#best clear coat for painted wood

[iliketangerines]

a lesson in shrubbery

a/n: i'm a little late...just give me a second to catch up

pairing: tsu'tey x afab!na'vi!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), rough sex, orgasm control, teasing, public sex (you're in the forest), doggystyle

perhaps you had pushed him a bit too far this time, vying for Tsu’tey’s attention whenever he was trying to teach his trainees and also deal with the outsider at the same time

it’s just that he had been so distant lately, spending more time complaining and muttering underneath his breath about Tsyeyk Suli rather than paying attention to you

you knew that it was the stress of becoming future olo’eyktan and the increasing encroachment of the sky people on eywa’eveng

and you really should’ve just let things settle and cool until you brought up your own problems to Tsu’tey

but really, you were also tired, the bedroll cold when you went to bed and barely warm when you woke up, Tsu’tey’s tail whipping out of the tent flap as he sped to go to training

it had frustrated you, leaving you to stop cutting and peeling fruits for him, finding the best cut of meat for him at meals, and talking to him during meals

you had thought your avoidance towards him would perhaps maybe bring his attention to you, but he hadn’t even noticed, barely present at any meal times, off in the forest deep in the night to practice his hunting and stalking skills

and then, you had resorted to bothering him during training, when you knew he was busy to try and get his attention

he had not appreciated it and dismissed you many times, but you supposed flirting with the dream walker today snapped him out of whatever trance he had on training

his hand presses further into the small of your back as he thrusts his cock into you, barely a rhythm as he snarls at you, fangs bared

“what, you think i can’t please you? my own mate?” his voice is a deep growl, sending shivers up your spine and your tail whipping in the air

he grabs it into his other hand, pulling at it roughly and drawing a loud choked sound out of your throat

you claw at the dirt underneath your hands, tears staining the earth along with your arousal, the clear liquid dripping down the inside of your plush thighs and into the dirt

Tsu’tey ignores your clit, opting to just growl and snap his hips into yours, enough so that there’s a wet slap every time he fucks back into you

it’s feral how he snarls, spitting insults about the dreamwalker, and you can barely process them as he lets go of your tail and brings it to grip onto your hip, nails digging into your skin

“you belong to me, yeah? only i can fuck you like this, make you this into this pathetic mess.” his hand that was pressing into the small of your back moves forward and grabs onto your kuru, gently tugging at it

pleasure bursts in your vision as you gasp for air, “Tsu’tey please please, i’m sorry, i- agh ah hah!”

his hand once again tugs on your kuru, and your mind goes blank, tongue nothing more than a block of wood as you struggle to beg for your own pleasure

“aw what? you’re gonna have to speak up, syulang.” his voice holds a tint of arrogance, teasing, a smirk on his lips as he watches you fall apart underneath his hands

bruises would be sure to paint your hips, you would remember every thrust everytime you sit down or crouch, and you struggle to formulate sentences as you try and answer his question

“agggh hah mmnng,” only pathetic moans can slip from you as he angles his hips slightly, finally giving you slight reprieve as the tip of his cock bullies into your sweet spot, a rush of your arousal rushing through you and coating him

a thick ring of your slick forms around the base of his dick, and Tsu’tey stares at it, licking his lips as he lets go of your kuru, draping his body over yours so that his chest presses into your upper back and leaning his weight onto one forearm

“c’mon syulang, i can’t hear you.” his fangs sink into the skin of your neck, tasting your sweat and your musk, feeling your heartbeat on the tip of his tongue

Tsu’tey brings his fingers to your clit, pinching the sensitive bundle of nerves, his hips still steadily fucking into you with wet slaps

“agh ah ah i- ughh,” it’s the only thing you can whine as he rubs your clit in between two fingers roughly, the callouses on his fingertips rubbing deliciously against you

you can hardly think, back arching further to try and get him deeper into you, only focused on how you need to cum

your mate groans, feeling your pussy clench around him, sucking him in deeper, tempting him to cum inside of you so that you smell like him, so that no other suitor would dare to try and chase you

Tsu’tey nips at your neck once more, making sure that there would be bitemarks left before pressing his tongue against the mark to ease the pain

“you think you deserve to cum? after all that? after flaunting what is mine in front of that demon?” anger flares through him once more at the thought of that dreamwalker taking you away from him

“please, pleeaase, only yours, forever yours” you whimper it quietly, heavy tongue somehow forming the words as you drool, so close to your release, to the height of pleasure

he groans at your admission that you belong to him, that you’re only his, and he kisses your neck as he grunts, pinching at your clit again, rubbing it just how he has memorized

his fingers have mapped your body, traveled every crevice and bump and knows you better than he knew himself

Tsu’tey belonged to you just as much as you belonged with him, and he was yours

a groan falls from his mouth as his hips stutter and his hot cum fills you, short shallow thrusts fucking his seed further into you as he rides out his orgasm

you keen as you cum at the same time, pussy clenching tightly as you bring him in deeper to you, desperate needy whine moans falling from yout mouth as you finally dive over the cliff into pleasure

the both of you pant into the air, letting it cool and bring you back to reality

still, your brain still feels full of fuzz, like pollen had sunk into your head, and you lay limbless in the shrubbery, too tird to try and talk

Tsu’tey stays for a few minutes more before pressing a soft kiss to your neck and pulling out of you, whispering a small apology as you whine at the feeling, oversensitive now

he gently picks you up into his arms, smiling to himself now that you smell like him completely and wholly

the wind is quiet as he brings you to the calm rivers, “the water’s going to be cold, syulang.”

you nuzzle into his chest, humming, and he steps into the water slowly, letting you sink into the water with him as you cling onto his neck and breathe slow breaths

he settles you into his lap, running his hands over your body and wiping away the sweat gently from your neck and your face

trailing one hand in between your legs, he gentle cleans you of your arousal, pressing apology kisses to your forehead as his fingers rubs at your sensitive pussy

you just let out a somewhat irritated and hum and cling tighter to him, not wanting this moment to end

“i missed you, Tsu’tey.” it’s a quiet whisper from you, but he hears it and sighs, leaning his chin on your shoulder

“i know, i missed you too. i’m sorry, i should’ve paid you more attention, syulang. forgive me?” his voice is just as quiet, the words only for you and the quiet of the forest

a pause of silence from you passes by, “yeah, i forgive you.”

Tsu’tey smiles and continues to hold you in your arms until the night underneath the eclipse appears

[popironrye]

The Lost Boys

Leisure Headcanons

💋 David 💋

Is a skilled fire arm shooter. (Loves the cowboy aesthetic)

Has his own gun hidden in the cave.

Doesn't get the chance too often, but will ride a horse when the chance arises.

Likes wood carving. Mostly non specific whittling into basic shapes or animals. It helps him relax.

Movie nut! When the boys go the Max's store to fool around, David makes sure to tuck a movie or two that catches his eye in his coat. Tends to watch them alone, all the questions from Paul would just grate on his nerves too much.

I imagine David would be like REALLY good at origami for no particular reason. He doesn't even try, just once the boys do it just because and he's just the best at it.

I don't know if vampires can emerge in water in the lost boys lore, but if they can David loves to swim. Chilling in water clears his mind.

💀 Dwayne 💀

Skater boi! Does a lot of sick tricks, but when you can levitate it's less impressive. XD

Doesn't care for guns, but likes archery. Hammers his own arrow heads. Dwayne and David like to pick a spot in the woods to shoot make shift targets.

A real book worm. Will spend a lot of time just silently reading for hours.

Takes up knitting from time to time. He prefers hand knitted blankets and throws rather then the store ones.

Likes to make jewelry. Made his own necklace.

Enjoys all types of puzzles. Cross word, jigsaw, and brain teasers.

Can sew and offers to sew up holes made in all the clothes the boys decide not to get new ones.

🌿 Paul 🌿

Can play the guitar.

Also likes to sing, and is pretty good at it. Wanted to start a band, but the other boys weren't up for it.

Has the biggest music collection and is always hogging the tabletop/cassette/cd player.

Amateur photography. Just likes to take photos randomly. Some are really artsy.

Got really into tie dye for a while. Although he might have just been high.

When he wants to relax, Paul really likes to stargaze. Laying outside the cave looking at the sky and hearing the waves of the ocean just makes him feel at peace.

When David isn't using the tv monitor, Paul enjoys quite a few video games. He also likes to take on the arcade and carnival games at the boardwalk.

🪶 Marko 🪶

Aside from pigeons, Marko will try to domesticate a number of animals to the cave, including stray dogs, cats, deer, badgers, squirrel, foxes, bats, and even a black bear once.

He in fact did NOT domesticate a black bear, but he did wrestle one.

He does his own patchwork on his jacket.

Like David, he likes to sculpt into wood, but he usually carves patterns and landscapes into more grand pieces.

He's also a skilled painter. Mostly he'll paint murals on sections of the cave David says is ok for him to paint on.

He collects sea shells on the beach.

He'll style the others hair. Especially David who he'll cut and dye in the way he likes best.

🔥Pack Activities🔥

Dart throwing. The bigger the target the better. David and Dwyane are very competitive at this one specifically.

Rollerblading. Put wheels on shoes, what more can you want?

Listening to music. The boys have very wide music tastes and sometimes they cross over and they all like the same stuff. They take turns around the player of their choice to just smoke, drink, and listen to the sounds of the music plays.

Card games. Specifically poker when they're all together. They make things more interesting when they make bets.

And of course motocycle cruising and board walk loitering.

Something that always strikes me with vampires in fiction and indeed with any immortal creature with the high and emotional intelligence of humans. IMMORTALITY IS FUCKING BORING!

I mean, think about it. Imagine you're given all the free time in the world with very little responsibility with no fear of getting sick or tired allowed to do pretty much whatever you want. What would you do? Cause I would go stir crazy. So I came up with these dumb little head canons on how I image the boys specifically would pass the time in their little vampire lives that doesn't revolve around murdering and feeding off of people.

Of course cruising on their bikes come to mind. And there's a couple in the movie we get to see like Dwayne's skateboarding and Marko's fondness for pigeons but I wanted to throw more possibilities out there. :3

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Stormy Weather

Alfie Solomons x F!Reader; angst/comfort/fluff

Trigger Warnings: major domestic issues, trauma response, things are resolved but hard, language

A/N: Hey my loves! So this one is… pretty hard core for me? I rarely write angst but this one has been on my mind for a bit. This does get pretty aggressive but I needed to process my own experiences with DV and relationship issues. This story isn’t meant to glorify or make light of DV, but rather it’s a way for me to process my fears about my future relationships after my bad one. I hope this made sense, and maybe someone could find some catharsis in this like I did. Love you all to bits and pieces, I’m trying to get to my inbox!! As always, feel free to send me prompts or requests. Love you all 💕- Mo

It had been tense recently in the Solomons house. The new men in the bakery were just above incompetent despite Shelby assurance. American prohibition put another twist in the binds. And the recent weather had done nothing to aid Alfie’s sciatica. Through no fault of your own, and despite your best efforts, Alfie was knee deep in angry old man territory.

Though that wasn’t something that put you off. Women are not so easily turned by nasty weather, for better or worse.

You weren’t naive to the tempest of your husband. The beauty of his heart and his mind had to paid for by torrential rains once a season. His roar never came to your quiet garden, though you were acquainted with his rumbles and thunder. But you knew how to temper it. You knew what brought him through it into the clear.

You hummed to the radio in the corner, settling your finishing touches to a soothing evening with your beast of a husband. Brisket was just pulled out, with carrots and potatoes buttery and tender. You had washed the sheets and blankets, pressed them with dried lavender and eucalyptus oil. Lamps were turned low, and the fire was a soothing crackle, the entire parlor a syrup sweet orange glow. Water was hot for a bath for two, and everything was set for a soft warm evening.

As you pour out your first glass of wine, you hear the front oak door swing open, and slam shut shaking the walls. Light on your feet you flew to the front, opening your arms as a harbor. “Alfie darling, get your coat off, I have dinner and wine all set for your already! Let’s get you warm!”

His eyes don’t even meet yours as he evades your soft arms.

You feel as though your body wilts. Completely crumbling under the weight of the dejection.

But maybe he didn’t see you! Maybe he just didn’t realize!! He works hard he probably just has to attend to something quickly.

Your bare feet flex against the frigid wood stairs, creaking under the weight of your trek. Your ears perked up to the rustling of the papers and slamming of drawers and rumble of his voice. Like a dragon arranging his lair.

You crack the heavy door, requiring all of your weight. Paper and ink were thrown around, drawers yanked crooked, and you see him take long swigs of the amber liquid in the crystal decanter. “Alfie? Darling you alright? Did something happen”

He does not even toss a glance, “nothing that concerns you. Close the door one your way out.”

The rolling thunder edges closer to the home, “Aren’t you going to come down and eat? I’ve made your favorite tonight.”

“Does it look like I care about dinner? I’m preoccupied at the moment and don’t need your yowling right now.”

A bright flash illuminates the room.

“Alfie I don’t know what’s wrong but you will not speak to me like this.”

“I’ll fucking speak to you how I fucking feel like! Now get the fuck out!”

The sky explodes. Shaking the paintings and photos on the walls. The mirror above the fireplace behind you shifts precariously. Your eyes shut but the sounds wash over you.

You don’t let the anger out of your chest very often. You pride yourself on keeping an even temper and offering a gentle hand in place of the rage. Especially when being with Alfie, your honeyed lips and temperament is what makes you the queen of Camden. There’s been so few people who have seen your rage, much less deserved to receive it.

“Get the fuck out you said?”

A slight chill runs down Alfie’s spine. “Yeah. Yeah I said get the fuck out. You deaf now?”

Another flash.

“Ok.”

Alfie hardly blinks before he suddenly sees glass hurdling towards his face. He just barely ducks before it shatters against the wall behind him.

“What the fuck!” He roars and thrashes.

To his shock, you pick up the glasses on his bar cart, throwing them with all your might at his head, one by one, with deadly aim.

“Get the fuck out eh Alfie! Get the fuck out!! I’ll get the fuck out! Maybe I’ll take you fucking with me!”

You make your way to the Faberge eggs on the shelf.

“Don’t you fucking dare sweetheart! There will be hell to pay if you touch those fucking eggs!”

“Oh we are well past that Alfie. You tell me to get the fuck out? I’m taking your fucking stuff!”

Three perfectly beautiful eggs are slammed against the fire with your husband roaring and punching the wall, “Enough damnit! Get the fuck out of my office! Get to the fucking room you fucking lunatic! I’ll lock you in the bedroom if you keep this up!”

“Oh I’d like to see you try! You call yourself a man! King of Camden! King of Camden so upset he curses out his woman! So mighty yet he can’t take care of his own home! You’re a fucking CHILD! A fraud!”

You grab at a cabinet and pull it down, slamming against the ground. The glass shattered. The tin type of your wedding surely shattered in the frame. In the moment of silence after the shatter, you don’t realize Alfie coming up behind you and lifting you in the air.

You scream and kick, trying to get away and out of his grasp. But he was immovable. A wall. All you hear was his grunts as you howled and cried. He wrenches the bedroom door open, throwing you onto your marriage bed. You scramble up the bed, reaching for the knife under your pillow.

Heaving breaths, Alfie puts his hands in surrender, “Treacle treacle please. Enough ok. No need to stick me. Let’s.. let’s talk.”

“You’ve already said anything you need to. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say you fucking-“

“Darling I was wrong. Ok. I shouldn’t have swore at you. Come on. Just… put it down. Let’s… let’s talk about this ok? Truce?”

You push the hair out of your eyes, wipe the tears off your face and put the knife on the night stand, far enough from either of you.

Alfie has never raised a hand towards you ever. He’d rather put the gun on himself than touch you. But old habits die hard.

You pull your feet under your night gown. Watching Alfie pull off his coat and shoes before sitting on the bed. The ancient frame creaking under his weight.

He reaches for your hand, but retracts when he sees your dark stare toward it. With a sigh he relents and decides to begin. It’s never good to be the starter of negotiations. “Darling. I am sorry for shouting at you. It wasn’t fair to you. The business doll… it does my head in. But. It doesn’t excuse shouting at you. Can you forgive me?”

You feel the heaviness slowly slipping away from your neck. You nod meekly, allowing your fingers to drift to his, weaving around his warm fingers.

