#but it IS what often prompts me to consider 'how come I don't vibe with this?'

[waitingforsecretsouls]

Disclaimer that I might be wrong about this, only personal impressions etc., but I feel like there exists a tendency to often depict first age Galadriel as not only particularly distanced but also disdainful towards the rest of her kin, particularly regarding Alqualondë. Which is very interesting to me, if you consider that she's the one who gets a scene of direct and pointed questioning with Melian about the finer points of the exile and lies (even if by omission) to her face. Which occurs after she had already established a stable acquaintanceship with her.

Galadriel his sister went not with him to Nargothrond, for in Doriath dwelt Celeborn, kinsman of Thingol, and there was great love between them. Therefore she remained in the Hidden Kingdom, and abode with Melian, and of her learned great lore and wisdom concerning Middle-earth. -Chapter 13: OF THE RETURN OF THE NOLDOR

She furthermore also seems committed to letting bygones be bygones:

And on a time Melian said: ‘There is some woe that lies upon you and your kin. That I can see in you, but all else is hidden from me; for by no vision or thought can I perceive anything that passed or passes in the West: a shadow lies over all the land of Aman, and reaches far out over the sea. Why will you not tell me more?’ ‘For that woe is past,’ said Galadriel; ‘and I would take what joy is here left, untroubled by memory. And maybe there is woe enough yet to come, though still hope may seem bright.’ -Chapter 15: OF THE NOLDOR IN BELERIAND

Which is not to say that she couldn't have born a grudge about Alqualondë, but rather that she prioritized unity among the Noldor and Sindar over acting on said grudge and made the deliberate choice to try and move on, even at the cost of her personal integrity (since she presumable started her tutelage while the first kinslaying was still kept a secret which is...audacious to say the least).

[peakyltd]

Hey Daisy 🤗 If the prompt "I forgot you were like this" wasn't chosen yet, i would like to request a fic for it with Tommy 😊 I loved your story Nightmare and would like to see more of your angst! Feel free to discard in case you don't feel comfortable/don't vibe with it!

Broken | (DARK!Tommy)

A/N: Apologies that it took me a while to write your request Isa! I went with Dark!Tommy for this one so I hope that'll be enough angst 😜 I'm not so sure about the outcome tho, maybe it's a bit rushed? But I'll let you and everyone who reads this be the judge of that! The prompt can be found in bold and italics.

Tommy Shelby x reader

Warnings: Manipulation(!), narcissistic traits, threatening, neglecting, non canon. It's not a happy story overall so please don't read if those topics are triggering for you.

Word count: 3700

She was wandering trough Arrow House. The place once filled with love and warmth was now replaced with emptiness and worries.

Tommy had left once again and she didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. She didn’t care, at least that’s what she told herself. She somehow still cared, way too much for her liking. Deep down she knew that he had her wrapped tightly around his finger.

She stopped in front of a portrait of him, taking the details in. They used to be happy and he had always been a great husband to her. Now he only spoke to her when he needed her.

Slowly but surely he took things away from her, things she loved. She lost her friends and didn’t saw her family anymore. Only his but they weren’t invited often. She didn’t realize it at first until she was stuck in the house. Their house. He told her it was the best for her, that she would be safe. He probably had it all planned out.

She believed every single word and now hated herself for it. How could she be so stupid to believe him? A sigh escaped her lips as she made her way further trough the house.

How could she not, she loved him and he loved her. They were married, you don’t marry someone you don’t trust. He only did this out of love… right?

She used to be an independent woman. He told her he loved that about her. She would never let a man control her life like that. She would never until she met Tommy, the man who changed everything. Above all he had changed her.

But after today she would go back to being an independent woman. To being herself. She had talked to a lawyer in secret and had him make up the divorce papers. She was ready to leave this prison although she was scared for his reaction.

She entered his office and put the paper on his desk. She didn’t had the heart to tell him. That, and she was too afraid. She knew he would call her over and make her explain but she didn’t dare to start the conversation.

After a quick glance at the office, she left and made her way upstairs. Once she reached the last step, the front door opened. Tommy walked in. Her heart was beating fast as she carefully peeked down to where he was standing.

His shadow creeped up on the floor as he made his way to his office. He looked tired and it seemed like he had a tough night considering the number of stains on his clothing. Her heart told her to go see him, to help him but her head told her to stay right where she was.

Maybe he was injured and needed her. But if he was, he had called it upon himself. She chose to listen to her head and leave him be. She walked over to their bedroom and entered it. Her body felt tensed, she didn’t know what to expect from him.

Before she had the chance to close the door, she heard cursing coming from downstairs followed by Tommy shouting her name. “(Y/N)!” Her breath was stuck in her throat, fear washing over her. “(Y/N) come here for fucks sake!” He bellowed. She had no other choice than to face him.

Her hands were trembling when she reached the end of the stairs. Tommy stood in the doorframe of his office, anger blazing on his face. She did not dare to look at him. “What the fuck are you thinking, eh?!” He shouted at her, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside, slamming the door shut.

“Eh?!” His face was dangerously close to hers. She looked up at him, his face was battered, a few cuts decorated his frame. “I can’t live like this anymore.” She softly said, afraid that he was going to hurt her. He had never touched her but he also was never been this angry with her.

“I can’t fucking hear you!” He yelled, his eyes boring in to hers. “I can’t live like this anymore.” Her voice was louder and to her surprise steady. “You can’t live like this anymore?! And why’s that?! I give you everything you ask for! Everything!” He shouted, she could feel his breath on her face.

“I’m stuck in this house because of you. I have no one left because of you.” She tried to defend herself. “I told you why, eh?! It’s the best for you!” Tommy stepped away from her, taking his glass of whiskey he had filled before. “And that you have no one left is not my fucking fault now, is it?!”

She looked at him, tears filling her sight. “Then whose is it? Because I’ve always looked out for my friends, my family.” Tommy took a sip, hoping the burning liquid would calm him down a bit. “Perhaps you did too much.” He countered.

“How could you say that?” Tears fell down her cheeks. “How could I say that? I just found fucking divorce papers on my desk, maybe you could try to explain that first?!” His anger rose up again.

“I think they explain enough.” She cried, looking at him. Tommy lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply before blowing the smoke in her direction. “So you thought, I’d just sign ‘em? Are you out of your fucking mind?” He sneered at her.

“I’m not.” She told him, her fingers nervously played with her dress. He looked at her, nothing but anger in his eyes. “Go upstairs. You’re obviously not capable enough to have this conversation.” He harshly told her. “I am, Tommy. Don’t act like I’m some stupid woman!” She yelled at him.

He laughed humorlessly. “But you are. Now go. We talk tomorrow morning.” He waved her off. She looked at him in disbelief. “I don’t want to talk tomorrow, I want to talk now.” She discussed as she watched him sit down behind his desk. “Go.” He hissed.

“If you don’t want to talk now, I’ll leave.” She stated. He looked up at her, cocking his eyebrow up. “And go where? You just said you had no one left.”

He knew exactly how to hurt her. The tears were still falling down her cheeks as she stared at him. “Now go upstairs. Goodnight (Y/N).” He dismissed her.

She wanted to scream at him, hit him even but she just stood there. Feeling defeated after what just happened. "Wasn't I clear enough?" Tommy's low voice pulled her back from her thoughts. "You were." She simply stated as she left his office, making her way upstairs again. When she reached the bedroom, she was sobbing.

She was so disappointed in herself. She could finally tell him what she wanted but didn't. She couldn't. Maybe he was right and was it her fault that she had no one left. Was she really that clingy? Maybe that would explain why Tommy was barely there for her, maybe he was annoyed by her.

She sat down on the bed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She was going to leave, no matter what he said. She would find someone who would help her. At least that is what she hoped for, someone who cared.

It took her a while before she started packing her belongings. She still wasn't sure what to do. There were some things she had to leave behind, she wasn't able to bring everything and when Tommy would find out she sure as hell never got it back. So she had to pack the things that were the most important to her.

She came across a gorgeous green dress and stopped to let her hand slide over the fabric. It sparkled when the light hit it. All the excitement to wear it was gone. There was an important event next week, she had been looking forward to it.

Finally she could spent some time out of the house and hopefully spent time with Tommy but after tonight he would never take her with him again.

Her thoughts were running trough her head while she held the dress until a low voice startled her. "What do you think you're doing, eh?"

Tommy was watching her. She never heard him come in. "Nothing." "Nothing? So this bag packed itself?" He asked her, as he lifted the bag from the bed. His voice was calm.

"I'm still going." She confidently told him. "I don't think you are." He sat down on the bed, holding eye contact with her. "You don't fucking own me, Tommy. You're never here in the first place and when you are, you act like I don't even exist!" Her frustration and sorrow taking over.

"Listen, lov-" "Do not call me, love!" She yelled at him. Tommy sighed. "Listen, love. You know I do this because I love you, right?" He assured her.

"If you'd really love me, you would never treat me like this!" She cried out.

She didn't want to cry again but she couldn't fight her tears anymore. Tommy stood up and embraced her. All she wanted was to fight him off but she had missed his touch for so long.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N). I shouldn't have said those things." He apologized to her, stroking her back.

She gave in to his embrace and softly sobbed into his chest. "You would do it again. You do it everytime." She blurted out.

Tommy let go of her and put his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes. "It is because I love you and I want to protect you. You know that, right?"

Staring back at him, she didn't know what to say. She didn't even know what to believe anymore. "You know how my life is, love. I work hard to provide a good life for you but it's dangerous. So I rather put myself in danger than you." He explained. "Without me you wouldn't be where you are now."

"Maybe that would be better." She sniffled, her eyes scanning his face. It didn't seem like he was lying, maybe he really wanted the best for her.

"I don't think it would. Now come, you should get ready for bed. You don't want to look tired tomorrow when Pol comes over, do you?" He changed the subject ever so swiftly.

"And next week, you'll look amazing in this dress." He added as he tapped the green dress softly. "I'm not going Thomas." She began. "It's not even up for discussion (Y/N). You're going. If the evening goes well, I might sign the papers if that's what you want."

The minute he brought up the divorce, her hope had flared up. "You would?" She asked him, her voice soft. "If you go and behave, then yes." He assured her, stroking her cheek. "You wouldn't want to ruin our night, eh?"

"No." She answered him shortly. "Then go to bed and do your best." He had her right where he wanted.

The week had been very differently. Tommy was much kinder to her, took her out for dinner multiple times and even sat down to attentively listen to her and her worries. He apologized to her and told her that he loved her. She finally felt heard by the man she loved.

On the morning of the event she was woken up by Tommy who was standing at the edge of the bed with a huge bouquet of red roses. She sat up, confused by his sudden gesture. "I wanted to genuinely apologize for my behavior ." He told her while handing her the roses. She took them carefully, the bouquet was heavy.

"Thank you." She hesitantly said, now knowing what to do with it. "Shouldn't you be working?" She asked. "I decided to spend time with my wife today. Breakfast is waiting for you downstairs. Your favorite." He answered her, his blue eyes looking in to hers. They seemed sincere.

"Is this just because of those papers?" She wondered. "It's not. You were right, I neglected you. I just want to show you that I do love you." He told her, kissing the top of her head softly. "Are you joining me for breakfast?" He asked her. "Okay. I'll get ready" She answered as she admired the roses once again.

When she walked in to the dining room, Tommy was already waiting for her. She sat down at the table and found indeed her favorite breakfast.

"You didn't put any kind of poison in this, did you?" She bluntly asked him. Tommy chuckled. "No of course not, I'm not some kind of monster."

