#be nice I haven't written for a while

[wildechildwrites]

Out For Blood

Simon “Ghost” Riley/Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: torture, interrogation, violence, choking (not the sexy kind), death (not of anyone important), Ghost threatening Soap even tho he’s just a baby :(, shitty pov switching

No use of y/n

Summary: You get taken when a mission goes wrong, and Ghost goes berserk and violently kills anyone who gets in the way of saving you.

A/N: yeah he’s babygirl but he’s also a violent man with no identity I think he could be attached to people but I don’t think he’d be normal about it

AO3 link: Out For Blood

     All Ghost knew was the ache in his skull and the ring in his ears. When he moved, he was violently aware of every bone in his body and the way they grinded against one another. He could smell the smoke from the blast, could feel the burn on his hands. He rolled over. A weaker man would have whimpered at the feeling.      Getting to his feet, he quickly surveyed the area. Where the fuck had you gone? You had been standing right next to him when the explosion knocked you both to the floor. If it had knocked him out there was no way you were conscious. Besides, you would’ve waited even if you were. He grabbed his radio.

     “Ghost to 141. Sound off.”

     The radio crackled, everyone sounding off but you. Christ.

     Your body responded to being touched before you fully came to consciousness, flinching away from the foreign feeling of rough fingers on your skin. You came too in a dark room. Your arms and legs were tightly bound, and you hissed at the painful tightness, blinking in the dim light. Your ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton and your head ached. You looked around. You were in a small, dusty room. Probably a safehouse. Standing in front of you was a tall man. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes with a hard stare.

     “Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said. His voice was gravelly, and you wondered what type of cigarettes he smoked.

     “I have a few questions I’d like to ask you.” He leaned in. “We’ll start with the simplest first. Who are you?”

     You looked up at him and leaned as close as you could get in your bonds.

     Then you spat in his face.

     The sound of him slapping you echoed violently off the walls.

     Ghost was pacing like a caged animal. The rest of the team was working as quickly as they could, trying to figure out where you could’ve been taken to.

     “It just doesn’ make sense,” Soap muttered. “This was suppose’ ta be a simple extraction. How did they know we were comin’?”

     “Never mind all that,” Ghost growled. “Where the fuck is she?”

     The longer it took to find you, the angrier Ghost felt. You were his responsibility. He was your lieutenant for God’s sake. He should’ve been protecting you. He wanted to rip off the heads of anyone who tried to hurt you. It didn’t matter if you were harmed or unharmed when they found you, he would make sure that whoever took you paid in blood.

     He thought about you, less than a week ago, laughing at a joke he had made. It hadn’t been funny, but you had laughed all the same, your gleaming eyes on him. His hands curled tightly into fists.

     You pride yourself on your ability to take a punch. As the smallest member of the 141, it had taken you a long time to prove yourself just as capable as the gargantuan men you worked with. You were a quick fighter, graceful and light on your feet, with the advantage of being a significantly smaller target for a sniper.

     That being said, being punched still fucking hurt. You were almost certain that your nose was broken, thanks to a solid slug that had made you see stars. You tried to focus on how impressive your interrogator's form was, distracting yourself from the pain. You’d been in pain before. You just need to breathe through it.

     You thought about Ghost and your chest ached. You hoped he was alive. You hoped he was alright.

     Soap had tried to calm Ghost down, to no avail. He wasn’t supposed to get attached. Hell, he hadn’t actually realized he was until the moment you were taken from him. It was like a part of him had been caged inside his chest, and now that it was out, he felt his control slipping. He’d never let you out of his sight again when they found you.

     His mind kept running over stolen moments, watching you joke with the team at a pub, listening to you hum to yourself while you cleaned your gun, watching you sleep while on watch. It had been there the whole time, he realized, his stomach dropping.

     It was your voice he listened for first on the radio, you who he’d immediately shield during a crisis. He was the one who insisted you two move together on this extraction mission. You had always been his responsibility, because you had always been his.

     Beneath the anger, Ghost began to strategize. He couldn’t act like he pleased with the Captain around. To be able to exercise the appropriate amount of force, he needed to lose the team. He knew he wouldn’t ever be able to shake off Soap, too intune with the other man to be able to slip between his fingers, but he reasoned that he could get enough of a head start on the others to properly finish the job. He wanted it to be messy, and he would ensure that it was.