Brushing the inside of your wrist, he continues, “Now darling. While I was in the wrong, you don’t normally start throwing shit around. Very unlike you it is. You want to explain what caused that? What’s going on in that pretty head?”

You shake your head no. It’s sitting on your tongue though it’s so bitter. You can’t bring yourself to spit out the poison.

“Oh come on darling. It’s just me. Nothing can put me off. You and me forever right?”

You nod, and reveal your feelings, even if it’s a slow trickle.

“I just… got so angry at you Alfie. I’ve been so lonely these past few months. You’ve been gone. Any time you say you’ll be home you’re not. I’m without you all the time. And when you are here, you’re not really. Your mind is still gone and I don’t have my husband. Just his body. And his words hurt me so much. And I thought, I thought tonight I could finally get you. I thought if I tried hard enough you would be happy and with me. Like we were. And then when I tried to help you and be your wife, you screamed at me. And it hurt me. So I wanted to hurt you and break things to make myself feel better. But it didn’t. It made me more angry and sad and…”

Your words were reduced to tears as your husband pulled you into his lap. Your tears soaked his neck and shirt, “Oh God Alfie I’m so sorry! That was wrong and I’m sorry! Alfie was please forgive me! I’ll never disturb you again! I’ll never throw anything ever again! Oh God Alfie can you forgive me!”

A gentle kiss to your forehead settles your fears, “Now my darling you know in your heart of hearts that we are bound for eternity. Nothing is taking us apart. Not even when we fight like demons. I’m yours and you’re mine. You and me… well we just need a little medicine yeah? Just need some help right now. You and me need to do a better job talking to each other and listening yeah?”

You can barely get words out as you nod. Cheeks hot and sticky. But it doesn’t stop Alfie from kissing your cheeks so tenderly. “My dove. My sweet dove. The business has been out of control but it’s finally settling down. I came home angry because of all the messes I’ve had to clean up. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on the one person I like. The one person I love. But it’s finally settled my pet.”

His thick hands tenderly touch your chin to bring your eyes to his, which are also wet with tears, “I promise to always tell you when I’m not doing ok. And if I can’t tell you then, I’ll make sure to tell you when I need a moment. You think you can promise your old man the same?”

“Yes… I promise.” You whisper

There is a slight twinkle that flies across his eyes, “Think you can seal it with a kiss?”

You throw yourself against him, and he catches you with a grunt. You hated to fight. You’d sooner walk into the ocean than be at odds with the love of your life. When you finally come up for air, Alfie whispers against your lips, “I’m staying home for the rest of the week. I’ll tell Ollie what he needs to do in the morning.”

Without moving a millimeter you say, “No you can’t darling. It’s your life I don’t want you to have to stay home if you can’t.”

“You’re my life treacle. Forever and all eternity you’re what matters. I’ve decided. I’m staying home. And come Saturday we go up to Margate.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I am that you’re the only woman for me.”

He kisses you sweetly, and you whimper as you let yourself be further embraced by him. Barely moving from your lips he whispers, “Why don’t you start a bath darling? I’ll grab tea from downstairs and join you soon.”

“I made dinner… it’s on the stove for you.”

“I’ll bring a plate for us. You just… get comfortable for me treacle. I think we need some time.”

For the rest of the night… and the rest of the week. You spent time talking and embracing, coming back together and healing what had been fraying at the edge. Though mistakes were made, and there were deep wrongs, you both wanted to fix it, to heal.

Neither of you were perfect. You never would be. But there was love there, and determination to get through the wounds that lead to these kinds of mistakes. These moments were not ok, and they stemmed from deep seated traumas that were undealt with. But you both wanted this marriage. You both wanted each other. And you both would work everyday to make it work.

With every word.

With every caress.

With every kiss.

Things would heal.

[thegrayascendancy-if]

"Here. It is for you."

You set it on the desk in front of Mort, and the small piece of cloth untangles and streams down to its base, revealing your work. Warmth rushes to your face. In this light as the centerpiece on the table, it looks like nature's cruel joke, some stub of an unrecognizable shape.

He slowly reaches out until his fingers find the softness of the cloth, and you feel a nudge of worry if any of the oil has stained it. But then Mort gingerly lifts the wooden carving and starts to trace its curves and bends with measured curiosity.

"I saw it sitting on a branch up above, about a month ago. It—it was large, deathly silent, and very still, but then had those ear-like feathers on its head." You clear your throat, and he strokes his thumb between the two sharp tips on the carving's head. "Its coat was mostly brown, so I took walnut wood."

Mort brings it closer to his face, and a small smile appears in the corners of his mouth. "I can tell."

At the sight, you wrap one hand over the other, skin still tender with the careless cuts and muscle strained and sore, for your hands are not used to struggling with a carving knife. He finds where you tried your best to place the bird's beak and runs his finger under it as if trying to pet it.

"Jax explained these owls are a rare sighting. With these ears. Or horns, as they called them." You couldn't quite feature the spots in its feathers, you aren't even sure if they weren't a trick of the setting light—but you worked the length of its wings with a special tool to give them a plumy feel. "We stared at one another for some time. I couldn't even move."

You didn't bother with the talons. The chunky base your carving ended up having is stable indeed, and you trying to craft something as delicate as a set of sharp, blade-like legs would have been a disaster, but you still feel a lingering disappointment that it doesn't look complete. Not true to what you saw. Not entirely what you wanted to show him.

"They are clever birds," Mort says, raising his chin. "Probably wanted to know what you were up to."

You laugh softly. "My usual business. The Gray Regent's business."

He sets it down on the desk, fingers laid in a circle around the figurine. Its eyes were the most difficult thing. Eyes often are: in the paintings that hang in the Tower, and in the weathered statues you see on your travels. Many look lifeless, and your attempt does too. The firsts often do.

A blister spot on your thumb throbs.

"I know it isn't perfect, but I wanted to… share that moment with you somehow."

His face glows with softness, and the rays of wrinkles appear around his eyes.

"I can hear it," he says. "The sound is faint, but the bird is hooting and it carries through the woods."

"We are the intruders," you agree with a nod. "It is warning us to stay away."

Mort wraps his large hands around the figurine almost protectively, and it disappears from your sight entirely. So much time, and it ended up being this small. You laugh a little bitterly.

"Thank you," he tells you, his voice somewhat hollow, coming from the top of his lungs. "It is… very kind."

Not any more kind than he has been to you, but that is no way to accept his gratitude. Your skin will heal, with Mort's help, no less, but for now, even the weak pangs of pain feel satisfying.

