to the ground and covered your face with your hands, as your palms suffocated another loud groan.

You would have to crawl all the way back to the city, or until you found someone willing to help you before fainting from the slow, but consistent, loss of blood. Or worse, dying from shock.

Suddenly, you heard a voice in the distance yell “hey!” Then a second time, with a clearly worried tone in their voice. The pain in your leg made it almost impossible for you to focus on recognizing who that voice belonged to, but it didn’t matter - you were about to finally get some help. You kept your eyes closed as you raised a hand and waved it, showing whoever your savior was where you were.

As you didn’t move from the ground, you heard steps, quickly getting closer to you, until you could feel the presence of someone right above you.

“Oh thank the Archons, I’m completely out of-” you opened your eyes and were met with two bright blue irises staring into yours, and all of the sudden you recognized the voice from before.

“Did that ruin hunter hit you?” Tartaglia was perched right next to your injured leg, already starting to open a backpack that you didn’t recognize as his. He moved his eyes to your thigh and reached out a hand towards it. You swiftly moved the leg away from him, forgetting that it would make it hurt even more, and whimpered when the pain grew.

“I don’t want help from a Harbinger, least of all you” you spat out as you slowly sat up and used your hands to back away from him.

“Stop moving, or you’ll make it worse,” he said plainly as he stood up and followed you, while you kept backing away ignoring the pain through your leg.

“I’ll lose a leg before I let the fatui help me.”

“Alright then, I guess I’ll just watch you crawl all the way back to the Harbor.” He crossed his arms. Oh, he thought he was being funny?

You kept backing away with your arms, until you felt something hard hit your back. A rather large rock was blocking your way, and you would have to crawl around it, and the young man laughed, slowly walking towards you as he took his gloves off and put them in a pocket. You tried moving sideways, but he was quick to crouch down and grab you by the ankle, the one on the injured side, right when you moved.

You inhaled and closed your eyes as a sharp pain shot through your leg. “Are you out of your mind? That hurt!”

He kept your ankle pinned to the ground. “Don’t move,” he ordered. He used his free hand to carefully move the ripped fabric of your clothes out of the way, and get a better look of your wound. You started to feel lightheaded as you saw him tear the fabric further.

You felt some sort of damp cloth on your skin,figuring it was being used to clean the blood off your injury. Tartaglia was being so careful that you could barely feel it, it seemed like he had done this a million times before. You closed your eyes, placing a hand over them, and tilted your head forward, suddenly feeling overcome with dizziness.

“You’re losing a lot of blood. If you hadn’t moved, it would not be this bad right n-” he interrupted himself and he called your name. “You still with me?”

“Mh- huh-uh” you started feeling uneasy. You opened your eyes slightly and caught a glimpse of the wound and immediately looked away. So much blood.

“Stay awake, don’t close your eyes again.” You heard a ruffling of fabric, the damp cloth wasn’t on your skin anymore. “Tell me about the Archons.”

“What?”

“Tell me all of the Archons’ names and their elements,” he repeated. You couldn’t figure out why he wanted you to tell him, but you followed his order, keeping your eyes away from your wound, and instead fixating on the grass beneath you. You were feeling too dizzy to protest, your only choice was to trust him, despite all of your instincts yelling at you to get away from him.

“Okay, there’s... Barbatos, god of Anemo.” You heard more fabric rustling coming from him, but you refused to look at what he was doing.

“Yes, then?”

The dizziness was still overwhelming, but you managed to keep talking, “Morax, god of Geo.” Clinking of glass, probably bottles. “Tsaritsa, goddess of Cryo.”

“Mh-mh.” He sounded… focused. What was he doing?

“Baal, goddess of- Fuck!” The skin around the wound started burning, and so did the wound itself. You bit your lip hard and groaned as the burning kept going on and on, your skin was itching and for a split second it was almost unbearable. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Antiseptic potion,” he replied plainly. “I had to find a way to distract you or you wouldn’t have let me use it.”

“Bastard.” Your skin kept burning, but you slowly got used to the pain as you watched the clear potion sizzling over your still open wound.

He barked a laugh, “I’m trying to help you over here, you’re very welcome.”

You looked at his hands as he skillfully kept cleaning your wound, now there was way less blood coming out and you were starting to feel slightly more at easy. He lifted his head and looked right into your eyes.

“It’s not too deep, but it would probably be better if I stitched it.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“Of course I have, you think these healed themselves?” he asked, pointing at the seemingly long scar that started from the base of his neck and went down under his shirt. “At some point you have to learn how to stitch them up yourself.”

You exhaled deeply, still keeping your eyes on his. You realized that his irises resembled the starconches you had seen laid in the sand of Yaoguang Shoal’s beaches.

“Do you have an anaesthetic something to make the stitching hurt less, at least?”

He looked into the bag, moving things around, as if he had no idea what was actually inside the backpack. So it definitely wasn’t his.

He shook his head, pursing his lips slightly. “No, sorry.”

“It’s…” you pondered over it. You would probably have to go all the way to Bubu pharmacy to get an anaesthetic, and on the way there you might lose even more blood. “It’s okay.”

From his backpack, that you hadn’t realized was laid on the ground by your feet, he pulled out a small tin box, and from the box he took out an interestingly shaped needle, recurved like a crescent moon, then a pair of tweezers and a thread so thin you could barely see it.

Just by looking at the needle, you felt uneasy again. “Are you sure we can’t go to the Harbour and get help there?”

“We can do that, if that’s what you prefer, but I would have to carry you - I doubt you could walk at all right now.”

Somehow, the embarrassment of other people seeing you being carried, bridal style, by Tartaglia was stronger than any pain you might have to go through to get these stitches done.

“Fuck it, do it. But be quick.”

“I will try my best,” he said, and his tone sounded genuine to you. You still couldn’t believe you were trusting him like this, after everything he had done to you. “Try to think about something else, focus on anything but the stitches, it’ll hurt less.” He passed the thread through the needle’s hole with surprising skill.

“Okay, uh-” you watched him hover the needle over your skin, probably thinking about the fastest and least painful way to do the job. You moved your gaze from the open would to look at his face, and his expression seemed calm enough to put you somewhat at ease.

His lips were slightly parted and you noticed that he was biting his own tongue, the amount of focus he was putting into helping you was so intriguing to you, you could have never had imagined that he would be so… caring. At least not to you.

You suddenly felt the needle prick through your skin and you whimpered slightly. “Sorry,” he quickly said, before using the tweezers to make the needle pass through your skin and grab it again on the other end.

He repeated the process a few times, slowly pulling the thread every now and then to make the stitch tighter. You observed him the entire time, his eyes quickly darting from one spot to the other, his nose and mouth breathing at a steady pace. You saw him scrunch up his nose a few times, probably to release tension.

Each stitch hurt, you could feel the entire needle pass through your skin and come out again every single time, but you didn’t protest at all, and instead focused on counting the freckles on Tartaglia’s nose bridge, watching the muscles under his skin move every time he swallowed, and carding your fingers through the grass, accidentally ripping some every now and then.

“Done,” you heard him say in an unexpectedly cheerful tone. “I have some bandages, but I don’t think they’re enough for this large of a cut. Though, now that it’s stitched up, it’s probably safe for you to move, and I can help you get to the Harbor where you can buy some numbing potion and bandages.”

You looked down at the wound, and to your relief the stitches looked like they would hold together pretty well. “Sure, I think I can hop for a while, if you hold me.”

He picked up both his and your bag, putting them over his shoulder, then reached out a hand towards you and you realized just how bloody his hands were, as well as his clothes. You grabbed it with your own bloody hand and slowly stood up, placing your weight on the healthy leg. He placed your arm around his shoulders and put his own behind your back, holding you up.

“Ready to go?”

“Mh-mh.” You started walking in the direction of the Harbor, hopping on one leg while Tartaglia held you up.

“Whose backpack is that?” you tried asking.

“Honestly? No idea.”

“What were you doing here in Lisha, anyway?”

“Just some Fatui business, don’t worry about it,” he quickly dismissed your question.

“Always so secretive.”

[pretty-face-breaker]

WIJ Prompt: Sleep

CW. creepy whumper, pet names, implied murder, blood stains, forced to get rid of evidence for a killer, past consensual torture, coercive relationship

@whumpmasinjuly

Timeline: A few months before Hayko escapes

— At its corner, the desk clock read 2:00 am. 

The light of the lamp fell on his hand as he wrote, eyes skipping the document before he turned the page to give the pen a healthy shake. Then, it was from the top again with the court file number, judicial centre, applicant. Down until his hand hung off of the desk. He seemed to only breathe once a page.

He had been dealing with paperwork for the past few hours but for Hayko, filling in blanks was like second nature as riding a bike might be for someone. Just as they would know when to lift their hips for an oncoming bump, he knew where to push the nib hard enough that the ink wouldn’t swipe and smear the space. By muscle memory, he crossed every t and dotted each i but ensured, as each page filled up, to go back and check. 

Two empty fruit bar wrappers sat near him beside an empty mug - all he had eaten since the single boiled egg and tea in the morning - which wasn’t his proudest meal plan but there was work to be done for next week. Crisis had struck. One of the cartel’s major benefactors was on trial for embezzlement. 

He wanted to laugh.  

Hayko sighed, letting the fountain pen click down before stretching up to the ceiling and then back. The exercise was useful when he needed a reminder that he had bones that weren’t made for crouching over a desk for hours at a time.  

“Good morning.” 

The seat almost toppled back as Hayko flinched and darted his eyes to the doorway of the other man’s room. “Jesus, you scared me, Nick.” He stood up quickly, fingers leaning on the desk for support when his head suddenly began to spin and his vision blacked out for a moment. 

Looking at his figure in the doorway, they suddenly felt colder.

“Working late again, busy bee? You should be asleep.” Nick wasn’t moving from the doorway, just leaning on one shoulder and just out of the perimeter that the light would allow him to be seen. It was all too dark to tell, but Hayko felt like he was smiling.

He smiled nervously in response, dragging his hands closer to him. “Always.” They held a long look under the benevolent layer of darkness before Nick ripped it away by stepping forward, then again until the yellow light of the desk lamp crawled up to his face. When Hayko saw his face, he was silently surprised at having guessed correctly that he was smiling.

Then, he saw his shirt. 

Nick must have noticed the immobile terror in his face because he chuckled. It rumbled in his ear, signalling a little involuntary shiver up the man’s back. “Don’t worry, doll. It’s not mine.” 

His fingertips were chilled against the desk now as Hayko kept his eyes locked on the bloodstains, of which there were plenty, clotting near the buttons at the waist, splattered across his sleeves, and painting a grimly neat stripe up to his collar. The glaring light of the bulb brought out their faint redness but mostly, it looked like Nick had painted the shirt black. 

“Th-... then whose?” He’d been meaning to ask. Hayko breaths mellowed as Nick began sliding off his watch and walking over. When it was off, he dropped it behind him with a thunk that made him blink. Right on the court order, too, he thought.

He should have been asleep by now. He should have gone to bed before he got home because then, he wouldn’t have to be dealing with him in the late hours. Nick was different at night, less human, and not in his humanity but his general appearance.  

Nick’s hands travelled to his waistband and plucked the dress shirt from his pants, not hesitating to start immediately unbuttoning. For courtesy, he turned at an angle to the bed next to the desk, facing the headboard as he took off the stained shirt. His chest was splattered with fainter spots of blood. Those would be easier missed and Hayko was glad they were. 

He finally found enough courage to bring his hands fully to his sides but not enough to look at him as he undressed, not out of disgust of the bloodstains but out of awkwardness. Never really figuring out where to look any time Nick undressed in front of him - although he probably would prefer it to be at him - Hayko let his eyes wander to the floor. 

“Is that all you ate today?” Nick was looking at the empty wrappers and mug, skipping the pile of paperwork entirely in a way that made Hayko redden a little for the mess.

He anxiously scraped the tiny crack in the floorboard made by his chair. “Yeah, um... ‘didn’t have much time for much else.” While technically not true, he thought, it wasn’t that he had the appetite for anything more either. With the recent heat-wave that had overwhelmed the city, he could hardly remember to eat without Nick being the one to remind him. Like they were god damn married.

The man pulled his tie loose then swooped both off, tsking in disapproval as he hung them over his arm and faced Hayko. “You need to seriously take care of yourself, love,” he chided with a hint of warmth. “You have work, sure, but not eating?” 

He found it harder to stare at the floor with Nick looking directly at him now. “Wasn’t hungry,” he mumbled, frustrated with the nagging while he stood there covered in a litre of fucking blood. 

It seemed strange to him, even this far into this veil of a romantic relationship, that Nick insisted on playing concerned spouse and talking down to him in that voice thick with adoration. He hated it. But mostly, he hated how it tricked him every time, for a few moments, to believing that the concern was genuine. 

That if Nick wanted to, he wouldn’t just break him in two for a quick, sadistic fix. 

“What if I hire a chef, hm?” Hayko’s eyes travelled uneasily up to his, avoiding the body not out of embarrassment or modesty but the light bruising, the little scratches at his shoulders that indicated there had been a struggle. 

He swallowed down the image of his victim clawing from below so he wouldn’t accidentally imagine his own face to fill in the blank.

“A nice one, family friend even, so you don’t starve yourself cooped up in my bedroom all day with your papers.” 

“Your papers,” Hayko reminded him carefully. It was annoying when he couldn’t at least pretend to remember that he was his employer. But Nick just chuckled before handing him the shirt, tie draped over. His fingernails were black with blood. 

“Do me a favour?” 

The dried, metallic smell overwhelmed him and he swallowed as the scent lingered, reminding him of the uncharacteristically pleasant evening a few nights ago, how the stench had replaced the man’s sage cologne as he had looked over Hayko’s bare back. Looked over the cuts there and decided to open a few up again as he shivered and bit back whimpers. 

He closed his eyes a moment, reliving the painful buzz his mind had been in, too clouded by chanting of more, more, more to say anything coherent until Nick had finished and planted a kiss on his neck and woken him up. Memories like those and how close they happened to each other sometimes made Hayko forget the nature of how he even got here but if he was honest in the moment, that one evening had...almost made it count. 

Hayko gasped back to reality, snatching the shirt before Nick could snap at him. “Sure, yeah, I-I’ll throw it away.” 

“Don’t throw it away, silly,” Nick interrupted as he turned to his bathroom. “Clean it. I like that shirt a lot, you know, you’ve seen me wear it to lots of those end-of-the-month parties Don Miguel likes to organize for us.” 

Hayko seemed at a loss for just what to do with the bloodstained clothing in his hand when he noticed that it wasn’t just stained but bathed in life. The combination seemed heavier in his hand than any of his shirt’s ever had. He thought, with a stirring and morbid curiosity, just which of his fucked up methods Nick had used to squeeze the breath out of the-

“Did you hear me?” 

He should have been asleep, and then he wouldn’t have to deal with this tonight.

“Nick-... I don’t think-” He stammered and motioned to the red cluster. “There’s too much… I don’t think I can, um, actually clean it with the amount of blood.” Waiting in silence for a response, Hayko unfolded the shirt by the shoulders, as if he hadn’t already seen the wreck. “Plus, a lot of it is dried. How long ago did you?...”

Sighing, Nick stopped and tilted his head. “You know I’ve got a couple of those enzyme detergents in the left cabinet of the other washroom. Multiple, actually, so fill up the sink and leave it.” 

And with that, Nick nodded at him which was cue that it was time to stop asking questions.

When he stumbled through the living room, he noticed it was pitch black where Nick hadn’t even spared the bar lights to make his way to the bedroom. Only further proof that the man was a born predator, Hayko thought grimly. 

He searched blindly for the light and squinted upon flicking it on. Nick may not have convinced him with the criticism of his diet but Hayko was starting to pay attention to the poor lighting he usually worked under. 

The left cabinet revealed the detergents. Hayko took them out, one by one, and stacked them on the sink before opening the faucet. He took note to plug it before it filled up and shut the warm dial. The colder the better Nick had mentioned off-hand once on a night similar to this one, where Hayko had watched him scrubbing a shirt in the sink from the hallway, pretending the water wasn’t turning pink between his fingers.

He breathed once, the sharp smell of chemical piercing his nose, and sprinkled it in. The shirt went in next and then the tie and all he could do was stare at it, infatuated. He had watched a man come home from killing someone, taken his clothes, and stuck the evidence in heavy-duty detergent.

He was a fucking lawyer. 

He didn’t sign up for this. 

Where had the time gone for it to have gone this far, to be involved like this with a psychopath? Going from tied up in his god damn basement to playing boyfriend? 

Sure, it had been a stupid mistake on his part but it was a mistake, all he had wanted was to live, and one verbal contract later, now watched blood merge with water.

The blood stained dress shirt stared back up at him disapprovingly. It probably thought he deserved it, Hayko thought faintly and the sudden rush of nausea almost made him double over and wretch into the sink.

The clock ate the time with ticks, and all Hayko did was stare at the shirt in the sink. Until he heard a rustle from behind. The man had probably finished washing up and just in time, too. “You should’ve been asleep.” 

Nick was right, always right. 

Tagging: @doveotions @heathenville @thewhumpstuff @thatsthewhump @adamantem-rose @lonesome–hunter @whumpsorbet @whumpasaurus101 @lektricfergus @downrivergirl914 @burtlederp

Ask to be added/removed!

