#but he is drilling a hole through her jaw

[medicalunprofessional]

breaking the angel

[princessbrunette]

Step bro John b got me thinking, what if John b didn’t take up the offer to bone his step sis because he is too much of a problem solver to create more problems so jj gives her what she wants, fucking her realll good he would so be like “John b is mean huh? Doesn’t wanna take care of his lil sis” while balls deep inside you. His so pervy

ต( ິᵒ̴̶̷̤ ﻌ ᵒ̴̶̷̤ )ິ王女୨˚̣̣̣͙୧

“somethin’ bout this bein’ a secret really turns you on, huh?” jj winces, voice low and husky in your ear as he grinds his dick through your walls, all but dropping his weight on you in your bedroom. john b was off chasing some lead across the water, stupidly leaving jj to ‘keep an eye on you’ as if you were the troublemaker out of the two.

jj had wanted to be a good friend, but the opportunity presented itself — being you walking around a bikini top and the tiniest skirt to mankind, and unlike john b jj wasn’t one to waste perfectly good pussy being dangled right below his nose.

which is how you ended up with him inside you, unable to resist his charms. “just wanted to feel good, jayj.” you mewl, voice trembling with each fast and sudden thrust of his hips, drilling into you. by instinct, you throw a hand back to push against his tummy and he lightly smacks it out the way.

“move that hand, mama. you wanted this.” he drawls, that charming southern twang making your walls flutter around the shaft that you had glossed with your arousal.

“are—are you g’nna tell john b?” you whine, and to be honest — you’re not sure what you want the answer to be. you keep this little rendezvous to yourself and stay turned on by the idea of being a sexy little secret — or you face the consequences of a jealous and jaded step brother, who could potentially take that frustration out on you. you always did find possessiveness sexy.

“hey i’m not a snitch.” he adjusts his hands, one arm sliding beneath your stomach to hoist your ass up a little higher, the other hand coming to affectionately wrap around your throat. he presses a kiss to your jaw and his lips linger there as he stills inside you. “unless, like… you want me to tell him. in which case you’re naughtier than i gave you credit for.”

you groan, wriggling until he got the message and helped flip you on to your back. he didn’t let you off easy though, pinning your knees up onto your chest leaving you spread and exposed. instead of getting shy, you giggle, almost evil and doll-like which only approves his suspicions about you being quite the little nympho. “but we’re doing such a bad thing, jj.” you bat your eyelashes, faux innocent and he smirks at the audacity, licking the cut at the corner of his mouth.

“look, all i know is john b sent me over here to look after his little step-sister,” he explains as he lines himself back up with your needy hole and pushes back in, making your face twist in pleasure. “and that’s exactly,” he punctuates with a hard thrust that bounces you off the bed. “what— i’m— doing.”

ต( ິᵒ̴̶̷̤ ﻌ ᵒ̴̶̷̤ )ິ王女୨˚̣̣̣͙୧

[alexa-fika]

Heyo, how are you? I’m not sure if you celebrate it, but hope you had a great Easter? Would you write another Dokucha story where she’s the daughter of Mihawk and being very secretive whenever she goes somewhere. One day, Mihawk follows her (Crocodile and Buggy follow him too, they’ve got nothing better to do xD) which is easier said than done. She’s very smart (after all she’s Mihawk’s daughter) and tries to make sure not to be followed. Once they find her, they can’t understand what they walked into. Humandrills, Bananawanis, Kung-Fu Dugongs, and many more other animals are living in a secret place together and getting along, and especially, they all love her so so much. Together with her animal family they’re taking care of a wounded Sea King. Buggy is ready to leave the place and never come back, too many fearsome creatures for his taste and Crocodile and Mihawk are just at a loss for words (now Crocodile knows where his pets went, she doesn’t like that he uses them for battles and such, she loves their company and would never want any harm to come to them). Once they sense the three men, all the animals start to become hostile towards them ready to protect Dokucha at all cost.

The Scaly and furry ( mihawk x f!child!reader x crocodile)

A/N I DID IT GUYS AFTER SO LONG I FINALLY DID IT. I din’t have any idea on how to integrate buggy so he kinda got missed out. But here we are another dracule!reader, reader is in ther middle childhood, so young but not a todler but also not a teen. But anyways thank you guys so much for waiting

Mihawk narrows his eyes as once again his daughter had left in a hurry, leaving behind a poor excuse of wanting to explore the outside. His eyes flickering back to his co-worker as he pipes in

“If you’re that curious about what the brat is up to, we can simply follow her,” Crocodile huffs out, a cloud of smoke leaving his mouth as he spoke

It was easier said than done, seeing as his daughter had inherited haki from him, one she had harnessed under both his and Crocodile’s guidance. But it was still not on par with theirs, which made it possible for the two men to evade her detection, following her as she made her wave through the thick bushes until she arrived at a cove hidden away by trees and boulders.

She blinked, looking back

“I thought I felt something…” she murmured, turning back around smiling as she spotted one of her friends waiting for her at the entrance of a more secluded part of the cove.

“Hi Manny, I'm back!” She called to the Dugong, who made some aggressive punching movements her way as they both entered a more enclosed part of the cove

“I know, I’m sorry. Dad and Cruncle are getting suspicious, so it was harder to get this time,” the girl grumbles, letting out a squeak as she was suddenly lifted off the ground, relaxing when she recognized the presence.

“Enrique, you scared me,” she gasped, giggling when the human drill hugged her tighter

“I ‘m sorry; I know I was gone longer than normal; I'm back,” she said, smiling up at the ape that sat in the branches, letting low hoots as he put the girl down again

“I knew you cared, Enrique!”

A louder set of hoots and disgruntled noises left the Humandrill upon hearing this

“Tell yourself that, but I know you care!” She argued back to the growing cacophony of howls and screams, the occasional gecker leaving the ever-increasing group only to be stopped as Manny, now joined with his own group of dugongs, began emitting a series of whistles to get both of them on track

“Ah right, sorry,” she apologized, making haste to a blue hole deeper down the cove, smiling as a colossal beast surfaced when she kneeled next to it

“Hi Musa, how are they doing? I’m sorry it took me a bit, but I brought the medicine. Would you bring them up?” She spoke as she caressed the bananawani’s jaw, grinning when the latter let out a satisfied hiss as she sank back into the depths, returning accompanied both only by more of her kind but with a similar-sized beast being supported by their scaly bodies

She frowns at the Sea King’s state as they weakly glance at her, letting out a weak hiss in greeting

“Here, can you open your mouth?” Smiling when they complied, throwing the medication in their mouth

“You’re bigger, so I had to get a couple…hundred, but it sho-AH

Her words were caught up as, for the second time, she found herself airborne, this time; however, the culprit seemed to be a dusty mass dragging her feet in the air and dangling her upside down

As soon as this happened, as a switch being flicked, all the animals in the room became alert, aggresive, the bananawanis crawling out of the water and standing in front of her now dangling body. The dugongs and Humandrills stood in their own formations, preparing to fight the newcomers. Some of the human drills were quick to try to get the girl down, climbing through branches near her position, only to back down as the sand lashed out at them if they got too close

“It’s okay, guys, I know them,” she explains, trying to calm the growing tension in the cove

“Hi dad, hi Cruncle….what are you guys doing here?”

“I reckon we should be the ones asking that question,” Mihawk spoke, staring up at the girl

“What are you doing near them?” Crocodile growled as the creatures began to advance on them, as he flashed them with his haki in return, grinning when they backed away

“Wait, don’t hurt them! I can explain!” She hurried out

Mihawk quirked an eyebrow at that

“They’re my friends!” She chirps only to turn into a squeal as she is raised higher after a shared glance between the ex-warlords

“Dad!” She whined, a frown on her face

“Where did they come from?”

She pouts at that

“Well?”

“The human drills came with me from our old home, and we found the dugongs at the beach.”

Mihawk glances at Crocodile for confirmation on the latter, already knowing how likely it was for the apes to have followed them to the island, seeing how close they had grown in Kuragaina Island

“Dugongs are native to this area,” he confirms

He hums at that

“And the beasts?”

“I sneaked into Uncle’s gloomy room, and they were just there; they were lonely, so, I kind of, umm, let them go?”

Crocodile lets out a scoff at that

“They are huge predators, the only predators to sea kings, and you let them go because they looked lonely?”

“That’s what I just said, dummy.”

“Watch it brat.”

She sticks out her tongue at him in return

Mihawk rolled his eyes, walking closer to her

“What about the sea king?”

“It’s a baby! It got left by his pod, and he got really sick; he found them when me and Musa were out swimming, and we wanted to help them, well Musa wanted to eat them at first….”

“You are going to be the death of me,” he sighed, catching the child as Crocodile released the sand holding them up

“So…can I come see them again?” She asked the men once they had departed from the cove, much to the chagrin of the animals

They glance at each other before Crocodile begins

“The banawani need to come back.” he started sending her a side glare when she began to protest

“They have a job to do; once they do their job, they are free to go and rendevous with you,” he states

“Job? Do they play with you too, Cruncle? Is their job to keep you company?”

“N-

He pauses at the scathing glare he receives from the swordsman, understanding it was better not to let the young girl know what the reptile’s actual job consisted of

“..They keep me company and help me with some cleaning.”

“Cleaning? Them?” She questions, trying to picture the crocodiles using their huge bodies to tidy up an office

“They get rid of the trash for me.”

“Oh! That sounds like Musa and the rest! They are always hungry,” she laughs

Mihawk nods his head, a silent sign of acknowledgment for the otherwise aloof man

“You have to let me know where you are actually going from now on, no more sneaking out. As long as you do that, you are allowed to continue your peculiar friendship group.”

“Really?!”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, dad!”

A moment of silence envelops the trio as they continue walking, only to be cut short by the girl once again

“Do you want to come to cuddle and play with them with me?”

“No.”

“Worth a shot”

Again thank you for all the kind words I got saying to take my time, and sorry I completely disregard your words cause LISTEN I WANT TO KEEP GIVEN YOU GUYYS

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[bullet-prooflove]

Syria!Series Part Three: Catch 22 - Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @chickensrule @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @justameresimp @handsupforamiracle @lxaah11 @librarian1002 @littlebadariell @imaginecrushes @luckyladycreator2 @flrboyd @nani-kenobi @areamir @b-bradshaw @adaydreamaway08 @crimeshowjunkie @shepgurl @ashcosmo @inkandarsenic @caffeinatedwoman @tortilla-maria1 @lemmons1998 @dr-alan-grantler @dizzybee03 @watashiwasun @burningpeachpuppy @penguin876 @haley-hotchner @deliriousfangirl61 @agentorange9595

Syria!Series:

Part One: Syria - You're stuck on the otherside of the world when Beau's captured in Syria.

Part Two: In Sickness & Health - Beau eventually makes it home.

Beau doesn’t sleep. He sits up on the couch watching late night television until the sun comes up. When he does drop off, it’s for thirty-minute intervals. He wakes up with his heart pounding, his nerves jangling because he dreams he’s back in that storage container in Syria, hearing Zahir’s screams in his ears. He feels the blister of the flame across his skin as they heat up the skewers, they used to pierce his flesh, each one drilling into him. He sees the flash of a blade in the darkness, his own blood splashing across the metal floor, he hears the drip of it rebounding through his skull.

He barely eats, barely speaks. Most times he doesn’t even look at you, his gaze just stays firmly fixed to the screen in front of him.

“How’s he doing?” Solomon asks you, one morning over coffee.

The two of you are sitting in your office, sharing the pastries that he bought especially for the occasion. He’s been checking in for weeks now, ever since he dropped Beau off home. The bond they both have is forged in jet fuel and blood, they’ve always been there for each other ever since flight school. Besides you, he is the only other person who will go to the ends of the earth and back for Beau.

“He’s depressed, anxious.” You tell him, pulling at the pastry, the flakes falling into the napkin on your lap. “I don’t know how to get through to him.”

Solomon rubs his hands together, dusting off his palms into your bin.

“What about you?”

“I started seeing a shrink.” You admit, wrapping your hands around the coffee mug. “I’m scared that everytime I close my eyes he’s going to disappear, that I’m going to lose him again and I…”

You trail off, your gaze straying to the window because you can already feel that constriction in your chest, the one you always feel when you go down this rabbit hole.