She doubted him still. "Here let me switch." He said as he swapped their plates and ate some of her previous plate. She finally gave in and started eating her breakfast.

"I get that you don't trust me (Y/N) but I want to make it up to you. Even though you might've already made up your mind." He grabbed her hand and squeezed it softly. "I promise you I'll change."

He told her many things but never these words. She hoped he was sincere with her this time because despite everything he did, he still had her heart. He was apparently the only one in her life that still cared for her.

He had planned out their day already, first they went horse riding together. It was relaxing to be back in the nature with her favorite horse. They stopped at the spots her and Tommy visited often back in the days, reminiscing old, happy memories.

When they arrived home, Tommy had made sure lunch was prepared for them. They enjoyed the lunch, even had a few laughs. It made her feel happy, like he was really trying to change for her. Finally.

“Would you like to go out for a walk?” He had asked her. “Oh... yes, okay.” She wasn’t used to this kind attention anymore, or any kind of attention in general. “Come on then.” Tommy stood up and reached out for her hand, she happily took it.

Once they arrived back home, it was time to get ready for the event. Many important people would be there so they had to look perfect.

She had put on her dress, had done her hair and was now applying her make up. Thoughts of the day going trough her head, almost forgetting what she had to endure these past months.

“Can I come in?” Tommy asked, opening the door slightly. “You can.” She answered. He entered their bedroom and stopped behind her. “I’ve got something for you.” He said, making her turn around.

“You got something for me? You already gave me roses today.” She said. “I know but I knew you’d like it the moment I saw it.” He replied, holding a square box in front of him.

“But before I give it to you, I want to tell you that I’m sorry for everything. Really. You are the love of my life, you have been ever since I layed eyes on you. I couldn’t imagine a life without you.” He told her passionately, he pressed his lips on hers once he finished his sentence.

She returned the kiss. It was sweet and soft, it had been such a long time that he showed her affection. His words had hit her hard. She knew he was speaking the truth, he would never lie about those things.

“I forgot you were like this.” She softly said. “I’ll do better. I promise.” He told her as he gave her the gift.

“Now open it.” He demanded softly. She opened the box, revealing a beautiful diamond necklace. A gasp escaped her mouth. “Oh my god Tommy it’s beautiful.”

“Would you let me?” He asked as looked at the necklace. “Yes of course.” She smiled. He took the necklace and carefully clasped it around her neck. “Now everybody can see you’re mine.” He smiled, pressing a kiss in her neck.

“As if they didn’t already know.” She stated as she got up. “I think I’m all ready for tonight then.” She looked up at him.

“One more thing before we go.” He said, moving over to the fireplace. “What might that be?” She asked excitedly, wondering what he was up to. Tommy took papers out of his suit pocket and unfolded them.

“These papers." He showed her the divorce papers. "What are we going to do with them?” He asked her as he pretended to read them, walking slowly over to the fireplace. “I-“ The words got stuck in her throat. “I don’t know.”

“Let me ask this differently.” Tommy said as he looked at her. The kindness in his eyes had made place for a cold, hard stare. “Do we burn these papers or do we keep them?”

“Tommy…please.” She pleaded, now knowing what to do. “Keep in mind what I did for you these past days, love. You can’t betray me after everything I did for you.” He simply stated, showing no emotion.

“And I appreciate it, I really do.” Her voice trembled. “Then I guess I know what to do.” He said as he put the papers in the fire, he calmly watched them burn.

She watched the papers go up in the flames, the color draining from her face.. He moved over to her and grabbed her hand. “Lets go before we’re too late.”

The car ride was quiet. All her hopes of a peaceful life had faded away in the flames moments ago. She had to think of something else. Maybe the gala could be her salvation somehow.

The driver stopped the car in front of the building. Tommy got out and opened the door for her, offering his hand. She took it, not looking at him, as she got out. "Come on, love. It's a cheerful evening." He mentioned, lifting her chin with his finger.

"You look gorgeous." He complimented her. She was forced to look at him and showed him a small, fake smile. "Now let's impress some people, eh? It would be good for the company." He stated.

They linked arms and made their entrance. A few people had already recognized Tommy and before she knew the endless conversations and networking had started.

If she wanted to have a chance to escape, she had to do it tonight. Her eyes scanned the chic space, packed with people. Her heart started beating faster, it scared her but she was determined to do it. It was now or never.

"Darling, would you please excuse me?" She kindly asked Tommy who was talking to some kind of entrepreneur. Tommy looked over at her, not sure what she meant. "Are you okay?" He asked. "I just need to visit the restroom." She sweetly smiled at him.

"Alright." He spoke before returning to his conversation. She made her way trough the crowd until she found a door that led to a long hallway. She turned around to search the crowd, trying to see if anyone was following her.

She was safe. She quickly entered the empty hallway and closed the door. She ran as fast as her heels let her. When she reached the end of the hallway she found a door that led outside.

Her hand reached for the doorknob as she heard footsteps coming closer. She hid around the corner, frantically looking around in hopes of finding a better hiding spot but she didn't.

If these footsteps belonged to Tommy, she would be dead.

She held her breath, not knowing what to expect. A figure of man appeared in front of her. "Can I help you miss?" He asked politely. She looked at him, a soft gasp escaped her lips. It was a waiter.

"I-I just need to get some fresh air but the door was locked. I'm not feeling well, you see." She lied to him, hoping he would fall for it.

"Oh I'm sorry. Guests are normally not allowed here but I'll make an exception this time." He joked as he unlocked the door. "Thank you so much." She almost desperately thanked him.

"Do I need to get someone for you?" He asked her. "Oh no, you don't have to. They know I'm here." Another lie fell from her lips, she really hoped he fell for it.

She stepped outside and waited until the waiter went back to the party. If she wanted to get away from here she had to find a ride. She didn't care where to as long it was far away from the place she once called home.

Carefully she made her way around the building until she could see the cars lined up in front of it. Keeping her body close to the walls to escape the lights that were lit all around the building.

A few people were leaving already, maybe there could be an opportunity to join them.

She anxiously came closer to the front, there wasn't much to hide behind anymore.

Once she reached the front she decided to just go for it. Asking the first driver she'd see to bring her to whatever place would come to mind. She stepped away from the wall and made her way to approach the closest car.

"There you are." A man blocked her way, grabbing her wrist tightly. She looked up at him and was met with familiar blue eyes. The blue eyes that once loved her but now scared her. "I was wondering what took you so long."

He knew. He knew that she wanted to run away. To escape him. "I think we should go back inside, don't you think?" He held her wrist even tighter, a small smile on his face but a cold look in his eyes. "Eh?"

"Yes, we should." She softly agreed with him. He let go of her wrist and placed his hand on her lower back, leading her back inside. He leaned close to her ear.

"The next time you're trying something like this again..." He whispered. "I'll make sure you won’t live to see another day."

Taglist: @zablife @brummiereader (I know you asked to be on the taglist of my new series but I thought you might like this as well! If you rather not want to get tagged in anything but the upcoming series, please let me know!)

[pupintransit]

Last week marked my return to work following my gender affirming surgery and it was surprising in ways i hadn't anticipated.

A few things have been easy to predict. For one, getting used to a less active lifestyle while on medical leave definitely impacted my stamina. Once i have a few more paycheques under my belt I'll splurge on a gym membership to work back up to pre-surgery levels. New clients and new coworkers were also pretty easy to see coming, but I'm fairly personable all things considered so that won't be too much of a challenge. Instead, what i believe i'm experiencing is a culture shock.

The first signal that things were gonna be a little different was the office bathroom. I don't know if it was because of the design of the toilet or how my body was shaped, but p when i sat down to pee when i was pre-op i had to aim my dick down more toward the bowl in case my stream did the thing (y'all penis havers know what i'm talking about), lest it hit the rim of the toilet. Obviously this is no longer a problem I have but subconsciously I found myself guiding my hand down to aim a penis that was no longer there. I think it was muscle memory being triggered from using the space when i was pre-op cuz i haven't had that experience before now. It was weird!

Something else that has been perculiar is that i think for the first time i've really been cognizant of my lack of cock and balls. I think it's because i'm up and about every morning instead of only when i had to go somewhere like when i was on med leave. Walking around with a buldge in my pants was distracting and upsetting because i was always aware it was there in a way that cisgender men simply are not. I don't know if it's because i'm out and about more often or if it's because seeing my workplace again prompted those memories to emerge again, but i catch myself occasionally feeling like i should have that discomfort. Like it's weird that don't have the hyperawareness anymore.

That's different from gender euphoria for me. It's more like a reverse dysphoria if that makes sense? The lack of a negative stimuli sometimes causes me to feel uncomfortable. Which is such a wild concept for me! I feel happier and more at peace with my body except for certain instances when i'm reminded that my body doesn't make me miserable anymore.

Weird for different reasons was hearing, seeing, and speaking my dead name again. I dont typically talk about the social aspect of my transition as often as the physical side, but for reference I am out and open as nonbinary. My friends know, my parents know, and the coworkers i had before going on med leave (as well as the few that are still around) knew. Despite my very masculine gender presentation i am perceived as transgender by the majority of the people I interact with.

On med leave i barely used my dead name at all, but because i wanted to wait until my name is legally changed before updating my work info it's still the same. Which means i have to intro all my emails and phone calls with a name i'm not longer used to hearing. It also means that the newer staff members who i don't have a vibe with to feel comfortable coming to just yet also call me by that name. Of course they would, it's on all my paperwork.

When I first started using my current name it felt foreign, almost like i was lying to people when i introduced myself to them. Obviously I'd been using my dead name my entire life up to that point so it was as much an adjustment for me as it was for other people. Now, having been in a lifestyle where my dead name essentially didn't exist, i feel something akin to culture shock to hear spoken again. Where previously my current name felt inauthentic and made me feel awkward, my old name now feels borderline offensive and is kind of a bummer to still use.

Now luckily the bosses and coworkers that i'm out to have universally been the chillest people about it. They put in an effort to use my current name over my legal name, and have checked my pronouns if they weren't sure. It helps that i work for a company that's essentially a charity organization, which attracts a lot of progressive-minded individuals. I can't say for certain i would have had the same affirming environment if i were still working in construction labour or hospitality, and i recognize that's not a luxury everyone has. Don't feel like you have to come out at work if you don't feel safe to!

Anyway.

It's been a smooth enough transition back to work for me. I never thought i'd say it but i was looking forward to going back. It was starting to get pretty boring being stuck at home!

[bunnidid-reviews]

CDD writing prompt losing time

How losing time feels and how I imagine it'd be written:

I switch once week on average or it could be more weeks than that, as a result I just don't notice amnesia in any recent memory. Dissociative amnesia often feels like a white void that slowly erodes long-term memories, and my memories end up looking patchy, like the bridges between islands is consumed by a thick fog.

I heavily relate to the amnesia depicted in Disco Elysium as a result and how memory and tidbits of the past is recovered, they're stray thoughts that passby in seconds while passing by familiar scenery or items or people or the weather. But if I'm not paying attention to catch them, the memory remains lost to me. And depending on the memory, a fun fact wouldn't take long to recall, a key memory would take hours or days to recall and often at a physical or mental cost while I subconsciously chew at it until I remember such as fatigue or brain fog. I don't end up recalling the memory like a normal person but rather as vibes with integral concepts with specific associations and phrases attached. Such as complex and uncimfortable feelings. The best way to word those recollections would be dadaist prose. So memories end up being very sensory

With DID in mind:

Honestly a big reason I struggled to consider I had DID was because of descriptions of falling asleep and "coming to", it felt very highway hypnosis to me so I never would have considered it if not for people noticing the long term amnesia and long term differences in my behaviour. I have a small but very organised system of distinct parts sort of structured very neatly, sort of like graphite molecules.