"I'm glad you think so, Mort."

~~~

Shout out to @kingdom-dance for inspiring me to write this.

[heartfullofleeches]

Hella weird but I want Devlin to chase me, like if it’s just an intense game of tag or I’m genuinely trying to run away idc I want that man full on sprinting after me while I’m running away from him. Sounds like a fun adrenaline rush idk

The ride is unusually quiet. Your partner with his rambunctious and unruly self had hyped up the outing up until this point, eerily quiet as his eyes focus on the road. How well that attention spared was beyond you as you were fairly certain he didn't have a driver's license mainly due to the fact he's been alive nearly as long as vehicle transportation itself, but its better not to sweat the small things. He keeps a hand on your leg the entire drive, mindlessly tracing patterns along your thigh muscles. That mischievous grin of his returns as the car breaks to a stop.

"We're here~"

The happy jingle in his voice can't mean anything good, but you pop your seatbelt and follow him outside out of the trust he longed for and you felt you could give. Devlin grabs a bag from the back and your hand as he steps off road and into the treelining. He kisses the top of your hand as he closes your fingers around a flashlight.

"I'm so exciting, babes. No matter what, just remember you'll be safe- as long as you stay close to me and don't pass the blue trees when we get there."

That's definitely comforting. "What are we doing out here?"

That impossible smile only grows. "You'll see."

Devlin leads you into the wood. There's not much on your walk besides trees and rocks, until you come across the stained walls ejected around the forest floor. Vegetation and the hands of time had done their damage, but you could make out what looks to be spray paint art. The tiny monuments gradually incress in size till you're facing down small cobble huts throughout the area. Devlin stops in what appears to be the heart of the field and spreads his arms.

"Ta-da! Cool ain't it?"

You look around, airsoft goggles abandoned by a tree stump. "Is this... a paintball field?"

"Yup. Built right over the cemetery in the town I grew up in. Had some quality fun when was open. Probably the reason it closed too. Yellow eyed devil is what they called me. So fucking lame."

"I'm glad you showed me a part of your past, but is sight seeing all we came to do?"

"Nope."

Devlin snatches your light and tosses it into the trees. He pulls off his coat and lays it over a wall.

You back away as he streches. "I'm confused.."

"I'm gonna hunt ya down, silly. Just a little bonding experience and a way to relieve all the stress I got from watching you mingle with others. Most importantly, it'll be good to see how fast you can run if you flake on me and I have to drag your cute ass back where you belong.

He's dead serious about this. Some warning would've been nice, but the only way out is if you play alone. "What are the roles?"

"You try to make it back to the car without me catching you. It's pretty much a straight line besides the baracades so whether that's an advantage is on you. I'll give you a ten second head start. If you win, I'll do whatever you say for the night. If I win.... well- you'll see soon enough.

It probably would've been best to calculate your chances of winning, but it was clear he was getting antsy. "Alright. I'll play along. You better not be a sore loser like you were when we played operation."

Devlin looks ready to burst from excitement. "Scouts honor. We start in five."

You face the starting point, counting off in your head. You hear Devlin pacing behind you as you get in position. On the final number, your feet sink into the soft earth as you take off. Your countdown continues as you sprint down the path, seconds ticking by until the chase begins. Glancing over your shoulder, you see that Devlin isn't even looking in the direction you're heading. As the second countdown finishes, he takes a knee - running off to your right.

You make up for the wasted time by kicking your flight into second gear. Wasn't the best idea to put all your energy in at the start, but he was up to something and you knew it. Just keep looking ahead and pushing forward. The trees off the path were two dense for him to make it through and somehow catch you. There was probably a trap somewhere or-

Devlin cleans tree leaves out of his hair as he steps onto the path. The fall hurt his ankle, but with a few rolls of his foot it's good as new. You stop dead in your tracks, flinging yourself behind the nearest wall before he can spot you. That bastard was in the trees - waiting for you. You knew he was fast, but that seemed impossible. You peak around the wall to see if he's noticed you.

"Anybody ever tell you how hot you are covered in sweat and afraid?"

Devlin leans over the wall, winking at you as you look up. Grabbing the closest thing to you, you throw a small rock in his general direction as you race off in the direction you came. He catches it and hops over the wall.

"Oh you play dirty, huh? Here I thought I would have to go easy on you."

Your chest burns as you make distance from him as fast as humanly possible. He's gone off road again when you check, but this time you catch a glimpse of him through the thicket of trees right before he bursts out again in front of you. You pedal backwards and into one of the area towers, crawling beneath the glass free window to make it to the otherside. Devlin is already there and covers your mouth before you can scream. He pins you to the wall and celebrates his victory with a kiss to your sweaty skin.

"Looks like I won. I think it's time for the real fun to begin."

Devlin picks you up and sits you on the window sill. You catch your breath as his hands paw your thighs, tongue rolling over your salty skin.

"Another... round."

His ears perk up in tune with his lecherous smirk. "Oh?"

"I... wasn't- ready. If you win, I'll give you... an entire week of doing whatever you want."

Devlin backs off you, the flames of adrenaline rekindled in his eyes and burning brighter than before. "Oh, Y/n. You have no idea what you've just submitted yourself too."

[ofduskanddreams]

You're Lucky I Love You

For @areyoudreaminof <3 The prompt: Canon Elucien. Teasing. "You're lucky I love you."

—this fic contains a shameless reference to What Lies Inside, I could not help myself nor will I apologize—

Elucien ✦ Rated G ✦ 814 words ✦ on AO3

Elain breathed a sigh of relief as the door swung shut behind her. After spending the last six months on an extended visit to Vassa and Jurian to see the newly rebuilt palace and the now not-so-newborn princess, Elain was grateful to be back in her own house. They had arrived home this afternoon, but she’d gone straight into a debriefing with Balthazar and the other court’s emissaries about a potential exchange. 

It felt amazing to be home.

She’d missed the sun-warmed limestone walls, the weathered wood floors, the grove of citrus trees in the back garden, and the sprawling bougainvillea climbing around their front door. Having known them for over a decade now, Elain had gone into the trip aware that they wouldn’t get much time alone, but she hadn’t realized how much she’d come to take it for granted since she and Lucien had moved to the Day Court.

Quiet evenings with Lucien as the sun set and painted the kitchen golden—that was what Elain had missed the most. At the moment, however, her mate was nowhere to be seen.

“Lucien?” she called into the house. There was no reply. She couldn’t hear his heartbeat. That was suspicious. 

Elain decided to check the garden, though she couldn’t imagine what he would be doing out there alone.

“Lucien?” she asked into the slightly sea-salty breeze blowing inland from the bay. 

The flagstone path was warm beneath her bare feet.

“Are you out here?” 

He wouldn’t have gone to his father’s palace without telling her… and she couldn’t recall him mentioning any other plans.

Then she heard… panting?

 She didn’t know what else to call the rapid and shallow breaths she was picking beyond the grove, near the back corner of the walled-off acre that was her haven. 

Elain took off at a furious pace, brushing past the flower and vegetable beds and through the stand of citrus trees.

“I can hear you,” she made no effort to disguise the ire in her voice. 

It had been six months since they’d had a nice evening just the two of them. She’d been looking forward to it from their second week in Scythia onwards. Even though it had been years since they accepted the bond, she still had needs. Obviously Lucien had enthusiastically sated some of those needs while they were abroad, but Elain missed the simple domesticity of their life here. And now he was off doing Cauldron knew what?!

Elain emerged from the trees. “Lucien—” 

She stopped short. 

Lucien was crouching on the ground, pointedly not looking at her. His white shirt and tan trousers splotched with rust-colored mud. The same colored mud that coated the limbs of the gray puppy whose head he was stroking. 

“Lucien Daanan Spell-Cleaver. What in the Mother’s name is going on?”

Ducking his head, Lucien murmured under his breath and the surrounding air stopped shimmering, the sound of his heartbeat filling Elain’s ears.

“You know I love you with everything I am, right?” 

Oh, the guilt in his voice was quite apparent.

“Lucien.”

“She tried to dig her way out of the garden just now, I was figuring out the best way to stop it from happening again,” he said sheepishly, gesturing to the rather obvious hole in the earth along the back wall. 

“She?”

“Eris came by earlier?” 

“Eris came by earlier, and?”

“This is Safira,” he scratched behind the puppy’s floppy ear and her tongue lolled. Lucien cleared his throat. “Apparently Cinder—the alpha of Eris’s pack of hounds—had a litter while we were in Scythia. He… uh… summoned Safira right before winnowing away. You know how Eris is—always minimizing anything he does that could be considered nice. He, quote, ‘didn’t want this one because his pack was already too large and she was the runt’ so he, quote, ‘figured that, after almost four-hundred years, I could handle the responsibility of having a smokehound of my own.’”

“Did he now?” Elain tried to make the words sharp and stern but the puppy—Safira—was looking over at her with pleading silvery eyes, kneading the ground with her large paws like she was trying to contain her excitement.

“Yes? Look, Elain—my love, my sunshine—when I was a boy, I spent every spare moment with Eris’s smokehounds and I always dreamed of having my own.”

Now both of them were looking at her with imploring eyes and Elain had already known where this exchange would conclude so she let out a long sigh, striding over to kneel beside him.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she withheld a huff of laughter, stretching out her hand for Safira to sniff. 

The hound rewarded her with a slobbery lick. Elain couldn’t help her smile. 

“Does that mean we can keep her?”

Elain did laugh then, “Yes, I suppose we can. Welcome to the family Safira.”

✦ ✦ ✦

tagging: @ablogofsapphicpanic @iftheshoef1tz @damedechance @panicatthenightcourt @moonpatroclus @octobers-veryown @foundress0fnothing @talons-and-teeth @kingofsummer93 @wittyrejoinder @bagelfyre @velidewrites @krem-does-stuff

let me know if you want to be added to/removed from my Elucien tags :)

[aggressivenesswhilecrying]

"I saved your life you asshole???"

Summery:

Scott, goes, and tries to have a normal day, really, but in the end, he ends up healing, current co-worker, and apparent boyfriend, joel smallishbeans. What a fun day. What a fun, awesome, day.

Not beta or proof read!!

Tw!! Injuries!! Near death experience!!

(This is a gift fic for the @mcyt-valentines event, and it goes to @deityoftherain!! You had said super hero au, and I really have been looking for a reason to write Joel and Scott, so here you go!!<3)

Smoke bellowed out of the building, curling into the air, dar blc and swallowing anything in it hole. Only truly filling the night sky with even more chemicals. Scott couldn't breath. A mix of panic and other blood rushing emotions filling every inch of him. His stomach turning in knots. 

The watch like thing on his wrist beeps it's panic, loud and clear, and all Scott can see is the smoke and the small, flashing red light from his wrist.

There wasn't any fights today. That's the worst possible thing. No villains spotted, no heros reporting anything during patrol. its a good day. Or, the better term would be, was, a good day. 

He doesn't consider it a good day when he's in civilian clothes, on the outskirts of the city, where there's more corn fields and acres of woods, then there is buildings. Where the roads are all gravel and no one can remember the last time they got fixed. Originally, he wasn't out here for any real reason. When you have possibly one of the best paying jobs in the entire city, well, you tend to just hop in your car, and go somewhere. Scott assumes that's how he got here. Car parked down the road, he had been walking, trying to be kinda humble, yknow? Walk down a gravel road, breath in the dusty air, become just a person, not the only healer in the entire city of hermitpires. Not the guy on the posters advertising the newest medicine. Not the guy who got stalked often just people just...really like the healing guy.

He was trying to be someone again. Trying to be a person. Then, of course, he saw the beam everyone associates with Stratos. A big bad god like man, his power, generally makes him unbelievably strong and changes his physical structure. Taller, generally good looking, Scott won't deny the looks he's spared to the man. But besides the point. There is normally a large beam of light whenever the man switches back and fourth. And well, when Scott sees the light come out of a small, old, barn looking building, and then he can see smoke start to barrel out of it, within moments.

And then he reads the words "hero downed." And well, Scott can't breath. Not as he runs throught the yellowed grass and it cruches under his feet, not as the dry air leaves his throat aching. And certainly not as he bursts open the wooden door, painted over in a bad coat of white.

In the middle of the room lays Stratos. Yet, not Stratos. A short and stout man, and yet he has the curly brown hair and the green streak. The once giant beard, now nothing but a stubble. And the toga he wears lazily draped over him. and in the seconds he's looking at the near dying man. A realization he really doesn't like, hits him. "Joel?!"

That's his boyfriend. The man he's been dating for the last few months, laying against the wall of an old barn. His heart completely stopping in his chest.

Oh, and of course he's freely bleeding from his stomach, that's something important to note. Yeah, dying. What a fun past time.

Joels's eyes are clamped shut, and Scott can't blame him. Stratos doesn't get hurt on the field very often, so in turn, it's unlikely that he has a strong pain tolerance. You need to get hurt a lot, to build up a pain tolerance. That and, getting, what looks to be stabbed, maybe impelled, is designed to hurt like a bitch. And yet he squints open his eyes, looking at Scott with a similar look of surprise, panic, and fear.

"Scott.?! What, what in the world are you, why are you here?!"

Scott clenches his jaw. It's generally against all hero protocol to see eachothers faces. Incase of a face off with someone with a mind reading power, or you're being tortured, the latter much more common, you don't want to give out a heros identity. Leaves a lot of room for danger. And so Scott can feel a sense of pure wrong, swirling in his stomach, snapping and bitting its way up. Leaving an uncomfortable taste in his mouth. But that is the last thing he is paying attention to as he drops to his knees infront of the fellow hero.

"Gods...just. dont move." Scott grits out from between his teeth, lifting up the fabric of his toga, and assessing the damage. It's bad. It's most definitely confirmed that he was impelled from the back, something large, and sturdy in the shape of a cone, straight up. 

In return to Scott words joel instantly tries to ignore Scott. The hands behind him try to push himself up, wobbling, and Scott almost thought he was gonna be able to sit up, at last, that's until his arms actually do collapse under him and he's falling backwards. 

And Scott swears he can't feel his heart anymore as he reaches out his arms, catching the man by the back and setting his down against the wall once more, wincing as he feels the outline of the wound.

"Don't need...don't need your stupid...bluming help" the man grunts out, and Scott can only think to himself how he ended up with such an idiot. "Let me heal you, god damn it!!" Scott barks out, unable to keep his voice steady as he's trying to move the toga, only for the man to once again try and move away. "Who did this to you?! There hasn't been any villains out at all today?!" Scott's voice is still sharp as he tries to pull the fabric from the wound. Joel hissing out his pain in turn.

And Scott attempts to avoid how the man doesn't answer.

Scott decided to lay one arm on the man's chest, pushing him back to the wood, while his other hand lays on his stomach. The faint colorful glow being admitted, finally causing the man to fully open his eyes. And it may be the absolute wrong time, but Scott's heart stops. He'll always admit to having a soft spit for Joel's eyes. The brown with hints of green, wherein looks like light is constantly shinning at them. A beautiful bronze color that leaves Scott swooning each time he sees them properly. Joels eyebrows are scrunched as he leans over Scott's arm to watch the colorful sparking. Before looking up to Scott with a sense of realization.

And when Joel's eyes meet Scott's.  And it feels like a great sweet moment. Different from most times. And Scott just wants to let the panic seep through him. He wants to kiss joel the second he isn't magically sewing his flesh back together. He wants to hold him, to ask him if hes ok, he wants to tell him to never do that again. He want to do so much. Then Joel ruins it of course. Cuz what else would the man do.

"I bluming hate you-" 

In Scott's defense, once you save your boyfriend's life, and then he immediately tells you, that he hates you at work, it's only natural for you to toss a twenty dollar bill at him, and tell him to find his own ride home. 

"SCOTT, I DIDNT MEAN IT, I PROMISE, PLEASE, BABE!!"

Joel's hands hit the door, voice nearly whiney as he attempts to get into their shared bedroom, of which he had been locked out of.

"I SAVED YOUR LIFE ASSHOLE, AND THEN YOU TELL ME YOU HATE ME?!"

"IT WAS THE BLOOD LOSS, BABE, IT WAS THE BLOOD LOSS"

"BLOOD LOSS MY ASS."

Scott would never admit it. But in the end, he had came out to the couch long after Joel fell asleep on it. When the man's hair curled in all sorts of ways, and he huddled up with the small throw blanket, and admittedly awful pillow.

Scott wouldn't admit it, and Joel wouldn't ask why he woke up in their shared bed.

[69misato69]

anytime (you want it) ✦ childe x diluc, 2.3k

archive of our own ✦ twitter ✦ masterlist

masturbating when your roommate is sleeping on the bottom bunk is probably not a good idea but diluc ragnvindr will give it a shot anyway

c: trans male diluc (no transition), light dysphoria, vaginal fingering and penetration, masturbation, orgasms, blood (lip biting), first time penetration

top childe x bottom diluc, minors DNI please and thank you. enjoy !

“Ajax?” 

Diluc's whisper echoes on the walls in the silence of the night. 

“Ajax.”

He can hear, loud and clear. 

“Ajax.”

It’s no longer a whisper. Almost at the volume of regular speaking, though it sounds much louder with the entire building asleep. 

Ajax is awake yet he can’t bring himself to open his eyes or answer Diluc before he stops calling. He hears the sheets rustle, the top bunk creaks a little and Diluc immediately stops moving. 

It’s almost as if he’s waiting for a reaction, or hoping for a lack thereof from what Ajax can tell. More sounds follow, and eventually Diluc’s breathing gets heavier. Ajax lingers in a state between being awake and asleep, concluding that his roommate has drifted back to sleep. 

But the wood creaks again. Ajax hears Diluc shift close to the wall, huffing in frustration. 

What could he be doing in the middle of the night, in complete darkness? He would read with a candle late into the night sometimes, but Ajax doesn't hear a flame flicker or a page turn. 

He feels as if his eyelids are stuck to his lower lashes and his lips are glued together. Then, he hears a sigh. A long one. A subtle squelch muffled under the covers. A pleased, relieved exhale. 

Oh. Diluc is—

It makes sense. Neither of them have been getting the room to themselves for the past week. Their training schedule is hectic and they both return so late at night with only enough time to eat and shower before another busy day starts again. 