“Does he know?” Solomon asks you and you shake your head.

“No, I don’t want to put that on him.” You tell him as you exhale, your eyes starting to sting.

Solomon sighs before leaning forward.

“Maybe you should. If he sees you’re getting help maybe he will too.” He suggests, clasping his hands together. “Beau is one of the strongest people I know but he’s stubborn and he struggles when it comes to mental health. His father, the way he grew up…” His jaw tenses as he meets your eyes. “You know what I’m talking about.”

You aren’t the only one whose father whose beat on you. Beau’s father along with being an ex-Marine, was a gambler and an alcoholic. When he lost, Beau was an easy target. His father humiliated, berated, slapped, punched, kicked. Beau took it all, because if it was happening to him it wasn’t happening to his mother, who was struggling to put food on the table and keep the house.  He never said a word to her about what he was enduring, he knew the weight that would put upon her shoulders. So, he kept his mouth shut and he endured every single beating his father doled out.

“Yea,” You tell Solomon as you clasp the coffee cup to your chest. “I think about it all of the time these days.”

The comparisons to now and then, the powerlessness of both situations, the physicality of it. It runs a lot deeper than what happened to him in Syria, it taps into something visceral, an emulation of his past. Right now Beau is that scared little boy, torn between the horrific things that happened to him back them and the torture he suffered in Syria. You realise he’s stuck, reliving his past, trapped in the present. He doesn’t know what the future looks like more, he can’t hope to look towards it because it doesn’t exist to him.

“We need a plan.” You tell Solomon. “We can’t keep going about this the way we have been.”

Solomon smiles because now you’re speaking his language. He hates feeling useless and if he can do anything to help Beau he will, he’d happily follow the other man through his world and the next.

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

***

When you come home that night Beau is sitting on the couch in exactly the same place as you left him. His gaze is distant, far away. You can tell he’s not watching the TV, not really. The images might be passing before his eyes but he’s not seeing them. He’s in his head again, reliving something that you’re not a part of.

You sit down beside him, but he doesn’t acknowledge your presence, he simply stares eyes unblinking. You reach out, bridging the gap between the two of you, your hand clasping his.

“Beau.” You say softly and it draws him back to the present. He tilts his head towards you, his dark eyebrows furrowing into a frown.

“Ally?” He murmurs before his gaze strays down to your hand.

“Where were you?” You ask him.

He raises his eyes to the ceiling for a minute.

“Syria.” He tells you before swallowing hard. “A storage container in the desert.”

It’s the first time he’s told you this detail, he doesn’t talk about what happened to him overseas. Everything you know has come from Solomon.

“How often do you back there?” You ask him.

You see his jaw tense as he swallows hard. You hear him inhale, it’s a sharp intake of breath and you realise that he’s trying to keep himself together right now because inside Beau is falling apart.

“It feels like I never left.” He says, his voice breaking.

“Beau.” You say quietly, drawing his attention back to you. “You can’t live like this. You need help, professional help.”

He pulls away and you know in that moment you’ve lost him, that he’s withdrawing from you all over again. You reach into your pocket and remove a fluorescent green post it. There’s a time and a place written in it. You push it into his hand, and he stares at it confused.

“You have an appointment with my counsellor tomorrow.” You tell him as you raise to your feet. “I’d like for you to go.”

“And if I don’t?” He asks you.

You can hear the challenge in his voice. He’s already going through the worse thing in his life, what more can you do besides leave and that’s a Catch 22, in itself.

“You know how this ends Beau; we both do. The bullet, the bottle or this…” You say gesturing at the post it in his hand. “It’s your call.”

Love Beau? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[hongjoongscafe]

I tried to respond to the post but tumblr was being a dick. Anyway.. a request: yunho is really into an older girl.. she knows of him but he’s just a younger dude.. thinks of him to be inexperienced and innocent. then, she sees him dancing in a parking garage with his group.. https://youtu.be/5A9EMLrURS8 she’s flustered. He notices. He rocks her universe.

I hope you like it. I think I went too far at the end🫣. Hopefully, it's not bad💓

Ma'am

Bitch hours

Pairing: yunhoxreader

Warning: big dick, unprotected sex, cum eating, older reader, clit slapping (only once)

...

You always saw that tall guy living across the street with his friends. He was young. How did you know that you may ask? Well, when you moved in, he was wearing a university jacket that he went to.

It's been a year and he passed out but still lived in that apartment. He looked so innocent and had puppy eyes. He seemed shy and blushy.

You had noticed him around a lot. And heard a little bit about him through the strangers who talked to him in the cafes you went to when he was there too. His name was Yunho. He was apparently a lead dancer in his group. You recently witnessed his twenty-third birthday. He was seven years younger than you.

From his looks, he looked like he never fucked anyone. With those little giggles and his shying away, you were sure that his dick was never put to good use. But he was young and you were already thirty. So you stopped thinking about it and tried to not get into it too much.

Oblivious to you, you didn't realize that Yunho was noticing you too. Your every single move was so obvious to him. He came to know about you the same way you did.

He was aware of the fact that you were older than him by seven years and surprisingly, he was okay with it. His dick was usually tickled by thinking about the possibility of an older woman but not that that woman was you, it always jerked up and asked for attention.

He wasn't into older women as such but something about you being older and so hot… He was ready to make sure you knew that he could control you better and be the perfect dominating partner.

But Yunho started to see you less. And less.

A few days later, you were in the parking lot of your building, coming back from your work when you heard music coming from the other part of the parking unit. You wouldn't care about it usually and go your way but something in your brain was telling you to follow the music and see what is happening.

To your surprise, a group of people were dancing. They were wearing similar black outfits with black shoes and caps. The synchronized steps looked so satisfying to look at. Not even long after, your eyes fell on a familiar person who was already looking at you. Your heart skipped a beat.

With the flow of the dance, he came in the front and locked his eyes with you and smirked, making your thighs rub against each other. His hips moved forward and his hands came down to his crotch as if he was fucking the thin air. And then he winked at you.

You didn't blink throughout the dance and only came back to your senses when you heard the instructor talking. You collected your mind and hastily walked towards the elevator. Getting in you took a deep breath but it was soon hitched.

A hand stopped the lift door from closing and there entered the tall man who almost dropped your panties by just smirking and winking. Your breath sped up.

You both stood there in silence. Your shaky hand pressed the floor number. His burning gaze was drilling holes into your skull. Inhaling some bravery, you turned your head towards him and exhaled a shaky breath after locking your eyes with his droopy ones. Lips supporting the slutiest smirk you have ever seen.

Knowing very well that he has nothing to do in this building, you knew your next step.

You fully turned in his way but before you could speak, his big hands pulled you by your waist and smacked his lips on your neck, kissing it to your jaw, cheeks, and the corner of your lips.

“Noona,” he rasped. “Going around looking so damn hot? Have you ever thought about me? How might I feel? You are always so close to going hot and yet I can’t touch you. You are fucking me up.” He sniffed your neck, smelling like vanilla and peaches. He licked it till his tongue reached your ear and bit your earlobe. “Will you let me devour you, noona? Will you let me get my tongue on your cunt? I wanna taste you, fuck,” his mental image was running wild.

Your moans were quiet and your brain was empty, still wrapping around the moment that happened. The ding of the elevator made you flinch. Holding his hand, you pulled him out and quickly opened your door and pushed him inside.

Yunho picked you up, hands on your butt as he stumbled into your home. “To the left,” you moaned as his lips found the sweet spot on your neck.

He opened the door to the left and turned on the light. Throwing you on the bed, he threw away his cap and zipper. Getting up on the bed, over you, he finally kissed your awaiting lips. They felt so soft and warm. His tongue licked your lips and entered your mouth as you moaned lightly. Your tongues mingled with his and asked for dominance but he wasn’t taking it.

He pulled away and opened your dress shirt and the black pants, adding them where his clothes were. He got rid of his chained-up pants. The big bulge was strained against his boxers, asking him to release him and feeding it to your pussy.

Your panty was uncomfortable against your wet core. He picked up your thighs and pinned them against your chest, knees touching your chin.

Yunho’s long fingers traced your pussy lips that were sticking out of your underwear. He buried his nose into your clothed cunt and sniffed your essence. His hands made quick work of removing it.

Not waiting any longer, his lips were over your pussy and his tongue licked your wet hole. “Fuck, ma’am,” he moaned at your sweet taste. “You taste so good.”

“More,” your hips try to find his lips back on you. He was generous enough to give you what you wanted. His thumbs parted your pussy lips and latched onto your throbbing clit. He moaned against your cunt, sending vibrations into your cunt making your brain go numb and pussy go crazy.

He sucked harder and nibbled clit. Your thighs were trembling just by this, making you closer to your climax.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gritted your teeth.

“Cum of my tongue, ma’am,” he slipped two of his long fingers in your hole, making you clench and throb around them. “Want your cum in my mouth.”

Your chest moved up and down, feet now resting on his shoulders. With a harsh suck on your clit and his fingers brushing against your cum spot, you came on his tongue. He lapped all of your juices. Humming at the taste.

Your brain was already going dumb.

Yunho sat on his knees, looking at your already fucked figure, trying to catch his breath. He chuckled while pumping his cock that was now out. Your eyes fell on his cock and you moaned, “that is so fucking big.”

“Yeah? I bet no one you fucked had this big cock, right?” he held your one leg and placed it on his shoulder. His cock was poking your cunt. He rubbed his swollen head over your cunt, making it wet with your slick. And then he entered inside. The thickness of his cock left a burning sensation but it was pleasurable. His cock could barely fit in but he made it fit.

He waited for you to adjust to his size. Although, it was hard to do so. Your velvet walls were so warm and wet and tight around him. It felt like your cunt was made just for him.

“Yunho,” you whined. “Fuck me.”

He groaned and started pumping into you slowly and hard. Your pussy was so wet and leaking onto the sheets. It made his cock slide easily.

His cock reached the places you didn't even know existed. “Fuck, Yunho,” your nails scratched his back, “cock so big!” his cock twitched.

“Noona!” he moaned. “Pussy so good. Wanna keep it to myself, please, ma'am.”

“All yours,” your legs wrapped around his waist. His cock went deeper. Your G-spot was getting stimulated harshly with every thrust. Your second orgasm felt around the corner. Yunho felt your cunt clench around him. He brought his hand between your bodies and found its place on your clit. He drew harsh circles on it, making you moan like a bitch in heat.

His hips started working faster and harsher. It was a benefit of fucking a young dancer. Your ah’s were echoing in the apartment, bed banging against the wall. His balls smacked against your ass.

You screamed when he landed a slap on your clit, making your whole body jolt up and pussy cream his cock. Your high was so unknown and strong. Your walls wrapped around him even tighter. He could feel your cum over his cock.

Your cunt was sensitive from the second orgasm. His thrusts were getting sloppy and harsher. You knew he was closer. “Cum for me,” your hands scratched his scalp. “Cum all over me.”

“Fuck,” he moaned and pulled out of you. His hands hastily jerked his cock and not so long after, long thick white ropes of his cum were painting your stomach, and chest. His high was so strong that some of the cum landed on your face too. Seeing you like that, his cock twitched in his hand.

He laid next to you, catching his breath. His eyes were unfocused and yours were focused on his side profile.

Feeling your gaze on him, he turned to look at you. Your face had cum over it. And then he saw your fingers tracing your chest, scooping up the cum. The same fingers made their way to your mouth. Your lips wrapped around your fingers and sucked the cum off of them. You moaned at the taste and your eyes rolled back.

He could feel his cock jerking back to life. Then he followed your fingers that were shiny with your spit. They swiped some cum from your face and instead of licking it yourself, you brought them to his lips and smeared it over his lips and entered your fingers in his mouth. He moaned around your fingers, eyebrows scrunched up. And then you removed your fingers and lapped your lips over him to lick off all the cum from there.

“You are in for the night… Ma'am,” he said and got on top again with his hard cock wanting the warmth again.