     The hole that they had dragged you to was barely a blip on the map. Ghost could feel rage simmering under his skin. He wanted to kill someone. He needed to feel bones snap beneath his fingers and the warmth of blood. There had been a sharp, sudden shift inside him. He wasn’t really worried about you anymore, just furious that you had been taken so easily from him, that anyone had dared. He wanted to be ashamed of his selfishness but could not find any sincerity inside him. There was only rage. How dare they touch you, how dare they even think of you? Possessiveness curled inside him like a vice. He thought of the carnage to come and felt only sadistic pleasure.

     “You must be tired,” the man standing over you said.

     You didn’t bother to raise your head to look at him, instead focusing on the blood oozing out of your nose. You mentally promised to laugh at all of Johnny’s jokes if he would just come through those doors. Hell, you’d drain your bank account for the best bottle of bourbon money could buy if Price would show up and save you. It was a pathetic, childish inclination and you hated yourself for how badly you wanted to be saved, for your company to come to your aid. You thought of Ghost, stoic and reassuring and possibly injured, and felt your throat get tighter.

     “If you tell me your name and who your little comrades were, we can take a break.” The man said.

     You were tired and just wanted the pain to end. You thought of your team and shook your head. They would never betray you. They would resist. They were strong. The man sighed.

     "We'll try another method then.”

     You heard the distinct sound of a blade being unsheathed and raised your head weakly. The man held a knife, glinting in the low light.

     "My team is coming for me," your words were slurred, but your voice didn't shake, "and when they find us, there won't be a hole you can hide in where they won't hunt you down."      You smiled at him despite the pain and knew the blood staining your teeth unnerved him.

     Ghost told Soap to do a perimeter sweep with no intention of waiting for him to report back. Turning off his radio, Ghost waited for Soap to round the corner before zeroing in on one of the windows. He could see movement inside. He crept closer, quietly breaking the lock and sliding the window open before hopping through.

     In the hallway he had emerged into, a man was standing near a door, holding a gun. Ghost silently unsheathed his knife and grabbed the guard, bringing his knife down so hard through the man’s neck he buried it in one of his vertebrae.

     Ghost shoved through the door and found the next guard. He grabbed the man’s gun and shoved him to the ground, his knees coming down hard on the man’s chest. Bringing the gun down, he bashed the butt into the man’s nose, smashing it in before raising the weapon to do it again. He felt the warm blood splatter through his mask and a savage feeling of enjoyment crawled up his throat like bile. Again and again, he brought the butt of the gun on the man’s face, until he was nothing but a pulverized mess of brain matter and gore. Ghost got up, breathing heavily. His fingers were tingling.

     He heard you scream and sprinted towards the sound.

     The men you worked with had always teased you for your uncanny ability to sniff Ghost out. They called it your “sixth sense”, the way you knew intuitively where Ghost was without him making a sound. He had a presence, a way of filling the room just by simply being there. It was pure instinct, the way you can feel eyes on you even when your back is turned. Having Ghost at your six felt the same as being locked in a cage with a wolf, all senses alert and humming at the danger of being close to a predator. When the skin of your neck prickled as the man slid his blade against your cheekbone, you knew it was not out of fear of the knife.      There was a shark in the water, and he was swimming close by. With all your strength, you let out a piercing scream.

     The man had a knife against your pretty face, his back turned to the doorway. Without hesitation, Ghost barreled into him, ripping the knife from his hands and shoving him to the ground. Ghost looked at the knife, the one that had drawn your precious blood, and tossed it away as if it had burned him before turning on your captor.

     He heard your whimper from the chair and disregarded it in favor of creeping closer to the man desperately trying to scramble to his feet. Ghost cocked his shoulder back, his fist connecting hard with your captor's head, sending him backwards. He stood to his full height, looking down at the man before bringing one heavy boot down onto his right leg. The crunch of bone echoed, and the man started screaming.

     Ghost wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop. The blood was pounding in his ears like a song, and he stepped hard onto the man’s chest, shoving until he heard the sickening crackle of breaking ribs. The man writhed in agony, and Ghost stared hard into his face.

     He kneeled down next to your captor, grabbing him by the neck. The man gasped for air, and Ghost impulsively reached for his mask and ripped it off. The man looked up into Simon’s face, and it was Simon who wrapped his strong fingers around his neck, crushing the man’s larynx. He could feel the delicate bones of the vertebrae, could feel the hard beating of the man’s pulse. He squeezed until the beating stopped, until horrific bruises formed beneath his fingertips. He dropped the man’s limp body and grabbed his mask, putting it on before turning on you.