Ajax usually handles himself in the shower, without worrying about Diluc walking in or hearing anything. It's a safe method. This one, however, is an exceptionally risky move. Though, he doesn’t really mind. Diluc is quiet as a mouse, if he hadn’t called for Ajax to see if he was awake, he probably wouldn’t even wake up to notice it. 

Besides, it’s a bit too late to tell him and even if it wasn’t, he still can’t move a single muscle. 

Meanwhile, Diluc moves with utmost caution, separating his folds and sliding one finger inside, trying his best to restrain himself. He grows wetter and wetter, coating his own fingers. Under the covers and burning with lust, he’s so deliciously warm and extremely irrational compared to his usual self. Unhinged and needy, he finds himself lusting over his roommate sleeping soundly just below, unaware. 

At least that's what Diluc thinks. 

Buried under his snarky comments and dramatic eye-rolls is a man who feels weak at the knees whenever Ajax has a blade against his throat or leans against the sink without a shirt on. 

Diluc can’t help but think, if he were to climb down and slip under the covers, would Ajax wrap his arms around him? Pull him close maybe, slide his leg between Diluc's thighs, watch him grind against it desperately until he lays the redhead down and plays with him generously. 

Would he?

However inexperienced with other people he may be, Diluc knows how good he could be for him. 

He usually tries his best not to indulge in lewd thoughts, let alone ones about his unsuspecting roommate. It's not right, but Diluc’s heart skips a beat every time he thinks he hears a sound. His breathing goes unsteady with the way he drips over his own thighs. 

“Ajax…” he moans softly without realizing. 

Ajax watches the bottom of the bunk above him, unable to move, eyes now wide open upon hearing his own name. 

Diluc muffles a squeal, teeth sinking into his lower lip until the taste of iron paints his tongue. Almost there. He curls his fingers upward a few more times before clenching around them and releasing with glossy eyes. Pain and pleasure mix as Diluc licks away the blood and pulls out his hand slowly. 

He slowly climbs down, certain that Ajax is asleep, and makes his way to the bathroom with shaky steps.

Ajax hears the water run, then the room falls to silence again. He stretches and walks over to the wooden door, leaning on the wall right next to it. Diluc takes his time doing — something. Something awfully quiet. Ajax can’t really figure it out. 

Ajax…

Does he always think about Ajax? 

There isn’t much to their relationship. Training together, sharing a room. Ajax can’t really make sense of it. Diluc is grumpy in a way that he finds endearing. Intriguing and certainly easy on the eyes with beautiful red locks that drape over his shoulders and a beautifully sculpted visage. Scars and burn marks painted all across his body, the signs of a true warrior. Someone with so much power yet he doesn’t resort to it unless it’s absolutely necessary. 

Ajax’s mind wanders sometimes. The unhinged smirk Diluc strikes him as they tire each other out, brows furrowed while he swings his claymore with one hand. It flashes into Childe’s mind before he shakes his head to the sides and brushes it off. 

It’s interesting to know that Diluc could possibly feel the same.

He wants to hear his name spill from Diluc’s lips again. 

Diluc eventually opens the door to find Ajax staring at him.  

“Sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“No, I’ve been awake for some time actually.” Childe states innocently. 

Diluc stares into his eyes, the dim backlight of the bathroom is all that illuminates his face.

“Okay. Good night.” he takes a step forward only to be stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Tired, are you?” 

It doesn’t really mean anything. Ajax would be getting on his nerves regardless of the hour or the circumstances. 

“It was a long day.” Diluc answers calmly. 

“Of course. It’s important to rest and relax.” 

He finally turns around, “Spit it out.”

A moment of eerie silence, tension builds the more Ajax refuses to answer. 

Until, Diluc hastily knocks him against the wall by the chest.

“You pretended to be asleep?” he hisses, a tone and gaze that would make anyone shake in their boots, but Ajax remains unfazed. 

“Not really, but when I woke up it was kind of too late.” he says nonchalantly. 

The fabric of his shirt is clumped between Diluc’s fingers.

“Do you know how invasive that is?”

“More invasive than moaning my name?”

“Shut the fuck up.” he spits out viciously. 

“Why don’t you make me?”

Diluc’s cheeks heat up, though unrecognizable in the darkness. He absolutely hates the fact that he wants to. He hates how his grip loosens unintentionally, fingers brushing against Ajax’s collarbones. 

Until — he pulls away and steps back. 

“I see.” Ajax cups his cheek gently before heading for bed. 

It burns wherever he touches. Diluc wants those hands all over himself, caressing his thighs and grabbing his waist, fingers carding through his hair and digging deep inside him. 

It’s now or never, Diluc knows that Ajax will never speak of this or initiate anything ever again after he refused. 

So, Diluc follows him to the bottom bunk, allowing Ajax to pull him close with a smile. They lay side by side, facing each other. Ajax holds his face again, thumb brushing against his bruised, sensitive lips. He leans in and presses a soft kiss, only for Diluc to latch on immediately. Their bodies press together, lips entangled in a heated, sloppy kiss. Ajax can feel himself twitch in his underwear just as he feels Diluc yearning to be touched. 

He’s shaking against Ajax, hands aimlessly grabbing at his shirt. 

Ajax takes it off and Diluc follows his lead hurriedly until they’re in nothing but their underwear. 

Only then, Diluc realizes how his chest is bare, lacking the bandages that keep it flat during the day. Ajax runs his hand from his inner thigh to his tummy, up around his ribcage soothingly and eventually over to his chest. 

He cups Diluc’s breast and leans on his forehead with his own. His thumb traces over his hardened nipples, eliciting a soft sigh from his roommate. They don’t speak and they don’t kiss, lips almost touching as Diluc moans with every stroke. 

Ajax watches and listens in awe as one of the coldest men he knows melts under his touch. His hand slides down, trailing over the fabric to find Diluc soaking wet all over, his underwear still damp from a few minutes ago. 

“You were gonna go back to sleep like this?” he parts the silence. 

“Yes?”

“That's bad. For your health I mean.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. Infections and stuff.”

Diluc raises one brow, “How the fuck would you know that?”

“I read.”

“You read?”

“Yes.”

“About vaginas?”

Ajax chuckles, “Sometimes.”  

Diluc is surprised but he also doesn’t have any knowledge on the topic to refute the claim. He refrains from looking too much into things about his own body. Growing up in an all-male division by keeping secrets, he doesn’t feel hatred but there’s always — dissonance. 

It lurks and lingers, strangely fading away without a trace whenever he touches himself. When he feels so good that the threads of anxiety and confusion unravel. 

He feels his mind go blank as Ajax slides off his underwear and brushes against his clit. A gasp escapes him, it feels — different. Ajax holds his legs parted and draws small circles with his finger, occasionally dragging one between his folds until he’s dripping and squirming. Diluc can barely hold it together as two fingers enter him, stretching him out slowly while his pupils roll back with pleasure. 

Ajax plays around until he hears a squeal. His eyes glow with hunger and affection as he abuses the same spot continuously. Until Diluc is twitching uncontrollably, writhing on Ajax’s bed, high on the waves of pleasure rippling through his body. But just as he feels close, Ajax retracts his hand and sits against the wall. He takes off his underwear and pulls Diluc to his lap. 

He is a bit disoriented, vision blurry and mind captured in an unfamiliar yet pleasant haze. 

“You should be on top.” Diluc averts his gaze. 

Ajax sits him over his hardened cock without entering, hissing at how Diluc instantly warms him up. “Oh, is that what the law says?” he chuckles.

“So funny.” 

“You don’t know how to?” 

Diluc doesn’t answer. 

“You never—”

“Yes. No, I mean.” 

Ajax hums and lifts his hips, guiding himself inside gently. Diluc’s nails dig into his shoulders but he doesn’t fret, whispering sweet nothings over his neck. 

Ajax takes his time, giving Diluc time to adjust before sinking him lower until he fully stuffs him to the brim with a grunt. Diluc is panting on his lap, overwhelmed by the sensation that engulfs him. 

“Small circles or—” Ajax guides his hips laterally, “—roll them forward.”

With the latter, Diluc’s spine forms into an S, stretching him even further. He can’t help but whimper on the verge of tears.  

“You like that one?”

“Which one do you like?”

“I like both.”

Diluc stabilizes himself by holding onto his shoulders, “Okay… Help me.” 

Ajax happily obliges. He grabs Diluc’s hips and assists his movements, eliciting incoherent words and noises of pleasure with every thrust. He runs his tongue along Diluc’s neck, peppering kisses all over his collarbones. Diluc grabs the back of his hair, guiding him lower to his breasts. Still shifting his hips with utmost curiosity, he throws his head back when Ajax swirls his tongue around his nipple, holding the other between his fingers. 

Warm lips sucking on his skin, driving him insane as Ajax devours him with no intention of coming up for air. Without realizing he starts moving Diluc much faster, thrusting in and out with more force.

A fire builds up at the pit of Diluc’s stomach, he feels light-headed and so full. Stretched over Ajax’s cock, wet and exposed. 

“Slow down.” he whimpers, edging on an orgasm. 

“I'm sorry.” Ajax pulls away and slows his movements, “Better?”

Diluc can’t seem to catch his breath, but Ajax is glad to see no signs of discomfort on the redhead’s face. 

“There you go.” he coos. He pushes Diluc all the way down, digging into his wall and drilling him even further. 

“Hah—You feel so good.” Ajax bites into his neck ravenously as Diluc’s back arches, “Does it compare to your fantasies?” 

Diluc is quick to let out a harsh growl. He can hear him smirking from the way he asks. 

“Don’t growl at me.” Ajax holds him close, “What happened to Ajax… Ajax… Ah…”  

“Shut—” 

Diluc’s walls lock him in as he fights to hold out. 

“You liked getting caught, didn’t you?” 

Ajax disappears into him and comes back up, slicked with Diluc’s cum, glistening under the moonlight. 

“I didn’t.” Diluc collapses on him, even though he wants to tell Ajax off he wraps his arms around his neck and clings on desperately. 

“I get it, it must be thrilling.” Ajax places a kiss on his shoulder. Diluc is crumbling, breaking down to the extent that he can’t protest. Ajax doesn't judge him but he can certainly feel Diluc tighten, hear his heart bang on his rib cage whenever he is reminded of the events of this night. He begins to lose control over his muscles, loose and light. 

“Just wake me up, firefly.” Ajax whispers in his ear, “I’ll touch you as much as you want.”   

No matter how much he tries not to, Diluc finally releases with a whimper. An orgasm that leaves him breathless, pulsating and shaking all over. 

“Ajax…” he cries out. 

Ajax lets him ride it out, filling him gently until his hips stop spasming. 

“Good boy.” he leaves soothing strokes along Diluc’s back and his wet thighs. 

“Ajax—”

“Right here, firefly. I'm not going anywhere.” Ajax brushes the sweaty strands away from his face, "Just breathe."

Diluc takes his advice.

It's hard to believe that he can feel safe in someone's arms. Desired and cared for with all his grumpiness, coddled in a loving embrace regardless of all he feels like he lacks. His breathing gradually returns to its normal pace as Ajax palms over his shoulders and presses kisses all over his face. 

It's not a thank you. It's not really an I love you either. Diluc doesn't know what to say. The room quiets down once again. 

thank you for reading !!! take care <3

[ladisgarde]

Marius/Daniel week prompt: Season

1600+ word ficlet set during Daniel's recovery era, pre-relationship.

"Young one, you have fed from me the last few times. You should take some blood from a mortal again. I guarantee it will do wonders for your wellbeing. So, why don't we go out tonight?"

—

On the early evening of that year's first snowfall, Marius quietly opened the door to Daniel's space. By then his work area, as they called it, had expanded from the basement to the living room, as more and more room was needed to accommodate the growing miniature worlds crafted by Daniel's dexterous hands. Already the young blood drinker was at his table, his focus entirely on his continuous creative task. Currently he was applying white paint to a small bridge, which he had placed above a miniature valley he made, painted white as well— the very picture of a winter wonderland. Daniel didn't give any sign of acknowledgement as Marius approached him with careful steps.

"Good evening, Daniel. Have you slept well? How are you feeling tonight?"

Daniel dipped his brush into a paint jar and started applying a clear layer, which Marius supposed was to emulate ice. Marius tried again.

"Are you hungry...? It's about time you fed again."

A beat passed. If Marius didn't have preternatural hearing, he might have missed Daniel clearing his throat. The fledgling's voice was slightly rough from disuse.

"... I'm okay. A little hungry, maybe."

Daniel then looked up and glanced vaguely at Marius' face, before dropping his gaze to the older man's exposed wrist. Expectantly.

Marius let out a breath. Gently, he spoke. "Young one, you have fed from me the last few times. You should take some blood from a mortal again. I guarantee it will do wonders for your wellbeing. So, why don't we go out tonight?"

Daniel lowered his head and turned toward his model landscapes. "I'd rather stay here," he said quietly.

Marius could sense some anxiety building in his companion and took a breath. Maybe he wasn't ready for another hunt. But when would he be? If he didn't push him a little, will he ever get better? He did have to feed.

"Are you certain? We could go to that pub that plays the soothing jazz music..."

"No! No people..." It seemed Daniel shrank into himself.

'So he was anxious about meeting mortal strangers, even though he should learn that they are but prey for him', Marius thought. The ancient vampire closed his eyes. He would have to let the young man drink from himself, again. Be the fountain that sustains him. Not that it would hurt either of them.

"Well, alright, Daniel. We won't go see other people tonight. But how about we go outside for a walk in the woods? Just you and me."

Daniel continued to study the tiny world he was working on.

"It would do you good to get some fresh air. And, it snowed during the day! Tonight marks the start of the winter season. You might get some inspiration for your lovely landscapes when you see the beautiful, fresh snow."

Daniel said nothing, but Marius could tell he was listening. Marius smiled.

"Maybe we'll see a deer."

At that, Daniel suddenly looked at Marius again, his violet eyes curious.

"... can I eat a deer?"

Surprised, Marius gave a laugh. "Of course you can, young one, though I do not recommend it. As you should know, it is mortal human blood that's best for us. Animal blood should only be taken in dire circumstances."

Daniel frowned. "I want to know what it tastes like."

"Not very good, I'm afraid. It can sustain us. But you're better off if we hunted among the human population."

"No. I want to find a deer."

And with that, Daniel stood up and started walking toward the door, his steps somewhat heavy.

"Oh!" Marius said in delighted surprise at Daniel's sudden initiative. "I got you a new warm coat and boots. Let us get ready, then."

—

The snow crunched pleasantly under their shoes as they made their way through the darkened Norwegian forest. With their ability to navigate easily through the night thanks to their preternatural eyesight, they wouldn't have needed the moonlight. But the soft light illuminating the fresh snow added a haunting, dreamlike touch to their surroundings.

Daniel's gaze was mostly downcast as he trudged next to Marius, carefully watching his steps. Now and then he would glance around with sudden alertness and eyes wide. The older vampire supposed his ward never had much opportunity to fully experience all the perks his still relatively new immortal status brought him. Right after being turned he seemed to be in a state of euphoria, which soon turned into mania. At first the new fledgling's behaviour puzzled him, but it didn't take long for Marius to realize just how deeply vulnerable he really was. Their nightly walk might possibly be the first time Daniel could experience natural beauty with all his new senses. At least, Marius hoped Daniel was taking it all in.

"What do you think, Daniel? Do you like this place?"

Daniel squinted into the distance. "There are a lot of sleeping birds. And... small, furry creatures..."

"Do you mean the Martes martes? That is the Latin name. In English it would be the pine marten, or more specifically, the European pine marten. There are a few of those around here, yes."

If Daniel paid attention to what Marius had said, he didn't show it. "You said there would be deer."

Marius smiled. "Patience, young one. Look over here." He gestured to a spot in the snow. "See these tracks and droppings? As you can see, deer do come quite close to our house. Based on these and with your senses, you should be able to easily track—"

Without warning, Daniel suddenly shot away into the woods, leaving Marius behind. The older man's long hair swung in the created breeze. "Daniel!"

Distantly, at least a hundred meters away, Marius could hear the sounds of a scuffle in the snow. It lasted about two seconds. A moment later, Daniel was back in the same place where he stood before, only this time with his arms wrapped tightly around an adult doe.

The animal struggled in terror while Daniel stared in fascination. The young man hadn't even broken a sweat. Marius smiled in amusement. "Well. There you go."

"Soft," Daniel said in wonder, brushing his pale, bare hands over the quivering torso.

"Their pelts have many uses. But please don't torment the poor creature. If you're going to kill it, do it swiftly."

"But of course," Daniel said, a little indignant. He understood the animal's innocence perfectly well. "I just want to look a bit more."

Some clouds shifted and the moonlight hit their small party. A brilliant brown shone in the deer's eye. Daniel stared.

"Doe eyes really are distracting, aren't they," Marius murmured as he watched him.

The dark amber color reminded Daniel of something... of someone. His heartbeat quickened, warm feelings of love and cold feelings of bitterness coursing through him at once, only to be overcome with warmth again. His grip tightened, making the deer wheeze. Daniel started muttering, barely audible, to himself.

"But no. He would never look upon me with such fear. Such a wild pulse. Never, never. Never. The predator... is me."

And with that, he bit strongly into the animal's neck.

Daniel's iron grip crushed the deer tightly to himself as he drained it of its blood. Eventually, the mammal gave its last attempted kicks of life, when Marius placed a strong hand on Daniel's shoulder for him to stop. The young vampire sank to his knees and gently put the carcass on the snowy ground, all while Marius kept his hand securely on him. Daniel shivered, staring at the body. Marius kept watching him carefully.

After a moment, Daniel turned his head to the side. He licked his lips for the last droplets of blood.

"... you're right," he said. "It didn't taste that good."

Marius smiled. "But you did finish it. If it makes you feel better, a deer does taste slightly better than a rat. You can take my word for it."

—

As they ventured further into the woods, Marius fell into deep thought. Maybe Daniel wasn't ready to hunt for humans yet. Not today, maybe not tomorrow. But Marius should and would not push him any further than was absolutely necessary. 'The popular saying is that time heals all wounds, and isn't that an advantage when you are an immortal? I cannot say how true that has been for me,' he thought to himself, sardonically. 'I can only hope that it proves to be right for this lost fledgling.'

"Oh!" Daniel's sudden outburst cut into his thoughts.

Alarmed, Marius glanced quickly at Daniel beside him, then followed the younger man's gaze into the sky.