[mmmichyyy]

a.u.gust 2023 - day 4: teacher(s)

1.5k words of shop teacher!mickey & school nurse!ian @gallavichthings 🖤 posted on ao3 too!

Faculty meetings are–in Mickey’s opinion–the bane of his entire existence. Completely unnecessary, redundant, a total bore. Just send it in an email for god’s sake. Especially when the meetings are scheduled at the ungodly hour of eight on Monday mornings, an entire half an hour before he usually arrives at school. Well, twenty-nine minutes, to be exact - if the first class starts at eight-thirty and it takes him a minute to rush from the parking lot to the shop classroom, then he’ll show up right as the bell rings, not a minute more.

Except the new bright-eyed and bushy-tailed principal went to some new-age educational conference over the summer and came back brimming with ideas of bonding and connecting amongst faculty members. How important it was to foster a community and create an open forum and a safe space for communication–her words, not Mickey’s. 

As if any of the underpaid teachers give a flying fuck about any of that. None of them would've gone to the first meeting and continued to attend week after week without the bribe of free bagels and the not-so-subtle suggestion of possibly taking away the one good vending machine from the teacher’s lounge. The threat of losing easily accessible corn nuts and milk duds really was the reason why every person working at this underfunded Southside high school had to suffer through thirty minutes of mandatory torture every week. 

Mickey worked there for two years and never laid eyes on half the staff at the school or knew anyone’s name until these meetings. He stays in the shop classroom all day, makes sure none of the students drill a hole through their hand or cut themselves on a hacksaw, then goes home. But now, everyone from the basketball coach to the art teacher to even the goddamn janitor had to attend and endure the principal babbling about upcoming school events and ways to improve the school–like time and resources aren’t already limited as it is. 

What a colossal waste of time, Mickey grumbles to himself, as he strolls through the main doors of the school after smashing snooze multiple times on his alarm clock and begrudgingly getting his ass out of bed. 

At least his on-the-fritz coffee machine decided to work today, or else he may be prone to commit murder without caffeine this early in his system. 

But to Mickey’s luck, he doesn’t get two steps into the foyer before slipping on an invisible wet patch on the linoleum floor, crashing forward into what his mind registers for a split-second as a moving wall, which he practically bounces off of, if it's even possible to bounce off a solid surface. The impact causes him to stumble backwards and nearly collide against the glass trophy display case. 

“Fu– watch where you’re going!” 

“Oh shit, are you okay??” 

Mickey rolls his shoulders with a groan. Just as he’s about to unleash hell, he looks up to a pair of worried green eyes staring right at him. Turns out the walls aren’t out to get him - not this time at least - it’s a person. Not just any person, a man who is built like a fucking brick barricade with a firm taut body and fierce red hair that nearly causes Mickey’s jaw to drop in surprise.

“Uh…” Words. What are words? He didn’t hit his head, did he? Why can’t his mind form coherent thoughts?

Unaware of Mickey’s temporary brain daze, the redhead continues to ramble in an apologetic voice, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been blocking the entrance, it’s my first day and I’m a bit lost–”

“It’s fine,” Mickey mumbles, cutting the guy off. Not that he cares if he’s late to the faculty meeting, but he needs to not be here right now. But before he can make a quick exit–

“Do you know where the teacher’s lounge is?” 

Huh. A new teacher. With a body like that? Probably another meathead coach, Mickey thinks. To save his ego from continuing to make a fool of himself, Mickey wordlessly nods towards the east hallway, silently signalling the man to follow him. The man does, a bit too enthusiastically, much to Mickey’s chagrin.

Mickey hopes Clifford the Big Red Dog isn’t a talker. The teacher’s lounge is at the end of the hall around the corner and there’s only so much conversation Mickey can handle early in the morning. Especially after sustaining a possible phantom head injury. Especially after almost falling flat on his face in front of someone who looks like that.

But you know what they say about hope - it breeds eternal misery.

“Never thought I’d be back at high school,” the man chuckles. “But I saw the job posting online and thought, what the hell? Might be fun.”

Fun is definitely not the word Mickey would use to describe working at a high school. The very high school he dropped out from, actually. Life has a twisted sense of humour sometimes, but he’s made his peace with his current reality a long time ago.

“Are you a teacher here?” the man presses on.

Mickey grunts as a response. Quickens his pace, but the man doesn’t take the hint.

“What do you teach?” 

Only a few steps left... 

“Shop class.”

“Oh cool! I’m the new–” 

“There you are, Mr. Milkovich.” Ms. Tinsley, the principal, peeks her head out of the door to the teacher’s lounge. Looks behind Mickey and beams. “And Mr. Gallagher! I’m glad you’re here, I was starting to worry you might’ve gotten lost.”

Gallagher? Mickey furrows his brows. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but then again - half the Irish population in Chicago probably has the same last name. 

“I was, but then I bumped into Mr. Milkovich here and he led the way.” Gallagher flashes Mickey a grin, and Mickey tries to ignore the somersault flip inside his chest. “Hope I’m not too late.”

Ms. Tinsley shakes her head. “You’re just in time, I was just about to start the meeting.” She turns to Mickey. “Mr. Gallagher here is replacing Mrs. Farris since she’s gone into early retirement. Fell down the stairs and broke her hip, the poor thing. ” 

Retirement? Mickey doesn’t remember seeing any of the sports coaches being geriatric enough to retire. Or maybe he’s not paying enough attention to the stupid faculty meetings.

Seeing the confusion on his face, Ms. Tinsley adds, “Mrs. Farris, the school nurse.” 

A lightbulb clicks in Mickey’s head. Must’ve been the grouchy old woman with the Q-tip head and a permanent scowl on her face he used to see roaming the halls. He just assumed it was someone’s grandma who had gotten loose from the senior home and got her rocks off yelling at anyone in her way. Did the old bat fall down the stairs or was she pushed? The latter seems more plausible.

“Anyway,” Ms. Tinsley continues, “Mr. Gallagher here will be taking over as the new school nurse. I might get him to teach a couple health classes too, god knows these crazy kids need proper sex health education!” Both she and Gallagher laugh while Mickey cringes.

“I’d be glad to,” Gallagher replies with a smile. Glances at Mickey out of the corner of his eye. “Sex education is very important.”

No. Not today. Nope. Mickey slips past the principal through the door and quickly plops down on his usual seat in the back corner, silently praying the heat he feels under his skin isn’t reflective of how red his cheeks are. What the hell has gotten into him? 

And because the universe is fucking with him, the only empty seat left is directly beside him. Mickey stares straight ahead and pointedly avoids Gallagher’s gaze as the principal starts the meeting.

“First thing on the agenda: the school bake sale! Who wants to volunteer?”

“Hey,” Gallagher whispers in a low voice, so only Mickey can hear him above the surrounding chatter, “my first name’s Ian by the way.” Leans in close, hot breath fanning Mickey’s ear, sending a shiver down Mickey’s spine. “Maybe you can show me around sometime?”

Mickey should ignore him. Ian. Pretend to be fascinated by fundraisers or pep rallies or whatever the fuck Ms. Tinsley is droning on about. Definitely not focus on the hopeful tone in his voice. Tell Ian to fuck off and leave him alone, like everyone else in the school has learned to do.

But maybe Mickey woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Or the right one? Or he’s in an alternate reality? Or maybe someone drugged his coffee this morning? 

Or maybe it’s his lucky day?

Because against his better judgement, Mickey angles his head to the side. Pretends to be nonchalant and shrugs in agreement. Tries to bite down his own smile from seeing the way Ian’s face entirely lights up, all eager and warm and full of light.

Maybe eternal misery isn’t the only outcome to spring from hope.

[wiltf]

very few times in their lives thus far had seven maintained being the responsible party. he had vlad, having spent the better part of the night as good cop. the specific ringtone, just for the walking lamb, had gone off at quarter to 2, emojis signifying she was still alive. enough gatorade to swim in packed into the walls of the car, because the lamb was always prepared, but in the front seat—

“oh, she’s here?”

jennifer looked like she had definitely spent her afternoon busy, but at least she hadn’t lost her scrunchie between then and now. simply seemed to have taken a new shirt, this one too long, while balancing her heels off her little fingers. with several clicks of her nails on the screen, jen slides into the back without so much as another look at seven’s current—

he doesn’t think about current girlfriend, as he throws the car into reverse. that was just jen talking there, as she would snap and pop gum over the counter and make a complaint or another about his dating life. she never remembered the names — or at least, seven was sure of that. they were just removable fixtures to her. ones she’d squeeze past backstage to get to the mic, never spared a second, never seemed to think he would make it past the first few weeks.

but seven doesn’t think about all that. attentive on the road, eyes not flicking into the rearview, not noticing how jen had her feet up on the seat, boring a hole into her phone, one bottle tucked under her chin. his lip doesn’t curl into a smile, and he doesn’t flinch as his girlfriend, not just current, slides her hand in his.

jen also thought it was hilarious that this one was called gem.

“hey, double-oh, i’m gonna need to get some plan buzzzzz” dragged out too long, never hitting the last note. if only because the voice in the back seems to dissolve into a series of mumbled and furious fucks; flurry of the phone keyboard filling up the space.

seven can see that gem, gem with a gee and an em, gives him a look, the raised eyebrow kind. he’d seen it before, and this time it was going to be different. not stop before the finish line, with a discussion about boundaries and how much he does for jen. that she’s taking advantage of him. that it would be good to get some distance.

this time, the brow lowered slowly. “plan…?” a mumble, one that trails off with realisation. gem’s hand leaves his, and it’s her turn to play at her phone.

looks like jen was right again. local pharmacy, throwing vlad into park. not at all focusing on how jen hops out, pops the boot, pulling out her bag of necessities. shoes, shorts, swapping out for whatever she had walked out in being thrown in the back. seven knows the drill, as he opens the middle console, finding the cash under layers of wrappers and receipts. the rubber band had snapped the first time they’d ended up here, and it was different then. she was in tears, and that was their small profit from the earlier gigs. so seven had tied it into a shitty bow, symbolic of fixing things, and well,

he holds it out the window, now, today. and jen floats by and in. gone in sixty seconds.

gem shifts to look at him. turns herself as much as the belt would let her. “should i expect this often?”

“what do you mean?”

“like… calls in the afternoon to pick her up and take her to—i mean just. are you always going to be running to her rescue?”

it’s the emphasis that punches him. always was a long time, but seven couldn’t see it any different, really. so he blinks, slowly, surely. lets his mind think on a response before jumping the gun. “well, it is jen’s car.”

gem scoffs, like all the others had. rolls her eyes and pinches her lips and lets her hand hover over his on the steering wheel. “seven, you know i don’t mean it like that.” pulls away, carding her fingers through her hair now.

inspecting the ends of her hair, letting that silence grow. muscle in his jaw tightening, as seven can see jen through the window, inspecting sunglasses on a stand. if it wasn’t sunglasses, then it was ice cream flavours. magazines. weird keychains from that one gas station in the middle of nowhere. did it mean something, that in the glovebox right at this very moment, was a collection of all those things. all little mementos from moments like this.

like some fucked up memory box. and seven can’t find himself caring enough to stop a new addition.

with a click of his tongue — twice, thrice — seven starts up the engine. it would let jen know, like it always did, that she was right, again. that it was time to head out, back to hers only after dropping gem off with that promise of talk later (maybe). and here seven thought he might be able to cross that three month milestone for once.

out the corner of his eye, seven watches gem watch jen in the rearview mirror. jen, in her newly acquired shirt and hair in need of some TLC pulled up and out of her face. shorts that have holes along thighs and slides and throwing back plan buzz with a warm gatorade. lost earrings, bruises, grateful sigh.

gem meets him in the mirror, then. seven recalled how before they’d even started hanging out, dating, whatever, she had laughed about how she knew jennifer lamb was part of the deal. with a small dating pool in the specific area of hanging out around bars they played at meant everyone knew everyone. so gem knew, she knew, she knew and yet she was still gripping at the hem of her skirt like she didn’t.

letting out a slow, controlled breath, seven throws the car into reverse, and doesn’t get mad. doesn’t let that little pit open up into how he had tried, how she had known, and how gem had said it was okay. it was always okay. they all had said it was okay, they got it, if they had a friend like that it would be the same for them too.

seven pulls up out the front of gem’s and can’t quite let go of the steering wheel. doesn’t react when gem leans in, just nods. yeah, talk later. because if he looks, well. seven knew how it always went. so they give gem a five minute reprieve to get into her house, before jen fumbles her way into the passenger seat. feet on the dashboard, phone plugged in with the aux cord.