[soukokuwu]

Hi I’m really sorry I know you’re probably busy and don’t just do urgent fics for anyone but this one’s quite urgent, um if it’s not triggering for you of course, could you please do Chuuya walking in on his S/O s*lf h*rming? It doesn’t have to be long, just something comforting please, again I completely understand if you can’t it’s just a bit urgent, either way thank you I appreciate it ❤️

in your head.

     genre. angst (fluff at the end ofc)      warnings. self harm, blood      synopsis. all of us have breaking points, but you have a saviour in the form of love.      word count. 1.4k      author notes. no, dw anony <3 i’m perfectly okay with writing this, you gave me a chance to vent a little too so thank you as well, and i hope this is ok!!

some days you think you’re strong enough to take it; all the rage, all the frustration, all the pain. some days you break and let them consume you. it’s natural, you’re only human after all. what’s dangerous about the latter is the possible extent to which it breaks you. because one moment you find yourself completely fine, feeling like you have the strength to take on the entire world.

other days, before you know it, you might already be half a step into the abyss.

today is one of those days.

you can’t explain why; it just is. is it because you’ve spent too long in the light? you’ve spent too long of a time shoving the thoughts into the back of your mind so in the end it all comes spilling out anyway? what’s worse then — breaking every single day a little bit at a time, or just crumbling into ashes all at once?

not that the answer matters. because you still hurt. everything’s screwed up, and no amount of effort will change anything, will it? no amount of trying will ever get rid of the loss, the grief, the guilt you feel. and you’re caught between two lines: to keep living and torturing yourself (which you think you deserve), or to just end it all and return to the beginning of life itself in death? the latter is a form of escape, though. do you really deserve it?

you can’t really explain the turmoil that goes on in your head. but it irritates the heck out of you. it hurts, and it will keep hurting. but it’s not like you can shut off your thoughts just like that.

maybe this is why the razor cuts deeper and deeper as you go. because the more you think, the larger the amount of pain you need to translate from emotional to physical. at least with physical pain, you’re distracted enough not to think.

how long has it been since you’ve done this? way too long. you’ve had your own personal crutch — your boyfriend. and immediately you feel an overwhelming amount of guilt rush over you. it isn’t alleviated when the next moment, you can hear his footsteps rushing over to you, the thumping all you can hear. or is that the drumming of your heart in your ears?

you don’t know. you really don’t know, you barely know anything.

all you can say for sure is that there is an unsightly amount of blood on the bathroom floor. you can’t even remember how long you’ve been sitting here piling slit on top of slit on top of slit. your arm is sore, and your fingers are sore too. you don’t even realise how much you’re crying until you turn to look at your boyfriend and all you can see is his striking orange hair all blurred into one with his face and those cerulean eyes.

and you cry even more because you think he doesn’t deserve this — he’s been so good to you. he doesn’t deserve having to worry over someone so pathetic, right?

but as always, he always seems to know what to do. and no, you don’t mean the fact that he’d thrown the razor aside the minute he got to you, or the fact that he disregards the blood staining his pants as he tries to clean your wounds.

it’s how he doesn’t pile on your guilt. no mention of “what the fuck did you do” or “what happened” because he doesn’t want to make you feel more overwhelmed than you already are. all he does is let you calm down as you nestle against his chest while he wraps your arm in a bandage, slowly, carefully, gently.

“i don’t deserve you, chuuya,” you let slip. you’re a little drowsy, and he knows it. after all, you’d lost a lot of blood. he makes a mental reminder to get the mafia doctor in to see you as soon as possible, but for now he has to put your emotions first. besides, he’s confident enough in his skills that you’d be okay for now, as long as you get some water in you and rest.

he smiles at you, poking your nose with his gloved finger before hoisting you in his arms and carries you to the bed. he doesn’t even care about the stains that get on his sheets. he just wants you comfortable. it’s not chuuya’s first time dealing with difficulties. although, this is the first time he’s seen your harm yourself. don’t get him wrong, though. he’s internally panicking, but he can’t show you that. it’ll make things worse, wouldn’t it?

honestly, he finds it weird how he knows what to do in this situation. how he doesn’t let his fear take over him. not that he lets himself ponder about it. he’s more concerned with what you’re upset about. but you both know — you’re not one to share so easily. even if he is your boyfriend of a year.

you’re amazed, actually, at how patient he is with you. considering he’s not much of it in anything else. never once has he actually pressured you to share anything. he’s asked you about it, but he’s quick to assure you that you don’t have to say a thing you aren’t comfortable with saying.

“you know, i’m so scared,” chuuya confesses as he sets down the glass of water on the nightstand after you take a big gulp. he sits himself next to you, and you allow him to wrap an arm around you, getting under the sheets, making you feel all warm and cosy.

“i’m so scared of losing you,” he explains, fingers now twirling your hair. “and i don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, princess, but can i be selfish this one time and ask you to please, let me share that pain with you?”

you don’t miss the slight quiver in his tone. he’s close to cracking, but he’s trying not to — just for you. and maybe he’s not the best person to try and ‘cheer someone up’, but oh god, to you? his patience and understanding is more than enough. and he’s never once failed at it.

chuuya hugs you tighter now. you can smell the faint hint of cigarettes lingering on his skin, and while you’re normally not a fan of it, oddly enough, it smells like home. your home.

no man is an island. and it’ll probably take more than anyone can imagine to make you feel okay again, if it’s even possible at all. but sometimes people lose sight of what’s important. sometimes, some people try — and that’s already more than what you can ask for. because not everyone has the patience for it.

“i love you, baby,” he whispers as he plants a long kiss on your head, “i love you and i would do anything for you. so just — just stay with me as long as you can, okay?”

never any sign of pressure. and you can feel the slight minification of the hurt you thought would never let up. right, that’s right. because in a world where no one owes anyone else a thing, sometimes a simple show of effort is a treasure in itself.

“chuuya, i know i’m not easy to be with —“

“you’re worth it, though.”

you giggle a little at how quick he is to assure you of that. it’s only miniscule, but you do feel your mood lightening a little.

“shut up,” you chide, embarrassed, burying your head in his chest, hearing the slight quickening of his heartbeat. “i know i’m not easy to be with, and i know you never ask anything of me, so i promise, chuuya. i promise you, i’ll try.”

you don’t even have to ask him anything, but you know that even if sometimes you fail at it, if sometimes you just break again and have a similar moment, that he’ll still be there for you, to assure you that you’re never alone.

“it’s you and me against the world, princess.”

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @animatedarchives

[strangerobin]

Rue: Chapter 1 (A Jasper Hale x OC Imagine)

Summary:

Just know that, in another life where I was free of lies and deceit, I would move heaven and earth just to stay alongside you. To spend a lifetime with you. Body and soul.

Or

A chance encounter reunites two lost lovers centuries after their devastating break up. One hardened by life and providence, has forgotten what it is to love and be loved; while the other though hurt by love, has lost neither hope nor heart. When the two worlds collide once again, will it be disaster waiting to happen, or the brink of a new horizon?

Or

Stolen away just nights before their wedding, Jasper had mourned the loss of his lover, Adeline, for centuries. Until a similar face showed up one day out of the blue, just as beautiful and just as youthful.

But you know that I could never stay.

No amount of love or the ring you put on my finger will ever change that.

Save it. Save it for another that will be dearest to your heart, someone who could love you equally, unconditionally, honestly.

For I am underserving. I have much in my life that I wish I could explain to you. Yet this back has been carrying far more that it was made to shoulder already. And I cannot possibly burden you with anymore than you deserve.

So I will go. I will not shackle you to a life of secrets and miseries. Nor will I bind you to eternal gloom and slaughter your happiness, take your sun and hide your moon.

Just know that, in another life where I was free of lies and deceit, I would move heaven and earth just to stay alongside you.

To spend a lifetime with you.

Body and soul.

He took a deep shuddering breath, trying in futile to calm the anguish that was threatening to leak out of his body.

For a moment, he thought his dead heart was ready to burst anytime. But of course his heart had long since ceased its beating, and It had only left with him an equally terrible sense of emptiness.

Why had he decided to go over this again? To rip open scars that were long buried. Old memories that he should long have concealed, lost somewhere in the ocean of his long pitiful existence. He thought he’d be over this by now, after the millionth time. But clearly some things never truly die away.

With care he produced from a small velvet pouch-

A single diamond ring.

It glittered under the moon, splaying the light of a million rainbow everywhere it touched.

Just like how her eyes had shone that day.

When he got down on one knee and proposed to her.

Her mouth agape, lips quivering, staring at him in shock and disbelief. His stomach had churned then when she had simply stood there, dumbfounded; worried that he had taken a wrong move, that she did not love him enough to want to be tied down with him. That perhaps he was still too young, too poor to offer her the life that she deserved.

But then a single tear had dropped from her eyes.

And it was followed by another, and another.

He was thrown in a panic by then, unsure of the mistake he had committed but ready to make any amend just to stop the onslaught of her tears.

Except she had then tackled him to the ground, laughing amidst her tears. Murmuring into his ears, the answer that had only mattered to him.

Yes, yes, yes.

She had kissed him so ferociously that day, stealing his breath away as if she herself would be stolen away the next moment.

A thousand times yes.

And stolen she was indeed.

Left alone in the cold morning light, sheets crumpled from the night they had shared, her scent still lingering in the air. His heart had froze, left with only an emptiness that would rage within him for the next two centuries.

She had only left with him a note and her wedding ring.

Hers. Not his; because he could not tolerate the thought of it being anything else.

And an everlasting memory that would haunt him for the rest of eternity. An aching want and need, a desire left unsaid in the dead of the night.

In those terrible formative years, when he had just been turned, night after nights he would imagine the ghost of a lip, tracing up his spine. Warm breaths at his neck; the touch of a hand, cupping his face gently, as if he were made of glass. Sweet-nothings whispered, empty promises of a life that could have been, might have been. Except none of them were real and every one of which only a figment of his imagination and memory.

Some night he would go on a killing spree, desperate to escape from memories of her that had long since turned into a never-ending nightmare, his raging storm of emotions.

A century and a half later, there were still nights like these, nights where he would meticulously finger the exquisite cravings over her engagement ring. Her name a silent mantra, a prayer from his mouth to the gods he had once worshipped and forsaken.

The pain had dampen over the years but the scars had remained. And the memories still fresh. New companionship may have eased him out of his shell of sorrow. But while he may hold another in his arms now, how could he love anyone in half? When he had long since given away half of his soul to the one who had claimed as hers on that fateful day.

But that was another story for another day.

And his pitiful being could not bear the grief all at once on any given nights; it was alright to remember in portions and halves. That way he would not lose his mind to the remembrance of her then. The one he had lost but must continue to solider on without.

“Oh Adeline.”

“My sweet Adeline, why must you torture me so?”

*

On the run.

It seemed she was always on the run these days.

No permanent roof ever above her head; even the feeling of a soft pillow and a down quilt seemed foreign to her now. She was more familiar with green moss beneath her head and the stars as her canopy; clothes she snagged from stores, and meals of little preys here and there now. She was always careful not to leave a trace.

Stopping over at the riverbed to cleanse her dusty face; she mulled over her circumstances.

Family they- he, her father had called her.

And yet it was also him who made her life a living hell.

Always asking, always demanding for a hand, a chore to be done, her duties to him as her father, mentor, creator. And when she could not tolerate his iron fist of a control, she did the only thing she was good at.

She ran.

Companionship. Father had told her once. No one can live for long without companionship.

She would’ve proved him wrong then. Scoffed at him. Told him that creatures like them did not deserve anything but misery, and least of all a hint of humanity. Only humans crave company; they had sinned far too much to be deserving of any.

How much blood must be spilled, to satisfy his want for his so called companionships?

But even at times, she had been tempted. A short stay in a town, a job, an education, a short fling. Mindless chatters, a warm embrace to fall asleep to at night. Anything to make herself forget just for awhile how different she was, how she could never blend in with anyone. How over the years she had lost so much, she thought she might as well have lost her heart.

Except her strange family. Whom she completely despised. Mostly.

Ah how she missed those good old days. That one summer when everything was golden and life was simple; the scorching Texan sun, the swaying wheat fields, the straw thatch cottage and its warm hearth and Hettie’s hearty soups, Ralph’s incessant chatter. And those gentle brown eyes and that mop of flaxen hair, shining like golden peat in the summer sun-

She would not let her mind wander there now.

Lock the doors and throw away the key.

She needed to stay vigilant. Her family were not the only ones she was running from. There were more dangerous and mysterious beings out there, ones she did not dare cross. Every little shift in the air, whiff of smell was a signal to her instinct. Even a falling leave could be a sign of the things to come. And right now they were telling her to head north, pass the borders, and into the Canada. There would be ample food and her family would not think to look for her there. In time, she might be able to join a small community, live a life for a little while before moving on to the next.

Keep inland, you’ll be safe. Her instinct whispered.

But she wanted to see the ocean. And the Pacific Northwest coast was a marvel. She knew of a coven near the peninsula; but surely if she stayed to herself, she should be able to cross into Vancouver without a hitch?

Keep inland.

Keep inland.

Keep inland.

Her instinct only whispered on.

It was the scent she came across first.

The sweet invigorating smell of vanilla and washed linen, that of a babe’s. She froze unnaturally amidst her stroll; this was not the scent of a human, it was… it reminded her of her siblings. Of her kind.

Turnawayturnawayturnaway-

But curiosity got the better of her.

Surely, just surely, a glimpse would not hurt. There shouldn’t be any out there like her. None of the old kinds had the knowledge of… Father had confirmed of this. Or was he mistaken?

And as she tracked the child’s scent; she came into a large clearing of blooming heathers, yet not even the overwhelming floral scent could overpower the child’s scent.

There in the gleaming sun was a child of twelve or thirteen, bronze curls flowing in the air as she twirled around in peals of laughter. Her porcelain skin illuminated; and her heart was thrumming like a little hummingbird.

‘It cannot be.’ She whispered to herself in a daze.

Gasping, the child turned towards her at once, clearly finally discovering that she was alone no more. Initially agitated, the child was quick to drop her caution when she noted how the stranger was still in a trance, staring agape at her. Nor did she miss the equally alluring scent of the intruder, her soft glowing skin and the quick humming of her heart.

Timidly, the child shuffled towards her eyeing her with curiosity. Until the two were face to face each other, apprising the other.

“Are you perhaps…” Like me? Was the unvoiced question.

“Dear God, Child.” She finally found the strength within to muster a few shaky breaths of words, disbelief evidently dominating her countenance. “How is this possible?”

With shaking hands she cupped the child’s cheeks, tenderly stroking the smoothness of her cheeks and soaking up the warmth.

“What of your maker?” She swallowed thickly. “Is he treating you well, Child?”

“Do you mean my Mum and Dad, Miss?” The child furrowed her pretty brows. “They should be just around I think. If you would like to meet them…”

That broke her out of her trance and she immediately straightened her stance. This was dangerous, she was treading on thin ice. A child like her kind would not be left unguarded, her guardians were nearby and no doubt treasured her greatly, judging from her clean attire and priciness of her garments. Any contact would be deemed a threat. She had already overstayed her welcome. And she did not want a fight. Sure she was quick and escaping and hiding had always been a forte of hers, but should she engage in battle, there was no telling if she could even gain upper hand long enough for her to run.

“I must go.” She muttered gravely to the child.

“Wait Miss!” The child chirped in a sing-song manner, unaware of the gravity of the situation. “I’m sure Mum and Dad will be delighted to meet you! And grandpa he-“

Shit. Was this the coven Father had mentioned before?

The idea of meeting an entire coven made her stomach churn. She did not quite understand how the child had come to be, nor did she understand how the Volturi would allow such a coven to exist in plain sight. And she did not intend to find out.

“Child. Child!” She hissed, surveying her surrounding in caution now. “Listen, you must take care. There are people out there who will harm you without a thought or a blink. You must be careful, don’t be so trustworthy of any strangers now.”

She looked the child dead in the eye then.

“Not even me.”

“But you didn’t hurt me! I know you wouldn’t! And aren’t we the same?” The child pleaded imploringly.

“No, not even your kind. And certainly not me.” She smoothed the child’s hair gently and tucked them behind her ear. “Trust no one. Not even your makers.”

“That’s just sad then.” The child replied solemnly.

She stood up and straightened her jacket. “Well, it's a sad and pitiful existence that we lead, Child.” She smiled bitterly then and turned to go. “One day you’ll know.”

She was just about to run when she felt a tuck at her sleeves. Turning sharply, she eyed the child in confusion.

“My name’s Renesmee, Miss. What’s yours?”

She grimaced slightly; well so much for telling the child off, she mused.

“Adeline, my name’s Adeline, Child.”

In hindsight, Adeline really should have seen the attack coming. Her instincts had been screaming at her the whole time after all.

But in a moment of distraction, she had heeded her instincts too late. She did manage to subdue the attack at her jugular with a block, but was still hurled halfway across the clearing. Twisting her body, she managed to land in a crouch; eyes trained on her attacker. He was a strong built man- vampire, tall and handsome, the usual package. And she was surprised to find his eyes golden, not that there was much time to marvel at it. His crouching stance indicated that he was ready for battle and he bared his fangs at her, guarding his child protectively

“Stay away from my daughter.” He growled.

Adeline couldn’t help but rolled her eyes. “That, I had every intention of doing.”

“Stop! Dad! Stop!” She could hear the child- Renesmee crying in the distance. But there was no time for that now.

Leftleftleftleftleft-

Turning to her left, she kicked a pouncing werewolf right in the gut, slamming it into a nearby tree. Right. And then threw a punch at the female vampire that was ready to lunge at her right. Down. Blocked another blow. Shoulder. Landed a hit on shoulder of the she-vampire. Duck. Barely escaped from the wolf’s pouncing attack. Roll. And managed to withdraw herself from the fighting two.

With a final glance at the father and child; Adeline focused her mind in concealing herself before darting out of the clearing.

Promising to herself to avoid the Pacific Northwest at all cost from now on. Wary of the rest of the coven she would find there.

Not to mention the wolves.

And that was how Adeline came across the Cullens for the very first time.

[mrvltwimagines]

Physical Comfort

EMILY PRENTISS X READER

SUMMARY: Even though your relationship had always been kept on the down low, the current case was too much for the both of you to stay apart from each other afterwards.

WARNINGS: Slight crime scene talk in the beginning, but other than that nothing!

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

PROMPT: could you do one where the BAU team comes from a case that was hard for Emily and she needs to be close to her girlfriend who is also on the team, so she sits on her lap and the team is not used to seeing this soft side of Emily? 

Both you and Emily had grown accustomed to not showing your true affection towards each other while on the job. Everyone knew you were together, but even if they didn’t they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Hotch made it known that you two weren’t to display any acts of public display of affection during cases, or even much while in the bullpen just to keep things clean and civilized. You both didn’t have an issue with that, and you understood where Hotch was coming from. It wouldn’t look too professional if two of his top agents were groping each other or kissing while in uniform.

But then came days like today, or more like weeks like this one where you worked all week long trying to save several children that had gone missing, each of their nanny’s missing with them. In the beginning the team didn’t even know where to start, and at that time there was only one missing kid and their nanny. By the third day you realized that the Unsub wasn’t slowing down, and while you hadn’t come across any actual bodies, one kid and their nanny would go missing each day.

It took you guys longer than you’d like to admit to figure out who the Unsub was and what their endgame was, but by time you did two nanny’s had already been found dead, and after finding the rest of them it was made aware that each of the kids were beaten like crazy.