So the switching and identity alteration feels a bit like how movies and series have timeskips. The audience understands the gist of what the timeskip was about. The character experienced the timeskip, but it's never shown or discussed explicitly besides a vague "so I did this for X years" such as a timeskip from when the character enrolls then graduates university. You know the gist of it "yeah they went to their choice of school and studied there" which is sufficient answer for a stranger. But when this is the answer you give yourself, it does start to strike as odd when you cant be impersonal to your own personal life

Depicting alters themselves:

I wish it'd lean a bit more to a psychological body horror that wasn't full of jumpscares but rather just. Uncanny and offputting. Uncomfortable parts of the human condition. Sort of like how the transgender experience often feels like body horror (at least to me) because of this communicated feeling of "this is not right" and not being at home in your own self. Like the horror of this normalisation of losing time only for it settle and have the character slowly realise it's interfering with connections to life and within finding past photos or talking to friends, start questioning everything. Leaning to unreality

My parts that switch in and out including me often present irl as just "me but to the left/right". Though in paranoid moments these traits of theirs end up exaggerated out of fear, and I stop perceiving what they do as the body. Maybe different lenses that slowly shift like a colour gradation?

All this to say I find Disco Elysium very relatable

[alexanderlightweight]

So, I don't know if you're willing to take explicit prompts, and if you're not- please feel free to ignore this and you don't even need to reply. (Same for if this prompt just isn't your thing!)

But, if you're willing, I would love to see a fic involving public cock-warming, maybe in a way that emphasizes not just Magnus' general BAMF-ness, but also Alec's if that makes sense?

(Again, 100% no worries if this isn't something you'd prefer to write!)

I do take explicit prompts and i was happy to fill this. this is part of a bdsm verse au i started last week and i hope you enjoy it

also i 100% get what you mean about Alec also being bamf while submitting and i very much enjoy that vibe. so i hope this hits it right for you.

<3 lumine

NSWF

-

“Alexander.” Magnus asks, voice nearly trembling with how hot his anger burns. “Did someone just dare to touch you?”

The crowd ripples in surprise and then fear, as they suddenly realize Magnus is not there to punish his boy, but to praise him.

Alexander nods, face still twisted in a scowl of disgust, and he steps back, finally releasing the wrist he had crushed under his heel.

“Apparently, I needed to pay a fee to see you.” Alexander tells him and he tilts his head, a beautiful, vicious smile on his face. “Did I give them enough?”

“Oh sweetheart, you’re always too generous for your own good.” Magnus praises and he reaches out, letting Alexander come to him and his boy ignores his hand to simply step closer. There is a scandalized gasp, as if someone is shocked Alexander dared ignore his offer.  However, if his boy wants something more than Magnus’ fingers, then Alexander can have whatever he wants.

“I deserve a reward.” His boy tells him, a pout in his tone as he presses his head to Magnus’ neck.

“You do.” Magnus agrees, because he will always want to reward his treasure. “What would you like, beloved? Anything you ask of me, I’ll grant.”

There’s a breathless moment, because everyone knows that Magnus is not this generous and he’s not this gentle… but he is for his boy.

Alexander hums against his pulse and then wraps his arms around Magnus even tighter, his muscles clenching in an almost painful embrace that Magnus sighs over.

“I want your cock in my mouth.” Alexander demands a hint of brattiness returning to his tone and Magnus smirks against his hair.

Alexander waits obediently, as Magnus has told him, until a cushion is summoned for him and then he kneels, his head on Magnus’ thigh with a sigh of content.

“I’ll cut out their tongues before I let them leave.” Magnus promises, petting through Alexander’s hair. “It will be the least they deserve for talking to you in such a way.”

He won’t punish them for touching Alexander, it would undermine Alec’s own defense of himself, and Magnus won’t ever put that into question.

Alexander hums, nuzzling Magnus’ groin without responding and Magnus chuckles, hopelessly endeared by his sub’s impatience and his demanding behavior. Magnus unzips his pants, pulling out his cock and Alexander whines, impatient and nudges his fingers away.

“Greedy boy.” Magnus croons and Alexander kisses the drooling crown of Magnus’ cock and then slowly, takes him in until Magnus is sheathed in his mouth. Alexander sighs, as if in relief and nuzzles closer, his nose pressing against Magnus’ curls and his drool sliding down his chin and onto Magnus’ balls.

He’s a gorgeous picture and Magnus just watches, gently tugging Alexander’s hair every so often as Alexander elects to warm his cock, instead of sucking him. Magnus hums in pleasure and hook his heel around Alexander’s back, pulling him even closer so his throat hitches around Magnus’ cock.

“My good boy,” Magnus soothes, “keep me warm, darling. I need a distraction from the tediousness of this evening.”

Alexander hums around him, eyes sliding shut, trusting Magnus to protect him even after the display from Magnus’ employees.

For a moment, Magnus considers unraveling the offenders from existence. Letting them turn to atoms that he crushes in the fire of Edom, but then Alexander moans around him and Magnus settles.

The two fae that Magnus allowed the privilege of working in his club are now cowering, dragged forward by his magic.  He won’t kill them, but he will make them wish he had.

It’s what they deserve.

Magnus tugs Alexander’s hair as he stares at them, an offer because Magnus would never keep his boy from watching Magnus discipline on his behalf.

Except Alexander whines, a stubborn, soft shake of his head as he tries to choke himself on Magnus cock. He looks up, pupils blown so wide that the thing sliver of hazel left looks green, and his lips bruised and slick around the base of Magnus’ cock.

Alexander swallows, throat milking Magnus’ cock and then he lowers his gaze, stubbornly refusing to move and Magnus croons, scratching his nails through Alexander’s hair.

“What a good boy.” Magnus murmurs and he summons a small coal, the size of his pinky nail.  Magic forces the

“Something to make you more mindful of your tongues.” Magnus tells them coldly, magically prying their mouths open and a small coal is deposited on each of their tongues.

The screams of agony can be heard, even above the beat of the music and Magnus feels the pulse of the leylines Pandemonium is built upon, greedily absorbing the pain and desperation of his prey.

Alexander mewls in contentment, shifting closer, one hand curled around Magnus thigh and the other reaches up, tangling in Magnus’ shirt.

Magnus catches it with his own, bringing up Alexander’s hand to his mouth where he gently, with the most tender of motions, kisses each of his knuckles.

Alexander gets whatever he wants, when he wants it.

Magnus makes the rules and if the rest of the shadowworld dislike how he treats his sub, they are more than willing to tell Magnus to his face.

Magnus will enjoy showing them the exquisite error of their ways. “Alexander.” Magnus asks, voice nearly trembling with how hot his anger burns. “Did someone just dare to touch you?”

The crowd ripples in surprise and then fear, as they suddenly realize Magnus is not there to punish his boy, but to praise him.

Alexander nods, face still twisted in a scowl of disgust, and he steps back, finally releasing the wrist he had crushed under his heel.

“Apparently, I needed to pay a fee to see you.” Alexander tells him and he tilts his head, a beautiful, vicious smile on his face. “Did I give them enough?”

“Oh sweetheart, you’re always too generous for your own good.” Magnus praises and he reaches out, letting Alexander come to him and his boy ignores his hand to simply step closer. There is a scandalized gasp, as if someone is shocked Alexander dared ignore his offer.  However, if his boy wants something more than Magnus’ fingers, then Alexander can have whatever he wants.

“I deserve a reward.” His boy tells him, a pout in his tone as he presses his head to Magnus’ neck.

“You do.” Magnus agrees, because he will always want to reward his treasure. “What would you like, beloved? Anything you ask of me, I’ll grant.”

There’s a breathless moment, because everyone knows that Magnus is not this generous and he’s not this gentle… but he is for his boy.

Alexander hums against his pulse and then wraps his arms around Magnus even tighter, his muscles clenching in an almost painful embrace that Magnus sighs over.

“I want your cock in my mouth.” Alexander demands a hint of brattiness returning to his tone and Magnus smirks against his hair.

Alexander waits obediently, as Magnus has told him, until a cushion is summoned for him and then he kneels, his head on Magnus’ thigh with a sigh of content.

“I’ll cut out their tongues before I let them leave.” Magnus promises, petting through Alexander’s hair. “It will be the least they deserve for talking to you in such a way.”

He won’t punish them for touching Alexander, it would undermine Alec’s own defense of himself, and Magnus won’t ever put that into question.

Alexander hums, nuzzling Magnus’ groin without responding and Magnus chuckles, hopelessly endeared by his sub’s impatience and his demanding behavior. Magnus unzips his pants, pulling out his cock and Alexander whines, impatient and nudges his fingers away.

“Greedy boy.” Magnus croons and Alexander kisses the drooling crown of Magnus’ cock and then slowly, takes him in until Magnus is sheathed in his mouth. Alexander sighs, as if in relief and nuzzles closer, his nose pressing against Magnus’ curls and his drool sliding down his chin and onto Magnus’ balls.

He’s a gorgeous picture and Magnus just watches, gently tugging Alexander’s hair every so often as Alexander elects to warm his cock, instead of sucking him. Magnus hums in pleasure and hook his heel around Alexander’s back, pulling him even closer so his throat hitches around Magnus’ cock.

“My good boy,” Magnus soothes, “keep me warm, darling. I need a distraction from the tediousness of this evening.”

Alexander hums around him, eyes sliding shut, trusting Magnus to protect him even after the display from Magnus’ employees.

For a moment, Magnus considers unraveling the offenders from existence. Letting them turn to atoms that he crushes in the fire of Edom, but then Alexander moans around him and Magnus settles.

The two fae that Magnus allowed the privilege of working in his club are now cowering, dragged forward by his magic.  He won’t kill them, but he will make them wish he had.

It’s what they deserve.

Magnus tugs Alexander’s hair as he stares at them, an offer because Magnus would never keep his boy from watching Magnus discipline on his behalf.

Except Alexander whines, a stubborn, soft shake of his head as he tries to choke himself on Magnus cock. He looks up, pupils blown so wide that the thing sliver of hazel left looks green, and his lips bruised and slick around the base of Magnus’ cock.

Alexander swallows, throat milking Magnus’ cock and then he lowers his gaze, stubbornly refusing to move and Magnus croons, scratching his nails through Alexander’s hair.

“What a good boy.” Magnus murmurs and he summons a small coal, the size of his pinky nail. 

“Something to make you more mindful of your tongues.” Magnus tells them coldly, magically prying their mouths open and a small coal is deposited on each of their tongues.

The screams of agony can be heard, even above the beat of the music and Magnus feels the pulse of the leylines Pandemonium is built upon, greedily absorbing the pain and desperation of his prey.

Alexander mewls in contentment, shifting closer, one hand curled around Magnus thigh and the other reaches up, tangling in Magnus’ shirt.

Magnus catches it with his own, bringing up Alexander’s hand to his mouth where he gently, with the most tender of motions, kisses each of his knuckles.

Alexander gets whatever he wants, when he wants it.

Magnus makes the rules and if the rest of the shadowworld dislike how he treats his sub, they are more than willing to tell Magnus to his face.

Magnus will enjoy showing them the exquisite error of their ways.