“was it about me again?” she asks, scrolling through their track list.

the headrest greets the back of his head with three solid thumps, before seven takes his foot off the break. “naw, you know it’s always something wrong with me.”

through the crackly sound system, which gets another comment about how this was the next thing jen was saving up for, she says, “you’re such a liar, sev,” as her phone hits the bottom of the cupholder and the window winds down.

end of conversation and seven turns the corner with a very simple thought of end of relationship, too.

[whumpy-daydreams]

Bloody Training

Masterlist

CW: stabbed, guns, mention of killing, training whump

Marcus was in a bad mood. One of the jobs had gone sideways before it even began, the target had somehow got wind of the danger and fled halfway around the world.

He didn't take his anger out directly - physical violence was reserved for training and punishment. Or discipline, as he called it.

"Again."

Rowena and Evangeline panted. They'd been doing the same drill for hours: two laps around the house immediately followed by target practice.

The gun shook in her hands as Rowena tried to steady her breaths. Bang, bang, bang. Each shot hit the target, one only millimetres away from the centre.

"Again."

She took off, sliding the safety catch on as she sprinted for the door, passing Eva on the way back in. Evangeline had always been faster than her - her long legs an unfair advantage that Marcus berated her for. As if Rowena could magically grow longer legs.

The cold air stung her nostrils, puffs of hot breath steaming in the afternoon frost. Her thighs and lungs burnt from the effort. As she started her second lap, Eva joined her.

"How..." Rowena asked breathlessly, "much... longer?"

"Fuck knows. Until one of us passes out." Of course she wouldn't be completely winded.

"Rather you... than me."

Passing out, or worse, giving up, would mean failure. And failure meant discipline. An excuse for Marcus to let out his anger. Rowena's jaw still ached from yesterday's 'training'.

When she got inside again, Eva only steps in front of her, Marcus was flipping a knife in his hand. Perfect.

Rowena took a deep breath, lining up the sights. She pulled the trigger with an exhale, a split second to appreciate the hold in the bullseye before searing pain dropped her to one knee.

Evangeline swore loudly as the knife plunged into her thigh next.

Rowena switched grips, one hand pressed hard to the wound to stem the bleeding as she tried, and failed, to keep the gun steady. Her next shot missed the target completely and she switched hands again, the grip slick with blood. The bullet hit the target, but only just.

"Again."

They didn't so much run as limp outside. Rowena tried to focus on the wound, pulling as much energy as she dared into her magic. Healing hurt worse than the knife and she screamed, falling to the ground.

Eva kept running, gun tucked under an arm as she tied a makeshift tourniquet around her leg.

Rowena didn't fix the wound completely, healing just enough to staunch the bleeding before getting shakily to her feet and hobbling after Eva. Bastard. Insane fucking son of a bitch. Her internal curses towards Marcus did little to help the pain.

By the time it was Rowena's turn to shoot, Evangeline was sitting against the wall, grimacing. Her aim was definitely off, the bullets making erratic holes in the target, but at least none of them missed completely.

"How long did you stop for?" Marcus asked, voice emotionless.

"A few seconds." Shit.

"A few seconds in which you could have easily been shot." Rowena resisted the urge to look away. "Give me your hand."

She tried not to show her fear as she held her hand out, flinching internally as Marcus gripped her wrist and angled the blade above her palm.

The knife went clean through, brought to a stop by the hilt before it was yanked out again. Rowena screamed. Instinct pulled her arm back but Marcus held it tight, skin turning white under his fingers.

"Go back to the target. Kill shots only."

Blood splashed onto her shoes, coating the gun in slick dark red. Rowena was forced to use her left hand, the fingers on her right not obeying commands any more, and tears blurred her vision.

The shots rang out in quick succession, and Rowena silently thanked the gods as each hit its mark. They weren't perfect, but they were kill shots.

"You aren't to heal that wound for 24 hours, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go clean yourself up. Both of you."

Rowena and Evangeline limped out of the room, heading straight for the supply closet to get bandages and antiseptic.

"Dick." Eva muttered.

"Agreed."

tag list: @i-eat-worlds

[shimmerbeasts]

RP: In The Tiger's Den

The metal ropes of the descending lift grated against the gears. Their teeth interlocked with low creaking noises and an ever-present rattle. The entire lift's drop could be felt passing through its walls, the floor and their bodies. Captain Campion had to admit that the feeling of stepping into an almost windowless, moving coffin would never get any easier, no matter how much the inventor claimed his lifts were safe and you could not get stuck with them.

Of course, the lift's usefulness was undeniable! Even though Campion did not bother looking up at the number display, showing the different floors, he could hear its rapid clicking as they were counted down. Stillwater Hold was a far larger prison than its already massive, fortress-like exterior let on. Not even the Captain knew all the floors, however, rumours said Clan Ferros had drilled into the very foundation of the mountain itself, designing each cell for maximum efficiency.

The vastness and depth of Stillwater Hold was not Captain Campion's concern. What was his concern, were the documents, he was holding in gloved hands. His one good eye thoughtfully scanned over them, lips pulled into a thin, mistrustful line. Those papers were for Inmate 516's release, signed by Councillor Kiramman herself. A bad idea if you had to ask Campion.

The injuries on his face had long since healed by now. However, the missing left eye and the large scarring, beginning at his temple, going across his cheek, partly his nose and down to his jawline spoke of just what a danger 516 presented. She had always been a difficulty, ever since her first escape attempt at the tender age of seventeen. Now that girl was a fully grown beast with a jaw-tight grip upon her entire floor. Which happened to be the floor, he was the Captain of!

Campion turned his head to properly get a look at the young Enforcer, who had brought in the release papers. It was a girl, roughly 516's age. She had long, shiny, dark blueish-black hair and a fine complexion with a thin nose, smooth, small lips and watchful, sparkling blue eyes. She wore the uniform of a patrol Enforcer as opposed to the heavier and more protective gear, the guards of Stillwater had to don themselves with. Her hands were holding onto a clipboard and she was idly fidgeting around with a small fountain pen, tapping it against the back of the board. Her expression was one of fierce determination and investigative curiosity. It reminded Campion of how he had been when he had first started out working on the force.

There was a soft ding as the lift came to a standstill. Above their heads, the number forty was displayed. The Captain exhaled the air with a low huff, stealing his features. His hand rested upon his baton. He had no intention of actually injuring 516, especially if she were to be released. The Chief had sent him to keep the peace, which for Campion meant mostly making sure 516 did not immediately take off - or worse, tried to injure the younger Enforcer. As much as the Enforcers liked to test the prison guard rookies by daring them to get close to 516's cell, these dares had not always ended pretty. Campion still remembered how one Enforcer had to get his fingers sewn back on in the infirmary.

The lift door opened and the two Enforcers stepped into the corridor. Captain Campion looked at the young woman as he said: "I hope you know what you are doing, Miss Kiramman. 516 is one of the least cooperative and volatile inmates, Stillwater has ever seen."

The days in Stillwater Hold tended to blend together. The rhythm dictated by the prison guards gave every day a sense of sameness. Times, where a day stuck out and burned itself into Pink's memory were rare, and even then those events hardly were pretty. It usually meant that she had crossed a line yet again with the Captain or worst of all the Chief warden. This normally meant a little "chat" with her, as Chief liked to call it. That or the hole. Neither of the options was very encouraging.

After Pink had learned of the fact that Lock had been brought to Stillwater and she had struck at his jaw - he worked for Silco; he was an ENEMY! -, Pink had expected the day to play out like it always did after such instances: With the infirmary tending to another wounded inmate and her getting the usual beating up from the guards for disrupting the flow of the prison or misplaced conduct or whatever lukewarm excuse they came up with so they could lay hands on her.

What Pink hadn't expected was some rookie Enforcer to come and interrogate her! The nerve of that little blueblood. Didn't she know it was pointless to ask Pink questions? The Beast of Stillwater never cooperated with the prison guards, even those under its payroll! And then that Enforcer had dared to bait her with 'evidence' from a crime scene! Pictures in a style, which looked suspiciously similar to the drawing style of her little sister, Powder.

Pink could have kicked herself for having fallen for such blatant baiting! Nothing on her in the prison record, my ass! It was remarkable how much the guards had learned of her in the years, they had spent together. They even knew she was looking for Powder. No doubt, those bastards had told that rookie about Pow-Pow's style to play with her emotions.

And she had fallen for the bait like an inexperienced sumpsnide! How empty-headed was she?! It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. There was no way that Pow-Pow had left those calling cards on crime scenes! Powder was not a criminal. Unless... What if those were not calling cards? At least not in the way things worked in the criminal underworld. What if this was a call for help? What if Powder was crying out for her? And she, ignorant brute that she was, had sent the one person with the bloody lead away!

"Aaaaaahhhh!", roared Pink and pounded a fist into the wall, "FUCK!" Her breath heaved and her muscles trembled. Over the rushing blood in her ears, the woman could hear the characteristic step call of Enforcer boots. Right. It was that time.

Inspecting her bruised and blood-splattered knuckles, Pink's breath left her lips in a soft pant. Her expression hardened and her fists tightened. However, she then lowered her hands, uncurled her fingers and while staring at the wall, not caring to meet the Enforcer's eyes - she knew it was Campion; it had to be -, Pink spoke: "Whatever it is, just get on with it. I am not in the mood for games tonight."

Starter for @ferinehuntress.

[homenecromancer]

i am incapable of judging how comfortable other ppl are with reading about medical issues, sorry if this readmore doesn’t work, this is a needlessly detailed post bc this blog is partly my diary lmao

recap: in October 2022 i had a big fuckin abscess in my upper jaw above one of my rear molars (tooth X), which was incredibly painful and led to the coincidental discovery that my rearmost molar (tooth Y) had to be extracted. tooth X had previously had a crown placed on it, so draining the infection required drilling through that crown, performing a root canal, and then placing a filling over the drill hole. tooth Y was extracted and, over the course of almost a year, replaced with an implant

and then, late in December 2023, i started developing some slowly-building dental pain, seemingly localized to tooth X. last week i finally got around to seeing my regular dentist, who took X-rays and essentially went “…I gotta send you back to the guy who did that root canal, he has a fancier X-ray machine and will be able to see more”

and as it happened he was able to fit me in after only a couple of business days, so this past Tuesday, i went and saw him and he did a 3D X-ray. (ok. side note. this was actually done by an extremely kind, skilled, very pretty technician. which i tell you because “a nice lady tells me what to do” was a pleasant note in this whole lightly-nightmarish sequence of events.) anyway this was extremely cool to look at with him, because explaining what it showed required a bit of a basic course in looking at X-rays, and it was very interesting

unfortunately what the X-rays showed was that there was a dark patch of infection above the root area of tooth X. as he showed me, and explained: after the root canal (which was beautifully done), only the vertically-running nerves had been cleaned out. this probably left a small amount of material in horizontally-running tunnels which would have been impossible to see at the time. that material slowly died over time, leading to the infection. cleaning it out in a way that attempted to save the tooth would be fiddly, complicated work with a low chance of long-term success. yanking it out, on the other hand…

so he referred me back to the oral surgeon who had done my previous extraction — and as i drove home from the endodontist, my mom performed a minor miracle and managed to get me an appointment that afternoon with the surgeon. turnaround is never that fast. it ruled

the surgeon basically had a quick look and went “yup, that’ll have to come out, when do you wanna do it”. as it happens, i am away from work until next Tuesday, so i mentioned that to the scheduler, who said essentially “how’s Thursday [today] work?” and i said “YES”

fast forward to today, everything went much as it had for my first extraction… until i woke up and fuzzily noticed that they were still removing tools from my mouth

what had happened was this: they got in there and extracted tooth X, but noticed that the implant which had replaced tooth Y was attached less strongly than it had been (it was fine at my last post-implant checkup). the theory was that the infection at the root of tooth X had started to weaken the whole area. so, since i was still sedated, they called in my mother (medical power of attorney, for exactly this sort of situation), told her what was going on, and asked her opinion. she agreed with them — as did i once i was conscious enough to understand what had occurred — that it was best to take out the implant as well, let the whole area heal, and place both new implants at the same time

this has all happened over the course of a week from when i decided to drag myself in to go see the dentist 😑

[feelin-lo]

Leonardo Julius Milton Woods.