Every time you closed your eyes you could hear the crying from outside the remote cabin you had located to be the unsubs. As you walked through the front door all you saw were children chained up to whatever could keep them in place, and bruises littered their skin. Then came the room where there was a bed for each nanny, and they were chained to the headboards, unable to move or help the children who sat just outside their door, crying out.

You couldn’t imagine how you would feel or react if you were in their situation. You knew everyone in that situation was going to need a large amount of therapy, but you guys were expected to go on like normal like you do after every case.

Children cases did tend to hit the team harder than other ones. With half the team being parents, and the other half just having a large amount of empathy, there was no escaping the sadness that would seep in when seeing children hurt. Walking into a cabin and finding multiple children with dried blood on them and bruises all over was something no one would forget any time soon. 

The drive back to the current towns police station after we caught the unsub and got medics out for all the victims was a quiet one. No one had anything to say that would help the situation that you all just walked into, so staying quiet was the best option. 

You couldn’t help the constant glances you were sending Emily’s way. You knew she was in deep thought by the way she was looking out the window without even blinking. She wasn’t paying attention to the moving scenery around us, she’s simply just staring and only seeing whatever scene is in her head. Hotch was driving, and Spencer was in the passenger seat while you and Emily were in the backseat. You wanted to reach out and grab her hand, at least letting her know you were there for her, as much as you knew she was there for you, but right as you gained the confidence to you made eye contact with Hotch in the rearview mirror and decided against it. While you’re sure that since you’re in the safe space of one of the vehicles with just him and Spencer to witness your gentle touches, you didn’t want to go against rules and potentially make any of your team members uncomfortable. 

Hotch could tell you were struggling with not moving closer to Emily. He tried to send you a gentle look, but he knows he’s bad at getting that across and instead was just able to make eye contact with you before you quickly looked away and out your window. He sighed, almost feeling guilty that you couldn’t find comfort in your own girlfriend because you were in the presence of the team. When he originally came up with the rules for the two of you, he should’ve made it more clear that behind closed doors, you two could act like the couple you were, just not a large amount of PDA.

As you walked into the police station, the chief of police thanked you guys for your work, and the entire team was quick to clean up the conference room you had all been working in before grabbing your own bags and heading off to the airport, ready to get back home. All you could think about was getting into bed and cuddling Emily, knowing you both needed the physical comfort of each other.

“Y/n, Emily, can i speak to you real quick?” Hotch asked out from the back of the plane, away from where the rest of the team was already seated. You looked at each other, both not knowing what he could want but nodded nonetheless and joined him back by the coffeemaker. 

“I’ve noticed that the rules i set might have not been the correct rulings,” he started off, “I know cases like the one we just dealt with are extremely tough, and it’s normal to want the support of loved ones. My initial rules for your relationship were that if you two were to be a couple you shouldn’t outwardly be showing affection while on a case, but i do want to state that when we are in the comfort of a safe space such as the jet or one of our vehicles, it is okay to act how you want to act.”

You were a little thrown off by his words, not expecting him to basically tell us that we could be affectionate towards each other.

“We just don’t want to make the team uncomfortable, sir,” Emily spoke up before you could. You looked at her and she made split eye contact with you for before turning her attention back to him.

“You can’t make us uncomfortable. We all support you, and when there’s cases like this it’s natural to need physical comfort. Whether you want to show in front of the team or not, that’s up to you two. I just wanted to make you aware that i won’t stop appropriate displays of affection while in the presence of just the team, and i guarantee no one else will argue me on that,” with that, he just simply nodded at us and walked back to his seat next to Rossi. The two of you looked at each other before you quickly approached her and threw your arms around her waist, tucking your head into her neck. Being at the back of the plane, and with the other team members either sleeping, reading or simply not paying attention, you knew no one was looking at you, but it still felt weird to be able to hug her so openly.

“This case was very overwhelming, huh?” you quietly asked as she rested her face on the top of your head, squeezing her arms around your shoulders. You could feel her nod before pulling away a bit and looking up at her.

“Let’s sit,” she moved her head indicating to the double seater right next to the two of you. You sat down first, grabbing Emily’s hand to pull her down directly next to you. Now you may be the softie within the entire team, but when Em was in a lethargic mood and around you, she softened up more than the team knew. She never showed much emotion except for the few times someone within the team has gotten hurt, but you could tell that this case was upsetting her.

“You wanna tell me whats going on in your head?” you whispered out, setting your forehead against hers as she leaned even more into you, wrapping her arm around your own. She was naturally clingy with you, and unknowingly to you, J.J, Spencer and Derek had all taken notice to your guys’ closeness. 

“I just...” she paused, clearly at a loss for words. You looked at her, your heart aching a bit for the sadness that was so evident on her face. You nodded, leaning up to give her a kiss on the forehead before she moved even closer to you which seemed impossible, but there she was practically sitting on you lap. You wrapped your arms around her, closing your eyes as you leaned back in your seat and let her rest her head in your neck this time. You knew with time she’d find the words to describe to you how she was feeling, but right now on your few hour long flight home, you were both just needing some physical comfort. 

Derek couldn’t hide the small smile at the sight of the two of you, gaining both Rossi and Hotch’s attention as they turned around to see what he was looking at. 

“I’d never thought i’d see the day where Emily looks even softer than y/n does,” Rossi quietly joked as both him and Hotch turned back around in their seats. Everyone shared a small smile, looking at the two of you one more time before going back to what they were doing. 

From then on, your small touches and gentle words to each other grew on the team, and they were no longer surprised at how soft they found Emily to be. If anything they were impressed that she was so good at being a leader but at the end of the day it was like she was a sloth, just needing to hang on you and gain comfort from your touch. You both were good at hiding your relationship from the general public for the sake of being professional, but you were thankful you had the team you did who supported you two for all that you were.

[barnes-dameron]

can i request din and the reader getting married?

Connected

Summary: After a struggle with a bounty, Din realizes that he wants to spend the rest of his life connected to you.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: This takes place before the events of season two, more so in the middle of season one...when Mando still had the Razor Crest. Btw, the reader is female

***

The feeling at the bottom of Din’s stomach wasn’t so much from nerves, but more from anticipation. He kept an iron grip while piloting the Razor Crest, alongside laser focus when flying back to the planet his covert is on. It wasn’t so much as a heat of the moment decision, but rather one he thought of for some time and proposed the idea to you in a moment of weakness.

He thought back to the time when he returned from a hunt some time ago. The bounty got away from him, and he sustained several injuries. There were times when he was returning to the ship that he didn’t think he would make it back. The bounty skimmed him with a blaster fire at his uncovered side, causing him to bleed out with every movement. Every stride caused his head to spin, and his step to stumble. Din practically collapsed when he returned, his body making a loud thud when his beskar armor collided with the hull’s metal floor. He remembered your face when you looked down at him, even when his vision started to blur. While you were dressing his wound with bacta, as the cool substance was being applied, he was reminded of his weakness, and how he could barely make it back to you or the Child. And that reminder caused his heart to ache. It wasn’t until after a quick nap from his exhaustion and blood loss that he revealed his desire to spend the rest of his life with you. The flood of relief from your excited acceptance overwhelmed him enough to forget the pain and failure of his hunt. In return, he was filled with joy and victory in capturing your heart.

When the dull planet of Nevarro came to view, excitement started to bubble within Din, though he would never show it. Part of his profession, he must keep his emotions in check. He got up from his spot in the pilot’s seat, and made his way down to the haul. Din’s heart warmed when he saw you with the Child, a sight he treasured and thought back to often.

“We’re almost there,” Din said, grabbing your attention so he could see your beautiful eyes. “We should probably get everything together.”

“Already done,” you responded proudly as you placed the Child on a nearby crate.

Though you couldn’t see it yourself, Din smiled underneath the helmet. Truth be told, the one thing that caused Din both excitement and anxiety was being able to reveal himself to you. He longed to look at you without the visor, and use his naked eyes for once. But of course the fear of rejection nagged him. What if he wasn’t what you expected? What if you found him ugly and unattractive at all? What if you decided you couldn’t love him? Though he tried to put these thoughts aside, knowing you weren’t that kind of person, his insecurities still got to him.

The walk to the covert’s entrance seemed so long to Din even though he made this journey so many times before. But now, it was different. Din carried a bag that belongs to you, something you wanted to wear for the ceremony that was a tradition on your planet. The cradle floated alongside the two of you, the Child beaming. The little womp rat must’ve caught wind of what you two are about to do.

His heavy footsteps could be heard by his fellow Mandalorians as he descended down the steps into the tunnels while yours were quieter compared to his. Not wanting you to be intimated from his armor clad companions, he placed a hand on the small of your back leading you to the Armorer while making sure the Child was following close by. Din couldn’t help but swell with pride as you walked beside him. The helmets from the other Mandalorians turning to watch the three of you, and Din knew that none of them can have you. You were about to be his, and he was about to be yours.

The Armorer’s bronze helmet gleamed in the fire light as she turned to see Din, his fiancee, and foundling at the entrance to her forge. She set aside the hammer she was holding, and moved to face Din and his aliit.

“You have found a riduur,” she said, rather than asking a question.

“Yes,” Din replied, moving his hand to rest on your hip while pulling you closer to him. “We came here to say our vows with witnesses present.”

“Of course,” the Armorer responded. “This is the way.”

“This is the way,” Din declared.

He led you out, and showed you to a room where you could change before turning away to leave to give you privacy.

The tunnel was lined with the covert’s Mandalorians from the entrance to your room all the way to the end with Din and the Armorer. Din took a deep breath as he watched you emerge. You were wearing a traditional wedding dress from your culture, and Din could understand why it was so important to you. The color was perfect against your skin, and made your beauty glow even brighter. Din struggled to breathe since the sight of you walking towards him took his breath away. The smile on your face caused him to blush and yet again he thanked the Maker for the helmet. When you finally reached him, he took your hands in his, feeling the warmth you radiated through his leather gloves. He squeezed your hands in reassurance before taking a deep breath.

“Mhi solus tome,” he began, his voice steady and proud. “mhi solus dar’tome.”

He watched as you opened your mouth, repeating the words he said while switching your gaze from him to the Armorer then back to him. He gave a quiet hmmm of laughter when you stumbled a bit. The Armorer repeating the mispronounced words slowly to make it easier for you.

We are one whether we are together or apart,

“Mhi me’dinui,” he declared, then listening to you echo his words.

We will share everything,

“An mhi ba’juri verde,” Din vowed, holding your hands a bit tighter as you reiterated his words, tears brimming in your eyes.

And we will raise our children as warriors.

Din pressed his forehead to yours as the applause from the small audience echoed throughout the tunnel. A smile spread across Din’s face as he moved his hands away from yours to then rest on your hips.

Despite the muffled noise from the other Mandalorians, the room you and Din occupied was quiet. The Armorer suggested for him to take the room to consummate the marriage, reassuring him that the Child will be well taken care of. But even though the little guy was cared for, Din couldn’t help but feel the bundle of nerves at the bottom of his stomach. This is the moment he has been both dreading and waiting for.

Din stood near the entrance, his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides while he looks you. Your smile was bright as your eyes softened at him, your husband. He was your husband, and you were his wife. That simple fact was enough to give Din the confidence he needed.

He approached your waiting figure, placing his hands on your hips once again, an action that was slowly becoming a comfort mechanism for him; reminding him that you will always be there for him...with him. Din looked down at your face, your features soft and glowing. He took a deep breath, reaching one hand up to grip the bottom edge of his helmet. While slowly lifting up the beskar helmet, he sees how different things are with his own eyes instead of through his visor. Din took his helmet, and placed it on the bed nearby.

He took in the features of your face, admiring the way the light in the room illuminates the color of your eyes. Your lips look so soft and smooth, something he hasn’t noticed through the helmet. But Din was distracted when you reached up a hand to touch his cheek. He nearly died due to the contact, the feeling so foreign yet welcoming. Your fingers trace along his jaw before rubbing them over the stubble he forgot to shave. He closed his eyes from content, savoring the pleasure of your touch.

“Y/N,” Din whispered, opening his eyes. “I know I’m probably not what you expected and-”

“You’re right,” you interjected. For a brief moment, Din’s heart sank to the floor as his fear was about to unfold right in front of his eyes. “You’re better than what I imagined.”

And just as fast as it fell, his heart began to beat again, faster even knowing that the love of his life put all his fears to bed. It was then that Din smiled before leaning down to feel and see if those lips were as soft as they looked.

His lips were gentle at first, testing the waters, but it was you who pressed harder, causing Din to press your body against his. His lips moved against yours with expertise, like a choreographed dance, as if it was meant to be. You licked the seam of his lips, begging for his mouth to open. Din took this new opportunity to plunge his tongue into your mouth, exploring and savoring your sweet taste. Even though this was Din’s first kiss, it didn’t feel like it. At least, not with you. It wasn’t until you pulled away that Din realized how much he missed the feel of your mouth already.

“Wow,” you breathed out. “You’re really good with your mouth.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “That’s not the only thing I’m good at.”

***

Taglist: @tangledlove27 @absurdthirst @caswinchester2000

[iristhemessenger]

A Family Affair-The Turning

A quick fic for The 31 Days of Wayhaven - ‘Blood’ - inspired by a conversation this morning on our server with @obsessivedino and @agentnatesewell <3

f.Detective(Eris)/Felix Hauville!

~ * ~

He’s nervous.

More than that, as he watches Mason cradle Eris in his arms, the young woman’s body limp and compliant from the drugs the Agency doctors have administered to help ease the process, Felix feels fear.

Like waves washing over them all, the tension and trepidation hung heavy in the air, a collection of primal emotions birthed by all of them who stood witness.

Nate and Adam stood a respectful distance, keeping Eris’ mother company during this stressful moment, her anchors to the world as she watches her only child bid her mortality, maybe her very life, goodbye.

The youngest of them, shining eyes wide with apprehension, frets at Mason’s side. He doesn’t want to be far, just in case…

This would work, it had to work.

Were he not afraid he’d mess it up somehow, he’d do it himself. But he wants this done right, wants it to have as much chance of success as possible.

He knows how strong Eris is, the strongest person he knows in fact. To endure what she had, in such a short time already. He loves that about her. He loves her, more than anything else in this world.

This has to work.

He doesn’t want to lose the most important thing in his life.

Mason is gentle, bringing her to him he allows Felix to reach out, to help brush her lovely raven hair aside to expose her neck for him. This moment is a solemn thing, intimate in its own way, and the level of trust and love both have given the older vampire is not lost upon him.

So, he is gentle, for Felix and for Eris’ sake, almost reverent as he brings his mouth to her flesh. Felix’s catches the white of his teeth, long and sharp, the smell of her blood as he breaks through her skin.

Mason grunts, snarls as the overwhelming power and taste of her floods his mouth. His role is pivotal, but it needs to be only a moment, as his venom flows into her bloodstream. No more, and he pulls away from her, retracting his fangs. She whimpers, a sound so soft that even they barely register it with their advanced hearing.

All is quiet, for but a moment, until the shaking begins.

He knew this was coming, they all did, it was just part of the process as Mason’s venom took hold, burning in Eris’ veins. Carefully, Mason passes the woman’s trembling form to the waiting arms of her lover. This part was for him, the final hurdle and, hopefully, the last.

Felix had never been the strongest of them, physically at least, but he held Eris tight as the trembling of her body became more violent. Mason stays close, just in case, but allows them their space. He is coiled, like a snake, ready to act if he is needed.

He does not see, but hears Rebecca as she takes a sharp breath, unable to release it for fear of losing it along with her daughter if she did. Nate has taken her hand in his in assurance, while Adam has laid his own, strong and solid, upon her shoulder. Both vampires watch the young couple, their gazes focused and intent.

Her body reacts to the venom, attempts to reject the fire that burns through her, so much worse than what Murphy had done to her so long ago. He holds her as she screams, thrashing about like a wild thing, blunt nails clawing at the arms that held her.

“I got you, babe…it’s ok!” He tries to soothe her as she struggles against him, her cries of pain piercing his heart worse than any knife. “I’m here – I got you!”

The scratches she digs into his arms will heal, forgotten nearly as fast as she inflicts them, but the memory of this moment, her anguished howls and dying body writhing against his own, will not.

Moments becomes meaningless.

It seems endless, as Eris fights. He makes sure she hears him, his voice strong, as he offers words of comfort. He tells her how strong she is. How proud he is of her, and how much he loves her. He tells her all of these things and more, because, in the fear that surrounds them all, this may be the last time he ever gets to tell her.

Then, there is stillness.

Her body, like a bowstring pulled taut, finally releases, and falls limp in his embrace.

Felix feels himself, feels everyone in the room, go still.

He can’t hear it.

Her heartbeat. The sweetest melody he had ever known. He can’t hear it.

The others tense, save Rebecca.

They can’t hear it either.

Tears blur his sight, the world becoming fuzzy. No, no, no, no…

He rocks her, he whispers.

“Come back, babe…love…come back…please…!”

The fear and anxiousness that filled the room begins to wane, sadness, grief and loss slowly take their place. Rebecca, feeling the shift in the room, stares at her child’s lifeless form. Her despair is a heart wrenching sound, that barely finds purchase in the air as Nate holds the woman close to his chest in an attempt to quell her sorrow.

Adam and Mason both remain rooted, jaws and fists clenched. Their grief comes in silence, as their emotions spin within them, akin to a building hurricane. For Adam it is an all too familiar loss, for Mason it hits hard and raw, as it mixes with his friend and teammates own choking cries.

Felix continues to rock Eris, kissing her blood-stained shoulder and whispering. He tries to bring her back, she has to come back.

She can’t leave him.

Can’t leave their little one, who’s waiting back in their apartment, playing with Verda’s little girls as she waits for her parents to come home.

Its her, the thought of their little one. With her father’s bright eyes and her mother’s lovely smile, he swears, no sooner imagining her, that summons the flutter in Eris’ veins.

Again, the room twitches and turns with the blend of emotions, as the other three vampire’s look sharply to them once again.

They can hear it, the pulsing of blood, of life, as it beats in a building tempo.

She’s alive!

Felix’s laughs, a strangled sound not filled with mirth but relief as he gasps for the air he knows he doesn’t need.

Then her eyes, those beautiful sapphire blue, now even brighter and more beautiful (if that was even possible, he thinks!) open and meet his own wet, amber gaze.