Curtains of bright colors shone in the night sky, hues of green cut in a serpentine pattern through deep marine. Marius was familiar with the view, but it was always stunning to see it again, and again.

"We are truly lucky to be out tonight. Not only is it a night of fresh snowfall, but we get too see the Northern Lights so closely as well. You can't see them every night, you know. What do you think, Daniel?"

Marius glanced back at his companion who stared at the sky, silently stunned. The thick wool scarf wrapped around Daniel while wonder shone in his eyes made for a youthful, very human look. Once again, Marius was reminded of just how beautiful this young man was.

Soon, Daniel's gaze became glassy, and he swayed a little on his feet. The younger vampire shuffled closer to Marius and leaned against him. Instinctively, Marius put a protective arm around him.

"Daniel, what's wrong? Are you cold?"

Daniel didn't look at him when he asked, his voice small: "... may I drink from you?"

Warmth blossomed in Marius' heart. He pushed up the sleeve of his coat. "But of course, my dear Daniel."

It's the first fic I've written in a while. Hope it reads alright! Sorry about the deer.

[nandysparadox]

A Wish Your Heart Makes - Ch.4 ♡

Your rainbow will come smiling through

Prev - Chapter Four- Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Rated T - CW: flirting, romantic fluff, implied/referenced abuse - WC: 5706

@bitterpoison's art for this chapter - here!

-

In truth, the anticipation had been killing Roman.

During the time he and Cinder were apart, he had been diligent with his studies — Roman attended each and every one of his lessons, he joined Rhys as they went through a list of suitors, scroll after scroll, and much to his tutors’ surprise, he’d even dared to appear in a Court session. And yet, try as he might, the thought of their encounter would simply not leave his mind. A seed of excitement had sprouted under his ribs, and soon enough, like vines that crawled over his veins, curiosity had threatened to take over his entire being.

Cinder was swift as he guided Roman through the trees and the underbrush, trailing the beaten-down paths of the forest. Dry leaves crackled under their feet, a remnant of winter, but by this time of spring, the trees had already bloomed silver. Their branches swayed as the wind picked up. Roman found himself increasingly giddy, the farther they ventured into the woods, at the prospect of arriving at their destination. Wherever that would be — Cinder had refused to clarify any further on the matter, even when they met up at the market. Instead, he’d simply smiled at him, and pulled Roman along for the journey, leaving his imagination to go wild.

As they ducked under a low branch, both of them rested a hand on a tree trunk, and their fingers brushed. The sudden near-touch sent sparks through him. Roman’s face heated. He trained his eyes firmly on the ground as he followed close behind,  battling the urge to reach out and link their hands together. Oh, how he wanted to entwine their fingers, to feel the warmth of Cinder's palm on his own.

Despite his best efforts, shoving down these sorts of feelings had become tantamount to an impossible task. Each sweet word Cinder spoke to him, each teasing touch the other followed by oblivious nonchalance, only drove Roman closer to the edge of madness. And all with that coy little smile that was as adorable as it was infuriating. If he kept it up, Roman would lose his mind, surely.

Cinder did seem to have that effect on him.

An abrupt turn around an oak tree tore him away from his thoughts, and before he knew it, he was nudged under a row of branches and then plunged straight into a sudden brightness.

“Here we are!” Cinder said, with a wide sweep of his arms.

Roman blinked and let his eyes adjust to the light. Tall indigo trees circled the meadow, barring any chance the shadows had of creeping in. Fireflies surrounded every corner of it, and as they flew, painted the clearing with sweeping ribbons of flickering light. The heart of it, however, was the pond right in its center. The water shimmered with each harsh blow of the wind and crystals of all colors formed a ring around the lake’s edge, bouncing off moonlight in glowing sparks. It looked… ethereal. Roman’s senses picked up flashes of magic everywhere, from the tall grass to the crumbling rocks.

For a moment, he breathed in all the glowing energy. The magic of it echoed in his bones. He turned to face Cinder, only for his smile to fall when he caught a shudder running through the other’s shoulders. Of course, Cinder hadn't brought a coat, and the chill had been way more biting than one would expect for the season. Roman began to untie his cloak before he could think twice of it.

“Ro?”

“You’re cold,” he said, shrugging off the cape and offering it to Cinder. “Here, you can wear this.”

Cinder rolled his eyes, but he took it anyway, “I’d say you don’t need to, but I already know that won’t dissuade you any,” he chuckled, as he slipped on the mantle. The hem reached just past his fingertips, and to see him in scarlet — rather than the grays and blues he usually wore — was certainly unusual. And yet, the sight of him in rose-red had Roman’s breath stuttering.

With a hand on his hip, Cinder glanced around the clearing and then marched over to a spot right next to the edge of the lake. He drew a checkered tablecloth from his bag and laid it out on the ground, straightening it over the grass. The red cloak pooled around Cinder’s legs as he sat down, and he motioned with his head. Roman took it as a cue to do the same. He settled down across from Cinder, folding his knees up to his chest and tucking his chin in the crease between them. Cinder's lip curled up, and he looked at Roman with what appeared to be amusement.

“Now!” he began, “Will you look up for me, please?” Roman complied, glancing upwards. “Aren’t the stars just lovely?”

They were. The stars looked clearer than ever that night — ever glittering, silver beads embroidered into a dark midnight drapery. Lighting up the night sky like crystals in a chandelier.

Cinder fetched something from his bag and slid it across the tablecloth to Roman, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well,” he said, excitement barely contained in his voice, “They’re about to get even better!”

Lifting the object, Roman inspected it, trailing a finger across its body. It was long and metallic — brass, perhaps? A dark leather strip covered about a third of it, and it tapered off to a thin end, with ridges that ran throughout its length. Small domes of glass capped each tip.

“What is this?” Roman asked, tilting the object in his palms.

Cinder grinned. “It’s called a spyglass!”

A spark of curiosity lit up in Roman. A spyglass. He glanced back at Cinder. “What is it for?”

“I’d rather show you, may I?” Cinder asked, and when Roman nodded, he maneuvered Roman’s grip on the spyglass with his hands. “Lift it to your eyes and then point it to the sky. If it helps you see better, close one of them. You might have to adjust the barrel a little. It’s made with warped glass like glasses but for a different purpose.”

Roman did so, leveling the spyglass up. At first, all he could spot of the sky through it was a dark blur, but, following Cinder’s instructions, he inched the barrel forward. The image sharpened a bit, and when he clicked the barrel, it focused in all at once. Roman’s mouth fell open in a breathless gasp.

It was as if the night sky had been brought forward, all for him. Bright and impossibly shining. Stars cascaded through the dark in streaks of light. Through the haze of a cloud, moonglow cast a myriad of colors. With a simple twist of the spyglass, he could glimpse at all the constellations that had only ever been far-flung, at all the myths and legends they depicted. The moon was majestic and massive, and Roman felt as if he could touch it if he just reached out. Oh, how ingenious, to reveal the secrets of the sky through bent glass. The thrill of it bubbled up inside his chest and he could not resist the grin that crossed his lips. Delight buzzed under his skin, and he felt as if he could just up and flutter away—

“...You have wings?”

And with that remark, Roman’s stomach dropped all the way to the ground. He forced his wings back down as swiftly as he could manage and lowered down the spyglass, his hands tightening their grip around it.

“Wait, don’t hide them—!” Cinder hesitated for a second, raising his hands. “I mean, I– I didn’t know you had wings. I didn’t want to scare you…” he said, trailing off, “Could– Could I see them again?”

No, no. He’d gotten far too carried away. How could he have forgotten to be careful while not wearing a cloak? Roman bit the inside of his cheek, keeping his gaze firmly on the red-checkered pattern of the blanket. It’d be fruitless to pretend it hadn’t happened, wouldn’t it? Might as well have done with it. With a sigh, he splayed out his wings in a glittery blur, pixie dust fanning out behind him.

“Wow,” he heard the other whisper, and Roman chanced a glance at him. His heartbeat stuttered. Cinder’s eyes were fixed on his wings and blown wide in awe, sparkling blue over their usual fawn brown hue. Moonlight glinted off the silver frame of his glasses, and he tugged down the cloak’s hood. The fabric fell over the breadth of his shoulders. Roman straightened his posture as Cinder leaned closer toward him. Slowly, Cinder reached out. “They’re beautiful.”

A touch of Cinder’s fingertips to his wings was enough for Roman to jolt. Cinder sharply drew his hand away.

“Sorry,” Cinder chuckled, sheepish. His cheeks creased in dimples when he smiled. “I should’ve asked.”

Roman’s heart shone with something traitorously close to hope. He averted his gaze, and he could only hope the warmth in his cheeks hadn’t been too outward.

“I-It’s okay.”

Cinder tilted his head, examining his wings again. “…Can you fly?” he asked, “Is that a silly question? Sorry, It’s just, I’ve never seen a gentry with wings.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Roman fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve, “I can, yes, but I haven’t had much practice, I’m afraid. I don’t… usually show them off.”

It seemed Cinder had another question at the tip of his tongue, but then his eyes drifted to the pond and his posture changed instantly.

“It’s time,” Cinder said, shifting to face the lake. He placed his hand on top of Roman’s absentmindedly. Roman was sure that if his heart beat any louder, Cinder would most certainly be able to hear it. “Watch!”

Roman just barely managed to drag his eyes away from their joined hands and glance over the pond. Stray moonbeams fell in streaks around it, and the crystals that circled it started to glow. Blue, lilac, white — brighter and brighter until strings of light reflected off each shard and tied them into the lake’s surface. Roman’s jaw dropped. The water… it no longer just mirrored the sky, it had transformed into a candid snapshot of it. Glistening, deep and dark like molten glass, swirling spirals of purple and indigo.

“Stunning, right?” Cinder whispered, giving him a small smile as he coaxed Roman closer to the edge of the lake. Gently, Cinder lifted Roman’s hand and guided it into the water. It sent a chill through him and yet, he could not help but be entranced by the view. Stars slipped through his fingers as easily as a stream, and with a simple tap, waves rippled across the darkness, carrying stardust in their wake. Breathtaking, Roman thought, as he played with the water and leaned on Cinder’s touch, downy and soothing.

“This happens once every season,” Cinder said, drawing Roman’s attention back to him. “We were so lucky that it’d be today!”

He finished his sentence with a giggle, lilting, just like the motion of the water. All the lights and sparkles, the pixie dust, the reflection of the lake: they all shined on him, and for a moment, Roman saw the night sky in his figure, in the curve of his cheeks, in his broad hands. Roman longed to pull him closer, to dive into that darkness, so much so it felt as if he’d lost all sense. For once in his entire life, Remus’ nonsensical advice clicked with him

He’d known it since he saw him.

And hadn’t Cinder proven that right, with each moment they’d spent together? Cinder, who was witty, kind, and bold. Roman knew that he could often be difficult, or perhaps even strange, Cinder surely noticed but– never seemed to mind. His oddities hadn’t estranged them. If anything, they had brought the two of them closer. Not once had Cinder looked at Roman with disdain, and even the surprise in his eyes when he saw Roman’s wings had been followed by wonder. 

Beautiful, he had said, with a tone so earnest that Roman felt truly inclined to believe him. Although a part of him felt foolish for just how deep his heart had plunged into this in such little time, he couldn’t help but believe this is what the poets had written of, what the notes of epic ballads told, what he’d yearned for, for so long. And it all felt… right, like nothing else had felt right before.

Roman squeezed Cinder’s hand and glanced up at the sky with a smile, looking at all the stars that could never compare to a fraction of his glow. 

Whatever it was that existed between them, it was real. Roman was certain of that.

—♡—

It could’ve been a lovely evening, and yet, all it’d taken was a single moment of distraction to land the two of them in the mess they had found themselves in.

Patton had brought Ro along for a stroll through the edge of the woods, across a path outlined by glowing stones. Yet another stop in the itinerary he’d come up with ever since deciding he’d show Ro all the sights the forest had to offer, and introduce him to all the spots he’d long held dear. Cicadas trilled echoing tunes amidst the trees, in perfect harmony with the crickets, and they let the lively ambiance wash over them as they meandered about.

The night was as quiet as it could be in Fairyland, and so, Ro filled that silence readily. Eyes gleaming, he told Patton all manner of stories as they wandered. Many of them about his gaggle of siblings, their quirks, the trouble they got into together. The sort of thing Patton would never truly understand, as a long-time only child.

Still, he’d listened in eagerly — so intently, in fact, he’d hardly noticed the rope until it had snagged him in the foot. Patton slipped, startled, and inadvertently, he’d dragged Ro right with him.

And so, that was how they had ended up. Lifted a few feet off the ground by a net trap, in a tangled disarray of limbs.

In his attempts to struggle away, Patton had only succeeded in digging the netting further into his forearms. The thick ropes and vines chafed his skin, and he had no doubt they’d leave red marks behind. Still, the trap was far larger than one would expect, enough that it left room to shift around in. It threatened to spin with any hint of motion, though, so he remained mindful.

Please no, he thought, scrunching up his nose, motion sickness while up here is the last thing I need.

He did the best he could to still and relax his body, wincing when his calf knocked right against Ro’s shin.

“Someone must’ve been hunting around here,” Ro mused, his tone surprisingly level. He held onto the netting for support, as he craned his neck to look into the distance. “Or, I reckon, it might’ve been left over from the Wild Hunt—”

He lost his grip for a split second and stumbled. Patton rushed forward to steady him, grabbing onto his upper arms.

“The Wild Hunt? You really think so?” Patton asked. They were close, close enough that he spotted a slight furrow in Ro’s brow, a betrayal of his otherwise calm appearance.

He also smelled faintly of rose water, Patton noted, sweet, like floral tea brewing — although he didn’t quite know where that thought had crept in from.

“It’s a possibility,” Ro replied, with a shrug of his shoulders, “Who’d use a net so large to hunt a regular animal?”

Patton hummed in agreement, letting go of Ro and fidgeting with the hem of a cloak he hadn’t forgotten to bring this time. Ro slid his hand up a rope until he reached a knot. He tugged at the netting. It didn’t budge.

“Well, this is certainly not how I expected to spend my night,” Ro sighed, tipping his head back. “Not that I mind being close to you, but still…”

Now, with an opportunity set up so perfectly, it’d be remiss of Patton not to take it. He kept the smirk to himself and tilted his head, innocently blinking. “You like being close to me?”

Ro stammered, as if he’d just noticed what he’d said. He looked away. “I-I mean—”

Patton put on a pout and leaned impossibly closer, until their faces were inches apart. “So you don’t?”

A muted pink dusted the bridge of Ro’s nose and flared out to his cheekbones, in contrast to the golden tinge of his skin. Patton bit back a snicker. His eyes drifted across Ro’s face until they zeroed in on a little spot on his cheek.

“You have a beauty mark,” he said, as casually as he could make it. “Right under your eye, did you know that?”

That only made Ro furiously bat him away, and he fell into a giggling fit. He cracked an eye open, watching as Ro crossed his arms.

“What?” Patton teased, “I’ve just noticed!”

“You are impossible,” Ro huffed. He shifted his weight. “…It’s not odd, is it?”

“Oh goodness, you worry so easily,” Patton shook his head, exasperated. “Of course it isn’t. It’s cute.”

“If you keep being like this,” Ro muttered, rolling his eyes, “Then being stuck here will be a nightmare.”

Patton mock-gasped. “Ro!” he whined, as he draped a hand across his forehead in an imitation of Ro’s usual dramatics. “How can you be so cruel to me?”

That drew a snort out of Ro, and soon the net shook with the force of their shared laughter. Patton lounged back as if it was a hammock, smiling at him.

“Well,” Patton said, “If it is a hunting trap, then surely someone will come take it down, right?”

“Maybe,” Ro answered. “Although, if it’s truly from the Wild Hunt… only spirits know how long it’d take them to return.”

Something nervous settled in the pit of Patton’s stomach. He shook his head.

“Someone will come find us soon,” Patton said, with as much certainty as he could put behind it, digging his nail into a piece of rope until a few strands came loose, “I’m sure of it.”

Ro studied him for a moment, then chuckled.

“It’s just so effortless to you, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

Ro smiled. He leaned back against the net. “Believing everything will be okay — all that optimism of yours.”

Patton gave a short, half-hearted laugh and glanced away, past the net. His gaze lingered on his bag, which had fallen a few feet from them during all the commotion.

If only I could reach it, Patton thought, frowning, and maybe… maybe if he just tried, if he threw his shoulder, if he stretched his arm far enough. Or maybe he couldn't after all, it’d always be an inch away, and he’d be left dangling for something far out of his reach again. He… didn't want to believe that.

In truth, it had never been effortless. He did it anyway.

Patton pulled his knees up to his chest. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what else I’d do.”

A tense silence brewed between them. Ro’s brows furrowed in concern. Cautiously, he shuffled forward.

“You have to return before sunrise, don’t you?” Ro asked, in a low voice. “Or else you’ll be in trouble?”

Patton’s mouth fell open, and he wanted to ask how Ro knew that, how he’d gleamed that from their conversations. Instead, all he could do was burrow further into his cloak and nod.

A hand touched his knee, and his eyes flicked up to meet Ro’s soft, reassuring smile. For whatever reason, his face warmed.

“Then we’ll find our way out of here in no time, okay?” Ro whispered.

Despite himself, a chuckle slipped past his lips. “Who’s being optimistic now—”

As he leaned forward, Patton lost his footing and slipped, crashing directly into Ro’s chest. Ro grunted as his back slammed against the net. With a sharp intake of breath, Patton pushed himself up, nearly hitting his head against the netting.

“Goodness,” he mumbled, as he scuttled away from Ro’s legs — he’d nearly landed right in his lap! Raising his hands, he checked over Ro in worry. “Oh no! Your wings! Are they okay?”

Ro laughed as he sat up, shimmying his back. “It’s quite alright, they’re truly not as frail as they look,” he said, “And besides, I do wear cloaks over them often, heavy capes, it’s nothing I’m not used to.”

Patton frowned. Ro had settled into that awkward, bashful expression he’d always gotten whenever Patton had mentioned his wings since finding out about them.

“You shouldn’t have to hide them,” he muttered, folding his legs.

Ro cocked his head to the side. “I don’t have to.”