     You looked up at him, eyes hazy. Your face was swollen, deep purple rings forming under your eyes, your nose bloody. He stepped towards you and fear crawled up your spine. If you hadn’t known that it was Ghost, hadn’t recognized the strong hands and caught his familiar smokey scent, you would have thought that you were staring at a complete stranger. The Ghost you knew was simply not there, like someone had turned out a light switch behind those light blue eyes.      He crept closer, his large body hovering above yours, pupils blown wide, and for one hysterical moment you wondered if, like a child in a fairy tale, he sought to devour you whole. Instead, he kneeled down before you, retrieving a knife from his boot and gently cutting through the ropes on your ankles. He slipped behind your back to free your wrists, and you slumped forward. Your body ached. Ghost stepped in front of you and reached for you.      You flinched away, but he pressed on, his blue eyes wild. He shoved his mask back up past his mouth, leaning in and kissing you with a bruising force. The pressure against your broken nose made you dizzy with agony, and you cried out against him, tears sliding down your face.

     Ghost’s blood was still singing. You tasted like pain, and he couldn’t stop himself. It was like the air had been sucked out of the room and he couldn’t think straight.

     Ghost recognized Soap’s approaching footsteps from behind him and heard the Scot let out a string of curse words, hurrying towards the two of you. He pulled back from the kiss and reached for his gun. Without turning to face him, Ghost leveled his pistol at Soap's head.

     "Don't come any closer," he said softly. Soap took a step back, his hands raised.

     “Call for a pickup,” Ghost ordered, holstering his gun, “Don’t try to take her from me.”

     He leaned down and scooped you gently into his arms. You rested your head against his chest, too tired to fight him.

[cangrellesteponme]

wife

[waitineedaname]

“Most women expect me to be on top,” Wang Mobei admitted. “I don’t mind.” Shang Qinghua almost laughed. “Ah, most women don’t know you like I do, do they, boss?”

welcome to the second part of my butch Shang Qinghua agenda, which is also my top Shang Qinghua agenda <3 featuring tit worship and The Strap™

[spaceiix3]

just one step at a time (Asmodeus x GN! Reader drabble)

Content warnings: physical self harm alluded to but not described. very very slight yandere.

Word count: 769

Asmo looked up from his phone as he heard his bedroom door creak slightly, taking his hand off his chin as he shifted his weight to rest evenly on both elbows. His beloved human stood in the doorway, frowning and not quite meeting his eyes. They swayed slightly on their feet.

"Darling?" Asmo asked after a moment of silence. The human didn't reply, eyes wandering around his room as they grimaced slightly.

"Why don't you come in? Come sit by me, please." Asmo beckoned them over, his tone gentle yet commanding as he moved to sit up against the headboard of his bed.

The human nodded, taking a few quick deep breaths before moving. They closed the door behind them after a long moment and disjointedly moved over to Asmo's bed. Asmo noticed they winced slightly as they shifted their weight to their thigh to get both legs on the bed. His eyes widened slightly in understanding, but he said nothing about it.

"Can I hold you, dear?" Asmo asked, placing his phone to the side. His human nodded.

The demon gently maneuvered their body to rest their head on his chest while pushing them to lay on their side, facing him. He watched as the human's eyes drifted around his room, looking around but not seeing. They certainly weren't asleep, but weren't present either.

Asmo kissed their forehead, leaving a slight mark from his lipstick. His manicured nails followed, mindlessly drifting to scratch against their scalp and cup their cheeks as he nuzzled against the top of their head. The same hand then drifted down to rest against their arm. He rubbed his thumb against it gently, calmly.

The demon closed his eyes as they stayed like this for a few minutes, breathing in the scent of the shampoo he had gifted them a few weeks ago. He felt the human's heart rate slow down as they laid there, until it was calm and steady again.

"Asmo..." The exchange student started talking quietly. "I remembered you said I could see you when I wanted... I just saw you were livestreaming before and didn't want to bother, so..." They trailed off, grimacing as they tried to explain their behavior.

"So you just tried to take care of things yourself?" Asmo questioned gently. The human nodded, tilting their head to bury it further against his chest, almost trying to hide themselves.

"I can't even go two months without... you know..." They sighed, feeling like they were going to cry, but knowing they were too emotionally exhausted to do so. “I just don’t know any other way of helping myself, I… I just don’t know…” They trailed off.