She smiles, it’s weak and strained, but still there. For him, alive and real, with the barest hint of pointed canines. Proof she had made it, that the few seconds of overwhelming grief and pain hadn’t been for nothing.

He smiles back, his world filling with color, love and happiness once again.

[kieraswriting]

Coffin Chapter Four

Masterpost

None of the humans came downstairs that evening. Virgil didn’t mind too much. Being stuck in a cell sucked, but it was infinitely better than before. And he was still feeling full. His wrists and ankles were hardly hurting anymore, and the burn on his palm was entirely gone. And he still had the fidget cube to fiddle with. He’d never been one to shun time alone.

Early the next evening, six thirty, if the clock on the wall was to be trusted, Patton came down into the basement.

“Hey, Virgil.”

Virgil raised a hand in greeting.

“Logan and I are going out for a while. Do you want to come with us?”

Virgil blinked. He had not expected that. Even with the argument yesterday, he never would have thought…

“What about Roman?”

Patton seemed to misunderstand his question. “Oh, don’t worry, we aren’t leaving him behind. He’s at school. His classes run late on Wednesdays.”

Truthfully, Virgil did want to go. As much better as the cell was than a coffin, it was still pretty boring. He did have one concern left, though. “Do I still have to wear this outside?” He raised a hand to the muzzle.

“Oh… I didn’t think about that. Let me talk with Logan first, and I’ll let you know.” Patton raced back upstairs.

Virgil could have heard them, if he wanted, but he purposely didn’t listen. If the answer was unpleasant he didn’t want to have to hear it twice.

Shortly after, though, Logan and Patton both came down.

“We have determined that you may accompany us, and may do so without the muzzle. But we want you to first promise that you will follow any and all instructions from either of us.” Logan said.

Virgil nodded. He waited for Patton to open the door and take the muzzle off before he stood up.

And then, they went… on a walk?

It was awkward to say the least. Virgil was still skittish around them, since he didn’t know how far they would take anything. He stuck close to them, enjoying the night air as much as he could past the stale silence. They seemed just as awkward around him as he was around them.

It seemed especially odd that they weren’t intending to do anything.

It went smoothly, if awkwardly, until Virgil managed to catch someone’s eye. He hadn’t meant to. He’d been mostly looking down and across the street. But he just happened to make eye contact with someone else on the other side. And he knew immediately, and knew that the other knew as well, that they were both vampires.

Virgil was behind the two humans, and they couldn’t see his face. He silently bared his teeth at the other, a warning to stay away. The other didn’t listen, or didn’t care, and crossed the street. She was now far too close for comfort, and kept advancing. Virgil turned to face her and hissed.

“Virgil, what—?”

“Virgil!”

The vampire ran at Patton, and Virgil moved in between. He caught her wrist and shoved back with his other hand at her shoulder. She shifted to trying to bite him.

“You don’t need two!” She hissed.

Virgil grappled awkwardly. He was not trained in any kind of fighting, and wasn’t as strong as she was. But he managed to keep her off of Patton.

Suddenly there was a deafening bang. The vampire fell limp, old, brownish blood languidly trickling from a hole in her temple.

Virgil looked up to see Logan holding a still smoking gun. He couldn’t get any air. He couldn’t breathe. He let go of the vampire, tripping and falling as he backed away. His throat was thick and heavy, and his ears still rang from the gunshot.

No.

It was the same all over again. “Y-you killed her.”

Virgil couldn’t look at Logan. Someone touched his shoulder and he flinched away violently.

He was on the ground. His sire was next to him, dead. They were going to hurt him next. They wouldn’t even kill him and let him go with her.

“No. No. Nonono please…”

Virgil slammed his eyes shut. He couldn’t bear to look.

But all that greeted him was the endless darkness. Darkness, pain, and hunger. It went on forever.

He still couldn’t breathe. It hurt.

Please let him out. Please.

•^*^••

Patton was too overwhelmed. Virgil wasn’t responding to either of them. He was on the ground and he wasn’t breathing properly.

“Patton.” Logan said, his voice cutting through the haze clearly. “Call us a ride. Someone trustworthy.”

“Yeah.” Patton dialed the number. He didn’t know why he was shaking, but he just wanted it to be over. Get Virgil back to their house.

•^*^••

No one knew when someone might turn out to be a vampire. But that was why there were hunters. Didn’t make it any less terrifying.

In fact, for some, it made it even more scary.

Virgil was one of these.

His dad was a vampire. He’d found that out the hard way when he was six. Between him and his mother, there was plenty enough blood, so his dad had never needed to go out and feed off of other humans. His dad wasn’t violent like other vampires he heard about on the news. But— maybe not everything was the way it was supposed to be. Virgil honestly didn’t know. It felt off, but he was forbidden from telling anyone.

His mom sometimes told him to find a friend to sleep over with, and while he certainly didn’t mind, it seemed like the other kids had a much harder time going to sleepovers. It was fine, though, until middle school, when his friends seemed to fade away.

The kids at school started picking on him, pushing him around on days he was weak from loss of blood. Mocking him for being overly pale. Telling the teachers he was a vampire. Constantly shoving various items made of silver in his face.

One day, when he came home, his mom pushed a full backpack into his arms and took his other one.

“Tonight’s a sleepover night, Virge. There’s a snack in the bag, and a change of clothes, and your toothbrush. But you need to go quick, Dad’s coming home early today.”

“Mom, what happens when Dad gets home? Why can’t I stay?”

“Shh, honey, I love you so much, but that one’s a secret, ok? Go have a good time.” She pulled him into a warm hug and kissed his forehead.

Was he imagining it, or was she trembling?

Virgil left the house and walked down the street. He hadn’t gotten to tell her. His last real friend had moved away. He’d gotten the letter at school. He’d wanted to say goodbye in person, but they were moving away very quickly, or something.

Virgil found himself at a playground. There were a few parents with very little kids. He sat on the bench and opened the backpack to get the snack.

Virgil sat on the bench until after the sun set. He wasn’t sure if he should try knocking on the houses of his old friends. Maybe they’d let him in anyway? It was getting cold out here, even through his jacket.

“Good evening,” said a feminine voice.

Virgil turned to look. She was very tall, and wearing a long dress. Even in the dark, he could see the reddish glint in her eyes.

“Good evening. Are you— I’ll give you my blood if you make sure it doesn’t hurt.”

The woman stepped closer, movement fluid and fast. “What makes you think I want your blood?”

“Your eyes.”

She laughed quietly. “Not many humans recognize bloodlust this early.”

Virgil didn’t answer. There didn’t seem to be a good answer to something like that. He felt oddly calm, more so than he would usually. Perhaps she had some kind of power to make people calm.

“Why are you out here all alone at night?” She asked.

“My mom told me to have a sleepover with friends, but I don’t have any friends. And I can’t stay home because dad’s coming home early, and I’m kinda scared because he’s—“ Virgil slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t be concerned, I tend to have this effect on people. It comes with age and beauty.”

And oddly enough, Virgil wasn’t concerned, though a part of him said that he should be.

“What were you saying about your dad?” The woman continued.

Virgil kept his hand over his mouth and shook his head.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to tell me. But come, I’ll give you a safer place to sleep than a park bench.”

She held out a hand, and even though he was too old for holding hands, Virgil slipped his hand into hers.

She led him across town and into a house. The house was cold. Not colder than outside, but not warm like most houses. All the lights were turned off, and she didn’t bother turning them on as she led him into a room.

The room had a nightlight, and one bed. The walls were painted a dark emerald green, and it was decorated to look like something elves would have made in the middle of a forest.

“This is my guest bedroom,” she said. “There are extra blankets under the bed if you get cold. You’re welcome to sleep here tonight.”

Virgil set down his backpack. “Thank you. But, aren’t you going to take my blood?”

He looked up at her, and her eyes flashed a brighter red. “No. I’m not. For tonight you are a guest.”

She left, shutting the door softly. Virgil changed into his pajamas and climbed into the bed. It was the softest bed he’d ever slept in. As he fell asleep, he began to worry that something was wrong. But he was asleep before his worries could return.

The next morning the woman drove him back to the park, and he walked home from there.

He was almost home when he realized just how awfully that could have gone. What had he been thinking?! Just walking off with a stranger? Going into their house?! He knew she was a vampire, and he still asked her if she was going to take his blood!? That could have been a death sentence! He still didn’t even know her name! What on earth had he been thinking!?

•^*^••

Virgil was fourteen when his mom died. It was a mystery to the police, but Virgil had strong suspicions.

The woman, who still refused to give Virgil a name, had become his friend, and her house was always open to him. The invitation was used more often once he found out why his mom had sent him away sometimes.

She had other vampires that stayed at her house sometimes, but it was always plain to them that Virgil was off limits. They didn’t like him, but he had no reason to like them either.

•^*^••

Virgil still didn’t know what happened to his dad when he got like this. Only that it was incredibly dangerous.

He didn’t leave in time.

Trying to run away only resulted in him laying face up in the backyard. He couldn’t move. Everything hurt, and he felt so very weak. His eyes closed.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there. It was at least a day, but could have been several for all he knew.

There was a loud crash from the house. Virgil only barely managed to turn his head enough to see. Someone was fighting inside. There were yells and angry screeches, but he wasn’t coherent enough to understand what they were saying.

Finally he understood a phrase, screamed loudly. “Where is he?!” It was her.

He felt a relief at that. If anyone could do something she could. But maybe relief wasn’t the thing he needed in that minute, because it caused him to let go of that last strand of consciousness he’d been holding on to.

He woke up in the familiar green room. The woman was sitting on the bed beside him, holding a bag of blood. He wasn’t sure how he knew it was blood. Except that it smelled like blood. But it was closed. How could he smell it?

He supposed that it was for her, but his stomach clenched, and he suddenly found himself reaching for it.

She smiled sadly and handed it to him. “Good morning, Virgil.”

Virgil’s heart raced as he realized what he was doing. He wasn’t calming down either. Why not? She’d always made him feel calm! Why wasn’t it working? Why was he drinking blood ?

She brushed his bangs out of his face. “I turned you. You’re a vampire.”

“Why?” Virgil’s voice broke. Vampires weren’t— they weren’t good. Even she, the kindest one he’d ever met, who’d never even drank from him, was still always suspicious and just a bit creepy.

“You were dying.”

“I don’t- I don’t know how to be a vampire. I don’t want to be!”

She leaned forward and hugged him. “It’ll be alright.”

•^*^••

Virgil settled in surprisingly easily. The other vampires that hung around his sire’s house had also been turned by her, for a variety of reasons. They still didn’t really like him, but that was fine. He hadn’t had friends in years anyway.

It was fine, until she told him that she wouldn’t be bringing home bags of blood anymore.

“You’ll have to learn how to get your own food.”

“I don’t- I don’t know how. I don’t want to hurt people. Please? I’ll find some way to pay you back.”

She laid a cold hand on his cheek. “You’ll be fine. The only way to learn is practice.”

“I don’t want to. What if I hurt them? What if I kill them?!”

“You’ll be fine. You won’t kill them. I’ll come with you the first time, to calm them, but after that you must learn for yourself.”

Virgil still didn’t want to. He knew what it felt like. It hurt. He didn’t want to make someone else hurt like that.

The first time wasn’t hard. His sire found a man who was walking alone in the night, and calmed him. It wasn’t hard, but Virgil felt sick leaving the man with punctures he didn’t know how to heal.

The second time was much worse. Virgil cried as he dialed 911. He ran as soon as he heard the ambulance, abandoning the phone in case it could be traced back to him.

His sire insisted that he would learn by doing, but his third time ended just as disastrously.

He begged her to bring blood. He’d get a job somewhere. He’d pay her back somehow. But she refused.

It took time, and several more panicked calls to 911, but he did learn. He couldn’t make it painless, much as he wished he could, and he didn’t know how to heal the puncture marks. His sire assured him that it would come with practice, and as he grew more confident in himself.

•^*^••

The hunters came suddenly, with little warning. One minute there was a smell of death and danger, and the next the door was beaten down. Virgil knew he wasn’t capable of fighting. He lost to every one of the other turned in a wrestling match, and didn’t dare try against his sire. So he hid. Lot of good that did him.

•^*^••

“Virgil? Virgil, can you hear me?” I need you to focus on my voice.”

Virgil tried to shift his attention away from the scene his mind insisted was repeating. The voice was mostly calm, just a little worried.

“I’m not going to touch you again. You’re safe. I need you to take in a deep breath.”

Virgil choked on the air. His vision darkened again.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to get it right. Just try one more time with me.” The voice breathed in deeply, loud enough to hear.

Virgil tried copying, with only slightly more success.

“Well done. One more time, hold your breath a little before letting it out.”

Virgil followed the instructions, even as they grew more complicated, and the voice wanted him to count as he breathed.

Eventually the false scene dissolved, and Virgil found himself laying on a couch in a house. In the hunters’ house. Patton and Logan were hovering over him, and Logan was still coaching him through breathing.

“Are you alright?” Patton asked.

Virgil gave a shaky nod. He would be, even if he wasn’t really ok at the moment.

“When you feel up to standing, we’ll take you downstairs. You should rest.” Logan said.

Soon after, Virgil was left alone in the cell to process the rest of his panic by himself. They hadn’t put the muzzle back on, and he was pretty sure that the door was unlocked. He didn’t know if he was grateful, or suspicious that neither of them had brought up the fact that they’d killed a vampire right in front of him. In his arms, really. That one was going to leave nightmares.

[cowperviolet]

For Gods and Gold - mega excerpt

'No one will disturb us here', Mathilde vander Welde says, shutting the door of the library behind her. Her sister’s distraction tactic worked perfectly.

‘‘I hope so, juvrow vander Welde’, Jochem Meier, who came in with her, comments. ‘Otherwise they’ll accuse you of both forfeiting your virtue here with me and of being heartless enough to discuss business on the day of you father’s funeral’.

As often, it’s impossible to say whether his remark is meant as a joke or a serious warning. Mathilde decides in favor of a warning whose absurdity she may laugh about, but whose crux she better heed.

‘This is most like to be the last moment when we can discuss matters in any privacy to speak of’, she says, the terra cotta panels of red and white bright under her feet. ‘As soon as tomorrow’s sun is up, every minute of my life is going to be devoured by my new well-wishers’.

That, and the walls of her house are going to grow many curious ears. She doesn’t spell it out because he understands it, and understands that she does. This is one of the reasons she values his counsel so: his quiet quickness of mind, otherwise veiled of necessity in the presence of those whose fortunes are bigger and lineages purer.

‘What was it you wished to discuss, juvrow vander Welde?’ Jochem Meier asks patiently. His attire, despite the occasion, reflects the same studious understatement as his tone: the black tunic of a minor merchant, the unadorned fingers, the high collar at his neck.

‘I wished to discuss the project of Shashtre, and its future’.

‘It was my understanding that the project is completed. The Armizi dynasty has gained their throne back, thanks to your esteemed father’s generous loan. The only thing left to do seems to be to wring a reduction in tariffs or a monopoly on pepper from Alessandro Armizi before the festive incense clouds his mind too much’.

‘I propose a different strategy, and I need to know if you are going to support it’.

‘I am a man with a stained family name and three wool workshops, juvrow vander Welde. I cannot imagine my support, humble as it is, would matter to you much’, he says drily.

Mathilde sighs inwardly – so, he has probably guessed what it is she thought up. Still, the only way she has now is to soldier on.

‘Father has already made us kingmakers. To use it for a pepper monopoly would be like using Ilerdian silk to wipe these floors. This a chance of a century. I am not going to pass it up’.

‘A chance to do what?’

‘To gain Alessandro Armizi’s trust enough to become, in essence, his own treasurers, the shapers of his kingdom. His court is young. He needs trusted people around him, even if some of them are going to be foreigners. No one on Ilerdian peninsula would be shocked at the notion of a foreigner in such a role, in truth – some states there even choose men from other principalities on purpose, to have someone free from the local factions’.

‘Men from other principalities on the same peninsula; from the states that are heirs to the same broken empire. Not those they perceive to be Northern barbarians’.

Mathilde kneels unceremoniously by a reading seat and narrows her eyes, making out the letters on the book list; ah, the candlelight here is so much dimmer…

Jochem Meier is looking at her almost suspiciously, as if from the pile of heavy, chained tomes she could spring upon him a curse.

She cannot even blame him. Her father had been a known, well-studied figure to him – to everyone - for decades; she, his heiress, is a yet-untested thing, wild as quicksilver.

‘There is so much more at stake’, she whispers, opening a leather volume, wishing her fingertips could become light feathers, unable to harm the treasure beneath. ‘If I succeed – if we succeed – who is to say what we cannot achieve? We could reach Alessandro’s uncle the Great Mowbed, help him manage his affairs. Bankers to the Holy Throne. It doesn’t sound too bad, does it?’ Mathilde smiles radiantly, the way she knows she is prone to when she gets overexcited.

‘The Great Mowbed, the Priest of Priests, His Truthfulness’, Jochem Meier muses, stepping closer to Mathilde and looking over her shoulder. ‘So many hallowed titles, but such a precarious position in the world. I suppose few would question his spiritual authority, but when it comes to the worldly leadership…’

‘He is the master of the capital of the former empire. That doesn’t seem to be the kind of worldly leadership to complain about’. Mathilde opens a page at random - she doesn’t have to seek out a particular illustration; every miniature is exquisite – two armies fight on the field of pale blue snow. One side is stiff in long, luminous chain-mail, the other’s armour is covered by flowing robes of porphyry.

‘Just look at it’, she whispers. ‘Isn’t it worth its weight in gold? It was a stroke of luck that my grandfather managed to find it. This was a part of the series of manuscripts commissioned for the last emperor in Janab – can you imagine? They were stolen, lost, dispersed throughout the peninsula during the wars afterwards. And this one surfaced in Esfan just when grandfather was there bargaining for a saffron consignment – we didn’t have a permanent company there yet. We’ve got the second and the fifth tome here, too, but they are of a later production’.

‘If you are trying to seduce me into supporting your enterprise by dazzling me with the glories of Ilerdian land, I’m afraid it isn’t working, juvrow vander Welde’.

Ah, but Mathilde can hear his voice growing softer.

I am not stupid, she thinks. I know that Janab is long since hollowed out, a place of magnificent ruins. I know that there had been princes holding Great Mowbeds hostage, and even more young dynasties tumbling down. But I want to take this risk. I cannot stop, cannot slink back to the cozy fireside. It is simply not my nature.