His eyes landed on the scarlet cloak that weighed down Ro’s shoulders, tied in a floppy bow at the base of his throat. Then why do you? Patton thought, but he kept it to himself, picking at a rope instead. The net swung back and forth with the aftereffect of motion, stretching their shadows over the ground until they nearly reached his bag. Suddenly, it dawned on him.

“Wait, I have an idea!” Patton exclaimed, shifting around until he managed to slip his left arm through one of the holes in the netting. He glanced back at Ro. “Do you think we could swing this net?” he asked, “Maybe if… you flap your wings for impulse?”

Ro’s mouth twisted in hesitation before he sighed and untied his cloak, letting the fabric pool around their legs. He draped himself over Patton’s back. Patton tried so very hard not to think of how warm the other was.

“We could try.”

And so, gripping the netting for support, they pitched their weight back together and then let go, plunging the trap into upward movement. Patton’s muscles ached as he stretched his arm as far out as he could manage, the joints of his fingers crackling with effort while he reached toward the ground — a palm away from closing the distance. Then, Ro’s wings began to flutter behind them, and gold sparkles were sent flying all around the net — in an instant, Patton’s fingertips reached just a touch away from his bag. He grasped at it once, twice, until, with a sharp throw of his shoulder, he hooked a finger around the strap.

“I got it!” Patton cheered. His grip nearly faltered as pulled the bag up, but he looped the strap around his wrist, securing it. “Oops! It’s okay, I still have it!”

Ro disentangled from him, and with some effort, Patton pried the bag open. He rummaged inside and, with a grin, pulled out what he’d been looking for.

A dagger, swathed by a glittering baby blue sheath.

Carefully, Patton unwrapped the sheath, bringing the knife up to meet the cords that bound them to a branch. The thick ropes and vines struggled against the blade, but it was sharp enough to slash through them anyway. And so, bit by bit, Patton cut through the net, setting them free. A moment too late, however, he realized that maybe… it would’ve been much wiser to slice through the middle rather than the top.

The rope snapped all at once, and the two of them came tumbling down to the ground with a yelp. His dagger was flung away from them, thank the moon, and Patton just about managed to break his fall, letting his forearms tank the impact. He shook his head as he tried to find his bearings, and then peeled his eyes open. Patton’s breath hitched.

He’d landed right on top of Ro, arms caging the sides of his head and legs straddling his hips.

Ro stared up at him with wide, startled eyes — a deep, molten red you could just sink into. His hair fanned out over the grass below in delicate chestnut waves that didn’t quite reach his shoulders. His lips softly parted, a rose-pink shade that matched the blush that’d crept onto his cheeks.

In a surge of courage, Patton inched forward until there was hardly any distance left between them, and he felt as each rise and fall of Ro’s chest matched his own. Ro tilted his head slightly, and his soft cheek pressed against the dip of Patton’s thumb, his lashes fluttering. Patton’s heart beat so fast it threatened to burst out of his ribcage. He wanted to… he wanted to melt into the safety of Ro’s arms, dive into the sparkling magic of his touch, and let that feeling swaddle him like comforting blankets. He wanted to hold Ro so tightly and close any gap of distance between them. He wanted to kiss him, Patton realized, like they did at the end of love stories.

The thought of it settled so easily in his mind that it should’ve scared him, but… it wasn’t all that surprising, was it? Ro was… wonderful, he was sweet and cute as a button, really, and Patton just wanted to kiss him over and over until it made them both dizzy. His hands trembled. That was it.  Patton had to have lost it, because, in case he’d forgotten, he was a human, not a faerie. He’d always be, no matter what kind of glamour he wore.

And he could dream, he could hope, but deep down in his heart Patton knew that no illusion could last forever.

Swallowing dry, Patton backed away on shaky legs. He averted his eyes as he helped Ro get up. It was as if everything moved in a haze around him, as he gathered up his dagger and his things, and made a hasty goodbye. As he turned to leave, the last thing he saw was Ro, alone in the middle of the glowing path, looking awfully confused and almost... disappointed.

Patton’s heart cramped painfully inside his chest, and he disappeared swiftly into the tree line. 

Oh. Oh, what had he gotten himself into?

—♡—

Patton’s shoulders bowed and ached with exhaustion as he manned his stall in the market, all alone.

He hadn’t yet managed to trade away all the pieces he crafted during the winter, and he attempted to remind himself of that as he absentmindedly drifted back to fidgeting with his thread, time and time again. He should be courting customers, not letting his mind wander. And yet, his eyes hovered over the crate right next to his booth, expecting a passionate and bold display that never came.

Ro hadn’t returned to the market since that other night.

It was for the best. Even if he missed him so terribly it hurt. Patton had let himself get carried away, the past few days had been proof of that. He’d gotten distracted and his mistakes had only piled on. They showed as smudges on the floor and dust on the furniture, and The Faerie hadn’t been nearly as forgiving as she should’ve been this season. He rarely had a minute of free time, every hour not spent on sleep or in the market, he spent on chores.

Setting the spool of blue thread aside, Patton forced his mind back to the task at hand — organizing the wares and attending to patrons, even as his back and knees panged with discomfort. Despite his hangups, it had been a good night for business at the market. The clearing swirled with activity, and he managed to sell a few more pieces. He’d even traded some appliquès for delicate little crystal buttons that’d look just beautiful in a waistcoat! He held onto that high while the minutes ticked by.

As Patton cut into a large square of fabric for a customer, a sudden commotion sparked amidst the market. Hushed whispers traveled in waves around the clearing, but he couldn’t quite catch what the racket was about. Fae gathered in groups around the center of the market square, and his fellow merchants swiveled their heads around to stare. More curious than he’d like to admit, Patton adjusted his glasses and leaned over his stall to see better.

A small entourage of fae circled a makeshift platform, made out of wooden crates much like Patton’s booth. They were all clad in intricate coats of red and gold, with capelets lined by the royal symbol thrown over their shoulders. Gentry nobles, Patton realized, which was very odd indeed. One of them, a faerie who wore a large feathered hat, climbed onto the platform and rang a handbell. Its toll echoed through the whole clearing, and all conversation fell silent at once. Whoever hadn’t noticed their presence before certainly had now. The faerie cleared their throat, unfurling a scroll.

“I hereby announce, on behalf of the King and Queen of Fairyland, and the Ruling Council,” The Town Crier spoke, their voice loud and clear. “That, His Highness, the Rose Prince of Spring, will be throwing a Grand Ball at the Royal Palace in five days’ time. All those who wish to attend and who present an invitation at the gate shall be permitted to enter. Amidst the crowd, the Prince will choose a suitor, who will then join him as his Ruler Consort in the coronation—”

Patton turned back to trimming the cloth, tuning out the announcement as soon as he realized it didn’t concern him. He folded the fabric and handed it to his customer, a tall green-haired nymph, who’d seemed pretty entranced by the news. Patton huffed out a laugh as he returned to his work. A Grand Ball, wasn’t that something? It wasn’t as if it was a rare occasion — at least he thought so, since The Faerie had spoken of attending celebrations of the sort before — but all the fae around him seemed excited at the idea. Maybe it’d be good for him, even! Surely there’d be faeries with suits and gowns that needed to be fixed up for the event, Patton would have to keep an eye out.

Just as he began to sort his buttons and snaps into their rightful places, somebody knocked at the side of his stall. He lifted his head, surprised to find it had been one of the gentry nobles, holding a wicker basket up to their chest.

“Greetings, sir. Would you like an invitation to the Grand Ball?” they asked.

Patton blinked. “…An invitation? For me?”

They leveled him with a look that bordered on annoyance. “Yes, sir. As was stated in the announcement, invitations are being distributed to all who wish to attend. All citizens of the kingdom are allowed to take one.”

“I—,” Patton struggled with his shock momentarily, staring at the gentry in disbelief.

“Seeing as you haven’t yet made up your mind,” they huffed, taking a letter from their basket. “I’ll leave an invitation with you, should you decide not to attend, please give it to someone who will. May your night be joyous.”

And then they were off, leaving a folded parchment envelope in Patton’s hands. Patton smoothed his thumb over the golden wax seal that stamped it, suppressing a smile. He huffed. Would one of his patrons like the invitation, maybe? He couldn’t keep it, certainly, now that’d be ridiculous. Imagine that, little old him attending a ball in the Royal palace?

Why, he hadn’t been to a revel like that since he was a child — he’d have forgotten all the etiquette, by now. Even back then, etiquette had never been his forte. It must've been quite a sight — a boy in a blue suit that still didn’t quite fit him, running from his mother’s arms as soon as they stepped into the dance hall. Marveling at every inch of the ballroom as folks danced and laughed all night long, sneaking bites from the snack table while his father mingled with his business partners. And when his mom would find him, she’d pull him in for a dance, and they’d giggle each time they tripped or stumbled. She’d take him into her arms again and they’d sway to the band’s music, uncaring for propriety as they floated away together. When he and his mom danced, the hardwood floors became clouds beneath their feet.

Of course, there was still the matter of his lack of knowledge when it came to Fairyland outside the borders of the forest. He’d never even got close to the capital, much less the Royal Palace. What would he do if he offended someone without meaning to? What would he do if he got lost? Wander around aimlessly through the palace corridors? Explore, find secrets hidden in the halls, stumble his way into the castle’s well-known, beautiful gardens…

…And don’t even get him started on the gentry! He didn’t know how he’d get through the evening without committing a social faux pas of some sort — just because they wouldn’t know Patton was human, didn’t mean they wouldn’t turn up their noses at him anyway, with the way the Court was. And since this was such an important occasion, surely all the nobles, and their families, would attend. Maybe…

Maybe even… him.

No, no, he shouldn’t be thinking of it. He should be smart about this. He’d let the other go for a reason. And… and the more he thought about it, the more he’d want to change his mind. Would he really risk it all, and for what? A night of fun? A night of… freedom, however brief?

He couldn’t. He… shouldn’t.

Patton bit his lip, locked into a staring contest with the envelope for what felt like an eternity. He sighed, folding it in half and slipping it into his pocket. As he did so, he promised himself that when this was all over, he’d settle down and work and follow through with his plan. He’d be practical. No more risks, no more adventures, not until he was far away from the manor.

But for now, he snatched a little bag full of gems he’d gotten from Ro and marched up to the weaver’s booth, where he knew he could find the finest fabrics and materials in the market.

Patton let himself smile.

If he was really going to the Grand Ball, he’d need a suit.

-

Song of the chapter: Mine by Taylor Swift

[starzfield]

Starter for @lured-into-wonderland

The air was getting colder with each passing week, and Lukan took a deep breath before entering the building. Winter was his favorite season, and he couldn’t wait for the snow to arrive. His dog loved it as well, and it was always a lovely sight…

But for now, it was time to work. The building his office was in was in the city, an apartment he was renting for a few years now, and the man had grown a fair number of patients. He was always making sure to have not too many that some would suffer from him not having enough time, but today he was receiving a new one.

It would be the first of the day - he always made sure to receive new patients at the beginning of his day, when he was at his best. Not that he would be bad with others, but he found it easier to meet a new patient first thing in the morning. He also planned the session to be longer than a classic one, so they could take their time to meet properly.

All he knew was her name, anything else would be learned through conversations. Sure, they could have discussed some things over the phone, but Lukan preferred for them to meet properly, face-to-face. He thought it was better, more personnel.

Opening his office, he first passed by the waiting room, checking it with a quick glance. Simple, comfortable chairs, a coffee table with various magazines. One big potted plant, and a few landscape paintings on the walls.

Everything was as expected, so the man walked to the door of his office, opening it. He had made sure nothing could be heard from the waiting room, for proper privacy.

His office had a bookshelves and in front of it a big, old looking desk, all made of wood, with some pieces of bronze for drawer’s handles and such. A guilty pleasure of his. But he was only using it when working but not in actual session with a patient.

For these, he used the rest of the room, which was actually a bigger part (⅓ for the desk, ⅔ for the rest). Two comfortable armchairs, a couch. A small table with small seats, and a bunch of furniture and toys were there too, for when he welcomed a kid as patient, but also parents who couldn’t find someone to keep their kid during the time of their appointment. 

A small table next to one of the armchairs, to let his notebook when he needed his hands free, pillows on the couch and even more in the corner of the room.

There was also a wardrobe, where he kept various items he may need.

Everything was in place, and clean. He made sure to leave everything tidy every evening when going home, but Lukan always checked in the morning, just in case. He opened the window just a bit to clear the air, removed his coat and scarf, prepared files, papers, pen and notebook.

Once ready, it was the time of the appointment. He closed the window, and walked to the waiting room, opening the door to see if his new patient had arrived. Considering the respective hour of the first and second patient, there should only be the first one in the room - unless they were late.

“Mademoiselle Floyen ?”

[narrators-journal]

Vash and zora 24 and 15 bc you love me sooo much and I get boyfriend rights <3

Woo! No offense to you, love, but man am I glad to be done with this one. I don’t know why, but this bitch was a struggle to write. Even though it’s short, this gave me such trouble to get through. Not because I didn’t have IDEAS, it was moreso just because I just. Sat and stared at the page so much. Idk why but no thoughts for words came to mind, maybe it was my self-esteem, or just how much I’ve written already. But, either way, I got through it! And, I hope you enjoy it, even if it did go through a lot of rewrites, and we ended up changing the chosen OC.

Also! For anyone in the trigun fandom! No, I do not actively take requests for trigun, I only wrote this because I love my boyfriend, and he adores trigun. So, I gave it my best shot for him.

Kinktober prompt list: Here

Kinktober masterlist: Here

CW: thighfucking, aphrodisiacs, and a little bit of praise sprinkled on top!

Vash’s weight pressed down on Nasa in an oppressive way that surprised the shorter man. The blonde was usually so sweet and tender, he was nervously gentle with everything. Yet, now, as the blue-haired man fought for a breath through the thick cloud of mineral-y, bonfire-scented pollen that poured off of the tall blonde, he was completely different.

He panted like a dog in the cold dessert night. He clung to Nasa’s leg as if it were a teddy bear. His beautiful green eyes were wide, and he humped against the back of the blue-haired man’s thigh with feral moans that slipped from his lips as the cheap hotel’s bed creaked. It was a complete 180 from their usual moments of passion.

After all, one again, Vash was normally a tender, sweet man who focused almost exclusively on Nasa when they slept together. His touches were careful, measured, especially with his prosthetic hand. But, now? Now, Vash’s grip bruised the engineer’s sun-kissed skin.

Yet, as he watched the blonde’s expression twist with desire and pain, Nasa got the strong sense that he wasn’t the only one who was in a bit of pain. Or, at the very least, he wasn’t the only one who struggled against his lascivious madness. The only difference between them was that Nasa struggled to breathe through the smog of pollen that Vash gave off, and said blonde seemed to struggle with some sort of pain that Nasa assumed came from how hard he was.

At least, that’s what Nasa was left to assume from how Vash whined as he humped against the blue-haired engineer’s thigh, his boxers soaked with precum and sweat, his pants tossed haphazardly onto the hotel room’s wood floor with his cherry-colored coat, his light green eyes blown wide, and his sun-freckled cheeks painted with a pinkish hue as he panted out, “You feel really good around me…” and the engineer didn’t really have the heart to tell him that the pleasure he chased came from the meat of the thigh he ground his erection into. “Really good...so good…” “Um, thank you.” Nasa mumbled, his mouth dry, his heart athunder against his chest, and his blood too warm in his veins.

Even though the blonde didn’t seem to have the braincells necessary to realize how he hadn’t even gotten Nasa’s pajama pants off, let alone properly thrust into the engineer, his desire and intentions were clear, and they were all it took to make Nasa’s body roast itself to death in his embarrassment. Which, mixed with a sense of embarrassment that plagued the blue-haired man while he listened to the bed creak and Vash moan more praise for the engineer’s body. “So hot, so tight.” “God, I need you so badly, Nasa.” “You’re so good at this.” “I love you so much. You make me feel so good.” and more fell freely from Vash’s mouth as he continued to thrust against Nasa’s thigh with a harsh grip that some part of the engineer enjoyed, but also feared would break his leg.

Though, that wasn’t the only, nor the biggest risk, on Nasa’s mind. The most pressing thought that plagued his pollen-suffocated mind, was Oh god, why is it so hard to breathe? Vash isn’t going to legitimately crush me to death, is he? Not really his bones. Or, at least his leg, the ache in his ribcage from Vash’s weight squishing his leg into his upper body was a bit harder to ignore. But, Nasa gave it his best shot.

Something he did by focusing on Vash’s soft moans, nonsensical mutters, and the creaks of his hotel’s bed. Or, the bonfire-esque scent that invaded his nostrils while his body gently bounced in time with the tall blonde’s thrusts. Until, inevitably, his senses were drug back to the moment when the man that loomed over him whimpered, “C-Can I cum inside? Please?!” as if the boxers that his erection was trapped in began to hurt him, or maybe the friction from his mindless humping was. Either way, the pained desperation in his voice took the man by surprise. Though, it only lasted for a heartbeat before his senses returned and he could stumble out, “Uh, yes. Yes, cum inside all you want, Vash.” he panted, his face warmer than the sun, though somehow not as warm as the cum that he felt splatter onto the back of his thighs with a slightly pained moan. Something that he couldn’t share in, that time. All he could do was lay on the uncomfortable mattress and watch the scrunch of painful lust fade from vash’s sun-freckled face. Until, the tall man could open his eyes once more and Nasa could see how those beautiful emeralds had lost their cloudy nature for the night.