[black-cat-aoife]

Tagged by @kathastrophen

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

somehow I need to write words before typing the number 55 because otherwise this very functioning website fucks up the formatting

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

77,339

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Sad Cops The last ones were for Blind Ermittelt, Detective Anna, Endeavour and Polizeiruf Frankfurt.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

In Which Everybody Regrets Their Life Choices (Daredevil)

The Tale of the Beautiful Professor (Guardian)

Tee Mit Folgen (Tatort Berlin)

Adam, Vincent und die Eule (Polizeiruf Frankfurt)

A Sickbed Visitor (Society of Gentlemen)

OK, technically there's another Daredevil Fic on 2, but it's a collection of shorter fills for a prompt meme so does that count?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes. I try to respond to all but occasionally fall in the "Oh yeah I will do that later" trap where I...y'know...don't do it.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I had a whole paragraph here, about how I don't usually write Angst and wanted to name a few sort-of-angsty ones, and then I remembered, that I did in fact write Never To Be Told which is very angsty.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

A lot, but Look Not Into My Eyes has a veeeery sappy ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

None yet

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Well, if you equate "crazy" with "nobody but me wrote it" then it's my Ein Fall For Zwei/Tatort Saarbrücken Crossover. But honestly: a crossover between two crime shows that feature abusive dads whose heads make sudden contact with blunt instruments and the resulting fallout from that is not particularly crazy. I also have this idea for a Blind Ermittelt/Allmen one, but as it's so often the case that's all vibes, no plot so far.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I once wanted to, and we even discussed some plot ideas, but then I got ghosted

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Yeah, Niko/Alex caught me like few others, but I also always will have a soft spot for Till/Felix

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Currently, I'm having a really hard time with my Alex & Sophie pre-canon fic, because it requires writing Alex shortly after the attack, and I am not sure if I can do that.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm quite good at character-voices, both in dialogue and when internal-monologuing

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Getting from one scene to the next. Also in dialogues the right amount of surrounding description. I tend to start off with a screenplay, and then turn it into character says one sentence, followed by three paragraphs of description.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I hate it. Either your POV character understands what is said, and then you can tell the audience what is being said, or they don't, and then you just write "they were talking in XY." Don't make me use Google Translate to understand your fic. And don't make me read phrases like heiße schokolade mit gepeitschter creme, because your foreign language knowledge also comes from Google Translate. (That is an example from an actually published book, but my feelings on that transcend the fanfic/pubfic barrier, and I also read enough bullshit in fanfic).

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter. As in write-write. I don't think I ever wrote down any of the Sailor Moon self insert I made up.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Hmm I wrote A Sickbed Visitor with me as the target audience in mind, and considering that, I am quite happy that it also ended up being reasonably popular. Because this is the fanfiction for a romance series that doesn't feature one of the main couples but the friendship between two halves of different couples. (Yeah. Having fun writing something is nice. Validation is also nice)

And Es Wird Wieder ein Sommer is well...it's not the same, because it is an Alex/Niko fic, and I always meant it to be one, but it's also about Laura and her relationship with those two and that was lots of fun to think about and write.

No pressure tag for @cricrithings and @tatzelwyrm

[tc-doherty]

9, 11, 19 and 20 for the asks! :D

Favourite OC?

Ithea, it's no contest! She's just been part of my life for so long. After her I really feel like Dante needs serious consideration because he was a side character from an RP in middle school who I continued thinking about and draw pictures of until I decided to put him in a novel like. last year. So obviously I really like him! I also love Gheist a lot~

Sum up one or more of your wips!

Well summaries of my work are very easy to access however I feel like when it comes to Silverwood I usually just do the sort of overall vibe, but I don't know that I've necessarily gotten into the core conflicts of each generation.

1st generation the conflict is between Ithea and her father on one hand and Ithea and her brother on the other hand. Her father is trying to undermine their race for various reasons and she sees it while others don't because she wasn't raised in that culture. She wants to put a stop to him and his bullshit but unfortunately only manages to turn almost everyone against her so things proceed even faster after she dies. The conflict with her brother is personal and if it weren't for his inability to let go of the past, she might have been able to get more done on the actual conflict that she's worried about but sometimes things don't go the way you want them to.

Generation 2 also has two things going on, there's Charlie who gets involved with a resistance group and ends up funding a failed coup d'état, and all the politics going on over there. There is also Cyan, Gavin, and Kaite who are inventing the concept of organized crime. As for the other siblings there is some information about what they're doing but it's not as important to this particular section of history.

Generation 3 is sort of a domestic arc where the siblings end up coming back together and deal with a bunch of emotional baggage, the world is at this point at least relatively peaceful so there's not so much political nonsense going on it really is just focused on the actual relationships of the Silverwood kids as adults and also their children.

In generation 4 everything goes to shit again and one of Ro's grandchildren leads a revolution and takes over the government of 2 separate countries before deciding that one of them is too troublesome and stays with the other one, prompting all kinds of chaos. If there ever is a generation 5 it will probably revolve around the inheritance rights of the throne that Rona abandoned.

What are some things that inspired your stories? Real events? Maybe a dream?

I am often inspired by dreams actually! I tend to have very plot heavy dreams that I remember well so I've used those on multiple occasions. Celestials, Magic Black as Knight, and Northbound are still active stories that are wholly or partially based on dreams.

Otherwise I get a lot of inspiration from the "wow I would've written a relationship like that so much better" LOL

What story are you the proudest of? Why?

The Ghost! It really is exactly the kind of book that I wanted to be producing when I decided to be a writer, I love the characters and the world building and the story, I think it's held up really well considering how long ago I wrote it, and it just honestly means a lot to me. It's really one that I wrote not just because I had the idea but out of sheer love for the idea and the characters and that love has not diminished ^__^

I'm playing this ask game!

[aldbooks]

Writing tag game by @bonecarversbestie !

Describe your writing process from idea to posting/publishing?

Ideas usually come to me in half formed thoughts which often get written in my notes app as half intelligible scribbles if I have access to my phone. Sometimes they get lost to the ether of my mind 😅

If it's an idea that sticks with me and I keep thinking about it, I'll consider writing it. Either I throw it out to some of my fellow writers as a sounding board, or I attempt to plot it out in my head. If it seems feasible and I'm excited about it I'll start writing. But those drafts don't always make it to publishing. I have a hoard of half finished drafted scenes in my files lol

Sometimes, a story starts from something as small as a bit of dialogue, whether it's something I made up, or something I heard. For instance my Gwynriel short A Friendly Wager was spawned from a tiny scene in one of the Doctor Who Christmas specials when Clara frantically asks the doctor to pretend to be her boyfriend for family Christmas dinner.

I like using prompts as writing exercises (honestly I should do another prompt request soon, they're fun and force me to think quickly) where someone gives me a line of dialogue and I write the first scene that pops in my head. It's good practice.

Some of my stories start as a bunch of random scenes I decide can flow together into a story and piecemeal them together. Sometimes I do a rough plot outline and let the story flow as I write.

I used to write in my email drafts because I had access to it everywhere but was informed that was insane and now use Google Docs 😂 Most of my writing and editing is done there before I copy it over to AO3 and do a last sweep through to make sure it looks good. Sometimes text effects like italics don't copy over and I tend to write using double spacing between paragraphs which looks crazy in AO3. I do all my AO3 editing using the rich formatting and only use HTML if I want to add something like a link.

I don't usually use a beta unless I'm unsure of how the story is flowing and want outside feedback to see if someone else agrees. No particular reason, besides I'm usually too impatient to wait for someone else to read it through before I share it lol

I like to make sure my AO3 stories are linked in my Tumblr so anyone who follows me can see when I post if they're not subscribed on AO3 and I try to keep my Masterlist up to date as best as I can.

Some stories have header pics or collages, most don't but I like to add a gif I think encompasses the vibe of that chapter or a particular scene. It's just for funsies 😊

Are you a plotter or a pantser?

A little of both. I used to absolutely be a pantser when I first started writing because I would literally make up my stories as I went and they became somewhat interactive as I would often use suggestions or feedback I got in the comments on previous chapters. While this was fun, it often lead to several periods of writers block because I didn't have enough direction, so now I try to have at least a rough outline when I start writing and build from there.

Still, you often find as a writer that sometimes your plot or characters take over and you end up veering off your original plan anyway...

What do you listen to when you are writing?

Depends on my mood usually. When I wrote my Gwynriel Cinderella story, I watched Rogers and Hammerstein Cinderella from the 90s in the background mannnny times. My mermaid Gwynriel stories I had music from movies like Pirates of the Caribbean playing. I have a specific playlist I often use when writing smut that I developed while writing a story about strippers years ago lol

What’s your drink of choice (while writing)?

Water usually. If I'm writing smut there's usually wine or a cocktail at hand as well.

Promote yourself! What’s your favourite thing you’ve written?

Oh gosh that's hard to say. I think the writing I'm most proud of is probably My Jolly Sailor Bold. But my tandem Gwynriel/Elucien story A Court of Light and Shadows was a massive undertaking I'm also quite proud of.

Share a fic of yours that you think is underrated/deserves more love.

My angstiest fics are of course what I'll recommend here

Like After Images; Her Tears Like Diamonds; Should've stayed Dead

Do you have any advice for new writers?

Do the thing. I totally get being afraid to publish, we all get that anxiety. But I promise, you will surprise yourself with people's response. Sure, there will be those who says mean things just because they can, but you'll also find a lot of love and support and encouragement and, occasionally, some helpful feedback.

Remember, no one starts out writing award winning stories. It takes practice and what better way to practice that to do the thing?

What is a writing style/technique that others do really well that you'd like to get better at?

Dialogue. I feel like I often get too caught up in the story itself, wanting to show the action that I forget sometimes my characters have to speak lmao

Is there a character you were surprised you enjoyed writing as much as you did?

Cassian. Not necessarily writing his character but writing his perspective. I can't say why, because I'm not sure, but often if I'm struggling with how a scene is playing out, I'll switch to an outside perspective, which is usually Cassian, and it suddenly works a lot better.

Thank you for the tag, @sadiegirl2021; @hlizr50; @thevalkyriesshadow

No-pressure tags: @sunshinebingo @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @shadowsxgwynriel

Writing tag game by @bonecarversbestie !

Describe your writing process from idea to posting/publishing?

I have a notes app called EasyNotes where I jot down all my ideas as I get them; bits of dialogue I think would work in a fic, interactions between characters (which always come to me just as I'm about to drift off to sleep) and very, very rough outlines of chapters.

Then, I'll word vomit onto a doc and copy in any notes I had.

Because I'm better at dialogue than describing the scene, I'll write out all of that first and then work from there to flesh it out. Like starting with the skeleton.

Once I have the first draft done, I start my editing process. I go paragraph by paragraph correcting spelling and grammar (I have a Chrome extension called LanguageTool), and then I play the whole chapter through another Chrome extension called Read Aloud. Because of my ADHD, it can be difficult to catch all my errors by reading alone, so hearing it out loud helps A LOT! Would recommend it. (Although the voices used are hilarious. Hearing your smut scene's read out by a monotone robot is slightly traumatising 😂)

Once I'm happy with a paragraph, I will add HTML coding to it - the <p> tag. In my head, it's just the easiest way to mark that a paragraph is complete. If I'm still not sure about a sentence or paragraph, I will mark it in red to rework. I also add all my <i> tags as I'm writing, so I don't forget about them later!

I realise I'm doing too much! But, I quite enjoy the editing process.

Once I get a chapter or One Shot uploaded, I try my best not to read it again so I'm not continuously making little changes.

Are you a plotter or a pantser?