"Darling... you don't need to try so hard to fix everything yourself." The demon mumbled as he rested his cheek against their head, before pulling back slightly to speak more clearly.

"I know your... methods work for you, but they make you feel so bad afterward, too. That’s why you should let me help more. I can end a few livestreams early now and then, there will always be more." He smiled at the human, then continued.

“My fans don’t mean anything compared to you, kitten. I love my fans, but I’d sacrifice all of them if it meant I could keep you consistently content.” He felt them let out a slight laugh at that. He giggled in return at the sound.

“Mmm, you’re so cute. Don’t think of it as a joke though.” His grip on their arm tightened slightly. “Would killing off a few random fans help to show my devotion to you? To help you feel better about coming to see me?” He continued. The human shifted slightly to finally look up at him and gauge his facial expression. He blinked himself out of his slight stupor as he felt them move, then moved his eyes back down to meet theirs, his face splitting into a gentle grin.

“Sorry, hun, I’m getting off-topic. My bloodlust can be hard to control, hehe.” He giggled again, and put a hand on their head.

"But I’m really so proud of you for coming over to see me, honey. I know it's hard to get used to, but you did so well." He started, petting their head as he spoke.

"Maybe we won't break your... habits of emotional regulation right away, but we can in time. Just keep being good for me like this, darling. We can take one step at a time together.”

The exchange student nodded, sighing.

“Just one step at a time.” They mumbled as they sank back into Asmo’s embrace.

[kitsunefyuu]

Just randomly musing on an idea now.

I could imagine a grieving AFO, whose son Izuku was absolutely obliterated leaving almost no flesh to Nomufie or clone. So he forces Garaki to create a robot Izuku exactly in the lost childs image. Constantly 'upgrading' as ages' and I'm thinking about that now after thinking about the clone vs robot.

We got tons of clones, what if robot because AFO can't handle that he has nothing left. That his flesh and blood is gone because I dunno probably his fault. And there not enough left to even try cloning and cue robot that doesn't know it a robot. Izuku just living his life as normally as possible trying to be a hero not realizing he is only programmed to think he is the original.

[locria-writes]

Just wanted to say I greatly appreciate your wide array of trashmen. For too long have we been subjected to cookie-cutter good boys, I want grit and mild discomfort with my male options. I want to feel like I'm actively making a bad decision while perusing them.

once upon i think my blog description was like "enabling bad choices" or something to that effect lol

[gamemaker-pom]

A BKDK Hunger Games AU ch.1

Birdsongs whisper throughout the trees, wound through the branches by the wind that carries them. Sunlight filters down through the leaves above. Ferns reach up to lick at the dapples of sunlight splayed across them. And bugs munch at the renewed green of their leaves. Rustles of fur and feathers echo in the footprints are left behind in the soft dirt. Soon to be covered up by layers of broken branches and leaves. 

Freedom. 

That’s what this space means to him. 

And yet underneath all of this beauty, the constant, discordant hum of the electric fence can be made out. 

The nature here doesn’t know it’s unnatural anymore. For 75 years, it has never known anything different. Baby birds have been learnt not to perch on it, little foxes have been learnt not to scratch at it and the plants have learnt how to grow around it. 

But, Izuku? He’s learnt how to get through it.

Letting the metal netting slingshot back into its rightful position, Izuku stands up on the other side of the fence and races towards the line of trees in front of him. The sooner he gets out of sight, the better. He heads towards the place he stores his hunting equipment, greeting the forest like an old friend. 

This is where he belongs. 

He’s been coming here since he was a child. As soon as he had learnt to walk, his father was teaching him how to slip through the loose panel at the edge of the meadows and into the thicket of wildlife lining the east length of his district 12. 

Izuku pulls out his bow from underneath the fallen tree he keeps it beneath and traipses over to reach for his arrows inside the hollow tree to the left. He slings the quiver around his body, movements easy with years of practice. Smiling, Izuku runs his fingers over the name ‘Midoriya’ carved into its lean body. 

It was passed down to him by his father.

A rustle comes from up above in the trees.

Izuku flicks an arrow over his shoulder and onto his bow, pulling the string back as his eyes search for the animal that made the noise. The black head of a crow peaks out from in between the trees. He shoots.

It falls. 

Izuku is quick to make his way over to the felled bird before any other predator becomes brave enough to try and steal his game. He pulls his arrow out of the eye it had pierced, wiping it on a cloth quickly and placing it back inside his quiver. He ties the crow to his quiver’s strap by the head, wrapping a noose around its limp head. It won’t get him that much, but it was still a sizable bird. Good enough to trade for a few potatoes at the Hob. 