Useless Memories.

(Trigger warning for graphic descriptions of injury.) ⚠️

"It will have blood, they say: Blood will have Blood."

(Macbeth, Act 3 scene 4.)

_____________________________

While human memories fade, Vampire memories are stronger.

Is that the justification for the useless memories I have?

I call them memories but now they're a Blur. A smudge on the book that is my life, no faces show themselves to me. Not even a name I can whisper in an uneasy and broken breath.

It's like the man I am now, and the man I was back then, are locked in eternal turmoil. Forever battling one an other in my mind. But in the end, Like humans do,

He will lose.

I was born in 1737, To a Baker mother and Farmer Father. Though I can't remember their faces or their names. It's not a brave upbringing, but it's the remains of something sweet. I used to call them family.

I can't remember if I had siblings, all I have is a faceless figure with red hair and decaying skin, following me around cobbled streets that I knew so vividly .. now burned to ash. But in that ash, I remember entrails. Our streets weren't very clean. The butcher's shop often laid it's blood outside on the streets, swept away in the ongoing rain.

I can feel them rotting, Like an open pinprick. Not something you notice, untill it becomes infected....

Infection... I recall Infection.

"I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to Cure. I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm."

I remember... Bones. Tools.

I remember what I used to do.

"To alleviate pressure on the brain following an injury to the head, or to release evil spirits from the minds of mentally ill people, we would drill holes in their heads."

I remember... Opening the wrist of a woman and letting her go... The waterfall just left to drop to the ground as she later did.

Useless.

I remember... Flowers. Flowers?

A little girl would pass my office everyday. And give me flowers. .. why did she?

I can't remember... Why is the memory there if it's incomplete?

I was 19, I had no choice in the matter.

I wasn't a curer for long, only two years or so.

I remember being at his mercy.

Woods.

What I had caught wasn't uncommon. It was bound to happen.... cholera.

Bed bound, I would pray for freedom from this perpetual state of everlasting pain, the burning inside me, the sheer agony I didn't even think was possible untill I was infected with that demon. Then it got worse. Woods, woods his red eyes, I hadn't noticed them before. He whispered to me "You'll be a fine Servant." Then it got worse, I felt his teeth, ripping through flesh, Was that an injection? Why is the burning spreading? I can't keep my mouth closed, my jaw might split. Why did it end in an swift and painful climax? My skin turning as white as freshly fallen snow? My skin as soft as marble and as hard as granite, my eyes gained his tint.

Crimson.

I stayed with him... "Newborn." Me? How...? I'm 19 years old, not 19 minutes.

I had been cursed by a greater demon, in a state of everlasting death, an immortal in an immoral state that had outlived the weaker half.

Was I like him? A newly created beast of a man, a forger of death and a salesman of agony.

I killed 5 people that day, before my mind was no longer clouded by Red. This red veil that had masked my true wants and needs, my urges on a leash, dragged by a ferocious hunger that I was barely able to wrangle under a shaky and fragile hold.

He told me to work so I wouldn't die.

I treated my patients. Used their illnesses. Many died, I didn't care, everyone had to die at some point, some quicker than others. All their blood went to him. Woods. I lived off of the scraps.

One day, I found out that he was kidnapping Harlots and using them... For pleasure and pain. Using them and draining them.

Women, who had to turn to this life generally weren't with family and so, could dissapear without any suspicion.

The perfect lamb for the slaughter.

I remember an anger.

And my power... Awakening.

Floralkinesis.

I wrapped my vines around their necks and snap. They were gone. Their bodies burned. And I didn't look back.

I don't remember my last name, it doesn't belong to me now.

That's the Human's name.

I'll take his name.

It's the start of my revenge when he took everything from me.

My name now. Is Leonardo Julius Woods.

[thedreamsmith]

Forged in Dragonfire (Part 6)

Apologies for the time between updates! Between starting a new job and the upcoming HEMA tournament season I’ve been flat out. 

As always, feedback and comments are greatly appreaciated and let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