I want to be a plotter SO BAD! I've got Excel sheets, multiple docs with outlines, plot points, and a solid plan. And then boom! The characters run off like a crazed toddler in the opposite direction, and all I can do is follow. So… I guess I'm a pantser!

What do you listen to when you are writing?

I have multiple Spotify playlists depending on the mood of the fic/chapter I'm writing. If I need to write emotional scenes, I'll put on some heartbreaking Emo songs from 2006! Or, if my energy drops while writing, I'll switch to 90s pop. Generally, though, I just listen to instrumental music. One of my fav playlists is this one.

What’s your drink of choice (while writing)?

Water. I am booooooring. It is sparkling, though!

Promote yourself! What’s your favourite thing you’ve written?

I think it's Hot Girl Summer. This was supposed to be a little funny, 5-10 chapter fic that wasn't serious. And it has spiralled into a multi POV, 40-chapter story with so much plot! I'm loving the process, though. And I think I will definitely have to get it bound when it's all done.

Share a fic of yours that you think is underrated/deserves more love.

I'm going to say Hot Girl Summer too. I think a lot of people aren't as interested in stories that follow both Gwynriel and Elucien (and sometimes E/riel or another pairing with their favourite characters) at the same time. I haven't seen many fics that do it, but they’re some of my favourites in the fandom, and I’m so happy to add to that list. If you're hesitant, I highly recommend giving them a try!

My favs are:

Call Me Home (by @propagandaprincess)

A Court of Vision and Bloom (by studentwriter666)

Best Laid Plans (by @trappedoutside124)

Do you have any advice for new writers?

First of all, just do it! It took me 33 years to build the confidence to try. For most of my life, I didn't think I was good enough to write, even though I had so many stories to tell. In my 20s, I probably wouldn’t have had the confidence to take the plunge. Writing opens you up to criticism (which I hate!), but I’m forever grateful that 99.9% of my readers have only ever been incredibly supportive and encouraging.

Don’t be afraid to use tools that help you. I know my limitations with ADHD, so I created a process that works for me. Everyone has a different method, and the right one is whatever works for you.

Finally, finding a community of like-minded people makes the whole process a lot more fun. I love helping others develop fic ideas or beta-reading for them, and appreciate all the support they give me. It really motivates me to keep writing.

What is a writing style/technique that others do really well that you'd like to get better at?

Flow and angst! I'm really working on improving these areas in my writing. I'm quite impatient and tend to rush through the plot rather than building up tension. I know I need to slow down and let the story breathe, but it's so hard! I just want my characters to kiss within the first 5 seconds 😂

Is there a character you were surprised you enjoyed writing as much as you did?

Eris Vanserra!

Gods, I love torturing this man! I've redeemed him so much in my fic that I'll be heartbroken if he truly turns out to be just a dickhead in the canon ACOTAR world!

Thank you for tagging me @olenvasynyt

No pressure tags: @sunshinebingo @avabrynne @thevalkyriesshadow @aldbooks @hlizr50

[noclue32]

New Auras Ch.2 (Poe Dameron x Jedi!Pilot! Reader) (She/her Pronouns) Slow burn

Hey you guys! Thank you so much for the love and support on the first chapter of "New Auras"! I wanted to thank you guys for the support to try and make this chapter longer, but I ended running out of time and cutting it in half. Though, it is significantly longer then the last chapter! And we meet Poe :) Again, reblogs and any kind of notes are greatly appreciated. As a little headcanon, if I had to pick a song to give a general vibe of my Poe, I would pick Moving Out by Billy Joel :)

The master list can be found here

WC: 2,322

Chapter 2, The Meeting

General Leia Organa’s eyes finally opened. “Alzubith,” she thought swiftly, trying to find a folder to begin crafting out the plans for the mission. Considering the danger of the planet, it was important that the mission be completed with stealth and speed. Leia contacting you caused your connection with the force to grow stronger, signaling those near its presence. It was of utmost importance that the situation be dealt with as fast as possible. She knew who to contact. 

Commander Poe Dameron, the best pilot of the resistance, jolted awake at the sound of his holopad ringing. Lazily, he rubbed his face before reading the message. “Meet me in my office at once,” it read. This prompted him to change into a presentable shirt, pants and jacket before rushing out the door. He became increasingly anxious, his boots clicking in the almost empty hallway making his way to the office. It was unusual for Leia to call him at such an ungodly hour. Swinging the door open, he made his presence known, “Ma’am?” Dameron called. 

On the other side of the room, General Organa sat behind her desk with a datapad placed on it. “Come sit down commander,” she spoke before he followed the order. “I apologize for calling so late.” The general shifted, sitting relaxed in her chair. 

The commander felt quite the opposite, sitting quite literally on the edge of his seat. “Don’t worry about it commander, I can never sleep much anyways,” Poe chuckled. “Is everything okay?” 

The woman opposite of him slid the datapad to face him. “Yes, although I have a bit of a task for you. I need you to retrieve a pilot for me.” When instructing him on his mission, she thought it important to not mention your sensitivity to the force, even though she knew he himself also had a sensitivity. The top of the pad read, “Y/N Y/L/N, twenty-three.” With a couple years old public record image of yourself. 

Poe picked up the pad of information and soaked it in, he was sure you were one of the most attractive people he had ever seen. General Organa noticed his reaction, and tried to keep her smug smile in. "What's the catch?" He looked up to his superior, questioning why he of all people was assigned to the chore. 

Sighing, Leia looked around at the empty walls. "Besides her being on Alzubith, I'm not sure how willing she will be to join the Resistance. Not to mention that this must be completed as fast as possible." Meeting his eyes once more she assured, "I know you are capable of completing this. I've seen you do the impossible before." The commander twitched, thinking of what to say. "I believe she can be found in some sort of repair shop, otherwise it's up to you to find her." 

Dameron thought of anything that could specify the location of the subject that she might know. "Does this pilot have something they fly often?" 

"From what I know, a T-65 X-Wing." 

"She must be into flying classics then, correct?" This drawed a slight laugh from Leia. 

"Most likely not. Considering Alzubith, it was probably the only thing she could get her hands on." This sparked an idea in Poe's crowded mind, "Don't think about anything spectacular. This mission must be completed with stealth as well." She answered as if she was reading his mind. Maybe she was. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — 

Entering the hangar, Dameron considered flying his famous “Black One” starfighter, alas, he did not want to take the risk of losing something so valuable to him. After about ten minutes, he found the perfect ship to take with him. A beat up T-70, he could kill two birds with one stone. Impress you, and get the ship fixed at one of the many mechanic shops on the planet. Though, the thought of it breaking down or it being spotted by a first order soldier was an easily believable reality. Lost in his thoughts, he did not notice the droid beeping towards him until his friend rolled into his leg. 

Poe turned down to find his friend and smiled, “BB-8, weren’t you being repaired!?” A series of excited beeps seemed to answer his question. “So you’re ready to go?” Crouching down on his knees he examined the orange droid further with a quizzical look. BB-8 spinned, beeping loudly as he answered the man once again. “Okay, okay I get it. I was just being cautious.” The man looked up to the ship again, and before he could even invite BB along he was already trying to push themself up into the droid port of the ship. “Alright I guess that means you’re coming with me BB,” He laughed and nudged his friend into his seat before pushing himself up into his own and pushing his helmet snug on. 

Landing a couple hours later on Alzubith, Poe shortly noticed a presence of First Order soldiers that townspeople questioned and stared at. This planet was out of most First Order bases reaches, making himself confused as well. He took his time flying throughout space to make sure he was not spotted by any suspicious cruisers, although it was now the early morning. After throwing a sheet over his ship, he continued his journey to the nearest shop, BB-8 following closely behind. “Don’t wander..” Dameron’s raspy voice ordered his friend, approaching a Twi'lek. “Excuse me, ma’am!” He called, jogging towards the woman. The man stopped in front of her, prior to asking her a vague question. “I’m looking for a pilot, have you got any of those around here?”

Her brows furrowed, “For hire? We’ve got plenty,” she responded, pulling a communicator from the front pocket of her overalls. The Twi’lek looked down at it before pausing, “Did you mean for transport or for smuggling?” 

The clearly lost resistance fighter shook his head, “No, no I was looking for someone in specific. Would you know of anyone flying a T-65 around here? I’m trying to buy it off of them.” A terrible lie, he knew. Everyone who had ever experienced a lie from Poe could tell of his fibbing from the moment after it left his mouth. Unfortunately, he could barely tell a lie to save his life, although he at least had to try and cover why he was really looking for you. 

“A T-65? That piece of junk? Bovdip owns it, his shops a half a mile east from here,” She said before pausing. “Are you sure you want to buy that thing? I can sell you a Radiant VII that’s in twice better the condition the X-Wing is in, and it's missing an engine. ” 

“A half a mile? Okay, thank you very much,” Poe interrupted, before exposing his signature smile and starting to make his way to the direction he was informed of, much to the confusion of the stranger. They walked in silence before a few beeps erupted from BB-8. “What is it buddy?” His attention turned to his friend, whose metal dome was directed to the sky. Specifically the elusive X-Wing they had been searching for, speeding through a thin canyon passage. The veteran pilot’s jaw dropped to the floor examining how fast and comfortably you flew, with the wings nearly scraping the walls of rock. 

Turning your fighter plane to the right you made sure to hold on to a side of the canopy, fearing you might become unconscious of reality like you had the day before. You were already running late to deliver a special part to your work you had to retrieve from three towns over. Finally making it out of the claustrophobic canyon, you untensed and arrived at your destination. Slowly and cautiously you landed, afraid the relic you flew could fall apart at any moment. 

Bovdip, a Rodian, awaited your arrival at the hangar. This was unusual, since you usually dropped whatever he needed off at his office. After pushing yourself out of the ship, you watched your boots smack the hard ground and looked up to your superior. 

"Sorry about the wait, sir." He opened his palm and you rested the part in it. "The Jawas were taking forever, I swear to the maker I wasn't slow on purpose," you quickly explained, afraid that was the reason he met you. 

He grunted, starting to speak his native language, "I have to find better sellers anyway.." Bovdip sighed and shook his head. You could roughly translate whatever he said. "That's not why I'm here. Someone requested you by name to fix their ship," Bovdip pointed his head in the direction of a human man standing by an orange droid. The visible heat made it hard for you to make out who it was. 

A weird feeling hit you, you could feel his presence, his aura. It was weak but there nonetheless. "Alright, I'll catch up with you later." You pulled off the slightly tight helmet you were wearing before handing it to him, it was his property after all. Your hair unraveled from it, blowing back in the wind. 

Making your way towards him you thought of the possibility of his being here to cause you harm. After yesterday's scare, you were sure to arm yourself with a blaster, which hung on a clip to your coveralls. As you got closer, you were able to identify his features. The man's curly black hair framed his chiseled features, complemented by sparkly brown eyes. He seemed familiar, especially because of the way his hands rested on his hips. His face was also notably plastered with a dumb grin. "Was he on a resistance poster…?" You thought to yourself preparing to face whatever might happen. 

Poe watched as you pulled yourself from your seat, and talked to the person he had asked for you. His hands landed on his hips as he looked down to his droid, "Don't worry BB, I'll work my charm and we'll be out of here in no time." BB-8 bleeped out a phrase of doubt. When looking up, he could finally see you clearly. You looked even more beautiful in the hot Alzubith sun then you did in the picture he was shown, your hair blowing back in the wind and the dark blue coveralls you wore zipped down enough to show your dark tank top. Sweat dripped from where the unmarked helmet once was, and you wiped it away with the back of your hand from your eyes. The pilot felt his smile slowly form, but then reminded himself that he was there for business. 