After his father went, Izuku was the one who had to provide for his family. 

His mother makes a few pennies from making herbal remedies for illnesses and stitching up wounds. But when everyone in the District is as poor as each other, not much can be made off of helping their neighbours. 

Eri, his sister, is still too young to help provide for the family. The most she can do is be a spare pair of hands when his mother is treating someone. She’s training to be a medic under his mother. Izuku admires her for it, his hands have never been gentle or disciplined enough to help his mother. 

His foraging skills are enough to give them what they need. With his bow, Izuku has the power to keep his family well fed and cared for. The peacekeepers loitering around the Hob are always happy to trade a few coins for some proper meat. And if not, Auntie Sosaki is always willing to take any less wanted prey off of his hands for her cats to eat. 

Izuku continues deeper into the forest, eyes constantly seeking movement in the bushes around him. He manages to fell a couple of squirrels before his eyes land on her. 

A doe stands a few metres away from him, a soft brown head peeking out from in between two trees.

Izuku stills, and slowly reaches for his bow. 

One eye focused on the deer, he squints the other one shut as he raises his hand back to touch his cheek. 

He only has one shot for this. 

The doe shuffles to the right slightly, head bowing down to munch on a shrub. Izuku’s eyes follow, carefully shifting until his arrow points straight at her chest. 

Arms wrap around him. 

“BOOM!” 

Izuku shrieks. 

His arrow flies off somewhere towards the doe’s behind and Izuku spins himself around as his nose finally takes in the sickly sweet smell of nitroglycerin. 

“Kacchan!” He smacks his hands on the shoulders of the boy who had snuck up behind him, forcing the arms wrapped around his middle to let go. 

What did Izuku do to deserve this?

“Really Deku?” He raises an eyebrow and smirks, “A deer is more important than me?”

Izuku growls. 

There are never any deer here! 

The money he could have gotten from that kill would have lasted his family about a fortnight! He had one shot and Kacchan blew it for him. 

“You ass!” 

A couple years ago, Izuku would have been too scared to swear at Kacchan. But now all he can see is the glint of amusement in his eyes. “That kill could have lasted us two weeks! And you blew it!” 

Izuku punches his boyfriend in the stomach. 

“Ow!” Kacchan snarls, “What the fuck, Deku? I thought you would be happy to finally see me after--”

Kacchan’s tantrum is cut off when all of the air is punched out of him as Izuku bulldozes into his chest and throws his arms around the boy in front of him. Izuku holds him tight and buries his nose into the familiar smelling fabric of Kacchan’s shirt. 

“You’re such an asshole, Kacchan.”

Kacchan scoffs before wrapping his arms around Izuku and nuzzling into the green hair beneath his nose. “Stupid nerd…”

Lips press into the crown of his head and Izuku grins.

-----

NEXT

[ijustwanttotalkaboutfanfiction]

The muses suckerpunched me and I shit out an entire Scuttlespring fic in two days. Now I have four different WIP of this couple (that didn’t even occur to me as a possible match until the finale), none of which I can finish, as once I write a line or two for one fic I have an idea for one of the others and switch to it. It started as two fic ideas directly after publishing the first and now we're at four with a fifth brewing in my random snippets of ideas page. What the fuck is this. I've never written fanfiction before. I feel possessed. I've never had a rarepair so rare there's only nine fics in the AO3 tag and ONE OF THEM IS MINE AHHHH

[sysig]

Nice healthy obsession you got there (Patreon)

[set-wingedwarrior]

The Right time

So. It's been a hot minute, huh?

I'll spare you the long list of reasons why I haven't written for a while, and I can't even promise a full comeback because of my studies and stuff. I've written this very randomly, it's short, and I'm rusty, but I'm still happy I've been able to write something. I hope you'll like it :)

Shout out to @phoenix-fell for proofreading this very last minute, thanks bud!

AO3

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

Saying that they were shocked was an euphemism. Finding out that one of your friends is now decades older than you and turned into one of the main characters of your favorite childhood book isn’t a commonplace event. It makes you wonder how it must have felt for Jaune to realize that the guy he read about as a kid was actually his future self.

He surely knew how hard it was to process, which is why he left Team RWBY alone for some time, giving their minds the time to ease into that new reality before going straight back to business. In the meantime he’d use that spared hour to help the people of the Ever After that got hurt by the earlier attack, which is hardly a bad idea.