“The hell got into you tonight, Vash?” He asked as the man slowly leaned back with his leg, the simple movement already a relief to the breathless man. “I...I don’t know.” Was Vash’s muttered offering as he flopped heavily onto the bed beside Nasa. “I went to my room to lay down, and...suddenly I was really horny...Sorry.” But, Nasa was already shaking his head, “It’s fine, Vash. Just...weird, I suppose. Next time, at least try to get our clothes off.” He joked, though his words landed on deaf ears because, Vash had already conked out beside him on the bed. So, the engineer just sighed and got up to go wash himself up so that he could join the tall man in slumber.

[sseanettles]

nothing grows in corpses (in the earth of me)

dream x hob gadling | mature | Finally cross-posting my take on the fandom classic of the show progresses as the comics do, even to The Wake. Until Death resurrects Morpheus and forces the choice of "redemption" upon him instead of suicide. It goes...horribly. No good. Very bad. Instead of learning the lesson, Morpheus (in his infinite wisdom) opts instead for a highly effective existence strike until one day Hob Gadling stumbles upon his ghastly handiwork and immediately decides that this just won't do. Man Who Refuses To Die vs. Man Who Refuses To Live: fight.

Dead Dove, Do Not Eat for the following: graphic depictions of starvation, illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, blood and gore, loss of autonomy, etc. etc. This is some classic old world whump, folks! But I promise it's also supremely healing in the end.

CH. 6: the rockrose and the thistle, pt. 2 | 3 k | AO3 link | prev part | next part

(or: the one where we meet Gwen, & Morpheus finally comes inside.)

“Oh, thank fuck,” Hob gasped at the tail end of a particularly splendid ramble of affection. “We’re here, friend.”

He took the entry two steps at a time and with a groaning, heavy sigh of relief, braced himself against the column beside the door. His foot was numb enough that he didn’t feel the pain as he kicked the inky wood in a frantic tattoo and did not let up until he heard the rush of thudding footfalls down the stairs inside. A fumbling at the lock soon followed, along with the low, muffled sounds of his girlfriend’s voice as she egged herself on. Hob’s teeth began to chatter until his whole body shook. The warmth of inside was so close, yet so far—

The door jerked open and hit the end of the still-locked chain in a grating gnash.

“Shit!”

“Oh, fuck’s sake, Gwen—”

The door slammed back shut, the chain slipped free, and in the threshold stood Gwen. She was as tall as Hob, broad shouldered, curvy in a way that drove him mad and had her looking phenomenal in her Faire corsets and gowns. Her paint-spattered, polka-dotted bandana pulled her heavy head of long microbraids back from her face that had clearly been midway through her end-of-day make-up removal when he called. She was dressed down in her sweatpants with the hems tucked into her thick, wooly socks, and her lovely, baggy-sleeved cardigan of goldenrod yellow opened like wings as she took in the image before her and then zeroed in on the body in her boyfriend’s arms.

His Stranger’s rattling breaths seemed as loud as gravel now.

“Oh fuck, Robbie,” she blurted and cleared the door.

“I know, I know.” He hefted Morpheus once more in his arms as he rushed inside and winced at the strangled whimper of pain that sounded from within the coat and quilt at the jostling. “I’ve gotta get him—”

“I know,” it was now her turn to say, and she hissed as she rocked onto the balls of her feet and caught a glimpse of their guest’s face. “Up, let’s go. Bath’s ready.”

What followed was a haphazard rush up the stairs as Hob’s legs slowly regained sensation after his frigid dash through the snow and as such also began their treacherous turn to rubber. Gwen followed at his heels, practically pressed right up against him all the way, and did her best to guide his wobbling ascent with one hand on his hip and the other hovering by his stranger’s head in case they stumbled too close to the wall. He’d always hated this staircase. It was narrow, the steps were too close together, the ceiling was too low, and he felt like a human crammed into a child’s dollhouse.

He hated it even more now, and he grumbled and swore as he had to maneuver on the upper landing and heft Morpheus as high as he could manage within his burning arms to give Gwen clearance to duck beneath them and open the inner door to their flat.

Warmth, the smell of soup and fresh bread, of something cozy and sweet, the sharp, woody scent of a slowly melting candle and something else that was perhaps incense, the aroma of old paper and leather and binding glue, the faint residue of paint—the individual hues all melded together into a single amalgamation that Morpheus’ frayed, human nerves could hardly process, and he found the only name he could give it was safe. It settled over him like a final, numbing shroud of sensation that whited out much else as he was carried and maneuvered further into what he could only assume was Gadling’s home. The lights beyond his crusted eyes brightened, dimmed, and then brightened once more. He felt himself maneuvered further, felt first one grounding layer come away, then another, and he was suddenly so cold once again. His body ached to shiver but couldn’t summon the strength for so much as a twitch.

He felt himself lowered by two sets of firm but careful hands, and Morpheus screamed as the world lit on fire.

Hob had heard a great many harrowing sounds in his life. Men, women, children, animals, the very earth itself: he had heard all shriek at the hands of agonies best left to the imaginations of Hell. He had felt those very sounds grate along his own throat, had felt them shred his vocal cords to rawness and blood at the hands of man’s cruelty. He had drawn those sounds out of others himself. The sound of breath gurgling from crushed lungs—of boys still wet behind the ears dragging themselves across battlefields with severed limbs that poured their lifeblood into over-saturated earth, crying out for their mothers all the way until they stopped crying at all—the crunch of horses’ hooves on skulls and ribcages and spines, the ring that followed the deafening boom of cannons and later artillery, the spray of blood against skin and cloth as the person beside you was replaced with red mist and viscera…

…the wail of a parent over their dead children…the wail of children over their dead parents…of newly forged widowers and widows…the wail of watching your homeland disappear in blood and smoke.

Robert Gadling had heard it all.

The sound that ripped from his Stranger’s throat as he submerged beneath the hot bath water landed itself easily in the worst seven. It dragged from the depth of his skeletal chest, anchoring somewhere between his navel and his sternum, and the force of it jerked him upright and partially out of the water. His arms flailed, trying to grab to something or to beat it away with those clawing, boney hands, and Hob pushed an already retreating Gwen back with a loud swear that was lost beneath the banshee shriek of confused agony and betrayal that echoed through the tiled room. His Stranger’s eyes were now wide open, and Hob nearly retched at the state of them.

Blind. His Stranger had to be blind with eyes like that, or as good as. 

“Rob, Mrs. Williams!” Gwen cried from where she had slipped and toppled into a collapsed seat against the sink cabinet.

“I-I know, alright?!” His heart hammered in his throat, his voice trembling under the organ’s breakneck speed, and he surged forward to seize Morpheus by the shoulders as the man tried to haul himself out of the tub. Murky maroon blossomed into the water from his wounded gut as the strain ruptured his cobweb-frail tissues anew, and the more he struggled, the faster the red poured, brightening at an equally alarming rate. “Wait, stop! My friend—”

Those foggy, rubbery eyes latched onto him, and the scream choked into a strangled, desperate howl, like a doomed animal still trying to fight to its last. He moved fast, faster than Hob had imagined he could have moved in this state, and all he saw was a flash of grimy, pale skin before pain knifed across his face.

“Fuck!” he shouted, jerking his head back, but still was not quick enough. A shockingly iron grip snagged his hair at the roots as he went, and his Stranger’s nails, which had always been on the longer side, turned to talons at his scalp as he tried to slam Hob’s head down into the edge of the porcelain tub.

Hob had no doubt that if this had happened a year ago, he would have been on the floor with a shattered nose and split skull, watching with paralyzed eyes as his blood and brain matter oozed into the bathmat and onto the tiles. But that was then. And this was now.

He moved with a soldier’s instinct, a mercenary’s swiftness. His soaked hand clamped down on the tub’s edge in a flash, his elbow tightening but not locking stiff so that he moved with Morpheus’ grip without catching porcelain in the teeth or ripping his hair out at the roots. He felt his scalp burn and tear all the same, and Morpheus’ free hand raked down his face again, gouging more tracks into his cheek and temple and nose, going now for his neck, his chest, his hands—anything he could reach with all the speed and ferocity of a feral cat.

Hob snapped his eyes shut at the last second and cried out in pain as he felt Morpheus’ nails rip open the fragile skin.

“Robbie!” Gwen shouted and started forward.

“No!” he grunted and blindly caught hold of Morpheus’ wrist. The man cried out, struggling to pull away, sloshing the bathwater until it spilled everywhere, and it took everything Hob had to keep from letting go at the pitiful sound. The crack…the crack he’d heard from within the bundled layers in his arms…. “Wait outside!”

“God, you’re bleeding—”

“Please, Gwen, wait outside!” he begged. The grip in his hair tightened, pulling him sideways and down, and he stiffened the brace of his arm and winced as more of his hair tore. “I’m alright, you know I’m alright!” He tried to open his eyes and groaned through gritted teeth as blood blinded his right eye, dripping down to his beard. He screwed his eye shut against the burn and tucked his face into his shoulder to stem the flow as he tried to keep his other eye on the man in his grip. Morpheus continued to make those feral, desperate sounds, his blinded sight searching wildly for something only he knew. The stranglehold on his scalp tightened further, and Hob had never been more thankful to have trimmed his beard down to something less grabbable. He forced his voice to calm, even as the nerves in his face and skull shrieked in objection. “I just want you safe, Gwen,” he said. “Please, wait outside. I’ll call you when we need you.”

Morpheus began to quiet until only ragged, groaning breaths remained. His grip trembled but did not relent.

“…Are you sure?” Gwen asked softly from the floor.

“There’s nothing he can do to me that won’t be gone by morning, love,” Hob promised. “You, on the other hand….”

“Yeah,” she conceded and got her feet under her in the same unsteady manner. “Yeah, okay.”

He listened to her socked steps retreat, to the creak of the door opening and the click of it shutting behind her. His one non-blinded eye never left those of the undying man beneath him, and his nose burned as tears flooded his already stinging eyes. His Stranger’s eyes looked fake, like half-melted, age-fogged plastic, like an old teddy someone lost to attic storage. It broke his heart, filled him with such helplessness that for a moment, safely alone, he was not certain of the right path forward.

So, Hob Gadling did the only thing he knew how to do.

He did the stupid thing.

He let go of Morpheus’ wrist and the edge of the bathtub in a single, cautious release, taking care to keep his expression calm as he did. Morpheus snatched his hand back to his chest, and Hob kept himself from flinching in even the slightest as the man yanked hard on his hair at the same time, as if trying to pull himself from the tub by Hob’s scalp alone. He bowed under the pull, watched his friend’s body tremble with the effort of his attempt, but did not yield. He raised his hands slowly to his shoulders, fingers splayed with his palms facing his Stranger. And as he did, Morpheus sagged into the water with a heartbroken, devastated huff that left his chin trembling and his chest quaking in its rises and falls. His fingers tangled deeper into Hob’s hair.

Hob took a deep breath and the plunge that followed.

“Dream,” he called, as soft as a parent to their sleeping child. His friend’s eyes landed on him in a burst of swift, clumsy shifts, struggling to pinpoint Hob through his blindness even though he was firm beneath his hands. “Morpheus.”

His friend blinked. His parched throat worked, moistened fleetingly by the steam of the bath, and the sounds he made turned a little less animalistic, a little more human.

“Stranger,” Hob pressed.

Those air-starved pneumonia breaths shook Morpheus’ skeletal frame, his body rattling with fever shakes that Hob knew well, until both culminated in hacking coughs that brought up nothing but bits of red-tinged phlegm. The blood continued to spread through the murky, filthy water from Despair’s wound as months of grit began to lift from his clothes and skin.

Cautiously, as if approaching an injured bird, Hob lowered his hand to Morpheus’ where it was fisted into his hair. The fingers tensed, tugged his scalp in warning. But Hob let his touch settle anyway; his warm, calloused skin settled into a soothing pet along the back of his friend’s hand to his wrist, to his elbow, and back up.

Slowly…in…out….

Like the breaths Morpheus struggled to take. Like the tides that had welcomed him back to life.

“ ‘S okay,” Hob whispered. His face throbbed along every track mark his friend had left upon him. He could feel the blood gluing his eye shut, and he fought the urge to rub at it. The wounds needed to be cleaned and tended, not scrubbed into an equally dirty blazer, and any unexpected move at this point would probably undo the precarious peace they had forged. “ ‘S just hot water,” he soothed instead and hoped he didn’t look too beat up. “ ‘S just me.” His hand continued to move up and down Morpheus’ arm, his touch as warm as sunlight to the chilled skin. “Just us…”

Another breath, deeper this time, shuddered out of Morpheus in something dangerously close to a sob. Hob let his hand drift to a pause atop his friend’s wrist. He sank a bit closer to the tub’s edge, leaning against it in as relaxed of a pose as he could manage, grappled and mangled as he was. His thumb swept across the knobs of Morpheus’ bones in time with his own metronomic pulse. He could feel the other man’s heartbeat beneath the pad of his ring finger. It was as swift as a hummingbird’s, as unsteady as a breaking rainstorm.

“…D’you know who I am?” he murmured after a while.

Morpheus had relaxed into the water by infinitesimal increments, though his grip to Hob’s hair remained just as firm in silent threat. He watched Hob with glassy, overwrought eyes that remained as sightless as frosted windows beneath their heavy lids, and when he swallowed, a wincing shadow darkened his face at the pain it brought. But he swallowed again despite it, swallowed a third time. His Sahara-dry lips parted as he breathed a little harder. His brow furrowed, in confusion, in effort, and he forced his exhausted vocal cords to come to life beneath one threadbare exhale.

“…Hob?”

It was a whisper of a word, a dying croak of a syllable. It was the normalcy of an oh-so-sick voice that Hob had heard countless times over the centuries, and it shattered his chest like a battering ram.

Human. Wholly human.

He had not expected the loss of that something more beneath his Stranger’s voice to hit him quite so hard.

He forced his face to crease into a gentle smile anyway that left his one good eye shining and exuded a warmth like a restful sunrise. And when he blinked, he forced himself to re-open both eyes in the end, to beam through the tears and blood. Maybe the pain of faking it would ground him. Maybe his Stranger wouldn’t be able to see him mourning through it.

“Yeah,” he smiled, and his voice broke in the most pitiful way as he moved his hand down Morpheus’ arm to touch his cheek, his hair. “Yeah, ‘s Hob. ‘S your friend.” Another wracking breath punched from Morpheus’ chest. The grip in his hair began to loosen, and Hob began to inch his hand back down his friend’s arm to his fingers. “Your annoying, immortal drinking partner,” he winked, “and I aim to have so much to tell you in 2089. So…” Living, loved skin smoothed over Morpheus’ battered hands, its fingers tracking his until they interlaced. “Will you let me help you?”

Morpheus stared at their hands for a long time and when he finally blinked, something prowled with disquiet in Hob’s gut. It was a different sort of blink than before, just as the way his head tipped and his attention drifted was wrong, or at least more wrong than it had been thus far. It was as if he were trying to break free from something settling over him, to shake loose a dark shadow.

“I…”

The hand in his hair went slack, and that was all the warning Hob got.

Morpheus’ eyes rolled back in his head as the bath finally did him in, his near-empty blood vessels dilating with the water’s heat until there was nothing left to circulate. Hob surged forward and caught his head with a cradling hand at the base of his skull while the other plunged into the water to snag him beneath his arm. Death had come for him, again. Hob knew the feeling well. The drifting oblivion would reassemble to unconsciousness first, then to dreams and delirium, and finally once more into wakefulness. And for as horrid as the experience of dying was, it at least afforded them one small mercy.

It meant that he and Gwen could finish their work undisturbed.

“Gwen!” he called over his shoulder, taking care to keep his voice soft, though the consideration wasn’t necessary. His friend was quite literally dead to the world, no matter the agonal gasps that tugged his jaw with plummeting frequency. The door opened immediately, and she peered at him from the partially opened threshold, a heavy apron fastened protectively about her. “I just—I-I need more hands, if you….”

He stopped. Gwen was just staring at him from the threshold, a well-meaning but cruel mix of horror and pity and sadness upon her beautiful face as she took in the state of him, tears glistening in her beautiful dark eyes. He bowed his head. Tucked his bloodied face into his arm.

And Hob Gadling began to cry in earnest.

[maewrites792]

A Match Brewed in Heaven

Chapter 1

The air was growing colder as autumn drew on the northern town of Ashbourne, North Dakota, nipping at the cheeks of those who walked the streets. Despite only being August, the first flecks of snow would drift from the skies. On particularly cold days, the dirt roads could be painted white with a thin powdering. Life in the small town didn’t speak to everyone, but those who did found their strength in the serenity of nature, the peace of the homestead, and the community which bound the residents together. It wasn’t uncommon for the residents of Ashbourne to gather up and down Fernwood road, eager for the company of their neighbors and a warm meal from the best spot in town: Swift Mist Café.

Aria Swiftpaw stood behind the counter, busy at work as the regular crowd shuffles in. The shop was always busy, as friends and family came in to enjoy a hot beverage and warm hospitality. She had run the shop alone since setting up years ago, but that never bothered her. She loved her work, and she loved the community it brought just as much as the community loved her and the drinks she provided. The café was one of the central hubs for the community, always being full of patrons chatting away.

On one particularly cold August morning, the chatter in the shop grew particularly hushed. It wasn’t often travelers would pass through, but the gossip going around shared a group of strange people having set up several tents by the woods. Nobody quite knew who they were or why they were there, but Aria could feel the tension in the crowd. Just as she had finished preparing the last order, one of the strangers stepped into the door. Covered in a heavy coat and face mask, all eyes in the shop moved towards the individual. They walked in, taking a seat as one of the counter stools before finally removing their goggles and mitts.

Aria never faltered in her hospitality, greeting the new character warmly. “What can I get for you today, hun?” she asked, pulling out her pad of paper and a pen. The stranger spoke, the fluttering of her voice showing her enthusiasm. “Can I get a mocha with a shot of hypervigilance, and…do you have sandwiches?” The request threw Aria off, having never heard of hypervigilance as an ingredient before. She chuckled, her lips curving into a smile. “Well, we don’t have hypervigilance as an option, but I promise a good, strong shot should do the job.” She scribbled the order on her notepad before continuing. “We sure do have sandwiches. I can get you a turkey and cheese, clubs, blts, you name it. On a day like this, I’d recommend the hot ham and cheese. Keeps the cold at bay, it does.” Area turned to the coffee machine, preparing the espresso.