“Hey!” He mustered out, as you became closer. 

“Hey!” You paused, “Do I know you?” You two were now close enough not to yell at each other. Squinting your eyes you examined his face again, he was definitely familiar. Looking down at BB-8 you smiled, he was an amazingly well made droid, especially well intact. You interrupted your admiration by remembering the conversation you were in, and looking back up to the stranger. 

Shaking his head, he answered your query, “No, no, I heard you know a little something about X-Wings, is that true?” Poe crossed his arms and leaned in with his stupid smile. 

“I know ‘a little something’ about the T-65 if that’s what you’re referring to,” you asked suspiciously, closely inching your hand to your blaster, which he noticed. 

He quickly responded, making sure you weren't to use your weapon, “Just come with me, the underbelly of my ship is just scraped up revealing some wires. Trust me.”

“‘Trust me’.” The phrase ran through your head for a moment. You were not sure the last time you were really able to trust anyone. Maybe since your padawan days. The school you served under taught you to trust some, but be weary of most. Ironically, that school burned down because of trust, with the main master never to be seen since. Skywalker. “Fine,” you answered with your best customer service smile, something inside you told you this man was telling the truth. Though how could your gut always be correct? 

His face seemed pleased with the lie, at least. After telling him to wait a moment, you went to grab a creeper, a fancy name for a wood panel with wheels to check under the plane. 

Upon your return, he started to guide you towards his plane, which was a little bit of a walk away. His droid, a BB-8 following closely behind him. You admired the droid some more as you walked along. “Do you get him tuned up around here?” 

He looked back to you, before shaking his head. “No, no, I work on him myself, along with a few other specific mechanics. You like what you see?” Poe laughed and followed himself up, “I don’t trust just anyone to work on my buddy, we’ve been through thick and thin together…. You got a droid yourself?” 

Responding by a shake of your own head, you continued, “Sometimes I’ll work with some droids from the shop or fix them up, but usually I’m able to work by myself well enough.” The man opposite of you nodded shortly before arriving at a covered plane. 

You both stopped for a moment, while it seemed like he might have taken a deep breath. Grabbing a side of the sheet, he stopped again before pulling it off with great speed. You could not believe what was in front of you. A T-70 X-Wing. More importantly a T-70 X-Wing with resistance decals painted across its body. Your breathing hitched and you quickly tried to think of some sort of excuse. Was this who called you yesterday? No, it wasn’t. Was it related? You couldn’t be sure, but getting away from this strange…. stranger, was your biggest concern. Of course, he was able to notice your surprise, “My names Poe, Poe Dameron. I’m a resistance fighter.”

Again, I would like to reaffirm this is a SLOW burn :D So romance yet to come. <3 Until next time

[rattlerinthewheel]

Beast of Our Behaviors: Scud/OMC

Scud and a friend hang out like old times.

For a prompt request by @pandoratriestowritestuff: 9) "I don't care how good it feels, you'd better not cum until I tell you to" and 13) "Touch yourself for me", taken from @palettes-and-prompts’ 100 Smut Dialogue Prompts.

Fic title is a song from The Crystal Method.

Chapter title is lyrics from TCM and Bubba Sparxxx’s PHDream, which is what Scud has playing when he meets Whistler.

- - -

"Old man, fuckin’ prick. Ain’t even around yet and he’s pissing me off. 'He’d do this, he’d do that.' Bullshit."

Something about one of his bosses not being around, and they’re looking for him, Marley thinks. He isn’t sure, he’s been zoning in and out, letting Josh vent.

Marley lets his head go ragdoll-limp and flop on the lump of beanbag his weight’s rearranged. Just getting a hazy picture of dark shapes, so he blinks, and then he can make out a pair of pacing red denim legs. They’re baggy and hide the feet, except for the toes of the white socks. The only bright thing in the studio, with the lights off, except the crummy TV playing some DVD the guy on the street said was popular overseas (didn’t tell him it wasn’t in English, the asswipe, so it’s reduced to background noise rather than entertainment).

The pacing halts, blocking half of the yellow-haired chatterbox, and a sigh freshens the earthy reek that was just beginning to fade. He pulls it in, a deep inhale, like he isn’t high enough already. Not like second-hand does much for him.

Any kind of it. Emotions included, which is why he ignores the grumbling and reaches out, fingers wavering because his world’s inverted, to snag the hem of the pants. "Jus’ tell him to fuck off, then."

The denim kicks free. Marley goes for it again, getting a better grip, ignoring the, "Quit bein’ an ass," as the denim kicks again but can’t get loose.

"Point’a you coming over if you’re just gonna bitch?" Marley asks. Something in his neck aches as he lifts his head to look up at the face that owns the denim he’s latched on to. "Thought we were gonna do shit."

"We always do shit," chapped lips huff.

Marley licks his own. Inspired, forgetting about the denim, he fumbles off his bean bag and drops to his haunches in front of his mini fridge. Bristling with anything a stoner could want (well, the shit that doesn’t need to be cold is piled on top) but all he goes for is a soda. He thinks he read something once about it dehydrating more than doing him any good, but he’s pretty sure that’s bullshit. It’s cold going down and wets his lips, how couldn’t a drink hydrate?

Government bullshit.

But when Marley turns around, his seat’s been stolen. He doesn’t mind the view it gets him: Josh, splayed out across the chair, an angry starfish. His joint’s in one hand, sagging in a half-assed pinch between his middle and ring finger, and Marley would worry about the carpet catching if he wasn’t drawn to the point where those sprawled legs lead.

Haven’t done shit yet, might as well, so he takes one big swig of his soda, jams it up on top of the fridge between two bags of chips, and pounces—if crawling over on his hands and knees and pawing at the practically-offered bulge could be considered a pounce. A stoner’s pounce, he decides: lazy and slow.

"Mm, thought you’d never," Josh hums, and Marley scoffs and elbows his thigh.

"Been tryin’," Marley grumbles as he pries away the zipper, then the boxers beneath, to get at the stiffy that’s just beginning to take. It’s easy to pull it out, get the foreskin down, and he gets in three slow pumps on his own before Josh starts to arch into his hand. "So now you wanna."

"Man," Josh pants, somehow going boneless and tense at the same time: his limbs melt while his body goes rigid. It gives Marley something to work against, and the sigh a slower pump earns puffs the hit Josh takes up into the stuffy apartment air.

"Gimme," Marley tells him, thrusts stumbling as he reaches for the joint with his free hand.

The end’s bitten and wet but he gets his lungs filled with earthy smoke anyway, and he forces them to hold it longer than he usually would’ve. When Marley does let it go he’s dizzy, and he wavers on his knees and has to grab one of Josh’s thighs.

The joint sticks out between his fingers, wagging with him, and Josh hisses as it bobs dangerously close to his cock. "Watch it."

Marley giggles as Josh reaches for the joint for another hit. It’s a brief fight, because Marley knows Josh was hogging it way too damn much and Josh doesn’t want to interrupt the hand job. In the end he’s got the joint back in his mouth, and he’s not a starfish anymore, propped up on his elbows so he can watch. Marley doesn’t mind an audience, so he gives Josh a show.

"Fuck," comes on the heels of his thumb swirling around the head, then his palm taking its place so his fingers can drape down and stroke up. That doesn’t get as much of a reaction, so Marley goes back to his first grip. The firm, sluggish stroke down to the base mashes his hand into the blonde curls springing around it.

Josh bucks his hips again, and Marley freezes, near the tip this time. "Behave," he teases.

Blue eyes lock onto brown and Josh growls, "Y’want me to do you after? Keep goin’."

Marley giggles again, a true high giggle, as Josh tugs him forward so he’s close enough to kiss. It’s awkward, the joint getting shoved to the corner of Josh’s mouth, singing their cheeks. But it’s good, because that means Marley gets a mouthful of earthy smoke on top of the sugar of the donuts they scarfed down earlier.

Josh’s cock twitches in his grip when he leans forward enough that his own stiffy, clothed, bumps it. "Uh uh, you ain’t finishing unless I say."

And Josh snorts at that, and Marley can’t keep his composure. He outright laughs and topples onto the stoner under him, kissing him harder, forgetting about the hand job. Josh doesn’t, grinding under him, which reminds Marley that yeah, right, he’s got one too. Funny how weed can make him forget that. It aches, like he’s going to explode right there, now that he remembers.

"Touch yourself," Josh pants as Marley’s rucking up his band shirt. It’s awkward, with how he’s straddling Josh, his legs kind of holding him and kind of not. Too much distance, the bean bag and body puts between the floor and his hips.

Marley’s too busy running his fingers over the scars webbing the exposed belly to pay attention; a pinch to his hip makes him jump, and he’s scrambling for his own fly as Josh watches, smoke fogging his face, but Marley can still see the tongue poking out in the corner that means he’s concentrating.

"Cute," Josh teases as Marley gets his jeans down as much as he can while keeping his position—because right, his zipper’s busted, damn—but pauses to scowl. "What? They are."

Marley scoffs and parts his boxers briefs—ignoring the red, yellow, and green zig zags; so what if they’re stoner colors, they were a gag gift someone got him, they fit, so why not use ‘em?—and groans when he plants one hand on Josh’s shoulder to brace himself and starts to stroke. Easy to ignore, when he wasn’t getting too much stimulation; but now, shit, he’s shaking and greedy and gladly lets Josh paw at him to help.

They get in their scuffles, know how to fight, but it’s not too often they resort to it; not now, either, but the rough pets make Marley shudder, the lack of lube, the tugs that rut his balls against Josh’s pinned shaft under him. They’re both getting off, this way.

"Not till I say so," he hums when he feels it—pre-cum, not his, making a damp spot on the thigh of his boxer briefs.

Josh hisses, holding out. Marley gasps as Josh’s other hand clamps onto the back of his neck, holding him down so Josh can buck his hips up. Josh’s cock slides along his thigh, up onto his hip, and Marley angles them down to trap the rut.

The carpet’s concrete compared to the bean bag as Josh flips them. "What was that about not being a fighter, Fromeyer?"

A scoff pants into his neck as Josh tucks in to nip. "Scud, like stud, dammit. Dunno why you don’t just call me that."

"Because it’s stupid," Marley grunts as Josh picks up the pace.

They’re grinding like horny teens, kissing and pawing, but fuck it—Josh’s got work now, and it’s been a while. Probably will be, again, before they can do this again. Hopefully his hardass bosses don’t drug test.

Josh’s leaving a bigger damp spot on his thigh as he trembles and finishes. Marley’s on his heels, getting that band shirt dirty, he’ll get bitched at for that. But for now, he’s content to just let the other stoner lie on top of him. They’re trapping the mess, getting it over more of them, but fuck it. They’re high, and Marley sighs, and grabs for the joint that’s been left smoldering on the carpet. Landlord’s an asshole, anyway. Can deal with it when his lease is up.

Marley snatches his fingers back as a boot grinds the joint to nothing. He yelps, and Josh fumbles and swears. The unfazed face above them tracks Josh as he gets to his knees, no real shame as he tucks himself away, then to his feet, gesturing at their intruder but not kicking his ass. Knows him, apparently.

"B? The fuck, man?" Josh hisses. Yeah, he knows him.

Marley isn’t as brave, and his high tanks as he blushes and tries to make it look like he doesn’t have white striping his thigh, smearing his hip. He stuffs himself away, at least, in time for the black dude to finally look at him.