@deadbranch @mswintersoldier

~~~~

Edeline had given serious thought to not attending her next session with Aemond, fearful that the prince would somehow know she had acted upon her most base desires. That his sapphire gaze would spear her very soul; lustful thoughts and actions laid bare for his perusal and judgement.

As the Father would have it, she need not have worried. Upon entering the training yard two days later, there was no sign of Prince Aemond - only a lone steward, wearing the black and scarlet livery of House Targaryen.

The steward handed her a folded note as she approached before dipping into a sharp bow.

‘His Highness, Prince Aemond, sends his sincere apologies.’

She nodded in acknowledgement, sliding a gloved finger beneath the crimson wax to break the seal. The cardstock felt heavy and expensive – something her father might use to correspond with his bannermen rather than for a scrawled note.

I have been summoned to Dragonstone by my lady mother and will not return in time for this morn’s lesson. Meet me in the library at twelve bells - I find discussing theory and strategy much more comfortable with wine and warmth.

My deepest apologies,

Aemond

The handwriting was sharp and precise, with none of the extra flourishes that had become popular among the younger gentry in recent years. Her traitorous heart gave a queer little flutter as she came to the end of the note, where the prince had signed his name. And only his name.

A quick glance told her that the steward had not taken his leave, his face an impassive mask that she hoped meant he had not read the note himself. Had not noted the familiarity that was evident even when one party was absent.

With what she hoped was suitable nonchalance, she dismissed the steward and tucked the note into a pocket in her breeches, where it seemed to burn a hole through the fabric, impossible to ignore. Faced with a sudden expanse of free time, Edeline glanced around at the soldiers already training. It was easy to tell those who had spent the evening deep in their cups - that is if they had bothered to arrive so early at all.

*

Choosing an unused section of the courtyard, she began her usual drills, concentrating on keeping her cold-numbed feet from tripping over the uneven ground. A chorus of laughter went up from a nearby knot of soldiers and a muscle in her jaw jumped, acutely, painfully aware that she was the only woman in the immediate vicinity.

Despite her assurances to the prince, despite that she had never experienced a man’s cruelty - only her father’s reprimanding strikes - it was impossible for a women to exist within King’s Landing, within Westeros, without developing that vital sixth sense needed to avoid the particular danger that men posed.

So when she head the shuffle of footsteps behind her, she flinched away, drawing her sword close, a barrier between her and the rest of the training yard. However when she whipped around, her gaze landed on the startled face of a young soldier, cheeks still round with youth and flushed from the cold.

‘Easy, m’lady.’ The soldier kept his voice low, as if soothing a spooked animal, Flea Bottom accent roughening the ends of his words like a blacksmith’s lave. ‘We jus’ thought you might wanna train with us today, seein’ as the prince isn’t here an’ all.’

He jerked his chin, the gesture drawing her attention to a pair of soldiers near the arming rack, neither of them a summer older than her, if the wispy facial hair and abundance of spots were anything to go by.

‘The name’s Kevan. Ethon and Crann were just about to ‘ave a go wi’ sword and buckler but you can join in wi’ your longsword after.’

‘Just Edeline, no need for formalities.’  Stranger take her – she was acutely aware of the way her own aristocratic pronunciation sounded in comparison, enforced by her mother and her threats of a mouthful of lye.

Kevan must have noticed as well, for his brows rose into his hairline, a smirk ghosting across his boyish features.

‘As yeh wish, yer ladyship.’ Edeline scowled. ‘Everyone saw the way y’ knocked Warrik on his arse – haughty as a Targaryen you were.’

‘Not that it’s a bad thing, mind you. Warrik is a right cocksucker – pardon my language, m’lady.’

‘Edeline.’ She could sense that this would become a theme.

‘Truthfully, the bastard – pardon – needed a good thumpin’.’ Kevan continued, seemingly having not heard her interjection, as he led her over to where his companions were bickering over possession of a truly mediocre broadsword.

Eventually Crann – the taller of the two, also from Flea Bottom, Kevan informed her – won by virtue of his height, after he snatched the weapon and held it above Ethon’s head. With a sour expression she suspected was partly due to his loss, and partly due to his Northern heritage, the pasty soldier snatched up a sabre that had also seen better days and trudged into the makeshift ring.

Prince Aemond had not taught her any sword and buckler, so she had to rely on Kevan’s enthusiastic commentary on the friendly match.

‘Keep your weapons together, yeh useless oaf!’ The soldier beside her sucked in a pained breath as Ethon cut between Crann’s hilt and buckler yet again, snapping upright and out of range before the taller man could recover.

Despite his earlier loss, Ethon proved victorious in his bout; leaving his companion with arms striped with welts and a truly impressive bruise on his right cheek, courtesy of his steel buckler. However, the injured face and ego was swiftly smoothed over by promises of the night’s ale to be paid for by the victor.

And then it was her turn. Apprehension coursed through her as she stepped into the ring opposite Kevan. Her flaxen-haired opponent bounced on the balls of his feet, worn leather boots sending frozen pebbles clattering across the ground. Friendly bout or no, she was at a significant disadvantage; he had watched her train and fight, whereas his style was a mystery to her.

When Ethon called to begin, Kevan exploded into motion – a soldier’s brutal efficiency, lacking any of the elaborate feints or flourishes she was used to seeing employed by knights at tourneys.

The match was over embarrassingly quickly, her scant months of tuition with the prince paling in comparison to the gruelling training demanded of even the lowest-ranking among the King’s army.

Instead of gloating, Kevan offered her a half-serious bow, before launching into an enthusiastic explanation of her faults, with the occasional input from the others. His insight was leagues away from that of Aemond’s; a soldier’s perspective compared to that of a prince, although invaluable nonetheless.

To sweeten the prospect of a rematch, he graciously promised to stop calling her ‘m’lady’ if she could land a clean hit on any of them before eleven bells. Edeline did not believe him for a second, but readied her weapon nevertheless.

*

By the time Edeline had managed to extract herself from her new acquaintances’ raucous company, there was barely enough time for her to wash and change into an outfit more suited to being in the company of a prince.

Prince Aemond was already in the library when she arrived, a heavy book in his lap, dancing firelight gilding his features, a goblet of wine so dark it was almost purple held steadily in one hand.

He did not seem to notice her approach as she drew level with his chair, too deeply engrossed in a world of ink and parchment. The lines of script she could see over his shoulder were decidedly not those belonging to a treatise on martial strategy. A smile ghosted over her lips as she announced her presence with a shallow curtsey, before sinking into the upholstered armchair adjacent to his.

With a motion much like a startled cat, the prince snapped the book shut, a blush colouring the high ridges of his usually-pale cheeks. So, the youngest prince liked to read romance novels? How very interesting.

Aemond recovered quickly, hastily shoving the book out of sight and hefting a significantly larger volume from the table between them.

‘I must apologise again for my absence this morn, my lady.’ Blueish shadows darkened the space under his eye. Exactly what sort of errands did the queen consort have him undertaking? Tensions had been running high among the Great Houses for moons, everyone knew that. With the matter of succession to the Iron Throne at stake, she supposed it was only natural that Queen Allicent would use every tool at her disposal to ensure that her eldest son ascended to the throne, despite the rumours that the king had named Rhaenyra his heir.

The prince did not pry into how she had spent her morning, although she had no doubt that there were already fresh gossip of her unchaperoned antics in the training yard flying around the Keep. Without preamble, he launched into a detailed lecture on the very basics of martial strategy and the principles of how an army was comprised.

The wine was rich and warm in her belly, and the timbre of the prince’s voice alluringly soothing as she followed along with the occasional nod or interjected question. If only her tutors had been this lovely, she thought idly, rather than dusty old relics. She might have been more inclined to spend her time studying rather than covered in soot and iron filings.

*

Despite his obvious interest in the subject, and her desire to prove a diligent student, their conversation gradually strayed to other subjects. She found herself divulging details of her girlhood, seemingly innocuous stories that she had forgotten until precisely that moment; playing in the Godswood of her family’s country estate with her brother and sisters, the sweet buns that their cook made, the handsome duke’s son who had taken her maidenhead in the dusty sunlight of the stables when she was sixteen summers.

The latter was not met with distain, but with a murmured comment that he was glad that her first time had been her own decision. He did not offer up information about his own first tumble, and so she did not pry. Better to let him divulge the meaning behind his bittersweet smile and the thinly veiled pain beneath in his own time.

The prince’s tone grew sombre as he recounted the torment he had endured through into adulthood from his younger nephews, protected as they were from retribution by their mother’s status and power.

‘I can imagine that it must be…vexing to have to tolerate your nephews’ blatant disrespect in silence.’

‘Vexing?’ Despite the subject at hand, there was a note of amusement in the prince’s voice. ‘Come now, my lady, surely the Street of Steel has taught you more colourful phrases than that?’

‘Be as it may, may I remind you, your highness, that it is also imperative that I keep the two halves of my life separate.’

‘But you are not two people, are you?’ Aemond shifted forward in his seat, the pose and intensity of his gaze uncannily reminiscent of his uncle. ‘You are much yourself working in the forge as you are-‘ He waved his hand for a moment as his jaw worked. ‘Dancing with a sweaty lordling.’

She shot him an unamused glance. 

‘And yet there are precious few who would take me as both.’ She turned towards the crackling hearth. ‘A highborn Lord would not tolerate his lady wife spending her days covered in soot and stinking of the forges. Just as a butcher’s son would not be able to understand the intricacies that come with navigating court life.’

‘I am well aware that I am rapidly approaching the time where I must choose which part of my life I am to keep, and which I must discard.’

‘Hmm.’ The soft noise was her only warning as Aemond suddenly rose from his seat, one pale hand extended towards her. ‘Come with me.’

The young prince did not elaborate further as he led her through the sun-soaked halls of the Red Keep then belowground into a web of tunnels that she had never entered. The minutes passed in silence and darkness, the gentle pressure of his hand in hers the only thing she could focus on as they travelled under what seemed like half of King’s Landing. It wasn’t until the air began to warm that she realised where they were headed.  

The walls of the Dragonpit radiated heat as the tunnels deposited them into the great circular hall, topped by the enormous dome that was visible from almost every vantage point in the city.

The Dragonpit was the greatest building in the city, but even so, the enormous bulk of the largest living dragon barely fit within its sandstone walls. Vhagar opened one amber eye as her rider approached, the only sign that she was aware of their presence.

How Aemond had claimed this beast, had gained her loyalty at only thirteen summers…

Panic blossomed in her throat, setting her whole body shaking as she watched the great beast press her enormous muzzle into the prince’s chest. The scent that Aemond always carried with him was tenfold stronger here, a heavy mix of brimstone and smoke, a scent that she had not explicitly linked to his dragon until this very moment.

‘Do you trust me?’ His gaze was piercing, yet there was a vulnerability beneath that stole her breath. With a painful twist of her heart, she realised just how thoroughly this man was baring his soul to her. His very essence, a heart-bond like no other.

Even as her hands shook, she nodded, unable to speak for the unnameable emotion in her throat, in her lungs. She was made of kindling; a single spark would set her ablaze.

His hand covered hers, pressing her trembling fingers against the she-dragon’s warm scales. The great beast gave a low rumble that reverberated through her feet, settling deep within her and stoking the fire that Aemond’s unwavering gaze had lit.

‘I want you to see all of me, as I see all of you. There is nothing about you that I do not accept.’

Afterwards, she would not be able to recall which of them had moved first, only that his hands were in her hair, pulling her to him as their lips met. He held her like she was precious, like she was unbreakable. His mouth was hot against hers, like she had always imagined it would be, fire licking in her veins as his tongue traced her jaw, her throat.

The rumble this time was not Vhagar’s, but Aemond’s, building in his chest and into her own as she pulled him closer. Silver tangled in her fingers, night-dark leather under her hands as she sought purchase, a vessel adrift in a storm. She bit down on the soft skin beneath his ear, his answering groan its own reward as she soothed the sting with her tongue.

Aemond responded in kind, gripping her waist tight enough to bruise as he ground his hips into her stomach. She could feel his desire, the hard length of his cock a maddening presence with their clothes between them, only serving to fuel the desire that was building low in her belly.

Their breath came in heaving gasps, the need to draw air secondary to the need to explore, to press mouths to every plane and curve of the other’s burning skin. The dragon blood in his veins was infectious, filling her with his desire, his need to claim her in every sense of the word.

Edeline watched with fierce satisfaction the prince’s reaction to the undulations of her hips; rocking relentlessly against the straining line of his cock, and as she sucked another mark onto the pale column of his throat, she thought that the Targaryens were not the only ones to have claimed a dragon.

*

By the time they stumbled back to the Red Keep, both thoroughly debauched, the afternoon had grown late, and thin winter sunlight gilded the city sprawling beneath Aegon’s High Hill.

Aemond, ever the gentleman, had insisted that he would not take her for the first time in the dusty warmth of the Dragonpit. Although the suggestions that he had whispered into her ear as they made their way back through the tunnels, of how he did plan to take her, were anything but virtuous.

Edeline, thoroughly sick of propriety, had endeavoured to break his vow, sneaking her hand down the front of his breeches until he had been forced to crowd her against the chalky tunnel wall, wrists pinned above her head in a deliciously strong grip.  

Unsurprisingly, the walk back from the Pit had taken a good deal longer than it had taken to get there.

It wasn’t until they were back within the quiet of his chambers that the heat between them cooled slightly, crystalising into something far more precious. With a shuddering breath, Aemond slowly closed his eye, dipping his head. Wordlessly, she understood what he was asking of her.

Her fingers were steady as she eased them gently, so gently, beneath his ever-present eyepatch, tracing the shallow divot of the scar upwards until it bisected his silver brow. The leather thong fell away, forgotten on the floor as she cupped his face with both hands.

The faceted sapphire was without flaw, glimmering dully where an eye should have been. The flutter of his lashes beneath her fingers, the almost imperceptible tremor of his mouth as she breathed the word that had lived in her mind since she had first laid eyes upon the second son; least loved, forgotten by almost all.

‘Beautiful.’

Edeline stretched as far as she could, pressed her mouth to the corner of his gemstone eye. A beauty kept hidden from the world, a frightened boy’s heart laid bare for only her to see.

A single tear traced a path down his face, dampening her lips as she kissed him, far more gently than the ones they had shared in the heat of the dragon’s lair.

‘Marry me.’ It was not a question. He still had not opened his eye.

‘Yes.’ The single word rode a sigh, barely audible, but it was enough. His answering kiss was a silent roar, a challenge issued to no one but her. She kissed him back like a victory.

Like the shattering of a dream, a knock came at the door, and the wrath in the prince’s eye could have ignited the whole of King’s Landing.