The stranger looks down, her cheeks flush with embarrassment through her deep gray fur. “Sorry, back home we’ve got a shop that slips a bit of potion to spice up the drinks. If you don’t mind, I’ll take one of those hot ham sandwiches.” She pulls out a small notebook, jotting down some scribbles. Curiosity got the better of Aria, so as she worked on the meal she decided to pick up a conversation with her anonymous customer. “If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you into town? Don’t get many travelers through here.”

“Oh, nothing much. Just a bit of business.” The response felt unsatisfying, and from the murmurs of the other patrons seemed to share her sentiment. “A bit of business, huh?” Aria attempted to dig deeper, her hands busy with the sandwich over the stove. “Sounds intriguing. I’m always curious about what brings newcomers to our little stretch of road.”

The stranger looks around, seemingly nervous at all the eyes focused on her. Finally, she clears her throat and explains, “I’m leading a research team on an expedition through some of the towns up here. Been hearing reports of some magic anomalies in the area. Nothing concerning, but very intriguing.” The murmuring of the crowd intensifies. Of course a small town would have harmless ghost stories, but a group of researchers coming all this way to investigate sent a new wave of apprehension among the community.

Arias lips pursed in amusement. Jokingly, she spoke out, “Fascinating. Magic anomalies are always worth looking into, no doubt about that.” She never believed in magic, a life of hard work proved that. Still, the thought ate at the back of her thoughts as she completed the order. “You’ll be in town for a while, then?” she asked, setting the plate and mug down in front of the stranger. “Only a few weeks,” the stranger answered, reaching into her wallet to reveal several coins as payment “My research will take me around, but I’m sure I’ll be in and out.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy your time.” Aria turned her attention towards the pile of dishes yet to be cleaned. The stranger takes their meal and moves towards a secluded booth, taking some time to eat. The chatter among the crowd remains muffled and tense, until eventually one of the other patrons finds the courage to approach the newcomer. She happily chats for a while, all the while taking notes. Soon, several others take an opportunity to talk with the stranger.

Aria continues with her work, keeping an eye on the stranger if only out of curiosity. Eventually, the stranger finishes her meal and conversation. She stands, grabs her dishes, and approaches the counter. Aria grabs the dishes, thanking the stranger for being so kind. “It’s not all travelers that are so considerate.” Aria expressed. The stranger chuckles, “Well, it’s the least I could do for such a nice place.” The stranger collects her things and puts on her mitts before turning back to the barista, “By the way, the name’s Lapis.” She puts out a hand. “Aria” she replies, grabbing it in a friendly handshake, “I’m sure we’ll be hearing from you again?”

Lapis smiles, and turns towards the door, “Of course!” She pushes the door out into the raging cold.

[lexa-griffins]

When Lexa is pregnant with Aden, all her kids help Clarke set up his nursery and room. They paint his name on the walls or on letter blocks. They decorate the room and put their own personality into their individual sections. Lexa is sitting on her rocking chair and tries not to cry at how sweet and soft her family looks right now 🥹

They have a small toy room that gets converted into his nursery, and because it was a place the kids spent a lot of time in, they think its only fair that they help decorate it for they baby brother.

Lexa has been taking it as easy as she possibly can with this last pregnancy so all the babes are in the room, helping Clarke set up the furniture (mostly Madi really) while Saige and the twins help around with the toys, diapers and clothes. And when eventually there is nothing else for those four eager to help kids to do, Clarke pulls out four big wooden letters she spent quite a while carving out of spare wood. She gives each of them a letter and brings out her acrylic paints and brushes, letting the kids go wild on each of the letters that spell out baby Aden's name.

Clarke tries her best to help them when they need a color mixed or for her to do something but for the most part she stays out of it as focuses on putting up the little bits of decor her and Lexa either made or brought back from their small attic from when the kids where babies.

It's a soft afternoon like this. Lexa is sitting in the rocking chair by the window folding baby clothes, soaking in these last few weeks of her last pregnant ever. It makes her a little sad that Aden will be their last baby but then she looks around at her babies, watches them giggle as they paint their little brother's name, Madi's chaotic and colorful A, Saige's focus as she tries to make the flowers on the D as pretty as she can, Skie decising to finger paint the E while Willow seems to paint coat after coat of paint on the N unable to make up her mind fully. She still has so much of their growing up to see. No more new babies doesnt mean her family will stop growing. It means her and Clarke can settle down and watch their four babies, and the one on the way grow up and become the people they are meant to be. For a bit there before Aden, Lexa forgot that the babies that were out in the world already needed her to, and now she refuses to ever forget that again. And then she looks at Clarke. She's older now, its clear in her features. So is Lexa. Years in the sun and working the land, running after babies and worrying about bills have given them creases and wrinkles that are slowly showing as they enter their late 30s, still so young and yet having lived so much already. They fought to be here. Hard. And to her Clarke is still has beautiful as she was on their wedding day, just two 19 year olds dreaming of running their little farm and starting a family. And now, the last little piece of their family will be here in a few weeks, the fice babies they always dreamed of, in the house they re built from the ground up.

And then she hears it, Clarke asking the kids how are things going and she looks up to see the kids showing their momma their little masterpieces.

"Do you think Aden is gonna like them when he's born momma?" She hears little Saige ask as she stares up at Clarke. The other three children do the same.

"Of course he will. He'll love it! His big siblings painted it for him, how could he not!"

There's a wave of giggles and smiles as Clarke asks them for the letters so she can set them out to dry before she puts them up on the wall.

Lexa brings a hand to her stomach where little Aden kicks away, seemingly aware he is being talked about.

Through the tears every pregnancy makes harder to hide, Lexa smiles and whispers, "You are already so loved, Aden. So, so loved."

[restlesscrybaby]

As I haven't been able to work on requests, I have decided to try to give you guys the best I can!!

~ GOD! JACK HORNER HEADCANONS. ~

~ 'A love, immortal such as mine, will come to me.' ~

☆ CONTENT WARNING ; None. ☆

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Birds chimed their aching tune amongst the tops of branches, raised high in the sky. Crunches of rotting leaves rattled around the bottom of your shoes, cold wind passing you by, almost like passing through you. You carefully stepped over roots that bumped up out of the soil, your hands by your sides, as you slithered through the overgrown woods that you never truly got to explore.

As you expanded, further and further out, into the woods, more and more growth made itself present infront of your field of vision. Vines wrapped around trees, almost like trying to strangle them, bushes hugged around curves and hid away rocks, flowers that were grown out, with weeds curling around the innocent beings of life. The way you walked became jagged, more rocks coating your path, you had to be careful.

But, you didn't turn back. You wanted to explore anyway, bah!

But, the path..

Evened out eventually.

Calming down...

Stones suddenly marked a way, showing a prominently man-made path... What was.. Huh?

You felt confusion tinge your head like a virus, but you followed, with full intent. Maybe you'd find some cool abandoned building, that seems to happen a lot anyway.

Trees started to loom overhead, making spotted shade cross along the path that you had no idea even existed.

But, the path eased towards an archway. It was tangled with vines, but it said something on a piece of wood that dangled from the top. Easily cluttering in the wind. You extended an arm, a hand easily pushing some of the vines rhat dangled from the archway out of the way. You crouched under them, just a tad as you approached the building ahead. It had large, arched doors, golden plasters in the shape of rectangles with two knobs on each door.

You stepped towards. Was this some kind of church?

Infact, it was.

A large one.

A large, dark mauve one.

With a large circle window above the doors, in the shape of.. A pie. Huh. The pillars by the door and along the outside edge of the building had spikes along the top. Now that you looked above the doorway, at the top of the arch, there was a set of spikes. Above, what seemed to be a balcony had spikes along the railing, but you could tell. The place was so overgrown that you could tell if it was a balcony, or just some decoration. You didn't care to pay too much mind.

You wondered if it was always truly that dark mauve tone.

...

Meh.

You carefully kept going. You stood infront of the large doors, practically looming over you, laughing at the fact you were small compared to them. You extended a hand out, as you grabbed ahold of one of the golden knobs to pull it open. Maybe it was locked..

But, you didn't even need to turn it. The mere pressure of your hand caused it to click open judt slightly. Someone didn't fully close the door...

You peeked in, yet, you could hear the sounds of people chatting..

Maybe some people your age!

You eased your way in, sliding through the crack in the slightly opened door the best you could. Upon stepping inside, you were greeted by a clean-cut interior . Much different than the outside..

A black and white checkered tiled lining was laid, to make the cold floor, as you looked to the side. Chairs. You expected that.

Rows of them, all of them one big chair practically, nothing to separate seat from seat. Nothing separated them. They had a lavender cushioning, with dark jungle wood as the stands for them...

Rows of these chairs, beautifully lined. On either side, letting a walkway be clear. You took a moment to peer up, as a large chandelier dangled above your head. It had candles flickering on it, yet you wondered how anyone got up there to light them.

But, you took notice to the paintings on the curved ceiling. You couldn't entirely make out what it was, but, you pushed your pupils towards the sides as you seen the arched windows. God damn... Stain-glass plastered the windows, the sunlight shining through them created a mix of colors that stretched along the floor and chairs. Towards the front. Your vision shifted.

A large bay window area, lined with windows upon windows. Upon the center, rested a statue of something. You couldn't quite make out what it was of, but you could tell it was a statue. It sat upon some kind of pillar.

From what you could tell, the place was coated with purple and gold coloring. Behind the statue, some kind of stain-class painting made itself known, shining colors down onto the statue. Jesus, it was so complex, you could even state every detail.

But, you took notice to it.

A large chair sat dead center of the bay room area... Made of marble, it was massive.

Some kind of dish lay upon the rim of the chair, some offering dish? But, about.. twelve people sat infront of it. They were bowed, their foreheads pressed against the cold tiling on the floor, their hands out infront of their heads. Elbows pressed against the cold floor, they were bent, palm against palm. Their forearm and hands were raised up. Their knees were tucked in tight, right under their chest...

They wore some kind of nun-like outfits, but when you looked closer at it,

It looked more like aprons. Or, some kind of-- Chef thing.

You took a tedious step forward, as your brows furrowed. Your heart was kicking itself up dust, as fear trickled down it like sweat.

What was this?

What was going on?

You took another steady step forward, now with the other foot. You waited a moment, to see if they'd notice your presence as they sat in a row, almost worshipping the chair...

They talked, all at the same time, the walls of the cathedral echoed around you, yet you couldn't make out any of the words they spoke.

You watched, as you kept taking careful steps forward...

Halfway to where this chair was, the sound of trees slamming against eachother in a hopeless fight screeched outside. Wha? You must've not noticed the sky getting dark--

It wasn't time for bed yet, though?...

Or,

As rain started against the roof of the building, before it slammed itself down, a whirlwind of weather echoed around the holy building...

What was..

But, there wasn't supposed..

It was..

You don't understand...

You snapped your head towards one of the windows that lined the walls, the stain-glass no longer shined a beautiful light into the room. But, a crack of light flashed for just a moment.

The glass, for one moment,

Refracting light onto the floor.

You waited.

To see how far away it was.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, th--

BOOM.

CRASH.

Holy shit.

Maybe, it was time to go--

But, like an aching wail, the wind increased, the sound of it whistling around the cathedral almost hypnotizing to the ears.

I suppose you didn't pay too much mind, but your eyes caught glimpse of a golden hue surround the chair.

You covered your eyes with your upper arm, as the sounds of whooshing filled the cathedrals bay area, as the people lifted their heads up. Their hands tensed, as you wished you would've looked...

But, after a moment, once you checked..

The light was gone.

But, a massive stature sat in the chair. A large , golden, crown circled the top of his head, wings poking out the sides of it. It had many spikes that stabbed out, sharp enough to kill a man. Yet, it had small gems, you couldn't see them just right from far away. You could make out slight face details, but what stuck with you most, the.. My god. Tinges of some kind of gold were speckled along his face. You could make out white eyes, almost, but not-- No, they were entirely lavender colored. Trickles of purple leered down below his eyes, almost like tears, but they were.. Spiked tipped. A collar, around his neck, extended towards his shoulders and produced shoulder pads, one of a barbarians, tipped in dangling crystals from the rims of the blades. The collar dipped down only a little above where cleavage would start, with some kind of gem in the center. A sheer, fur coat hung down, the start of it dangled at his elbows, the fur toned with little specks of gold. The coat was a dark plum color, but it was a silky fabric that folded along the edges of the big chair. But, a dark lavender bodice rested along his chest. It was buttoned, yet had some kind of swirled design, made out of gold. The bodice's neck folds weren't to be found, must've been tucked under the collar... Yet, his sleeves were lavender, folding with the bend of his arm... You couldn't make out much of his outfit from this distance, but you noticed how the fabric rested. It had a long, thick in length band, rhat covered the crotch area. The end edged, with some kind of whisk for baking design, down towards the end of the fabric. His legs stuck out, but it didn't give you access to see. He wore simple mauve colored pants, with knee protectors, made of gold. His pants dipped towards his feet, as he wore big boots. The eyelets laced with white shoelaces, the Grey boots had heels onthem. Not too tall, more of pumps... But, a harsh spike was what made the heel different. The mouth of the shoe ate up his leg, before it halted just below his knees. Of course, his pants were tucked in, showing off the dusty, Grey, boots..

This..

Was a God.

His hands adorned rings of all sorts, jewels of all kind. On one hand, a thumb stained purple.. The hand that adorned the most rings...

This was some kind of god- you were not supposed to be here--

You tried to take a tedious step back, your eyes widening as your heart practically wanted to rocket out your throat, to land onto the tiled floor.

These people seemed shakey, almost afraid, as he looked down upon those wjo seemed to worship him.

A brow raise, as he pulled his lips down slightly, showing unamusement. He opened his mouth, as he spoke, a booming declaration of his very presence.

"What is it? You better have something good," He snarled, disrespecting the people who worshipped the very ground he stepped on.

One of them sat uprighr, as their hands fell to their sides. They nodded, they even seemed scared..

Yet, over the beating in your ears from your heart, you couldn't hear them.

But, they scooted forward, as he made a 'come here' motion eith his pointer finger.

They extended their hands, as a small clatter echoed the building, they dropped something into the pie tin shaped bowl. Some kind of offering.

But, over your pulsing ears,

...

"WHAT!?" He hissed out, his lips pulling back to bare angry teeth towards the people below him, his eyes widening in anger, "THIS IS ALL YOU'VE GOT TO OFFER ME? PITIFUL," He snapped his jaws at them, as they winced, their upper arm raising in defense and their head turning to look away from their God.

Oh god.

That made you more frightened.

Not a good God. A bad one.

Yet, you tried to steadily scoot your way backwards, careful to not make a loud sound, no matter how scared you were. No matter how shaky you were.

But, eyes met your figure.

And you couldn't go.

"Now, that's a better offering. Bring them forward!" He commanded towards the worshippers.

Wait what-

The other worshippers shot up, their torsos turning towards you, puzzled looks on their faces, yet a wash of relief grazed over them. Some letting out throaty sighs and others closing their eyes in joy that they wouldn't get rejected for a bad offering.

You just decided to approach on your own..

Eyes glued to your figure, as you approached the God that sat in his marble chair.

He leaned down, he sized you up, yet, you could finally tell. He did have pupils.. Yet, the rest of his eyes, including the whites, where a purple..

Oh, what a graceful offering...

A wonderful addition to those who have been SACRIFICED for him..

He's never seen a mortal like you before, let alone, one that acted like you did...

His big arm extended out, as his pointer and thumb pinched the sides of your body, easily hoisting you in the air like it was nothing.

Oh god..

What was going to happen?

He bent his elbow, bringing his hand close to his face as he squinted towards you,

Hmm...

Truly, all humans were unique, hm? He couldn't lie about that, yet he could only look in curiosity. Most sacrifices were just for the power.

Thays what he wanted.

Typically, they'd be killed and he would inherit that power from the sacrifice that was made in his name, practically in his blood.

Or, if they were living, they were killed. Only to be used as servants in a realm only a God would know. That would explode a mortals very being upon entering without knowing where they're going too.

But, maybe he should switch it up!

I mean, he did turn someone into a footrest last time. Oh, that one time he turned someone into a golden statue that held his coat on the hooks of their fingers. Oh, or the time he made one a backscratcher, or-- Shall the list go on?

I mean, others didn't always go through that fate. But cooked. Cleaned. Did laundry. Washed. Everything. I mean. He did own them from the moment they were offered to him.

But, you trembled, as sweat formed in the palm of your hands. Oh god.

A sinister smile curled onto his face, as his brows raised.

"I'm impressed!" He chimed out towards the worshippers. They looked so relieved, god, if only you could be on the ground and going home safely..

"I like them,"

...

"I think I'll keep them!"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

~ 'Immortal she.. Return to me.' ~

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ENJOYYY this was funsies to write ngl!!