‘Think about the recent assassination attempt’, Meier murmurs just above her ear. ‘Can you imagine if it succeeded? With the Armizi Great Mowbed dead, his nephew in Shashtre won’t reign for a day’.

‘But it didn’t succeed. Besides, I thought your version was that the Great Mowbed simply cooked up this story because he wanted to cull the dastwars from the oldest families’.

'My version was that he merely used the situation to cull the mighty old guard in the Circle of Dastwars. It was too big a great stroke of luck, that all five conspirators belonged to it. I never said the actual knives in the dark weren’t genuine’.

The armies are meeting in battle – a graceful, orderly battle of a miniature. Even as the horseman in bright chain-mail slashes across the thighs of a porphyry-clad enemy, one’s attention is drawn more to the fluid lines than to the flowing blood.

‘I have not just called you here to receive your blessing’, Mathilde says, trying her best to keep the exhaustion and the nerves out of her voice. ‘I called you here because I want to entrust a lion’s share of this enterprise to you’. She turns around to face him and whispers: ‘I want you to go to Shashtre as the ambassador of the Republic of Gronsveld’.

This time, Meier does not reply. Finally, he is listening, looking down at her intently.

‘I want you to go’, Mathilde continues, ‘and to represent our interest and the Armizi court as well as the Republic’s. But, most of all, I want you to look out for any dangers to his rule or his life, and inform us about it’.

‘Or deal with them on site, should the situation allow, I take it’.

‘There is no one else, even among people who were loyal to my father, whom I could have trusted to be capable enough to manage it’.

There is also no one else who could be seduced by such a blatant promise of social climbing. The men and women who gathered in her father’s parlour to drink hippocras and discuss the price of fustian have long since climbed the ladder of power – indeed, their great-grandparents did – and would be likely to view such an offer as a dangerous distraction rather than an honour.

Jochem Meier is a different story.

Mathilde continues to smile. She is supposedly asking it of him as favour, not offering it as a gift - she doesn’t want to be seen as someone who secures people’s acquiescence with bribery, least of all by herself.

‘It’s a dangerous favour to ask’, he murmurs, his eyes keen.

Very well.

‘I promise to cover the costs of your embassy if the Chancery would fail to do so’.

‘Which it inevitably will. There only remains a minor question on whether the Council will vote to grant me the embassy’.

She had secured his help. Mathilde lets out a cautious breath.

‘This year’s Council is full of father’s old allies’.

‘They all have their own interests, Mathilde’.

A flush lights up her cheeks.

‘I wonder’, Mathilde says as levelly and lightly as she can, ‘if you used to call my father Walter’.

‘Forgive me, juvrow vander Welde’. A small, servile smile – the smile he could always put on like a cloak – is back on his lips. ‘Doubtless the mourning has addled my brain. That, and the rapture over the honour you’ve promised me’.

Promised. Not given.

Mathilde silently chastises herself for the outburst. The last thing she needs now is alienating her allies. But his slip of a tongue felt like he clutched her already broken arm. So many people, friends and enemies alike, are circling around her now, pillorying her with their stares, whispering about her uncommon youth – at twenty-one, they have all been dutifully gathering experience in the far-flung branches of their families’ banks and firms, not standing at the helm. One thing they are all sure about – some with pity, some with glee, but sure nonetheless – is that she is an easy prey, a lamb to the slaughter. Something much, much lesser than her father.

Her father. For the first time in the evening, the pain of loss clutching at her throat is threatening to overwhelm her and spill over into tears. Her father could have died a hundred times from a conspirator's blade, a rival's poison. But what toppled him was a simple kidney stone.

The surgery went splendidly; the physician priests were, as ever, proud of their ancient expertise. Their prowess made sure the process was quick; their draught eased the patient's suffering. But they had no power over the fevers that could follow, bringing swelling and delirium and deadly, morbid heat.

In death, he had been garbed as ostentatiously as he had rarely been in life, his shoulders swathed in a cape of cloth of gold embroidered with horses. The same animals were engraved on his brooches; the ends were bent - no living man will unclasp or wear them again. One cannot be too careful when seeking Aetrele's goodwill. In life, he prayed to her to ease the passage of his ships over the stormy waters. In death, her fabled horses should aid his final journey, carry him to the pale shores swiftly and soundly.

Mathilde bites her nails into her palms. She’ll weep later, with her sister for company. Right now, she must be her usual self – bright and hunt-ready.

‘Your father used to complain that men in his employ only bother to use double-entry bookkeeping if he is there to threaten them with a metaphorical stick’, Jochem Meier notes. ‘His allies on the Council are only different insomuch that they wear better cloaks’.

‘What are you suggesting?’ Mathilde can guess what he is getting at, but wants to hear it from his lips nonetheless.

‘There is going to be an out-of-time election for meester vander Welde’s vacated place on this year’s Council. I am suggesting that it would be a good use of your time to make sure you are elected to it’.

‘I am too young. They don’t welcome anyone below the age of twenty-five at least on the Council’.

‘They would have no choice if your name is to be drawn from the leather purses. The rule of the chance is the rule of gods, and the rule of gods is sacred’.

Mathilde is not a pure ewe of spring to be ignorant of the grease that kept the Republic’s wheels running. She knows how his father made sure the Council was stacked with his sympathizers this year, and she knows how much it costs to make the keepers of the purses add a certain name thrice, or even read aloud a different name than that on the piece of paper they’ve drawn. Desperate circumstances needed desperate measures.

Still, there is that, and then there is brazenly violating the law and hoping that whatever aura of sanctity still clung to the proceedings would help.

‘I don’t want to start my leadership like this’, Mathilde says. The cold of the onsetting winter is drawing in from the great library windows, and pricking her skin into goosebumps.

‘It’s better than starting it with a defeat’, Jochem Meier responds pragmatically.

Few candles are burning here, and the friezes running along the walls are shrouded in murk. They are depicting the labours and the joys of every season – a simple, understandable topic, requiring no reading and no fine eye to enjoy. They have been commissioned by her grandfather in the days when this room was a bedchamber, not a library; the figures are stylized as dolls of clay, and their colours are cheap hues of the earth.

Behind Mathilde’s back, the first tome of the Song of Emperors in breathing with gold.

This is what her father wanted when involving himself in these great campaigns down in the Ilerdian south, she knows; more than money, more than lucrative contracts. He wanted to bring back home the beauty and the knowledge of the empire that had been great when his homeland was still slumbering in savagery.

Desperate circumstances, Mathilde decides, sometimes need desperate measures indeed.

[southwalessubculture]

don’t actually go to parties right now, y’all, we’re in a pandemic. just imagine that this is from before (or after, if we make it that far) the social distancing/covid era.

He’d been eyeing you all night, to be honest, and it wasn’t like he’d been subtle; Marko had called him out on it a few times (a bit louder that he’d have preferred, the alcohol loosening his already quite loud friend’s lips even more), and he couldn’t pretend that Luchasaurus’s knowing glances were lost on him. He knew that he was being too invested, that you would catch on soon enough, but he couldn’t necessarily help it. He’d been desperately in love with you for over a year, and he was so tired of wondering if you reciprocated his feelings that he honestly wished that you would catch on so he would get, at the very least, an answer of some kind to his feelings.

He’d looked at you as a close friend (and wanted that to turn into more) since essentially the moment he’d met you; you had joined SCU when they had come to Jurassic Express’s defense after an attack by the Dark Order, you showing your almost effortless ring expertise as you helped to fight off the band of Followers from the ring. He still remembered the way that you’d helped him off the ground, your touch warm against his skin as you’d wiped a bit of blood from a cut on his cheek.

Ever since then, you’d worked well together; you occasionally trained with him and his tag partners, you had come to the aid of the group in quite a few matches since then, and he’d even gotten to team with you in mixed gender matches on a couple of occasions. Even outside of the ring, he always enjoyed getting late-night dinners with you after shows, movie nights in your apartment, and even the time that Marko had once (jokingly?) tried to put you through his kitchen counter after you won an intense game of Clue.

He always felt a surge of pride when you used one of the moves he’d taught you, relief when you came backstage unharmed from a brutal spotfest, and pure happiness when you would get excited over a good song on the radio. He’d never gotten tired of your smile, the way that you’d hug him after a rough loss, or the laugh as Marko would jump on your back during an entrance. Even when you were upset or angry, he would sit and listen to your struggles and worries, letting you run your hands through his hair (an absolute rarity for anyone) to calm yourself.

He blinked a few times, eyes dry from the reminiscing, and immediately lost the color from his face when he noticed that you were looking at him. You giggled a bit, waving to him before turning back to your conversation with The Butcher and The Blade, fingers loosening the belt around your waist to give you a little more room. Your words flowed along with theirs, but your mind was far away from the conversation, stuck on Jack. 

You’d noticed how excited he (and his teammates) had been when you came backstage from winning your first AEW Women’s Championship, clutching your new prize with diamond tears of pride on your cheeks. You tried to make it to the group, so excited about your victory and wanting so desperately to celebrate with them, but you’d constantly been cut off every time you’d made an attempt to get to them. To him.

First, it was an excited Brandi Rhodes, who had hugged you to the point where you was sure your waist would have purple bands around it in the morning. A crowd had quickly followed her, everyone from Sonny Kiss and Scorpio Sky to, oddly enough, Brodie Lee and MJF congratulating you over the three hours from your victory to the party. You had noticed that Jack kept glancing at you, and you honestly wished that he would just come over and talk to you instead of sitting by the wall, obviously trying not to add to the crowd that was starting to overwhelm you.

You waved goodbye to your current conversation-mates, promising to be back as soon as you took a quick trip to the bathroom. You felt like the room was closing in on you, so exhausted from the day’s stresses and looking for even a moment of escape. You were lucky to find an empty closet of some sort and shut yourself in, sitting on the floor as you waited for the banging headache to soothe under the quieter environment, away from the pounding music and pulsing lights, courtesy of the Bucks.

You groaned as the music got louder, lights peeking in as someone invaded your private space, but the noise got choked in your throat, turning into a grin as you looked up to see Jack shutting the door behind him. He turned on the closet light, half-hidden under a shelf, and sat down next to you. You leaned onto his shoulder, letting your weight fall against him as you finally let yourself relax.

“So, how does it feel to be the new champ in the division?” 

You let out a small laugh, wincing as you noticed how loud even that was. You pulled the strap free behind you, pulling it around into your lap and running your fingers over the cool metal.

“Honestly, I keep expecting Tony or Cody to take the belt from me and tell me that I haven’t earned it yet or something. I can’t believe it’s real.”

He reached up, pulling his hat off and letting his hair fall down, strands tickling your face as it landed against his shoulders. You let your fingers brush it away, sighing as you noticed how peaceful you felt. How happy you were.

As you finally realized how much you really loved him, so much more than just as a friend. 

“Hey, you there?”

You shook your head, letting out a noise and trying to focus on what he said.

“I said that I’m proud of you. We all are.”

“I have heard so much of that tonight, I’m starting to wonder if it’s actually true.”

He let his arm reach up, his hand falling on your shoulder as he held you.

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I can for me and the boys. I think Marko nearly cried at how you almost wouldn’t take the belt.”

“I couldn’t believe that I’d actually won, I thought it was a mistake. I’d never even dreamed of beating Shida for the title, and then it actually happened.”

You looked up at him, noticing how handsome he looked when he smiled at you.

“Well, darling, you did it. You’re here, at the top. What comes next for the great champion?”

Your heart pounded, the sentence flying around in your head and making you dizzy. Darling? He called you darling?

“Can I kiss you?”

The words had left your mouth before you could even process the thought behind them, and you instantly backed away from his touch, trying to apologize in what just became a heap of incoherent syllables. He reached out, fingers brushing your arm, and he felt his heart break when you pulled away, so obviously scared of what you had said.

“If you want to come back over here, the answer’s yes.”

The championship suddenly felt like a weight against your legs, and you pulled it over to the side with slowed motions. You moved a bit closer, thinking that you were on the edge of euphoria as his fingers locked with yours.

“You...you mean it? You’re not just making fun of me for asking?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve kind of been thinking about asking that same question for the past year or so, if you want the truth.”

You looked at him, trying and failing to find any giveaway that he wasn’t being honest. You leaned in, heart caught in your throat, and brushed your lips against his. You wanted to just kiss him, get it over and done, but something stopped you from closing the distance.

“A little nervous?”

You gave him a nervous grin, then looked down as you nodded. He chuckled, tilting your head up with a finger under your chin.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”

It felt like there were sparks of raw electricity everywhere that your skin met his, and the feeling only intensified as he finally kissed you. His lips were warm against yours, and the feeling of his hand moving to your waist had you absolutely reeling. You let the fingers of your left hand curl into his hair, arms resting around his neck. You felt like you could lose yourself in his touch...and then you heard someone knock at the door, nearly jumping apart from him in a mild panic.

“Hey, is anyone in there? Do you know where Jack is?”

You looked at him and then let out a silent giggle, brushing his hair back down as he made a face that told you he wasn’t necessarily pleased about Marko interrupting the moment he’d waited so long for.

“Yeah, buddy. I got a little overwhelmed with the crowds and he came in here to hang out with me for a bit.”

You were a little surprised at how quickly the door flew open, Jack’s teammates looking down at you.

“Hey, congrats, kiddo. You finally got to the big one.”

You thanked Luchasaurus as well as you could with Marko’s arms around your neck, laughing as Jack pulled him off by the collar.

“Dude, did she not just say that she’s overwhelmed with the crowds?”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. It’s just...well..you won, you know? You did it!”

You laughed, taking Jack’s hand to stand up as you looked to Marko.

“I appreciate it, just think a bit next time, okay?”

He nodded, looking at Jack for a moment before laughing.

“Hey, I didn’t know Jack wore lipstick!”

He took off down the hall, Luchasaurus (Luchadad? Dadasaurus? this is completely unrelated to the story but i need to know) apologizing before taking off down after him. Jack looked mortified, but you reached up and thumbed away the bright color on his skin.

“I dunno, man, red’s really your color.”

[outerbankslut]

Sorry... Pope Heyward

Summary • After a fight between the Kooks and the Pogues you go to your friends to apologise but Pope’s not having it.

Warnings • Swearing? Maybe but I can’t remember and I cba to go back through. Mentions of violence (in the fight). If there’s anything else let me know :) JJ smoking as usual.

Word Count • 1.7k (Imagine)

Masterlist

(GIF isn’t mine, let me know if it’s yours)

    THE NOISES OF the cars engine knocked you out of your daze as you drove down the paved, sweltering streets of outer banks. The houses you passed a second ago were filled with perfectly trimmed bushes, the building decked in marble and stone with backyards for miles and a pool to finish it off. Whereas the houses you passed now were smaller and wooden, looking fragile almost. Lots of the yards were messier and lazier but they didn't have personal gardeners or the time nor money to do it themselves generally. It made your heart clench as you thought about how just a mile back you were living luxuriously while people over here slaved away to earn everything they owned. They weren't handed it like you were.

You were on your way to the cut to see your friends. But not for a casual hangout. You needed to see if they were okay. After the events of the night before you couldn't be sure what happened after you left.

Rafe has been involved in a fight between all the Pogues including you. No surprise there. He’d been the instigator of it all. It had broken out just you were all planning to leave and then the Cameron boy and the rest of his country club friends came over and joined in somehow finding fun in hitting and punching people due to the entitlement blinding their eyes from the truth that they were the same. Well maybe not personality wise in any way at all. But you were all human beings and yet you were pitted against each other from the day you were born. Only some succumbed to the amounting pressure of their kook or pogue parents to stay away from the other side others realised how petty and stupid it was.

It was always like a scene from west side story when the two groups were mixed and it never ended well. It usually left you to pick up the pieces of their messes. Or any mess of your brothers really. It had always been you. You taking responsibility for anything he did. Whilst he would go disappear and sniff a few lines before making his triumphant return you would be mending what he broke or taking the blame. Being younger than him didn't help with him manipulating you as a child. Rafe broke a vase and suddenly you broke the vase. Rafe stole money from dad since he blew his allowance on coke and alcohol and instead you stole the money. It had always been that way and by now you were used to being left in the wake of your brothers tyranny.

You always felt responsible no matter what happened. The events of last night where stuck in your mind like super glue and the guilt was filling up your lungs. It wasn't your fault. But at the same time it was. You didn't stop your brother, you let your friends get hurt by him. And they must hate you. Probably wish you'd never been let into their group.

The tires of your car screeched to a halt beside the Twinkie which occupied the space outside of the chateau. It was eerily quiet until you stepped out onto the grassy and muddy ground and heard muffled laughter from inside the wooden walls of the small fish shack. You could smell the after effects of a joint wafting through the air. No doubt it was JJ.

Once you entered the chateau the small creak of the screen door was enough to gain the attention of all the Pogues who glanced up at your presence. Only then did you see what was leftover from the fight last night. Kie looked at you with a small smile but you could see the light grazing on her cheeks and her hands that held the wooden neck of a ukulele. But yet she still seemed happy to see you. And then JJ who sent you a lazy smile as he inhaled more of the joint between his bruised knuckled fingers and the smoke covered his purple and yellow and green painted face but only for a second. Then John B who held a beer in his hands but you could see the blood surrounding his split lip and small cut above his black eye.

None noticed your small frown or look of quilt swarming you except from Pope who stared intensely and lingered on the downturning of your lips as you turned and caught his gaze. You could see the small cut beneath his chin and no doubt just like the John B and JJ he accumulated bruises on his stomach or arms. But he was wearing his shirt buttoned up whereas JJ laid shirtless and John B stood with his shirt open.

It hurt you the most seeing Pope. The multiple bruises and cuts adorning his normally smooth and unharmed skin. They were because of you. When Pope moved in front of you stopping you from receiving the backhand Rafe sent your way as you berated him to stop. He was the reason you weren't hurt. And you were the reason he was hurt.

Pope looked at you oddly as you just stood there letting out a sigh.

"Y/N?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowing in question. When you didn't answer again he stood up and walked over to you where you stood with your hands threaded together and rubbing in anticipation. "What's wrong?"

"I-I wanted to apologise to you last night."

The rest of the Pogues had turned their attention to you, JJ even stopped smoking for a second to listen. Your eyes were down trained on the wooden flooring as you spoke. Popes furrowed brows deepened as he looked at you slightly bewildered that you thought you needed to apologise.