‘Do not disturb me again, unless you wish to feel my dragon’s fire.’ His arms were braced around her, a dragon defending his mate. The thought aroused her far more than she expected.

The voice that answered was timorous, an adolescent squeak in comparison to her lover’s ire. ‘Your mother, the queen, has requested your presence in the throne room at once.’

‘Then tell her I shall be delayed.’ Aemond turned back to her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he lapped at the tender skin.

‘She insisted rather forcefully, your highness.’ The squire was clearly pissing his breeches at the thought of angering the young prince. But she did feel a flicker of respect that he had not yet turned tail and fled.

‘We will continue this afterwards, I swear it.’ She gently pushed him away, a flash of satisfaction in her breast that she had been the undoing of this beautiful, dangerous man. Sensing that he was still leaning towards locking them in his rooms and not emerging for many long, long hours, she pressed again. ‘I will join you, my love.’

The gentle endearment seemed to finally sway him - with a wordless grunt, he swept his eyepatch from the floor, affixing it in place as he strode to the door, flinging it open to reveal the indeed terrified face of a young palace squire. Confronted with a glowering Targaryen prince, the squire wisely chose to flee, his pounding footsteps receding down the corridor, presumably to alert the queen that her errant son was on his way.

‘We are not finished here.’ Aemond pressed a tender kiss to her forehead as they began their way to the heart of the Keep. Warmth bloomed in her chest as her took her arm in his. She believed him without doubt.

*

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 7

Part 8

[midnightscxre]

@napalmvein ˙[ Closed starter -- side thread ]

The sound of rolling tires on moist gravel pierced the darkness of the unholy hour. If it weren't for the dim light that barely made its way through the high windows of the old Spanish colonial house, gloomy evening would have mercilessly engulfed everything around it when the American muscle's headlights went off. Scarlet haired woman didn't realize how long she had been driving, the beautiful peaceful landscape where the crickets serenaded the moon, the tall grass swaying gently in the hot breeze, the edge of the forest stretching along the north side of the valley. . . she would have admired everything while keeping the oxygen in her lungs if her tunnel focus had not been on the red dot on the smartphone screen, which showed the destination of the entered coordinates. Clare fought with fangs and claws like a she-wolf defending her cubs to get hold of those numbers, to get the ' map ' that would lead her to him.

She never forgot to close the door and turn the key in the lock of her tin pet, now -- the car was left with the driver's door wide open, while the feet swallowed the meters. . . Blood pump was beating mercilessly, pulse hitting the soft skin, lower lip smeared with a blooming scarlet drips because how much the woman was gnawing away from the nervousness that was ripping the guts. She leapt up four stairs like a gazelle on the run, grabbing the door and gasping for air -- she didn't even let up, didn't take a break. A fist slammed aggressively on the door at least five times before a clear, penetrating voice joined the din. " Vincent?! Vincet open up! " the full name left a strange aftertaste on soft muscle, she always used the shortened version.

Worry poured from every pore as the seconds of deafening silence became a minute. A couple of thunderous fresh knocks, this time hitting the underside of the weathered mahogany door with the tip of her sneaker. " Vincet, open the door! " The palms were covered with a thin layer of cold sweat, the stomach was heaving bile. . . What if he is not conscious? What if the injuries are so dangerous and severe that it is impossible to make a sound, let alone reach the door? The thought injected a new dose of trepidation, dread possessing the hourglass shape as some ancient demon. Darting to the nearest window and getting on the tip of the toes, jade irises jumped from left to right in dismay, like a pink pong ball that players throw over the net. A thick layer of dust and a handful of thrown things obstructed the clear view. Few curses fell between the gritted teeth as she lunged at the door again, ready to break the lock with a porch chair.

Clink

Like an angel's trumpet, the sound of the door unlocking froze her in place with relief, but that feeling evaporated like water in the burning sun when she saw a beautiful face full of cuts, a swollen eye, a stooped posture that was not at all characteristic of this man who exuded strength. .Fatigue, exhaustion, pain, and confusion marred everything that normally graced his attitude... drilling a hole in the readhead's heart. " Vinc. . . wha. . . " eyes glazed with teardrops caused by tremendous concern by witnessing Vince's agony, scanned him anxiously. Darting toward the man, delicate hand pressed on the prominent jaw, lifting his head up, other slipping under the ribs as if she wanted to hold him upright. " What happened?! Why aren't you in a damn hospital? " Pointless questions, knowing answer to both, but refusing to make peace with them. Fury rose along the other unpleasant emotions of the harsh fact that Paul rather had Vince in that damn bug-like man's ' one minute ' care to save himself from suspicion from the real doctors. " Where else are you hurt? Are you feeling nauseous, headache, weakness? " Checking the pupils but barely making anything in the pitch black of the night, Clare tenderly lowered the hand to his chest then slid it gently to his ribs. " Are any of your bones broken? Can you breathe normally? " Fearing that his hunched posture might be the result of a fractured ribs, she continued to examine him.

[tragedyslayer]

Neteyam x female reader! Part 3

 Bare with me, having Neteyam and Shyla be the same age creates some plot holes, and honestly there are countless others but I'm trying my best lol.

Also I'm changing my mind with how I wanted to take this fic sooo can we just pretend that Shyla is permanently in her Avatar, and that I totally didn't write the complete opposite in part 1 thanks.

I'm glad a few people are reading this. It makes me so happy! It motivated me to write so much more lol, especially since this is my first fic. Y'all know the drill, enjoy!

Part 2 

Characters are 18

Word count: 1,484

Neteyam informed me that we got as far as we needed to on foot. Neteyam whistled and in a few moments an Ikran flew down from the sky. My jaw became slack, causing my mouth to hang open in awe at the creature descending in front of me. Lo’ak laughed watching me, before summoning his own Ikran.

Neteyam smiled, nodding his head toward the animal. 

“Are you ready?”

I returned his smile, replying without hesitation.

“Of course,”

Neteyam mounted his Ikran, he made it look easy. It was like trying to ride a dinosaur, no one could say the Na’vi didn't have balls.

The Ikran flapped its wings, roaring as he did so. I took a concerned step back, my immediate confidence faltering. Neteyam laughed, reaching his hand out to me.

Lo’ak had already gotten on his Ikran, not waiting for us before flying off into the sky. I watched as Lo’ak flew through the sky, I looked back at Neteyam, and he nodded. I stepped forward, keeping a skeptical eye on the Ikran before taking Neteyams hand. He pulled me up onto his Ikran, sitting me in front of him.

 He connected his queues to the animals. I spent my life doing extensive research on everything there is to know about Pandora, and the creatures inhabiting it, after all it would always be my home. However, seeing the connection of the queues was something I never thought I would experience first hand, it was fascinating.

The Ikran rose without a word from Neteyam, I gasped feeling my stomach drop at the sudden elevation. Neteyam hovered his hands over my thighs, which somehow made my stomach turn more than the Ikran.

“I've got you,”

He reassured quietly, once again I was too busy focusing on not dying to comprehend how close I was to Neteyam. I turned my head slightly in his direction, his own face was over my shoulder, watching the sky in front of us. My skin flushed, I wondered if my blue skin would turn as red as my human skin tended to do. Why was I so whipped by Jake sully's son, my father would personally destroy the entire planet if he knew.

We soared through the air, my day just kept getting more and more unbelievable. I leaned against Neteyams back, needing to feel support, the rational part of my brain was telling me I would fall to my death any second.

Neteyams breath hitched as Shyla leaned her weight onto him. He gently placed his hovering hands onto her upper thighs, hoping the contact wouldn’t upset her. He looked down to her, reading her emotions the best he could. Shyla met his eyes, smiling at the boy, and that was all the conformation he needed.

Feeling more secure I took a deep breath, embracing the fact that I was flying on an Ikran on Pandora. I smiled before yelling in pure bliss,

“I'm flying!”

I shamelessly announced it to the whole planet. Neteyam laughed, holding me tighter, commanding his Ikran to suddenly dip. I screamed, this time in horror as we plummeted down. We leveled out in a matter of seconds, gracefully floated again, this time much closer to the ground.

Neteyam laughed, cackled even at my reaction. For the second time today my mouth hung open in shock, I'm surprised I didn't just piss myself. I turned as much as I could to face Neteyam. 

“I cannot believe you just did that!”

His laughing slowly died down, he shook his head in an attempt to compose himself.

“Sorry, sorry, I could not resist.” 

Silence settled over the both of us. I’m not sure where it came from, but a tension filled the air. I looked into Neteyam’s eyes, they were truly beautiful. I thought that he was beautiful. He stared back at me, I would give anything to know what he was thinking. Reluctantly I turned my head forward, stopping the moment, if there was one.

Neteyam almost sighed in disappointment before stopping himself. This girl who appeared in thin air, she was the most interesting person he had ever met. He never felt such a natural attraction to someone before, it couldn't have been right, but everything in his body was telling him differently.

A short flight later and I was landing in the Na’vi home, it was a cave system. There was much more technology and military equipment than I was expecting. It saddened me, I only vaguely remember seeing videos of the original Na’vi home, but it was nothing like this. And the reason for the change rested on my species shoulders.

Neteyam disconnected from his Ikran, hoping down and reaching up to help me. As soon as my feet hit the ground I looked up to see five people staring back at me. It was Lo’ak and the two young girls I first saw with Neteyams group, one was older, must have been close to my age. The other was the child that motivated me to save them to begin with. The other two were.. Jake and Neytiri.

Everyone in the vicinity was silent, I could feel the judgmental glares. I stood tall, as best as I could. Neteyam opened his mouth to explain himself, but Neytiri had already walked forward and grabbed me by the bicep, squeezing it. Out of everything I've been through today, this was the scariest. 

“Mom! stop, she's hurt!”

Neytiri seemed to not even hear her son, but I assumed she just chose not to listen.

“Wait”

Jake spoke up, taking a step towards me and his wife. I swallowed, not daring to open my mouth.

“Shyla?”

Jake's question made Neytiri's ears flatten, and her grip loosen.

“Is it true?”

The woman whispered, with her proximity to me I didn't think anyone else could hear her. I nodded softly, hoping Neteyam was right.

Jake and Neyriri exchanged a look, and the woman took a step away from me, a hint of guilt flashing over her face.

Neteyam stepped closer to me, taking in a breath before explaining the situation. The five people, who I could only assume were all Sullys listened, and Jake sighed, wiping his face in frustration.

“Your mother will take her to get her arm patched up, you are talking to me.”

Jake commanded his son, and I immediately felt bad. I knew taking me here would create turmoil, I was just glad they were willing to hear us out at all.

Me and Neytiri walked in silence, and she sighed looking over to me. 

“We are glad you are here Shyla.”

I looked back at her with my eyebrows raised, it took me a second to comprehend what she said.

“Thank you”

I was genuinely thankful that she said that, whether she truly meant it or not.

I was taken to their medical area, no one said anything, but I could tell they were all horrified by me. I could sympathize, I would be horrified too. But they accepted my brother, maybe they could learn to do the same with me while I was helping them.

They had just finished wrapping my arm when Neteyam came over. I thanked the women in Na’vi hoping it would seem more genuine before approaching Neteyam.

“I'm glad to see you”

I admitted it was refreshing to not feel hated by someone. Neteyam smiled at my words, looking at my bandaged arm.

“Are you alright?”

I nodded, shrugging off the question.

“It was nothing.”

He scoffed, not taking a second to protest.

“You cut three inches into your arm, and dug out a bullet sized tracker with your bare hands, that does not seem like nothing.”

I rolled my eyes, poking him in the side. He swatted my hand away and I smirked at him.

“And I would do it again before getting lectured by Jake sully the Olo'eyktan”

Neteyam rubbed the back of his neck, recalling the conversation.

“Yea you're right.”

We both laughed, and for the first time in many years I was happy.

Though I should have known it wasn't going to last long.

Neteyam pulled me away to a more private area, the look on his face made my blood run cold.

“What is it?”

My question wasn't above a whisper, maybe it was because I didn't want the answer.

“Spider-”

Neteyam started and I gasped, covering my mouth. I had forgotten about my brother, how could I? Everyone else from the forest greeted me when we arrived, but not my brother. I was too caught up in everything going on, he should have been my number one priority.

“Don't worry, he's alright it's just… he's with your father.”

My head lowered, and I cupped my face. I was relieved he was alright, but it made me sick that I was so close to being reunited with him just for us to switch sides.

Tag List

@liyahsocorro

@teenagemuffinlampcalzone

[antibigotwhumpblog]

Deadly Principles Pt.3

(Prev, Next, Masterlist)

Cw: Whump, Captivity, Toxic Christianity, Light Mouth Gore, Light Eye Gore

She was not at all shocked when he rested the cane by his side. They studied each other. Heleigh refused to break his gaze.

"I carry the strengh of God in me, you see," She reputed, "Child, He is all you need."

The blonde rustled beneath his grey suit, and revealed a vial of foggy liquid from his shirt pocket.

"I told you to stop talking," He growled behind his white lips, "You will keep your mouth shut in front of me."

He raced towards her, and squahed her jaw in his hands. Her mouth was forced open. He popped the cap to the vial, and splashed the contents onto her face. The horror of the pain blinded her, and she screamed. The liquid melted the skin of her nose, drilled holes through her tongue as her spit evaporated, and boils swelled underneath her left eye. She could only hear the sizzling of her own skin.She could no longer see him, but she felt the man adjust to her side, careful not to let his suit touch her. The ropes on her wrists spurred alight as he untied them.

He whispered to her, "I see no God in you. Watch how you fall."

He released the rope on her right wrist, and her body toppled over her knees. Her upperbody suspended backwards by her left wrist. Her armpit and side stretched beyond their limits, and her organs thrumed in anguish. She cried out, and attempted to curl her arm to no avail. She fumbled her right hand towards her mouth, but ripped it away when the children's tears on her tongue burned her fingertips. Funnily enough, she couldn't feel her tongue anymore. Her other arm dropped to her side now, and she pulled her head straight. The man circled her. Her left eye was sealed shut, and her right was semi blocked by a black veil. She could only occasionally see his leg. Her stomach panged again and again unrelenting. She was left desperate for a reason why. She didn't understand how she was supposed to convert this man towards the love of God, even though she previously always understood God's reasoning no matter who was put in pain. The all-too-familiar sound of bone swung through the air drained all the blood from her veins. The man hadn't untied her wings, and instead struck them with the cane. It felt like a sword hit her wings. Her body exploded with anguish. It was then she felt the inexplicable urge to fight back, and to harm the man behind her. That thought stopped her heart quicker than any beating ever could. She stared ahead in horror as he brought the cane down again. The utter terror never left despite interruptions of absolute anguish that made her scream. She'd pressed her palms and face into the concrete, her back on full display as her folded and tied wings were hit again and again. The man even risked contact with her to kick her wings with his boots. She had thought the deafening stomach pain was bad. Heleigh inbetween the torture could only think about the purpose. It was the highest sin to hurt a human, a child of God, when their soul duty was to protect and deliver them. This all had to be about faith. That even in lack of understanding God still uses his angels to bring lost human souls to protection, love, and happiness. Heleigh felt the moment when her wings shattered. She believed God felt it. She dragged her face against the concrete so she rested on her chin. Her body twitched after every ache. Her wings trembled. Her vision was limited to a sliver, in which the mortals legs and lower torso were present.