Ruby is visibly shaken, another hit on her sense of duty, feeling once again the failure to save a friend. Weiss is right beside her as the two take comfort in each other’s presence, and Yang feels particularly grateful that Weiss is still fighting to keep her promise to be the best partner she can be. It means that, at least for a little moment, Yang can take time for herself, and address the inner struggles regarding her own partner..

“Are you okay?” Blake, always the observant one, doesn’t miss the betraying flick of worry in Yang’s eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Yang’s quick to answer “It’s just- I think I need to talk to you.” She says, before she can change her mind. She’s aware that it’s not the right time, probably the worst actually, but when was there ever a right one?

“Oh! I- I mean- sure.” Blake’s nervousness is obvious, which is why Yang doesn’t hesitate to take her hand in hers and give it a reassuring squeeze. It works, and Blake lets herself be led outside. “So, what do you need to talk about? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes- no- I mean-“ looking down, Yang can see the Rusted Knight, Jaune, moving around with Juniper to help people. She takes a deep breath; she can do this. She has to. “Listen. I know that this, whatever this is going on between us, is still new. And I wanted to wait for the right moment before bringing it up but… then I saw him.” she nodded towards Jaune “Did he even try to get home? How long has he been waiting for us to find him? Or for him to find us?” Yang knows she’s pretty much rambling right now, but Blake’s focused gaze and pointed ears tell her that she still has her undivided attention. “And now I keep wondering: what if that was me? Or you?”

“Yang, we don’t know how things work here, and this is all just a conjecture. But I know that if that was me, I would have waited for you. No matter if I had the chance to escape, I’d never leave you behind.”

“This is not what I meant. I…” now it’s Blakes turn to give her a comforting squeeze.

“What do you mean then? It’s okay, go on.”

“It just… it made me realize: there’s no right time. There’s just here and now. And I don’t wanna force anything on you, you don’t have to answer me in any way. But I can’t risk spending my whole life waiting; I just need to tell you. Blake, I lo-“

Yang doesn’t get the chance to finish, interrupted by a pair of lips pressing on her own. Her first instinct is to freeze, - this is her first kiss, their first kiss! – but she gets one second to reciprocate before Blake pulls back.

“Are you really telling me about waiting and what ifs?” Blake starts, her voice breaking “Yang, I watched you die.” She grips on Yang’s jacket, not holding her but keeping her close “I saw you fall and disappear into a void that I was sure was certain death, and everything just stopped. Atlas, the relics, the evacuation, all gone; all I could think about was that I needed to reach you. I would have jumped if Weiss hadn’t stopped me.”

“Blake…”

“Finding you here has been the greatest relief I have ever felt in my whole life. But, most importantly, it gave me, us, a second chance. I am not risking it, and I am not waiting anymore.” She says solemnly, before looking up and right into her eyes, the amber shining like gold “Yang Xiao Long, I am in love with-“

Yang tries, she really does, but she just can’t resist. She just has to lean down to kiss her again. This time it lasts a little longer, Blake has the time to adjust and kiss her back while both of their arms find their way around each other.

“I’m sorry.” Yang says after pulling back, with a wide grin that says she’s not sorry at all. Somehow Blake can’t bring herself to be mad. 

Then, the next time they speak is together, like they’re one person, one mind, one soul.

“I love you.”

They grin at each other. Grins that turn into smiles, that turn into giggles, until they let out a full blown laughter. It’s not even that funny, but they laugh so hard that they start crying.

All of their stress and fears finally find a way out through that pure unrestricted laughter. All of the feelings, good and bad, but most importantly all the love that has been held close to their hearts, are now free and out into the air of that unique and magical world. And they laugh like crazy, like in love. 

When it finally calms down, the two women look at each other, catch their breaths, then kiss again.

There’s never a right time for this sort of thing, especially when you’re a huntress and the world has fallen onto your shoulders. They could be gone tomorrow, or live long enough to witness the end of the world. 

Now is the right time. So they kiss, and laugh, and enjoy it to its fullest. Because that’s what makes it all more perfect: it’s the present.

[roomsofmyheart]

Merthur Week 2022

Day 1 - “this will be the last time you lie to me.” + smart!arthur

“This will be the last time you lie to me.” Uther’s voice booms in the throne room, empty except for himself and Arthur. Everyone that had been dismissed had scattered quickly at the dark look on the King’s face after Arthur made his proclamation. “Now tell me the truth about what happened with your manservant.”