"Uh, hi." And because Marley vaguely remembers manners, he points to his fridge: "Pretzels?"

Which feels wrong to ask this guy, somehow. Doesn’t fit with the vibe the room’s got now. He’s still a little high.

B ignores him, and Marley can’t help but frown when he sees Josh is packing up his shit, zipping his bag and jamming his boots on. He’d hoped they’d have a little more time. Not be interrupted, at least.

"You said you were grabbing provisions," B tells Josh flatly.

It doesn’t sit right with Marley. He doesn’t talk... normally. Too formal. But Josh is used to it, doesn’t say anything except, "Yeah, had a detour. Relax, man."

"Oh, I’m a detour," Marley scoffs, poking at the remains of the joint as B steps off to look out the kitchen window. Well, the everything window, since it’s a studio. Joint’s done for, and Marley sighs. His fun’s over, anyway.

"We’re already late."

"Yeah, yeah, I—Jesus." Josh is in front of Marley, then, as he finally clambers to his feet. That catches him off guard. So does the nudge Josh gives him. "Should be back in a few months."

"Months? Shit, what kinda job is this, dude?"

"Classified," comes from the door.

Josh rolls his eyes. "Tell Davey to have more of that good shit grown, yeah?"

"Only if you bring better snacks," Marley negotiates. Chips had been salt and vinegar. Gross, even if he’s too high to care much about flavor.

"Deal."

The quick peck Josh sneaks when he headbutts him surprises Marley, and then Josh is gone, scruffy and flushed and clomping down the stairwell outside the door with his bag. Too soon, too fast, Marley thinks. Would’ve been nice if they could figure out what the DVD was about.

Not as fast as B, lunging back into the room when he looks like he’s going to leave—no, checking to make sure Josh’s gone—and hurling Marley back against his bookshelf. It doesn’t hold a lot of books, more just junk, and an empty turtle shell clatters to the floor.

"Name?" B asks, and his coat twitches, and—holy fucking shit, that’s a big knife, and Marley tells him so. "It’s a sword. Name," B says with the weird patience of someone who doesn’t have time but knows he’s dealing with someone who’s high, and forcing him to hurry won’t do any good.

"Marley." The knife, the sword, taps his shoulder. "Jacobs. Wait, what—"

The hand pinning him goes for his face, his mouth, and Marley winces as his lip’s stretched down. B lets it curl back up just as fast, leaving behind the taste of fake leather, then he’s tilting Marley’s head to the side. Marley wants to tell him to maybe take the shades off first, but then he remembers this guy has a sword. He’s learned a thing or two from buying weed and a little bit of harder stuff. Don’t piss off the guy with the sword isn’t a rule verbatim, but it’s a cousin to don’t get into shit with Stevie, who’s known to carry.

"How do you know Scud?"

Josh, Marley thinks. "Uh, friends. High school, kind of." At B’s head cock, he hurries, "Well, Josh dropped out. We still hung out after."

"Why don’t you call him Scud?"

Jesus, who is this guy? "Not his name," Marley shrugs. "I’unno, I... like it better."

"And you hang out."

Marley says, "Yeah," even though he doesn’t think he’s being asked.

B’s tone suggests he knows what hanging out implies. Marley nods, and B steps off him. For a beat, there’s nothing but the background noise of the TV, what’s a funny pastime for them flat-out embarrassing now. Doesn’t matter that it’s not in English, the yellow-haired boy’s voice is grating, annoying to both the other characters and the audience. Chanting something about a hokage, whatever that is. Soup looks good, though.

The stack of junk over the fridge crinkles as B takes something—a bag of pretzels.

"Hey, what..." Marley trails off, expecting to be ignored as B heads for the door, this time for real, Marley thinks. But he pauses. Waits. "Is Josh okay? He got this job after he got jumped at some festival, I dunno if you knew. But he’s... what kind of job is this?"

Because it clicks. B: this is Josh’s boss. Josh sure bitched about him often enough. Not to mention: provisions, running late, classified.

"Like I said," is all B gives, which, yeah.

But Marley tries anyway. Steps forward, kicks his turtle shell by accident. It skitters further than it ought to, bumps the heel of a clunky boot. "Look, just..." I don’t know what the fuck happened, but is he suicidal? Is this some bullshit he took up to off himself? Is he in too deep with something? Mob? Cartel? "... is he gonna be alright? Is he gonna come back?"

The boots turn. A gloved hand picks up the shell, and then B’s pushing it into Marley’s hands. It’s not gentle, but he think it tries to be. "He’s useful."

That sounds... less than great, but Marley takes it. How many teachers bitched at Josh for goofing off, skipping classes, not being anything but a waste of space?

"Yeah," Marley says, "okay."

- - -

In the morning he wakes up hungover, the TV screen on a purple input screen, the DVD player fried because his soda must’ve fallen off the fridge and spilled. Marley wants to just turn over and go back to sleep on his futon, but blue and red are thrown up on the walls, cops—and Marley’s wide awake and checking that his stashes are hidden like any good stoner.

There’s a body bag being rolled out of the lobby, he sees, with his face pressed up to his window. When he pokes his head out to see if his neighbors know anything, one tells him it was the landlord being carted off. Shot point-blank, and Marley cringes at that. Sure, he was a strict asshole (only available at night, no food in the lobby, no black lights in the apartments) but that’s just... rough.

Well. Hopefully Josh doesn’t have to deal with that kind of violence, wherever his job takes him. Marley entertains the idea that maybe he’s with the CIA. Nah, not Josh, who treated Rage Against the Machine like commandments when they were in high school, who rolled his eyes at army recruiters, who laughed as they got their asses chased by truancy officers.

He’d just as likely be running around with monsters, Marley snorts, and rips off a chunk of stale donut and goes back to bed.

[mrslittletall]

If you accept vague asks for the whump thing, because I don't want to limit you to a character you might find boring, either 6 or 17 for Hollow Knight?

Title: Reflection Fandom: Hollow Knight Characters: Quirrel, Little Ghost Word Count: 1.431 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30279333

Summary: Quirrel reflects on his life during his last moments.

(Author's note: 

6: Fever 17: Drowning/Hypothermia

Anon! How can you give me Drowning for Hollow Knight and expect me to NOT make it about Quirrel?! Or were you betting on it?

I chose one of the two this time, because the two prompts didn't feel like they could be mashed together very well. Warnings: Suicide and Major Character Death. And drowning, obviously.)

Quirrel had sat and looked at the lake for some time when the little white wanderer appeared. He had encountered them various time in Hallownest, even aided them in their quest which led to him recovering part of his lost memories, and never had they said a single word to him and their face had stayed a stiff mask.

Still, Quirrel couldn't help but feel comfortable in their presence. He assumed for them to maybe stop shortly and listen to him, before moving on, but they did something different.

They approached him, stopped, looked up at him and then sat down next to him, their gaze facing the same direction as his, towards the Blue Lake.

Quirrel didn't look at them and instead, started to speak.

“Again we meet my short friend. Here at last, I feel at peace.”

He made a short pause, thinking about his next words before continuing. After all that had happened, his words didn't seem to come too easily to him anymore. Even his voice felt strained... aged even. All the years that got lost might have caught up to him.

“Twice I've seen this world and though my service may have stripped the first experience from me, I'm thankful I could witness its beauty again.”

It must have been beautiful the first time, and even though large parts of the kingdom laid in ruins during his second time, it was still beautiful. Though, there was one thing that was even more interesting than Hallownest.

“Hallownest is a vast and wondrous thing, but in as many wonders as it holds, I've seen none quite so intriguing as you.”

As usual, the little white wanderer didn't say a word. A little chuckle escaped Quirrel and he spoke further.

“Ha. My flattery returns only silent stoicism. I like that. I like that very much.”

The both of them stayed there, staring at the lake a while longer. Eventually, the little wanderer stood up and continued walking, not looking back at him or saying a single word. It had always been like that with them. It was just they way they acted. Them sitting with him showed him more than enough that they cared. If they hadn't cared, they would have just ignored him. They would have run past him every single time he encountered them, but they always, always had stopped and listened to him.

Quirrel waited until they were out of sight and he couldn't hear their footsteps anymore. Once their footsteps ceased, he rose and picked up his nail.

“I can barely remember having trained in the art of the nail, but I never forgot how to fight.”, he murmured to himself, rolling the nail around in his hands. It had aided him during his journey through Hallownest as well as helped to reach the teacher, Monomon, who he had always called Madam.

For some reason, she seemed to have been always displeased with it, but Quirrel couldn't recall anymore why. His memory was still hazy. The results of the fog of the wastelands, that wiped his memory clean. He could consider himself lucky that he remembered his connection to Monomon.

“I won't need to fight anymore...”, Quirrel murmured further and stuck his nail into the ground, the way the hilt faced, it looked a little like a cross. Then, he looked back at the direction the little wanderer had run off too.

“My friend, please don't cry for me.”, he said, a sad smile ghosting his face. “For I have lived twice the amount of time any bug should have ever lived and I am ready to move on.”

Quirrel stayed on the edge of the lake for a few seconds longer before turning around and walking into the water. It was shallow at first, but soon it would engulf him fully. He was fully aware that his species didn't possess the art of swimming.

Quirrel continued walking until his feet lost the ground under him and he could feel how his body started to sink. While he was content about his own death, with his mind at peace, his body still possessed some instinct. He could feel his arms and legs trash as the water filled his lungs and his strong desire to take a gulp of air, which never happened, because he knew that only water would await him.

His trashing was only from a short duration however, as he felt himself get dizzy and slowly sinking down to the ground, waiting for his awareness to end.

It was then when he saw something flash in front of his inner eye.

Himself, as a little grub, lost, alone, hungry, cold, his parents were nowhere to be seen, only a blanket in his little arms, crying in his desperation, for his parents, for anyone, to find him...

And the form of Monomon in front of him, floating through the fog, a tentacle touching her mask in shock when she saw him, picking him up, talking to him, bringing him to the archives, where she gave him food and warmth and comfort.

That has been how they had first met. How cruel of his memory to make him remember right when he was in the process of ending his own life. Still, Quirrel couldn't help but feel a deep fondness at this memory.

He still hadn't reached the ground and the more he sank down, the more memories surfaced.

Monomon teaching him how to write and read.

Monomon comforting him after he had a nightmare.

Him asking if he could work as her assistant, at the mere age of six. Monomon had agreed and gave him simple tasks, to make him feel special.

Him checking on Monomon after she had pulled an all-nighter. The both of them sharing breakfast together.

Monomon finding the cheesy romance novels he had bought from his salary and teasing him to no end about them. Still, sometimes he found the newest book of his favourite author gently laid upon his pillow.

A time in which he had been obsessed with the tale of the Grimm troupe and styled his mask and even the scarf he wore around his head in their image. Monomon loved to tell this story to complete strangers. How often had he stood there and begged her to stop. Not that it ever worked...

Him waking up with a blanket draped over him when he had fallen asleep over his work.

Monomon always having a pot of coffee ready for both of them when both of them had worked the whole night.

Her giving him the additional seal of protection, her mask, and sending him away once she would lay down to sleep for eternity. Quirrel had accepted, of course, without hesitation, he would do everything for the one who had saved him from starvation when he had been a grub.

“I will fulfil your order as long as I breathe, Ma'am.”, he had said, and Monomon had looked at him and said: “I know you will.”, but at the same time, she had looked so sad.

Finally having reached the ground, Quirrel barely had any awareness left in him anymore, but one last thing went to his mind.

She has always treated me like her son.