"I'm sorry he hurt you guys. It was all my fault and I should have stopped him but I didn't." You let out a dry chuckle. "All of you got hurt and yet I'm perfectly fine." You shook you head and sighed. "But I'm really sorry."

Despite the nice welcoming from your friends you still had the deep rooted fear they would hate you after last night but the looks on their faces held sadness or confusion rather than anger or disdain.

Pope had seen you do this before with the group. Whether it be a Pogue and Kook fight or just a small thing when he'd been around your house, like accepting responsibility when Rafe forgot to pick Wheezie up from her ballet class or the time when you'd apologised profusely for Rafes mistreatment of JJ at his job at the country club. But most of those times he'd believed it to be a small courtesy of just being related to the problem or saying it like when you say you're sorry for someone's loss but it wasn’t like that with you. At least not this time.

You were apprehensive to look up to meet his but when you did you saw the boy let out a small scoff and you were ready for him to yell at you to leave and never come back.

"God! Stop apologising for other people! You're not the shitty one!" The Heyward boy exclaimed blowing a fuse which surprised everyone when Pope was normally the calm and collected one. Not all the time. But most.

And he wasn’t angry towards you but toward Rafe and even the smallest notion that what he did laid on your shoulders. You simply blinked in his direction not sure what to say at his outburst.

"Pope—" You started saying before you were cut off by the boy throwing his hands in the air.

"No I can't take it any longer. I can't watch you blame yourself and apologise for the punches Rafe throws or the shitty things he does. He's a bad person and you are not him. I don't give a damn if he's your brother, okay? Y/N you've never done anything wrong in your life and yet you keep apologising for everything he does. It's not your fault. I'll tell you a million—scratch that a billion times if I have to."

And once again you blinked but this time blinking away the glossy liquid in your eyes hoping to clear your vision. It was a different feeling having someone tell you it wasn't your fault for once. Popes eyes stared passionately towards you as you held his stare. You felt comforted just the the deep ebony colours of his eyes that focused on you.

"I still left you guys though after. I didn't stay and help." You told them and Kiara stood quickly, abandoning the instrument on the couch and placing a hand on your arm. You felt yourself sniffling. Pope moved his hand as well but lightly placed it in your own moving his fingers over your palm in circles soothingly. Letting you know he was there. Pope and you had definitely always been the closest in the group. If you ever needed someone Pope was always there. Whether it was someone to cry on or rant to, he was always there. And he definitely cared a lot about you as you did him.

"Hey, Y/N. You still tried to help us. That’s what counts. And we get it was overwhelming. We don't have to deal with psycho brothers. No offence." Kie spoke softly and you chuckled lightly at her comment through small tears that you were quick to wipe away.

"Yeah, Rafe is his own person and technically an adult he can take responsibility for his own shit." JJ spoke as he stood from his space on the couch joined by John B behind him.

"I still don't understand how the two of you are even related."

You shrugged a small smile growing on your lips that Pope noticed. "Me and Sarah both wonder that. A lot."

They all let out small laughs before Pope pulled you in for a hug and you nestled your head into his shoulder at his warm and enticing hold. He smelt of musk with small hints of aftershave and salt water. But most of all he smelt of home. Somewhere that would always be inviting and your one true solace from the world.

Note • Got my writing mojo back, kinda. And I used a prompt for this which helped a lot as well maybe too much. But uh so funny story I said it could make a cute blurb and one thing leads to another and I’ve written 1.7k words oopsies. I rambled too much and it’s trash and it’s also 2am so forgive me. But I need help I write too much unnecessary details in my fics and it makes it so long and probably boring. Anyway it’s✨trash✨but I hope maybe you enjoyed.

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[goosewhisker]

dog days

read on fanfiction.net || read on ao3

happy birthday @xbloodywhalex

hawkleaf is great & makes much more sense in canon than leafcrow fight me

It starts like this:

Hawkfrost fights with Mothwing.

This is not something unusual. As siblings, they disagree all the time, particularly when Mothwing is irritated by one of Hawkfrost's more... ambitious ideas. This time, though, is more vicious. Probably it's the stress; after all, everyone's on edge with all four clans huddled together in one camp, having left behind friends and family and loved ones and the only home they've ever known to be ravaged by Twolegs beyond all recognition. The leaders are fighting constantly and no one's quite sure where they're headed or whether or not they'll even get there.

So yeah, it's been stressful. Which is why, this time, instead of the normal petty squabbles, it got more personal. Hawkfrost can't even remember what it was about - something stupid, probably - and then he'd said something about her healing skills, and she'd made a snide comment about his chances of becoming deputy, and he'd insinuated that he'd given her her position and could just as easily take it away, and she'd pointed out that he'd bring himself down with her and get them both kicked out and maybe this kind of bullcrap was why Mom had taken off without a backwards look, and-

-well. At that point, he'd stormed off to... recalibrate himself (he was not sulking, no matter what Mothwing said) and, after a few hours of self-reflection, figured that he might have been slightly inflammatory. Not that he'd said anything wrong, just that there were better ways to say it.

Which is why he's out here, wandering around on the fringes of the woods they're currently camping in, looking for a squirrel big enough to make a suitable apology gift.

He's finally found an acceptable squirrel - large, healthy-looking, and plump - when the silence is shattered by a dog's bark.

Hawkfrost goes completely still, cursing furiously, but it's too late; the squirrel has already taken fright and scurried up the nearest tree.

Hawkfrost wants to strangle someone. Preferably this stupid dog.

The dog barks again, and Hawkfrost remembers Riverclan, huddled together helpless and vulnerable not so far away. He should probably go let the leaders know to be watchful... or he could go take care of it himself.

Hawkfrost hasn't had a good fight in ages. The decision is an easy one.

He follows the sound - and it's turned mean and vicious, the sound of a predator closing in on its prey - over two hills and across a small brook. His bloodlust is ramping up the longer he goes without flesh between his claws; he's practically frothing at the mouth with impatience when he emerges into an open clearing and it's there.

Hawkfrost takes in the scene at a glance. The dog is massive, about four times Hawkfrost's height. Its jaw - currently with all its teeth on display as it snarls at whatever prey it's cornered - is big enough to snap him in half if he's caught.

The key word is if.

Warrior life had been hard for Hawkfrost from the start. He doesn't have the social skills to deal with unruly apprentices, the commanding presence to lead his clanmates, the patience to become a great hunter. All that his father had left him was his battle skills, and it's the one area Hawkfrost can indulge the side of him that longs for blood without repercussions. So where another cat might have run for backup, Hawkfrost doesn't think twice about attacking first.

The dog, distracted by its prey, doesn't even notice him until he's already on top of it. Its size works against it here; it bucks wildly, unable to twist around to grab him, as Hawkfrost sinks his teeth into its neck and digs in with his claws.

"Hey!" someone yells, but Hawkfrost is past caring. The dog crashes to the ground, flipping onto its back in an attempt to dislodge him. Hawkfrost springs clear before darting back in again, raking its soft belly with his claws.

Snarling, the dog kicks out with all its feet. One catches Hawkfrost in the stomach, sending him flying into a tree. He's stunned for a heartbeat, which the dog uses to clamber back onto its paws.

With the element of surprise gone, Hawkfrost needs a height advantage. He scrambles clumsily up the tree, hauling himself out of range of the dog's snapping jaws just in time as it stands up on its back legs. He's wondering just how to advance now - those massive teeth make any attack from above an uninviting prospect - when a small brown figure launches itself at the dog's heels.

The dog makes a short, confused noise and looks down, and that's all the opening Hawkfrost needs. Snarling, he drops out of the tree and aims right for the eyes.

The dog fairly screams, jerking away from him, and then screams again when it loses its balance. The brown cat on the ground shoves its paws out from underneath it, and Hawkfrost and the dog together crash to the ground.

Hawkfrost hits the ground hard and something in his stomach tears. Pain shoots through his body and his vision briefly goes black. For a moment, he can't move.

Then a scent like lavender fills his nose, and someone crouches beside him.

"Are you awake?" a voice asks. It's brisk and business-like, with no trace of panic or uncertainty. "If you can, please open your eyes."

Hawkfrost can hardly imagine opening his eyes right now - just lying here sounds like a much better idea - but he manages to squint one open to peer up at this stranger.

It's a golden-eyed she-cat about his age or younger, a brown tabby who looks vaguely familiar. "Good job," she says, smiling kindly. For some reason, she actually sounds like she means it. The thought strikes Hawkfrost as funny. "What're you smiling about?" she asks, but moves on without waiting for an answer. "Do you know who I am?"

After a moment, the name filters into his mind - Leafpaw. Thunderclan medicine cat. Firestar's brat. Mothwing's friend. The one cat who never seems to remember that borders apply to her. "Nn," Hawkfrost says.

The medicine cat hums, leaning forward to peer into his eye. "Could you open the other one, please?" she says. Hawkfrost does. "Concussion. Not good, but it'll have to wait until we get back to camp. Quickly, get on your feet. We need to hurry before it wakes up again."

Somehow, with the medicine cat's help, Hawkfrost struggles onto his paws. Once he's off the ground, his head is still spinning, but he feels a little better.

The medicine cat is pushing him towards the edge of the clearing, in the camp's direction, when he hears a faint snuffling noise. Hawkfrost looks back to see the dog, sprawled out on the ground and clearly starting to wake up. Even through the spinning, he knows what needs to be done. He's already changed direction to go finish it off permanently when the medicine cat rams her head into his collarbone.

"What are you doing," she whisper-shrieks. "It's waking up, we need to get back to camp!"

Hawkfrost doesn't get a chance to respond before she resumes pushing and somehow, he can't stop her. Maybe he's in shock that someone actually talked back to him like that. Or maybe he's delirious from blood loss and the concussion. Whatever.

Either way, they're already out of the clearing and halfway up the next hill when the dizziness clears enough that he remembers what he was going to do. "Hey, wait a minute, we need to go back!"

The medicine cat stares at him. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You stopped me from killing that dog," Hawkfrost snaps. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders why he's bothering to explain at all. "I need to go back and kill it before it follows us to the clans."

The medicine cat actually rolls her eyes. Hawkfrost gasps, offended. "We barely winded that thing; if we'd stayed any longer it would've killed us. I -" she stops abruptly. "Quick. Back here."

Before he can react, she shoves him into a shallow hollow beneath a rocky outcropping and then follows herself. It's dark, and cramped, and then the medicine cat squeezes in beside him and the contact makes Hawkfrost go rigid with embarrassment.

Outside, a snuffling noise echoes against the rocks. The dog has recovered, then, and is looking for them. They can't go back to camp now without it following them. Hawkfrost thinks of the animal loose amongst the vulnerable elders and kits and winces.

And then he's distracted, because the medicine cat flinches and squeezes in further against Hawkfrost. Her soft warm side presses up against his, and it's been a long time since he's really touched someone other than Mothwing so the sensation is sending him haywire and wow, actually she smells really nice -

Hawkfrost's brain short-circuits.

When it reboots, they're so close together that his face is practically buried in her scruff, and all he can hear is the quiet thumping of her heartbeat and the snuffling of the dog outside. Hawkfrost closes his eyes and tries not to breathe too deep.

The scent of lavender is almost overwhelming.

After a few, breathless moments, the sniffing fades as the dog's path turns away. The medicine cat relaxes and pulls away, leaving Hawkfrost's pelt feeling cold and staticky where her warm fur had touched it.

"I think the dog's gone," she says, peering outside.

"Hnn," Hawkfrost manages. He is not thinking about the dog.

"C'mon, let's hurry. We need to warn the leaders."

Hawkfrost stumbles after her, head spinning. The side she'd touched prickles like wildfire, stinging and cooling his skin at turns. How can a few moments of contact have shaken him this badly? Father would be mortified if he knew.

Father. The reminder, at least, snaps him back into rationality. Tigerstar would be so mortified if he could see his son now. Hawkfrost stops and shakes his head wildly to clear it. Focus on the dog. Right. When he looks up again, the medicine cat is watching him. "What is it?" he asks, torn between irritation and embarrassment.

"Oh." The medicine cat looks away quickly. "It's nothing, just - your ears were red."

Hawkfrost stares at her and feels the tips of his ears rush with heat. Ducking his head, he mumbles "oh," and hurries after her.

At the very least, the medicine cat seems just as embarrassed as he is, because she keeps up a steady stream of nervous chatter the whole way.

Most of her jabber washes right over him, blending into a pleasant, even current of sound. She has a nice voice, one that trips pleasingly over the words and makes even the simplest language sound beautiful on her tongue. His eyes are half closed, just listening to the rising and falling of her voice when he realizes that she's looking at him expectantly. "What," he says belatedly.

"My name's Leafpaw," she says, in a tone that implies she's said this once or twice already. "I don't think I ever told you."

"Oh." It takes him a moment to realize what she's waiting for. "I'm Hawkfrost." He's pretty sure she already knows this, but whatever.

Her beaming smile tells him he's guessed right. "Thank you for saving me from that dog, Hawkfrost," she says. "I was collecting herbs and it came out of nowhere. It cornered me before you showed up."

Hawkfrost hadn't been thinking about saving her - hadn't even noticed she was there, really. But the praise makes his pelt prickle in a nice way, so he ducks his head and tries to ignore the way his ears burn. "It's nothing, I- you're welcome," he says. It feels terribly inadequate.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice is asking him she's Firestar's daughter, an enemy, why do you care if it's inadequate? Hawkfrost pushes it aside. He doesn't really, he's just being polite, okay?

Leafpaw beams and trots nearer to walk beside him, nudging his shoulder with her nose. "I think we made a pretty good team out there," she says. "Wouldn't you-" she stops abruptly, nose twitching. "Oh!"

Hawkfrost watches, bemused, as she drops low to the ground to peer at his stomach. "You're bleeding!" she cries.

"It kicked me," he points out.

"I didn't realize!" She looks stricken, and something in his heart clenches.

"It doesn't hurt that much," he assures her before remembering that he's not supposed to be worried about her feelings. "I mean, it didn't- you're-" he fumbles his sentences, the words slipping away. Luckily, Leafpaw doesn't seem to notice.

"My supplies are all at camp, so I can't do much here, but we can at least keep it from getting infected," she says, and then she leans forward and-

For the second time today, Hawkfrost's brain short-circuits.

"What are you doing," he yelps (definitely not a shriek), springing back.

Leafpaw looks up at him, confused, with her tongue still poking out. "I'm cleaning it," she points out, but Hawkfrost isn't really listening.

"You licked me," he says, uncomprehending.

Leafpaw stares at him with wide eyes before blushing bright red. "Don't- don't make this weird!" she stammers. "It's a perfectly normal medicine cat thing to do!"

"You licked me," he repeats. Hawkfrost's brain is trapped en loop, cycling back again and again to the point where he'd felt her tongue on his skin.

"For medical reasons!" Leafpaw's entire face is completely red. From the way his own face is burning, Hawkfrost is sure he matches. "I'm disinfecting your wound! I'm a medicine cat! I'm not- I can't just- oh, just get over here and let me treat you."

"Just... disinfecting," Hawkfrost repeats. Stars, he sounds like a broken record. Leafpaw nods, still blushing to the tips of her ears. "Ah. Right. I... I knew that." He sits down and lets Leafpaw get to work, and they both pretend they aren't as flustered as they feel. Hawkfrost shivers when she touches his skin and Leafpaw makes a high-pitched noise that could be termed a squeak. After that, though, her licks are careful but clinical and when she finally pulls away they can't meet each other's eyes.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Hawkfrost coughs. "Maybe we should hurry back to camp," he mutters.

"Um! Right!" Leafpaw very carefully does not look at him and instead launches into a fresh stream of inane babble to distract them both as they walk. It doesn't quite take away the tinge of pink on her ears.

The arrival at camp is somehow both a relief and a disappointment at the same time. Leopardstar takes one look at the two of them and immediately calls Mothwing over, status reports be damned, and Leafpaw is dragged off by her father to do... whatever it is Thunderclanners do. He doesn't even get a chance to say goodbye (not that he'd want to, obviously. He's just pointing it out).

Hawkfrost watches her go, with her father's tail draped over her shoulders, and feels a sting of jealousy somewhere deep inside.

He's not sure which one of them he envies more.

"Must be nice, huh?"

Hawkfrost almost jumps out of his skin and whips around, claws unsheathed, to see his sister gazing after Leafpaw wistfully.

"To have parents that actually care about you," she adds, as though he hadn't figured that out already.

Hawkfrost scowls and wills his heart to stop pounding so hard. "First of all, don't sneak up on me like that. And second, Father does care about us. You'd know that if you agreed to meet with him," he says quietly.

Mothwing looks at him with an odd expression that he can't quite decipher before she says, "Whatever you say, Hawkfrost. Show me where it hurts."

Under normal circumstances, he'd bristle with rage at the dismissal and insist they finish the conversation now, regardless of eavesdropping onlookers or his already-tenuous place in the clan. But today, he's so off-kilter that he lets his sister get on with it without a fuss. As further proof of his encroaching insanity, he even apologizes.

"Sorry about what I said earlier," he mutters. "It was... out of line. I shouldn't have said it."

Mothwing actually drops her cobwebs and steps back to look at him, probably wondering if he's lost his mind, which is not entirely unlikely at this point. After a moment, though, her expression breaks into a sad little half-smile that does something weird to his heart. Almost like it's not supposed to be there, or like he should make it better.

I really am going insane, he thinks in horror. That frog-brained medicine cat apprentice did something to my head.

"Thank you," his sister says. "I shouldn't- I'm sorry for what I said about Mom. You know she didn't leave because of you, right?"

His mouth goes dry and for a moment, he forgets how to talk. "Yeah," he says belatedly, because Mothwing's staring at him now and her eyes are doing the dumb worried thing. He's a full-grown warrior; he doesn't need to be worried about, darnit, and especially not for something pathetic like this.

He's still thinking about it in the makeshift medicine cat den later that night. It's not that he thinks it's his fault, specifically, that Sasha had dumped them both off. Father's already told him everything - she was a cold-hearted rogue who used cats up and ditched them when she was done. So Sasha was a terrible cat to begin with.

But... she'd been pretty blasé about ditching her kits the first chance she'd gotten, and from what he's observed, mothers are supposed to be more attached to their children than that.