“I wasn’t lying father,” Arthur responds evenly, his face a carefully constructed mask with years spent perfecting it. “It was not Merlin that was caught using magic. It was someone else using a magic of some sort to disguise themselves as him. What better way of navigating the citadel unscathed than as the personal servant to the Crown Prince?”

Uther’s frown lessened slightly, although he still looked unconvinced.

“Do you have any proof of this?”

Arthur reaches into his pocket as he walks up the empty long table set before the throne and sets a pouch in front of him.

“This was found at the last sighting of the intruder in the tunnels.” Arthur inclines his head towards it as Uther reaches for the pouch and undoes the drawstrings, pulling out a pendant with a shimmering jewel almost the size of his palm attached to a thin chain. “I had Gaius take a look and he said the mark on the back of the gem has traces to a type of illusion magic called a glamour,” he finishes as his father turns it over in his hands to reveal the rune mark etched into the metal. Arthur grips his other hand behind his back to prevent himself from fidgeting. Any sign of weakness could be interpreted as a tell for lying by his father.

Uther takes a moment to run his fingers over the rune before speaking, “How are you sure that this doesn’t belong to your manservant?” He looks up at him, the frown on his mouth settling instead into a firm line and his eyes sharp as the knife’s edge that Arthur meticulously traverses.

He firms his resolve before speaking, “Merlin was found knocked out with a minor head injury in one of the storage rooms. One of the servants found him while we were on the intruder’s tail down in the tunnels. Gaius is treating him for it as we speak.” Arthur gauges his father’s reaction as he finishes. 

It appears his anger has died down to a simmer as he takes in Arthur’s words for a moment before speaking.

“Alright then. I want to hear full reports from the guards and have a word with Gaius about all of this when he is done with the boy.” The dismissal is clear in his tone and Arthur is all too glad to take his leave.

Once outside the throne room doors, he heaves in a shaky breath. Lying to his father was always a dangerous path to tread. Not that what he said didn’t have any sentiment of truth to it. Merlin had been found unconscious with a minor head injury, just not in the storage rooms like he said.

Arthur still remembered the brilliant gold flaring in his eyes as he deflected a dagger thrown by his look-alike sailing through the air towards him. He’d been so shocked that the intruder had managed to get a hit on Merlin before escaping but they’d dropped the pendant in the fuss. It had been a lucky thing that Arthur had ordered the guards to split up and search the tunnels. He was able to quickly get Merlin to Gaius’ chambers without running into any of them.

Merlin has magic.

The thought had been put aside until the most urgent matters of this whole affair had been dealt with. Now he turned the thought over and over in his mind as he made his way to Gaius’ chambers. There was no way to pretend that he was mistaken in what he saw. It had been clear as day that the dagger had been sailing towards his heart until its journey was interrupted.

Arthur remembered the stricken look on Merlin’s face, how he desperately shouted his name as he raised his hand to stop the blade in mid-air. Most of all, he remembered the relief in his eyes that had quickly turned to fear. That memory tempered his anger at having such a secret kept from him.

He shook his head to clear the memory from his mind as he reached the threshold of the physician’s chambers. 

Magic or not, Merlin had saved his life. And he is the only friend he ever had. He’d be damned if he was ever going to let his father harm a single hair on his head. That didn’t mean that Merlin didn’t owe him some answers though.

Taking in a deep breath, he pushed the door open.

[inigostears]

viviannes from the past few days..... love my daughter!!

[psychicthepsychic-daily]

confirmation bias, and other fallacies

(Friday Night Funkin')

Words: 759

Summary:

Girlfriend's sick in bed after some (heavily implied) poor decisions she and Boyfriend made on a date. Psychic is left to tend to her and try to understand where she's coming from, when she says this is the boy in whose hands she'd put her life.

i did not mean for this to get so long oops- also i am indeed in the process of finishing the Aldryx birthday fic! i've just been super busy and hit with a bad case of writer's block! apologies for the delay and i'll be sure to get it out as soon as i can!

Psyfic taglist: @y010isaghost, @s0methingmoonlit, @flurriethefox, @hoodiehydra

Let me know if you'd like to be added to/removed from the taglist!

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"Sit up straight," Psychic cautions as he sets a tray of bread and tomato soup on the blanket between them, taking a seat on the edge of Girlfriend's bed and letting her disentangle herself from the sheets.