"Be ot afray. Go-d-s 'ove sha hea-eel your soul 'ike E 'ill my e-in-gries," She proclaimed.

The man glared down at her, "You, Heleigh, of all creatures on Earth, cannot guide mine or any soul towards clensing."

He acted as if he were in need of tongs as he lifted her off the ground by her wings. The mushed like liquid under his fingers. Her scream was cut short by unbearable pain, and then she shrieked. He pinned her to the wall with his knee, and stretched her arm to its corresponding bind so far from the ground. She crumpled against his knees in a mess of sobs. She refused to awknowledge his proximity and frail body. He said something once she was hung back in her cross-like suspension although he knew she was far too consumed with her own pain to listen. He scowled at the blood on his pantleg, and strided out of the room.

[yanara126-writing]

Constellations

Redcliffe lies behind them, the Arl saved and the city free of walking dead. But Warden Solveig cannot accept her success quite yet, guilt gnawing at her, for her reaction to Alistair's confession. He should have told her before. His royal status made him an even bigger target than he already was. She'd been correct in her anger. And yet, could she truly blame him when she wasn't any better?

"My full name is-" Untrue. "Was. Solveig Aeducan. Second child of king Endrin Aeducan and Olwen Harrowmont, Proven Champion twice over, Keeper of the West Gate, Left to the Throne."

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Read here or on Ao3. (2738 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

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The usually comforting dark of the night sky was oddly stifling. The stars seemed less like glittering gems in a rock ceiling and instead rather like threating sparks in a powder chamber. Solveig was painfully aware of the uncanny softness of the grassy ground under her boots as she silently strode towards the edge of camp, heading for the familiar blonde head just peaking out behind a low hill.

For a moment she hesitated on the top of the earth mound, considering the view in front of her. Alistair was flopped on the ground, one leg pulled close, the other stretched out, every so often throwing a stick for a visibly excited but impressively quiet Barkspawn. He hadn't noticed her yet, and the dog was too busy jumping around and bolting after the toy, tail wagging in a frenzy. The urge to leave pulled at her limbs, pinching and pricking her skin, but she refused to give in and let it drag her back to the centre of camp. The nagging guilt, ever growing and suffocating as it was, weighed heavier than the long practiced impulse to shut up and show nothing. The endless, gaping sky felt only more threatening.

Feet securely on the ground she gave a whistle, sharp and clear, still unfamiliar but strangely easy on her lips. Promptly as always Barkspawn ripped around, sharp eyes glued directly on her own, tail wagging rapidly. Within a second he changed direction, leaping and bounding over the ground. He skid to a halt in front of her, just so avoiding running her over in his excitement. Giving the dog a firm head rub through the surprisingly soft fur, Solveig distinctly avoided looking at Alistair.

"Come to steal my playmate away?" The overly played up indignation only badly masked the nervous tension in his voice. Well ingrained instinct took hold and her feet shifted just a tad wider, shoulders backwards and back straight, portraying confidence with every muscle in her body before even turning her head.

"Don't worry, a good commander knows not to give orders that won't be followed." The dog barked happily as if in agreement, promptly panting blissfully as she scratched his jaw. With a flick of her wrist she tossed the stick back over to Alistair who caught it one handed, steady and practiced.

Barkspawn immediately whirled around, alert, brown eyes eagerly drilling holes into the man holding his beloved toy. Alistair complied, hurling the stick a good distance away, with far more force than during the previous throw. Neither Solveig nor Alistair commented on it.

As Barkspawn galloped over the plains, while the two left behind remained in awkward silence. The stars twinkled overhead, sparks floating closer to the fuse.

Solveig was certain her movements were no less smooth than in any other battle, but no skirmish had ever made her limbs feel this heavy and stiff. She sat down next to Alistair. Despite her best intentions her eyes went back to following the dog in his wild chase, even as she finally forced the words to be spoken. Letting the sparks reach the powder kegs.

"So. What you told me at Redcliff. That you are a prince." What an atrocious opening, far too awkward.

"I'm not." His answer was instant and downright petulant as he frowned and turned away. Solveig fought to stop her irritation from showing. Nothing would be won here by losing her temper.

"Yes, as you say. Though your human ideas of lineage make no sense." She shook her head in quiet distaste. Why would it matter that his mother has been a commoner when his father had been a king? But regardless, cultural inanty was not why she was here. "What I'm attempting to say is-" Just a second's hesitation as her breath caught. Too long, hesitation was weakness, failure, death. Her lips were dry and she had to acknowledge, perhaps she was weak. "There's something that is appropriate to tell you in exchange. Everyone in fact, but I shall start with you. As a token of trust." And as another such token she wouldn't look away from him in this conversation. She owed him that much after her outburst at Redcliffe. Shame of her own hypocrisy warmed her cheeks at the memory. Perhaps she had no right to her Paragons anymore but that was no reason to add on to her crimes.

This attempt at broaching the matter, pathetic though it was, seemed enough to catch his attention again despite his visible discomfort. He was still tense but at least he was looking at her again. "Well, you certainly have my interest now. What, are you secretly the Maker's daughter or something?" It was almost funny how incredulous he sounded. That single raised eyebrow, clearly trying at another sardonic joke yet not managing to entirely banish the boyish curiosity.

"You're not as far off from the truth as you seem to believe." The soft ground under her clenching fingers gave way far too easily, allowing her fingers to dig into the dirt, and for one irrational, almost hopeful moment she thought it would open and take her back, rather than make her face this situation. A coward indeed.

"What." Any notion of incredulous humour had vanished from Alistair's face, leaving behind only bare, brutal confusion in his raised eyebrow and blank eyes. Her last seconds of grace had run out.

"My full name is-" Untrue. Untrue. "Was. Solveig Aeducan. Second child of king Endrin Aeducan and Olwen Harrowmont, Proven Champion twice over, Keeper of the West Gate, Left to the Throne and..." Solveig's breath caught, rage and hatred, desperation and grief roiling inside of her. With effort she pushed the unwanted, unneeded, *unhelpful* feelings back down, voice and face left carefully blank. "Not quite heir presumptive, but it would be a lie to say my ascendency was impossible." At the end of the sentence Alistair was still staring, not angry, not indignant, but hopelessly confused. Looking for answers. She longed for the numb emptiness of the day after Trian's death. The Stone did not grant her her calm often anymore, spitting out the burning heat of anger, shame and everything else she'd worked so hard to bury.

Maybe he'd grown bored, maybe he sensed the tense atmosphere, but either way, Barkspawn came trotting back, beloved stick held securely in his mouth. She turned to the dog, clinging to the idea that surely doing her duty to another being in her service wouldn't count as cowardice for not facing Alistair anymore. Ready to throw the stick again she moved to grab for it, but the dog ignored her hand completely, instead flopping down with his head on her lap, seemingly content in drooling all over her. Slowly moving to pet him, Solveig could almost pretend she hadn't just laid bare all her secrets. And then Alistair spoke again.

"You. Are a princess?" His lack of anger almost irked her as much as the surfacer term and Barkspawn growled quietly when her next pet fell out a tad too harsh. Before answering she gave the dog an apologetic scritch and took a deep, slow breath. Finally, all the heat started bleed out of her with the breath, leaving behind only cold, tired, exhausted spite. Let Alistair have the ugly, stinging truth then.

"I was a commander. For a full day even. Until my younger brother murdered our older brother the crown prince, pinned the blame on me and got me sentenced to death in the Deeproads the moment he could."  And that was the core of everything wasn't it? Bhelen had betrayed her and at no point had she seen it coming. She'd been so busy with the idea of that young, light haired child always trailing her with constant curiosity that she hadn't noticed when he'd stopped asking her questions.

For a while they both remained silent, only the dog's quiet panting filling Solveig's ears, as the strange night's chill krept into her bones and her own thoughts threatened to choke her. What was she even doing here? Why did she care what this surfacer whelp thought of her? Aeducan or no, she had no reason to care. So what if she had been a hypocrite, he was a foreigner, a subordinate, and she was a dead oathbreaker. And yet...

Alistair interrupted her musings with his own. "That's where Duncan picked you up." That was one way of phrasing her cowardice. She had been sentenced to die in the Deeproads and she had refused. It had been her father's orders, not Bhelen's, yet still she had refused. The memory brought all the seething, burning rage bubbling back up. She took another deep breath, decisively stifling her rising temper and letting the calm of the stone ground her again.

"Quite so." Alistair nodded absently. And Solveig waited.

"Did he know?" A fickle question and one Solveig didn't have as clear an answer to as she would like. She frowned and bent to scratch the dog behind the ears, stalling for a few seconds while settling for an honest but not too inflammatory answer.

"He knew I was Aeducan and exiled. He shouldn't have known anything else. He offered to let me keep my secrets, though I have my doubts about his sincerity." There had been a few too many knowing looks and allusions to really believe him.

"Is that why you've been acting so cagey about-" He faltered, eyes glassy and distant for a second. "Him?" The word was harsh and defensive, almost an accusation, as always when it came to Duncan between them.

Solveig sighed. "I don't begrudge you your grief, Alistair."

"That wasn't the question." She could feel his eyes drilling holes into her head. No, it hadn't been, had it. But how could she explain it? For all her suspicions and misgivings about Duncan, Alistair didn't deserve to have the last image of his father figure crushed. That pain of knowing that the person helping you, propping you up in a hostile life, perhaps even loving you, was ruthlessly scheming others' downfalls behind your back, making the hard and inevitable decisions. And Alistair especially shouldn't have to become the same.

Slowly Solveig rubbed her hands over her face, dark strands, so different from her brothers' light manes, falling into her eyes. So it was that he dragged out one harsh truth after the other right from her core. Elbows on her knees, hands on Barkspawn's soft fur, she turned to him, feeling more exhausted than maybe ever before.

"We share the fate of rejected royals, Alistair, but we are not the same. I respect Duncan for what he did for the Grey Wardens and for you, but he was not my saviour." There was no saving her like he'd been saved from the templars. "It's difficult to explain to a human what it means for us to be executed like this. Either we die, slaughtered by the darkspawn, or we are cut off from all that makes us dwarves. Alive technically, but dead regardless. Solveig Aeducan is gone. Executed in shame and disgrace for dishonourable fratricide." He was still staring at her, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't understand. Of course he didn't, how could he? She grasped at the memory of Redcliffe, looking for an explanation on his level. "You told me you want me to like you for who you are, without your lineage. I am no one without my lineage. Without my duty."

That seemed to rattle something loose in him and he turned away, shoulders sagging, even as a spark of recognition darkened his eyes. He started fiddling with a blade of grass, distinctly avoiding her gaze. "Seems like you were doing pretty well anyway. You know, helping people, fighting the blight. All that."

"Does it?" Solveig sighed again, almost surprised she l had any air left in her lungs with how much this evening seemed to delight in stealing it from her. "I don't care about these people, Alistair. I have no stake in all of this. I might as well be a walking corpse like all the others in Redcliffe. I'm only helping as you call it because it's the obvious thing to do. A red thread to follow. Until it cuts. The thirty year limit doesn't scare me. The thirty years do." The blade of grass between his fingers ripped. Without comment she handed him the stick the dog had forgotten about. He took it without looking up and started fiddling with it instead.

She'd said her piece. Had told him what she came here for and truthfully much more. There was no reason to stay sitting here, on the too soft ground in the too heavy silence. And yet she stayed seated, pinned down by something that had nothing to do with the dog in her lap. Solveig watched Alistair as he listlessly twirled the stick between his fingers, light hair falling into his eyes. She couldn't just leave him like this.

A strange, almost nervous desperation took hold of her to try and make him understand- something. Anything to not make him think she was rejecting him. Licking her once again dry lips she searched for the right words that continued to elude her. "Look I- I do understand. What you find in the Grey Wardens. But I cannot, because I didn't choose this. I was supposed to have a trial. And if not that at least period of grace after the sentencing. I would have joined the Legion of the Dead." But of course Bhelen couldn't have left her even that. He'd never been sloppy and letting her join the Legion would have given her opportunities far too dangerous to allow.

Too late she noticed her mistake as Alistair glanced over and narrowed his eyes at her. "The what now?"

For the what felt like the millionth time she struggled to explain what had always been obvious to her. Sometimes it felt like she'd spoken more exclusively in explanations in these last few weeks on the surface than she had in all her years before. "The Legion of the Dead. They are... Similar to the wardens I suppose." A revelation puzzeling to herself as well, but one that she couldn't deny once uttered. "A last haven for all those society would or could not keep to retain some of their dignity. No matter your sentence, it is fulfilled when you join the Legion. You die, your crimes are repaid. And then you eventually die physically, for the protection of Orzammer. I died. I wasn't given the opportunity to at least do so honourably. So now I'm here. Cut off from all that makes me, dying a human death."

But those clearly hadn't been the right words. Instead of calming down Alistair only seemed to grow more agitated, chewing on his bottom lip and stabbing the ground with the stick a few times before leaving it there and placing his head onto his hands. "Yeah. Alright. No, you're right, I don't get it. But just..." He glanced at her almost helplessly. "Look maybe it doesn't mean anything but maybe this can be your new duty? The new Solveig? I know there's only me left now, and the Wardens aren't your Legion, but that has to count for something, right? I'm not really a full kingdom but hey if it helps, I can be your new subject."

"That's not the point, Alistair." She wished she could answer him differently. Give him the right words to understand, to explain that it had never been about the throne, about ruling why wouldn't Trian and Bhelen understand

But in the end it was only her here, alone and again without a way to explain.

"No. I guess not." He didn't argue, didn't yell or tell her off, just sank back into himself, the words as understanding as they were despairing. There was something about him, all slumped there on a strange ground under a non-existent ceiling, trying to be something familiar to her. For her. Grabbing a fistful of the ground again, she thought, maybe, just maybe she could try one more thing.

"But thanks, Alistair." It wasn't good. It wasn't alright. But maybe, with the way he put his hand on hers and sat a little bit straighter, it was enough for now.

"You're welcome, Solveig."