So it's definitely a problem with her, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of a problem with them, and given the way Mothwing seems to collect friends like fleas, it doesn't seem to be a them problem anyway.

As always, it comes down to Hawkfrost in the end.

People have always seemed more inclined to leave him behind, no matter what he does - he's either too weak or too strong, too soft or too cold. Too little Clan blood or too much. Mothwing's been able to carve something of a place for herself, here, but Hawkfrost's has always been fragile. He's heard the things people say about him, seen the way they stare. Too much of his father in him- as though his father isn't the only one who's ever bothered to see his potential. Everyone else is too busy leaving him behind.

Just look at the way the medicine cat had fled, once she'd gotten the chance.

Hawkfrost buries his face underneath his paws and tries to will the medicine cat to leave his mind, with middling success.

He's halfway through mentally reciting the different breeds of fish that live in the river when he hears something move outside the den.

In a heartbeat, he's on his paws, hunched over in a battle crouch. His wound protests painfully, but he pushes the pain aside. For a blind, panicked moment, he thinks the dog has come back, and is waiting just outside.

Then he smells lavender, and his hackles go down of their own accord.

A moment later, Leafpaw steals into the den, glancing furtively over her shoulder. "Don't freak out, it's me. I brought- oh, Hawkfrost!" Her brow furrows when she catches sight of the fresh stains seeping onto his bandages, and Hawkfrost's heart skips a beat.

"It's fine," he says quickly.

Leafpaw doesn't bother dignifying that with a reply. He can almost hear her fuming as she strips, cleans, and re-binds the wound (so, so gently - her paws feel like dandelion fluff). "Don't say it's fine when you're clearly bleeding all over the place, mousebrain," she says.

Hawkfrost tries not to fidget as she pulls the cobwebs tighter. "Mothwing fixed it already... I opened it when you came back," he explains. The thought strikes him abruptly - she'd gone, yes, but she hadn't left him. "You came back," he says again, wonderingly.

"Of course I did!" Leafpaw blinks, golden eyes wide with shock. "You saved me, I'm not going to just forget that. Even if we haven't gotten along so well in the past. And on that note, um..." she trails off, eyes skating to the side and teeth nibbling her bottom lip.

Nervous. Hawkfrost identifies the reaction automatically, but for the life of him can't imagine what it's for.

"I... think I may have misjudged you," she says at last in a soft voice. She looks back to him with a sheepish smile and, tentatively, holds out a paw. "Can we start over? I'd like to be friends."

Friends.

She wants to be friends.

Hawkfrost stares down at the outstretched paw and, not for the first time today, finds himself completely at a loss for what to do.

What is it with this strange medicine cat? She knows his parentage, knows that by birthright, he and she are sworn enemies. She's never trusted him - their few run-ins before today have made that clear. It's obvious from the hatred in her sister's eyes that she fully expects him to follow in his father's footsteps (and oh, she has no idea just how right she is-) and he would've expected Leafpaw to share that.

But she's standing before him now, reaching out to him with that painfully naive, painfully kind smile and waiting for him to answer.

The decision, as always, is obvious.

Hawkfrost slowly, gently places his paw on top of her own. "I'd like that," he says quietly.

Leafpaw's answering smile is like the sun. He can hardly stand to look at it. "I need to go now," she says. "Dad wants me to sleep with the clan. But I'll come see you again tomorrow before we leave," she adds fiercely, daring him to defy her.

Hawkfrost blinks and tries to force away the warmth welling up inside his chest. "I'll- I'll see you then," he manages to say.

Leafpaw hesitates, looking like she's wavering on the edge of something. Before Hawkfrost can ask what it is, she abruptly leans forward, swipes a tongue across his ear, and flees from the den without waiting for a response.

... she licked me, is the first, stupid thought his flustered mind can form. And this time, it wasn't for medical purposes.

Hawkfrost whimpers.

He's an idiot. This is a perfect opportunity - the chance to get in close with Firestar's daughter, to gain her trust before he ultimately betrays her and claims his birthright. This is everything his father would want him to take advantage of and more. It's the reason he accepted her stupid request to be friends in the first place - and who even just asks to be friends like that, anyway?

Ridiculous. He's just using her.

So why can't he forget the feeling of her fur against his own, or the kindness in her eyes when she'd wrapped his wound?

Briefly, Hawkfrost considers the merit of beating his head against the floor until he passes out. But then he'd just have to get it fixed again, and Mothwing would scold him or wasting her time, and Leopardstar would shake her head in disappointment, and Leafpaw would look at him with those sad eyes-

Wait, no. Not that last one.

Frog dung.

Hawkfrost squeezes his eyes shut and forcibly ejects all thoughts of the stars-damned medicine cat apprentice. Tonight, he'll see his father again, and maybe by tomorrow, the strange warmth in his chest whenever he thinks of her will be gone.

Definitely.

That night, instead of his father, Hawkfrost dreams of soft paws, the scent of lavender, and gentle, golden eyes.

THEIR SONG IS FOOLS BY LAUREN AQUILINA AND NO IM NOT TAKING CRITICISM ON THIS

also before someone gets on my case for this: no, hawkfrost's thoughts on mothwing/sasha/his clanmates are not accurate. he's being groomed & manipulated by tigerstar to believe that everyone hates him except for his dad.

^ for more thoughts on that send me an ask because i originally typed up an authors note explaining his motivations/tigerstar's influence and it totalled at like 500 words so i couldn't put it here but i have been DYING to talk abt this

[coolkat122]

Twisted teeth: Vampire Gaara x Reader chapter 2 part 2

"Hey, are you okay?" My eyes widen when I heard Naruto's voice, I quickly turned to face him out of habit even though currently, I didn't really want to see him at the moment or more specific I didn't want him seeing me like this right now.

His blue eyes cut toward my teeth chewing up a storm on my poor thumb's nail and he frowned with concern, "Is something troubling you (Y/n)?"

"You only do that when somethings bothering you" I removed my hand away from my mouth as I tried my best to look as if I were okay (though it was pointless to do so, he already knows somethings up).

"I'm fine, just a little concern with some work stuff" Naruto's face saddens as his eyes shined with disappointment.  

"Don't lie to me, please, I know you better than that...just tell me what's wrong?" I stood there feeling just the worst as Naruto asked me this, I wanted to, but I still wasn't sure if I should.

I know if I did, he'd accept Gaara no doubt, but I also know he'd want to meet Gaara and as I've mentioned Gaara doesn't strike me as ready for that, so. 

I was at a loss, do I tell him or do I keep it from him despite him knowing that something was up...

"Whatever it is, I promise I'll understand, you know I will" Taking a deep breath, I explained everything to him, I probably shouldn't have, but. 

I trust Naruto and I'll trust that he'll understand my judgments with this situation, he stood there listening, taking in everything I was saying till the very end. 

"So that's why you were hard to find around the village... well... I can't say that I like what I'm hearing if he was the one Sasuke was tasked to hunt, but... it does sound like maybe he's not so bad..." jumping in without really making sure if he was done speaking, I confirmed quickly.

"Gaara really isn't even when I first met him when he woke up, it was clear that he wasn't bad, it's just that it's all he knows, vampires don't completely see things as we do, but Gaara is different, he promised me, he'd leave humans alone"

"I still don't like that you want to continue meeting him alone... it doesn't feel right" Naruto looked down at his lap.

"Gaara still isn't ready for other people yet, I know he won't attack, but it might be overwhelming for him, having humans in is life is something I want to ease him into, so nothing goes wrong" Naruto nodded silently.

"Yeah, I understand...still" Naruto sighed. "Never mind... just let me know when he's ready for another friend, I'll be sure to introduce him to new things the Uzumaki way" Naruto raised up onto his feet with a quick thumbs up and a goofy smile which caused a small one to grow on my face.

"Thank you Naruto, I can't wait for you two to meet eventually" Naruto's smile shifted over to a more relax and charming one as he sat back down.

"No problem... you know I'd do anything for you"  My heart got a bit crazy from that comment and my face went red as another smile was breaking out onto my lips.

"I know..." The atmosphere became this weird mix of intense and warm, and yet somehow light as we both fell silent for a bit, and from the corner of my eye, I could see Naruto staring at me in a strange manner, one I know from the looks Sakura as she gazes at Sasuke.

Slowly Naruto sled over closer to me and I toward him, before turning my head to face him as we both moved in for a kiss when our lips finally met, the world started spinning.

My heart became even crazier than before and my whole body felt as if it were ablaze, my stomach felt fluttery, I didn't want for it to end when I've been waiting for this moment for so long...and yet.

It had to, I still had to visit Gaara and it's not like our lips could remain locked together like this forever, we both finally pulled away, faces a matching red as Naruto uttered.

"Will...will you go out with me?"

"Yes... I would love too" We kissed a second time only shorter before we both got up on our feet and said our farewells for the day.

"Maybe tomorrow you would like to spend the day with me?...like a date?" Naruto asked, sound hopeful as he tried to keep eye contact.