She sneezes. Sneezes again. "Thanks, Psyche," she smiles before sneezing a third time, and that somehow makes the last few hours looking after her worth it. Girlfriend reaches for the spoon and takes a slurp of the soup. "This is nice."

"That's good to hear," he says, tracing the stitching in her maroon comforter. "Next time, don't run the entire perimeter of Newgrounds immediately after swimming in a frozen lake." He can't stop a little bit of snark from entering his tone, even with her.

"It was an accident," Girlfriend mutters defensively. "I already told you that. And I made it out fine. Boyfriend was there to help me."

Boyfriend. Always Boyfriend was there and Boyfriend saved me and Boyfriend was so brave for my sake. Has she forgotten the eighteen years her parents, Psychic spent protecting her, teaching her to protect herself? Scorned, worthless, gone? She's lucky her parents aren't home to hear her.

"It still shouldn't have happened to begin with," Psychic narrows his eyes at her but keeps his tone calm. "And he may have been there this time, but what if someday something does happen and he's not? What if there's nothing he can do? You have to be more careful, Girlfriend. You have to be able to look out for yourself."

She scoffs, blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes and sniffing a little. Psychic gives her the tissue box. "I can," she grumbles, blowing her nose and dropping a wad of Kleenex into the bin by her bed. "I'm not helpless just because he's around to help me, Psychic. I'm just safer because of him. I can rely on him, that doesn't make me weak. I thought you would understand that..." She takes another, smaller sip of soup and stuffs a slice of bread in her mouth, avoiding his gaze. A small, hurt frown creases her face.

Guilt creeps up on Psychic again, frustratingly enough, where it never used to. It's not his place to lecture her.

I wasn't lecturing her, I was only expressing my concerns over her safety and his recklessness—

It's not his place.

That should be enough for him. Boyfriend was there and he wasn't, big deal. Girlfriend is safe, albeit with a fever and cold that she'll recover from overnight. She's a good kid. A strong kid.

She has someone to look out for her now, without the inherent judgement her family has, including him. Psychic's aware of that. Having been around since before her birth, there's no way his devotion hasn't distorted his own view of her. How to protect her. And everyone deserves someone to trust, outside of that echo chamber of assumptions and expectations.

Just because it's Boyfriend doesn't make that any less true. She's right, Psychic of all people should understand.

"I'm sorry." Girlfriend's always preferred for him to say it outright, not hide his feelings behind formalities and language her father would use. "I shouldn't doubt you. I do understand, Girlfriend. But please... remember to stay safe. Both of you. I'm glad things are getting better for you, but it's up to you to keep it that way."

She gives him a tentative grin. "It's okay, Psyche. Does that—" She sneezes. "Does that mean you called Boyfriend?"

Psychic rolls his eyes. "Of course I did." Boyfriend was out of his apartment and dashing across the city before Psychic had a chance to hang up. Possibly the only respectable thing that shrimp's ever done. "He's on his way. Finish your food, Girlfriend. I'll make you some tea."

When she's done, Psychic reaches out with his telekinesis and lifts her tray. "Get some rest," he encourages softly, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. Her forehead is still warm. Psychic lets his magic soothe some of her discomfort. "Your boyfriend will be here soon. I'll come back with your tea in a minute."

He switches off the ceiling light as he leaves but her bedside lamp continues to glow as she snuggles deeper within the covers. She's already asleep by the time he comes back.

Psychic doesn't wake her; the girl needs her rest. He leaves her tea on the nightstand to warm again later, and remains outside her room, resolute to keep her safe and comforted, no matter who he shares that role with now.

[polishedforsurvival]

[knightinink]

Do you think, pip gets secretly beauty and spa treatments in generell?

So that Damien doesn’t find out or does Damien knows that?

I think it would be something that Damien would encourage, actually! He notices how self-conscious Pip tends to get, and it only takes a few bouts of it for Damien to come up with this idea. (His dad always says spa treatments make him feel better, after all!). With Pip & Damien, it always comes down to confidence, so after Damien proposes this idea, Pip supposes he hasn't got much else to lose, so he gives it a try.

Turns out, he likes it more than he thought he would. Damien also notices that the Brit comes out looking happier than when he went in. It's not something he does all the time, but Damien likes to spoil him whenever he can.

(The thing Pip likes getting done the most is his hair. He loves the feeling of getting it washed, & the stylists always make it super soft & shiny for him.)

[pears-trinkets]

everything sucks so hard rn idk