"Sure! I'll meet you at the park once I'm off from work" Naruto smiled brightly as he nodded and we both went our separate ways.

~~~

By the time I got to the cabin, it was a little darker than I would have liked which meant I'll be home even later... not thrilled but I really didn't want to miss out on meeting Gaara today. 

It just didn't sit right on standing someone so despite the risk, I rushed to the cabin as quickly as possible, I was barely at the door when it burst open and in a flash of white something pulled me into a tight embrace.

"Where were you!?" Gaara asked in a worried and desperate voice, that sounded as if it were on the verge of tears... he was... like this because of me...

"I.. I had trouble sneaking out, I'm sorry" I tried to pull back, but the embraced tighten with my attempt, realizing he need this for a little bit longer, I let him hold me in his arms, for a little while.

"I grew concerned that you might have..." His arms became even tighter around me as he paused in his sentence before slowly loosening up.

"Never mind" Gaara pulled away, though he avoided letting me see his face, "let's go inside" he begin walking toward the door stopping halfway when I made no attempts to move forward.

"Are you coming?" I jolted upright, startled out of my little train of thought.

"Oh, yes, sorry" I followed him into the cabin as he still avoided letting me see his face as he went to the bathroom.

I was curious as to why he wouldn't let me see his face but didn't ask instead I thought best to keep it to myself... with how he is, would asking about the hunters and rather or not the vampire attacks at the town Sasuke to were him or not?...

It doesn't seem like it would be, I sighed as I took a seat by the table, my eyes wondered for a bit around the room and as they did, I didn't miss a copy of Jiriaya's book by the bed.

A tiny sigh slip past my lips as I shook my head, 'really Gaara, you read that?' I glanced down toward the table for a brief moment after my mock head shake, it took some time but I soon noticed some plates with food laid out on them...

Did he... did he make these... dumb question, Gaara had to have been the one, who else could have? I shook my head disappointed in myself for asking such an obvious question.

Gaara finally came out of the bathroom still wearing one of Jiraiya's clothing, his eyes landed on me sitting by the table where the food he had cooked was laid out. 

His green little orbs widen for a bit before returning to normal, "I...I thought I could start using what I catch for more than just their blood... and I knew you were coming over so I figured you might like some?"

Gaara locked his eyes on me with his usual stoic expression, awaiting my response, with a hit of hope shining in that green sea of his that it would be a positive one.

I nodded with a kind playful smile, "Lucky me, I didn't get to eat lunch today so I'm pretty hungry" picking up my utensils, I waited for Gaara to take a seat himself before eating.

A small smile graced his lips toward my reply as he begins to seat himself in the only free remaining chair, picking utensils of his own.

I say my thanks and begin to dig in while Gaara remains still as he carefully watched for my reaction, "how is it? I've never made human food before, but I did test some out for myself though I-"

'It's good, you did well for your first time cooking human food" I gave my praise as Gaara's eyes shined brightly, he didn't say anything else as we ate our meal.

Once we were finished, we had a little chat with one another, I told him of my day while leaving out the bits with Naruto, well only the last bit where he caught me feeling troubled. 

Gaara wasn't ready to know about Naruto knowing nor did I think he needed to hear that Naruto and I were together just yet, at least that's what my feelings were telling me, so I listened. 

I'll tell him soon just not now and I'll also ask about the hunters and other things I want confirmation on when the mood is right.

"Well I think it's about time, I head home now" as I was getting up to go, Gaara's hand shot out grabbing me by the wrist as he called out for me to wait. 

I glance back confused, wondering why he was acting like this? 

"What's wrong?" I asked with concern.

"Why don't you stay the night here? It's gotten late and it would be dangerous for you to return at such an hour" I'm sure that it was my imagination, but there was something off about the way he was looking up at me from the bed.

There was that familiar hopeful look in his eyes he would get when he wanted something but there was also something else mixed in with them, that I'm afraid, I didn't recognize. 

"I can't... my family will worry and I don't exactly have a good cover story in mind that would lessen any questions or suspicious they will have" I for what I just now noticed rejected one of his requests.

"I see" His eyes fell to his lap and slowly his hand followed suit, "just be careful...then" I nodded with a smile trying to lighten the mood.

"I always am" I assured as I took my leave and did my best to once again get home safely, it wasn't all that hard given that my village was a pretty safe place thanks to some of the top clans living in it, that help kept it safe.

When I got back it was like I knew it would be quite late and my parents were questioning up a storm as to where I was, I lied about going out with Naruto and losing track of time.

They brought it well enough that it calmed them down a bit, but they threw in a warning on making sure it wouldn't happen again.

I nodded as I promised to do my best, they mostly accepted that before heading off to bed with me not far behind, I hopped inside them covers and wished my family sweet dreams, eventually drifting off into a stressful slumber...

_______

Why is there a text limit !?

[aatsms]

My Turn To Fix You (Connor x Reader)

This is my first fanfic that I have ever written so pls be nice! I know it’s long but tbh I wrote this mostly for myself lol. It basically follows the story of a CyberLife engineer (the reader) and our boy Connor! I plan to write multiple chapters for this if anyone actually becomes interested lol!  

Chapter 1

Work at the station had been more intense than usual these past three weeks. Protesters  had been extra violent  in Detroit, protesting against the manufacturing of androids. They usually took their anger out on the police androids in the streets. You guess it made them feel more powerful to rough up an android that was supposed to act as a type of authority. You thought it was kind of pathetic and pointless to cause so much damage to android simply doing its job. It also gave you a shit ton more work than usual since you were the CyberLife engineer working at the Detroit PD to repair any police android that might need it. Police androids are only used for basic police work, such as giving tickets, stoping pick pocketers on the street, and staying alert of anything that might be suspicious or threatening. They don't even carry a gun or weapons, serving more as an extra eye for cops on duty. Connor, the RK800 that works with Hank, is the only android that acts as a fully working detective, able to have a weapon and upgraded with CyberLife's most advance technology.

 You had to admit, he was incredibly impressive. When you had received the blueprints and manuals on his wiring before he first arrived at the station, you found yourself actually a bit overwhelmed. He barely used any parts that were similar to the ones that most androids used, and his wiring was so intricate. He was the most advanced model of android you had ever seen. It took you a few days to get comfortably familiar with his systems so you would be prepared to fix him up if ever he needed it once he arrived. You figured you would be seeing him a lot since he was the only android in the front line of  dangerous work. 

Tonight is the first Friday in a long time you can remember being able to actually leave work on time. It was honestly a miracle. It seemed there was always paper work that needed filling out or an android that needed tending to. It was nice to be home on your couch, under a warm blanket, with food that wasn't takeout for a change, and all by 11:30. You were swiping through an article on the debate of weather android police dogs should also be used in police departments. It seems unlikely. At least until it is confirmed by CyberLife that they are reliable; that they can't disobey their orders or even go deviant. (If that's even possible for android animals.) You were thankful either way because android animals would require you to become familiar with a whole new type of engineering. Learning the ins and outs of Connor was enough. 

It was pouring rain as you were reading. The occasional crash of thunder and lightning was almost comforting to you. You began to dose off to the sounds of the familiar Detroit weather outside. You were suddenly jerked awake by a loud crash of thunder. Or at least that's what you thought woke you up. Standing in the frame of your front door was the RK800 android from the station. He had forced open the door, breaking the lock, and was completely soaked from the rain. He was hunched over, clutching his torso. His LED was flashing bright red. 

"Connor?! What the hell are you doing here?!"

"Sorry for the unannounced visit y/n. I hope it's not an inconvenience."

  You were suddenly aware of the massive flow of blue blood seeping from his midsection. He could barely stand. You rushed over to help him stay upright. 

"Oh my god Connor what happened?!

"Do you think maybe we could talk about the details once i'm not losing an unsafe amount of thirium?" 

"Right, right, right." You were trying to take deep breaths and not panic. He really looked like shit. "I have a  room in the back with a workbench and a whole bunch of extra android parts and emergency thirium. Let's get you back there fast."

You put his right arm around your neck to help him stand and used your other hand to apply pressure to the general area where he was bleeding. Based on the amount of blue his shirt was drenched in, you could tell he was wounded in multiple places. You quickly helped him as he limped to the back room.

 You shoved aside half finished diagnostic reports and old projects off the work bench and helped Connor onto it. His entire shirt was now covered in blue blood. 

"Connor, you're going to need to take off your shirt for this one. I can't even tell where the hell you're bleeding from!" He began to undress as you frantically searched for your crate with supplies to perform a blue blood transfusion. You were not used to having to repair androids at your own house. This was the first time anything like this had happened. You were wondering how the hell Connor even knew where you lived. 

Finally, you found the crate with the supplies you were looking for. Quickly, you turned around, looking directly at a shirtless Connor on your work bench. You weren't sure why, but you felt yourself freeze for a moment, taken aback by the android sitting in front of you. You couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was about him that was so intriguing in that moment. Maybe it was the fact that he was in such incredible shape. You weren't sure why you weren't expecting him to be so ripped. "I mean of course he is." you thought.  "Why wouldn't CyberLife give their newest super weapon abs y/n??" You chuckled to yourself a little under your breath at your own thoughts.

"Is everything alright y/n?" He seemed more concerned about you than the flow of thirium leaving his body.

"Ya sorry, I just... I don't know. Let's get you fixed." You shook away your thoughts and began to focus on the task at hand.

You immediately began work on him, having to use his shirt to wipe the blood from his abdomen so you could get a sense of where all the blue blood was coming from. You discovered 4 bullet holes. "Holy shit Connor what were you doing?"

"Well, my mission didn't go exactly how I expected" he managed to huff out. You could tell the loss of thirium was starting to catch up to him. God only knows how long it took him to find your house after he was shoot. 

Once you cleaned up enough of the thirium to see what you were doing, you began to work on assessing the damage and removing the bullets. You also decided to try to get some answers.

"You must have really pissed someone off for them to have shot you 4 times."

 "Well I imagine getting caught while dealing 20 pounds of red ice would be rather aggravating."

"20 pounds?! How do you even come across 20 pounds if red ice?"

"That's why I was put on this case. They want me to find out where exactly these dealers are finding so much red ice."

"Alright Connor, i'm removing the first bullet now. Be ready to apply pressure."

His LED flashed a quick red as you removed the first bullet. He barely flinched, letting out nothing but a silent grunt. You proceeded to the next bullet.

 "You're lucky you got here so quickly. Any longer and there would have been nothing I could do. How did you even find my apartment?"

"I knew I wouldn't be able to find you in the precinct because I overheard you talking to detective Reed that you were planing on getting home early tonight. I knew my mission tonight was dangerous so I saved your address in my database in case of emergency."

You let out a small laugh and smiled up at him. "You're lucky you were listening in." 

"My programming requires me to be listening to any conversations happening around me within a 20 foot radius."

You thought about what he just said as you finally reached the second bullet. You and Reed were on the other side of the precinct, opposite of where Connor's desk is, when you told him your plans of leaving early. Connor was at his desk, definitely farther than 20 feet away, when you were talking to Gavin. Was Connor....trying to listen to your conversation? Why? You shook the thought from your mind.

"Okay, next bullet out in 3..2...." You removed the second bullet right under his rib. This time he had to brace himself slightly by grabbing the edge of the bench. You put your hand on his shoulder.

 "You good?"

"Yeah" he huffed as he placed his hand over yours on his shoulder. "Move onto the next bullet, i'll be fine." 

You were amazed by how calm he was, considering you were on the edge of having a full fledged panic attack. Quickly, you moved to the spot of the third and fourth bullet. They were relatively close to each other.

"Thank god they didn't hit your thirium pump. It's hard to find those parts for a standard android, let alone an RK800. I don't think I even have one that would fit your model here in my office." 

"You're smart y/n. You would have figured something out."

You tried to convince yourself you believed that statement. Connor seemed to have a lot of confidence in you. Probably too much you thought.

"Last two Connor. I'm gonna take both out at the same time since they're right next to each other. Get ready." You pulled the bullets from his waist with one last tug. He let out a sharp whine, clenching his eyes shut and grabbing your wrist as you removed the last bullets. His grip on your wrist was surprisingly gentle and warm. You forgot that the flow of thirium through his body allowed for him to give off at least some body heat. CyberLife really knew how to make these androids seem so human. 

He slowly let go of your wrist, as his LED circled from a wild red back to yellow and then to blue. You let out a sigh of relief. Finally the hard part was over. All that was left to do now was transfuse some blue blood back into his body, and check to make sure none of his parts or wiring was damaged from the shots. He's able to heal over the wound himself with prosthetic skin.

"My diagnostics program is telling me that there doesn't seem to be any major problems. Only minor motor function issues that can be fixed with a system reset."

"You're lucky Connor. You could have been done for shit." You finished setting up your equipment for the transfusion. Thank god you were done. It was now that you realized that you were sweating. You were used to being under  intense pressure, that was part of your job most of the time. But never had it made you this stressed. Connor could have been gone....and it would have been your fault.

You sat yourself down on the center on the floor, laying your legs straight out in front of you and placing your hands behind you for support. For what felt like the first time in the past 20 minutes, you were finally able to catch your breath. You shut your eyes and began to take deep breaths. It was finally over.

"y/n, I noticed that the situation has caused your heart rate to increase rapidly. I'm sorry for any distress I might have caused you. It wasn't my intention." Connor was not knelt down beside you on the floor. His LED was circling yellow from scanning you.

“Of course you didn't, it's not your fault Connor. If anything i'm thankful you got here before it was too late."

He now sat down across from you, sitting perfectly in a criss-cross position. You both sat in silence for the next few seconds, taking the opportunity to rest after everything that just happened.

"Thank you y/n."

You lifted your head to look across at him. It felt like he was staring right into you. You knew he was an android, but the sincerity in his eyes seemed so real. You couldn't help but feel like he meant it. You gave him a warm smile. "No problem Connor." You started to get up from the floor. "And besides" you smirked, "it's kinda my job to save your ass."Connor looked up at you from the floor, the little light on the side of his head circling with blue. "So" you sighed. "What now?"

Connor swiftly stood up from the floor.

"I learned some critical information for Hank and I's investigation tonight, however I doubt he would appreciate a visit from me so late."

You started to clean up the supplies, parts, and thirium from your workbench as you talked to him. "The precinct is always open, you could go there and file everything in the database until tomorrow morning.

"I need to conduct my system reset before I do anything. If too many of my basic functions are down, my programming won't allow me to do much."

"How long does this reset take?"

"Four hours." Connor seemed annoyed with his answer

. 

"You could just do your reset here. If for some reason anything goes wrong or I somehow missed something when fixing you up, you're right here."

He seemed to be considering what you were offering, his LED flashing yellow. "That would seem to be my best option. I hope you don't mind" The sincerity was back in his eyes.

"It's not a problem at all. Plus I'd rather be able to keep an eye on you for the night."

Connor made his way toward you at the workbench, reaching for his jacket. It was then that you realized Connor was still shirtless. You weren't sure why, but you felt slightly embarrassed as he come closer to you. He seemed to notice something was off. He turned to look at you, his face only inches away from yours.

"Is everything ok y/n?" he asked with genuine curiosity in his voice.

You turned your head back to look straight in front of you instead of looking at Connor.

"Ya sorry I...I was just thinking that maybe we should get you some clothes until I get yours washed." You glanced at him with a nervous smile, trying not to look at his bare chest. Even though he was an android, you still felt you needed to be respectful for some reason. Connor turned to look at his once crisp white shirt now covered in a milky blue.

"I would definitely appreciate clothes that aren't covered in my own thirium."

[allofthismatters]

I wrote this a while ago and never finished/posted it, so here’s some Ava and Sara recovering from 4x12. :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22942597 -----------------------------

Finding Ava felt like one of Sara’s nightmares.

So far it was all darkened hallways that branched off and never ended, with nothing but dim blue lights that hurt her eyes and made her dizzy. She’d spent years learning to control her emotions no matter the circumstance, but now she can hardly hear her own breath over the blood rushing in her ears.

She can’t stop turning images over in her head of Ava—hurt, trapped, tortured, starved, weak…dead. Sara has been every one of those things herself at one point or another, but it feels ten times worse imagining any of it happening to Ava.

She’s spent plenty of time the last two weeks begging herself to believe things never would have worked out between them in the long run, just so losing her wouldn’t hurt so much. She drifted between forced indifference and allowing the crushing heartache to find its way through until she was numb and exhausted by it.

There was no more numbness now—she’s running on pure terror and rage…rage that anyone would do this to the woman she loves, and rage for allowing herself to spend so much time thinking Ava was just too angry to pick up the phone when she was actually god knew where, alone and in trouble, and how could she let this happen?

She and John are searching wildly, and all Sara can think about is how fucking cold this place is and how much Ava must hate it.

They open door after door only to find room after empty room, Sara’s stomach getting sicker and her lungs getting tighter until finally, finally, she crashes into John and sees why he’s stopped. The door in front of them is cracked open, light filtering into the hallway. She pushes past him and opens the door with fire in her eyes.

She’s ready to kill anything in her way.

The room is empty besides a figure hunched over in a chair. It’s slumped against the wall, gaunt and freezing, hair plastered across cheeks—

Sara’s flying toward her before either of them can blink. Not a thought in her head of what she might be running into, years of League instincts momentarily abandoned in order to get her hands on Ava before she loses her mind. Sure, she can’t see her face, but she knows her anywhere.

There you are.

For a split second, all the adrenaline keeping Sara upright drains at the sight of her…Ava, who she’s spent all day scared to death for and who she’s ached for since the night she told her to get out of her office. Ava.

Sara kneels in front of her; she can distantly hear herself murmuring nonsense as she clears the wet clumps of hair from the face in front of her. Ava lifts her head and makes only the briefest eye contact before her strength fails her and her chin hits her chest so hard that Sara can hear her teeth clatter. She lifts her face, but finds nothing besides familiar eyes trying and failing to look at her before they fall closed again.

Sara swears under her breath and feels for her pulse.

There’s a lot of fumbling as they free her. It’s not lost on Sara the way John tries to help get Ava into her arms at first, and she feels a pang of appreciation for how well he understands her. She wants, needs, needs to make Ava safe herself, needs to feel the strain of her body, but Ava’s so much taller than her and she’s such dead weight that Sara finally relents to rationality and lets John carry her to the ship.

Sara arrives first, yelling for Gideon, losing words when she realizes she has no idea what Ava needs…what even happened to her, really? All she knows is—

“Gideon, she’s-- Ava’s cold. She’s really cold.” She gets the words out like a scared child as she clears off the chair in the medbay and digs for a bag of fluid in the cabinet. John is just behind her and settles Ava’s limp form down while Sara forces her shaking hands to secure the medbay cuff on her wrist. She presses on Ava’s arm until she finds a vein, only vaguely aware that she’s muttering a steady stream of soft words that are half for her girlfriend and half for herself.

“You’re ok, hang on for me. You’re ok.”

There’s a machine somewhere behind her that’s at least registering a pulse.

“There you go, keep--don’t go anywhere, babe.”

She gets the IV secured, figuring it can’t hurt. Her eyes frantically scan the medbay screens, lips moving as her clouded mind tries to make sense of it. All she needs is proof of life, and she seems to be in luck. Ava’s heartbeat picks up just the smallest bit, and with it, loosens the vice around Sara's lungs.

“Ok, that’s my girl….that’s my girl.” The words slip out unfiltered, tender, automatic and she fights off the quick stab of hurt that asks, Are you sure she’s still your girl? There’s panicked anguish bubbling up in her chest, and while now would be an awful time to throw up, Sara feels sick to her stomach. What if she was too late? What if she has to sit here and watch another person she loves die right in front of her eyes? How is she going to survive another loss, this loss—

Gideon mercifully cuts off her spiraling thoughts with what Sara probably could have figured out herself: that Director Sharpe is suffering from severe dehydration and exhaustion…her body temperature is 85 degrees, her pulse is irregular, her blood pressure is nowhere near safe…Sara misses the rest of it as her vision swims and her stomach clenches with nausea.

“Captain, I’d recommend getting her something warmer. I can fabricate—", Gideon begins.

“Stay with her, Sara, I’ll go get it.”

Sara startles when she realizes Zari is in the medbay now, just in time for her to hurry out again. She turns back to the chair, dragging and clawing all her emotions back under her control so she doesn’t come apart. Now that she’s got Ava in the light, she looks like death and she's not sure she's ever hated anything more in her life. Sara yanks at the filthy hems of her pantlegs until Ava is free from them, then wrestles her damp undershirt over her head, panic mounting when she can’t pull it free.

Son of a bitch.

Maybe she’s swearing out loud or maybe it’s just in her head, but she finally gives up and tears at the hem until it rips.

It’s only a shirt, but it’s thin and wet and smudged with dust and clinging to her already clammy skin. It’s only a shirt, but it feels like a threat and she needs it away from Ava’s body now.

Ava’s always cold. It's one of the first real things Sara remembers knowing about her. She has five undershirts just like this, always folded neatly, one for each work day. More than once, Sara has moved one to a drawer just so she can hear Ava’s annoyed voice echo from inside her closet, Sara, where the hell is Thursday? Her sweatshirts go missing all the time only to reappear days later, smelling faintly like her girlfriend. And she’s come to love the inevitable moment in the middle of most nights when she wakes up to Ava pressing back into her arms, shivering until the heat of Sara’s body makes her still and relaxed again.

She’s always teased Ava about it, even found it endearing, but now it feels like the most serious thing in the world, and Sara feels a weight of overwhelming shame in her chest.

Nobody fucking kept you warm.

She leans over Ava, searching her face for life, for anything. Sara moves awkwardly to get herself onto the narrow bed and wraps an arm around her girlfriend’s back. She clasps her protectively to her chest, flinching at her freezing skin as she tries to force her own warmth into her blood.

Zari comes back and the two of them get blankets tucked in around Ava and suddenly, there’s nothing left to do. The blood has stopped rushing in Sara’s ears and if she can’t quite feel Ava’s pulse, she can at least hear it beeping steadily on Gideon’s monitor. Her breath is a slow, pained rattle, but it’s breath and that’s all that matters. Sara is trying to remember how to breathe herself when she feels a gentle touch on her hands.

“Sara. Hey. Don’t hold onto her so tight.”

Zari has been milling about the whole time, making blankets and bandages appear when Sara needs them without intruding. Now her eyes are understanding and full of compassion as she pries Sara’s white knuckles away from where they’re digging into Ava’s bare back so hard she’s shaking.

She nods distantly and tries to relax, moving her hands to Ava’s cheeks. It’s hard to keep from weeping at the bone-melting relief of touching her again. It’s been too long, and she just wants to see her and talk to her again. Even with Ava in her arms, she misses her so much her chest hurts.

She sits for what seems like hours, studying her up and down. Sara’s eyes are hungry for the sight of her, her arms craving the soft weight of her body. The only thing that helps Sara dispel the lingering combination of absolute rage and sickening panic is taking inventory of Ava: her eyes sunken in, face dirty, bloody hair and ribs prominent under where her hand rests. An angry red scratch across her jaw and onto her ear. Her lips are cracked and bleeding, too. All things to tend to once Gideon’s done with her and she’s free to take care of her in privacy.

For now, she can only hold her and hope that somehow, in her oblivion, Ava knows she’s safe again. Gideon’s scattered updates startle her, someone brings Sara water and a snack that she takes gratefully, Ava’s body occasionally jerks against her as she fights complete unconsciousness. Sara rubs her back, hushing her without knowing whether she hears her or not. She's nearly drifting off herself when Gideon next speaks.

“Captain, if I might suggest, Director Sharpe will heal more easily if she’s less distressed and able to rest. I’d advise a sedative to keep her—”

Sara doesn’t hear the rest of what Gideon has to say. All she hears is a weak moan from the woman in her arms followed by a voice that’s gone unused for weeks—

“No. No—” Ava’s eyes are still closed, but there she is—alive, aware, talking. Begging not to have her senses taken away. Not again.

She’s gasping in bits of air as she blindly fumbles for whatever is on her arm that might steal her away from reality again. Sara feels nails digging into her arm and she’s not sure whether Ava is fighting her or clinging to her. She’s not sure which would break her heart more.

Sara catches her hand, holding loosely so Ava doesn’t feel trapped. Her other hand goes to rest on Ava’s forehead and she tries to keep her voice even and calm. “Ava. Ava, listen. Listen to me.” Ava pushes Sara’s hand away and Sara lets her. “Listen. It’s ok, nothing you don’t want.” She covers the inside of Ava’s arm to keep Ava from pulling off the only thing keeping her hydrated. “Leave that. You’re safe. It’s me, won’t let anything happen that you don’t want, baby.”

She stays close to Ava, trying, trying not to touch her because that’s what she needs, she needs space to let her mind catch up to where she is, but seeing her this wrecked has her heart crumbling inside her chest.

Once Ava has remembered how to breathe again, once her hands have stopped fighting and are back by her side, exhausted, shaking, Sara brushes fingertips over her wrist and covers her hand. “I’m here, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

Ava winces and shuts her eyes against the brightness of the room. “Gideon, dim the lights?” Sara mumbles, stroking hair off of Ava’s face.

It seems to take hours, but Ava eventually gets her eyes open, takes a look at Sara and all the tension in her depleted body falls away in a rush, leaving her nothing more than an exhausted heap. The relief feels like a tidal wave. If Sara were standing it would knock her off her feet. She finally feels emotion bubbling up in her chest, nowhere to go but out, and no matter how hard she pushes it down, she feels a sob starting in her gut and getting stuck in her throat. She’s not sure whether she’s going to cry or be sick.

Ava's lost the very last of her energy and lays there, eyelids heavy, squeezing Sara’s hand reassuringly, rhythmically—the way she always does when they’re in public together. Right here, it says.

It seems to take hours before Ava closes her eyes again, breathes deeply and swallows hard. She brings one shaky hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“Fuck.” Ava sounds more pissed off than anything, like she’d simply been woken up by a car alarm in the night, and a sharp, hysterical sort of laugh bursts out of Sara, closer to a sob than anything. “How long?”

“Two weeks.” Sara cautiously reaches out, moving a lock of hair from Ava’s face and tucking it behind her ear. When Ava doesn’t startle or protest her touch, she does the same on the other side and then leaves her hand resting on her forehead again.

“Jesus. How did—I was home when—"

“Just rest, it doesn’t matter right now.”

Ava stills, breathing a bit steadier. She nods in agreement and stays quiet, swallowing against what Sara assumes is nausea, if her own experiences have taught her anything.

She doesn't know what finally breaks her--maybe it's just the realization that the real danger has passed and that Ava is ok, or maybe it's the way Ava keeps a hand on her every time she shuts her eyes, like she's making sure she's there--but Sara notices her own tears coming once it’s too late; her face has already crumpled and then she’s weeping, as quietly as she can. She just can’t help it. She hasn’t heard Ava’s voice or touched her skin in weeks and it’s like coming in from a storm. Coming home. She’s home.

Ava’s eyes are closed, but no matter how hard she tries, there are loud catches in Sara's breath and occasional fat tears landing on Ava’s chest.

“Don’t cry.” Ava’s hand reaches up blindly, looking for tears to clear away and instead jabs Sara somewhere near the eye. Sara nods with a shaky smile, holding Ava’s hand and using it to wipe her eyes before kissing her knuckles.

“Sorry. Just missed you so much.”

Ava seems to relax at that and she turns herself back onto her side, whimpering with pain, just to get back in Sara’s arms. She burrows in close and Sara holds her tight, like someone just gave her permission to breathe again. Ava responds with a soft kiss to her jaw that goes straight to her gut, squeezing pleasantly, reassuringly. It’s a comfort she thought she might never get back.

“Don’t let go of me yet.”

“Never.” Sara tightens her arms, kissing her dirt-smudged forehead, then her temple, her cheek, her nose, her chapped lips. “Never.”