For her, he had been more than her assistant, for her, Quirrel had been her precious and beloved son. It didn't matter for her that they didn't share any blood connection, he had become her son once she had picked him up in the canyon.

I never once have called her mom...

How ironic it felt, this thought, right when he was about to snuff out the last flames of his life, after Monomon had already died, after he didn't have a chance to talk to her anymore.

This thought was his one and only regret as his awareness faded and his body stopped moving, laying still on the ground of the Blue Lake.

He entered the archives, passing all the acid tablets and ignoring the Uoma's that Monomon would let hang around there. He had gone this way so many times and he didn't even have to think where to go. He entered Monomon's workshop and there she was, interrupting what she was doing, turning around, a tentacle going to her mask and her body shaking as she chuckled.

“Welcome home, Quirrel.”, she said.

Quirrel came closer until he stood in front of Monomon. “I am back Ma...”, he interrupted himself and then corrected his sentence: “I'm back, mom.” (Author's note: Absolutely love the headcanon that Monomon adopted Quirrel. Also I am a big fan of characters meeting in the afterlife after death and just... vibing with what they always wanted, maybe moving on together. It's pretty obvious, but I am absolutely convinced that Quirrel died at the Blue Lake. I am super fine with everyone lives AUs, but in canon I think Quirrel drowned himself in the lake, because he had grown old and weary and was ready to end his own life, because he felt there wasn't any reason for him to be around anymore. That is why he is so content with his own death here. Obviously, I would have loved for Quirrel to stay alive and find so much more wonders in the world, but he felt like he hadn't any regrets. The one I added, well, that was my headcanon. I know this is a heavy topic and please don't feel bad if you have trouble handling it or couldn't handle it and please, when you yourself think that you might be better off dead, get some help. I promise, there is so much in this world that it's worth to live for. As always, comments are greatly appreciated.)

[soup-fish]

Hiya I meant to send you asks like forever ago but I'm bad so I didn't do that so here they are now they're from this ask prompt thing you reblogged

Feel free to answer these about any of your OCs cause I don't really remember any except rabbit and Knight so~

1, 10, 25, 29, 33, 37, 46, 50, 61, 63, 78, 80, sorry there's so many you don't have to answer them all, I am just cursed with insatiable curiosity only balanced out by my fear of asking too many questions and being annoying—

Hi!!! You’re not bad!! You’re one of the coolest aliens ever!!!! 

I am absolutely answering them all with multiple OCs because I will take every opportunity I get to talk about them. 

Putting it under a cut because it is LONG and I don't wanna bother.

1. What is their gender?

The Knight: (she/her)

Rabbit: agender but they use (they/them) pronouns

The Apprentice: (he/him)

Dijon: (he/him)

Julienne: (she/her) (they/them)

Monty: (he/him) (they/them)

Diana: (she/her)

Captain Pumpernickel: (he/him)

William: (he/him)

10. What are some of their talents/skills?

The Knight: Swordfighting, Dancing, pottery

Rabbit: Parlor magic, puppetry, Acting

The Apprentice: collecting, Dunescotch [the world's rough equivalent of chess], chemistry

Dijon: cooking, writing, gardening

Julienne: biking, photography, bird watching

Monty: people watching, bingo, garage sales

Diana: fencing, archery, calligraphy

Captain Pumpernickel: Singing, acting, swordfighting

William: whittling, philosophy, accordion

25. What is their biggest flaw?

The Knight: her naivete 

Rabbit: Their reluctance to be vulnerable

The Apprentice: His aversion to change and the unknown

Dijon: his self-pitying nature

Julienne: Her self-centeredness

Monty: his...not quite human-ness

Diana: She’s uptight

Captain Pumpernickel: hooboy where do I start? For one, his complete and utter dismissal of everything that doesn’t contribut to ADVENTURE

William: his lack of ambition

29. How would they describe their own personality?

The Knight: “Hmmm. I try to be as nice as possible and I’ve been told I’m rhapsodic! I don’t think my singing’s that good but it’s a sweet compliment!” 

Rabbit: “Witty. Yes. Sarcastic? Yes. The people’s demon? In more ways than one~ Even hell can’t handle me.” 

The Apprentice: “Simple, studious, and an enjoyer of quiet studying. I tend to be rather straight-forward in my methodology.”

Dijon: “God do I even have a personality? What am I besides a vaguely human shaped pile of mistakes and disappointments?” 

Julienne: “A fun loving fun person!” 

Monty: “Just your average Earth person! Nothing else to see!” 

Diana: “Calm, cool, collected, the perfect dignitary”

Captain Pumpernickel: “AN ADVENTURER! And a lover! Of your mother! Bring out the good ale my good fellows! Your captain has won another battle of the wits!”

William: “Personality? Never heard of it. Wouldn’t even begin to know what the word means. I know no such words such as sarcastic, laid-back, carefree. Nooooo.”

33. What is their biggest fear? How would they react to having to face it?

The Knight: Being ignored and unheard. She’d probably get really frustrated and maybe cry a little as a result. If it really got to her, she’d need help being pulled out of a dark place. 

Rabbit: Abandonment. Their general reaction to it is to put on a veneer of not caring and close off from the outside world more, even going so far as to act annoying and unlikable so that people leave before getting close. 

The Apprentice: Not knowing. Or, by extension, not being able to learn. He’d probably lash out in anger and storm off. 

Dijon: Being an unredeemable person. He faces it every day and he deals with it by being melodramatic in all of his writings and wallowing in misery. AKA, not dealing with it. 

Julienne: People being genuine. They’d probably get really uncomfortable and try to excuse themselves from the conversation or make jokes to redirect the conversation. 

Monty: The republic finding him hiding out on Earth. He’d fight or do anything possible out of desperation. 

Diana: Being a disappointment 

Captain Pumpernickel: Not being able to bang your mom not having adventures with his crew. He'd probably be reduced to a shell of his former self.

William: Not being able to talk his way out of a situation. 

37. How easy is it for them to say “I love you”? Do they say it without meaning it?

The Knight: Pretty easy but she means it when she says it. She's just full of love tbh.

Rabbit: It's really hard for them to say "I love you". Really really hard. Especially at the start of their arc, they would never say it, however much they mean it.

The Apprentice: It's hard for him to say, simply because it's not quantifiable enough. How does one properly explain how much they love someone? He prefers showing love through actions and more direct compliments.

Dijon: It's not easy for him to say, but he says it without meaning it, both knowingly and unknowingly.

Julienne: She doesn't say it often, but she says it to the people she cares about occasionally. She prefers to say it through time spent and physical touch though.

Monty: The Dude Loves Everything. But they also barely understand the meaning of the word so...

Diana: She doesn't say it almost at all, but prefers to use acts of service and gift giving.

Captain Pumpernickel: He never says "I love you" because he usually doesn't really mean it. He'll use some other compliment or compound of it.

William: He doesn't throw it around easily, so when he says it, it has so much more weight behind it.

46. How easily can they express emotions? How easily can they hide emotions?

The Knight: She expresses her emotions a lot and very easily, but she has a hard time hiding them.

Rabbit: They think they're sly at hiding their emotions, but they let micro-expressions slip constantly. If anyone decided to notice, one would

The Apprentice: He's a blank sheet baybee. What is he thinking? Unless it's frustration or anger, you'll never know.

Dijon: He's just kinda sad all the time. He's miserable and everyone notices.

Julienne: She allows some emotions to come through. It's a bit of a calculated effort.

Monty: All of his emotions come through all the time and he doesn't mind.

Diana: Well, she hides her sadness and happiness, but allows her frustration and such to shine through.

Captain Pumpernickel: He expresses emotions very openly and very loudly. He is a dramatic ham of a captain.

William: He keeps a near perpetual smile that occasionally wavers when things go wrong. He doesn't like to open up emotionally.

50. How would you describe their style of clothing? How would they describe their style of clothing?

The Knight: "fun and comfy!" Light armor with room for mobility but colorful

Rabbit: "...sexy" literally naked except a cloak.

The Apprentice: "practical and sensible" like a fucking nerd

Dijon: "presentable" the best time to wear a sweater, is all the time

Julienne: "quirky" quirky.

Monty: "human clothing for humans! :D" weird mixture of 1800s stuff and modern day stuff. Weird guy.

Diana: "regular??? Clothes???" Fancy ballgown at first then swashbuckling but still expensive.

Captain Pumpernickel: "EXTRAVAGANT AND ASTOUNDING" sexy hobo pirate.

William: "only the highest tier clothing/s" ...rags. doesn't care enough.

61. Which season is their favorite season?

The Knight: Spring

Rabbit: Autumn, harvest festivals and such are good for demons.

The Apprentice: Winter, you have excuses to stay inside and work. Plus the vibe is nice when it's harsh outside and cozy inside

Dijon: Summer, fewer holidays and he's not really cold resistant.

Julienne: Summer. They like the general vibe and popsicles and shorts and sunglasses and such.

Monty: Winter, they love the holidays.

Diana: Summer, she likes the heat.

Captain Pumpernickel: Autumn! He just thinks the weather and vibe are RIPE FOR ADVENTURE!

William: Winter! He like staying inside and the cold.

63. What is always guaranteed to make them smile?

The Knight: her partner! Or a silly joke! Or a delicious snack! Or friendship!

Rabbit: schadenfreude

The Apprentice: order and productivity

Dijon: his favorite childhood book

Julienne: her pet rats! Or pet frog!

Monty: A human thing like paperclips

Diana: this one is a hard one. Succeeding at any of her hobbies.

Captain Pumpernickel: ADVENTURE. and friends

William: seeing Diana smile and be free.

78. Who do they consider to be their best friend?

The Knight: The prince!

Rabbit: the Knight

The Apprentice: books

Dijon: julienne

Julienne: no one. Monty is close.

Monty: ALL HUMANS ARE BEST! AND FRIENDS!!

Diana: no one [William eventually]

Captain Pumpernickel: The sea. And his first mate. And his quartermaster.

William: no one [Diana eventually]

80. Are they a morning person or a night owl?

The Knight: Morning person

Rabbit: Night Owl

The Apprentice: Morning Person

Dijon: Night Owl

Julienne: Morning Person

Monty: Morning Person

Diana: Morning Person

Captain Pumpernickel: Morning Person

William: Night Owl

[iplaymatchmaker]

Hi, can I ask for a match up request for Ikevamp! I'm bi, female (she/her) sagittarius sun, virgo rising, libra moon, ENFT. I'm 5'2, chubby/curvy w/ great boobs, I have longer  brunette hair w/ peekaboo highlights (they've been every color, but currently pink), brown eyes, glasses/contacts, 7 piercings & 26 tattoos. I'm very empathetic (sometimes to a fault) and have sever anxiety and depression. It takes me awhile to warm up around new people and be myself. I often feel intimidated in big social settings, such as parties, and often use alcohol for some liquid courage to help me let loose and be me in those situations. I've suffered some emotional and mental abuse at the hands of a step parent which has left me with some trauma and triggers; people raising their voice at me or making quick movements toward me or in my direction usually result in me crying and secluding myself for awhile. Oh and I have daddy issues, thanks absent father. That said I also don't do great with authority, I hate being told what to do, and I hate being told no. I can put up with a lot of shit, but eventually it usually becomes a 'straw that broke the camels back' situation and I fly off the handle and then break down. I am also extremely generous and do all I can to help my friends and family when they need it. I have some self confidence issues from weight gain, and I usually feel my best when I'm dolled up with my makeup on and hair done, usually with a dress and heels. I'm a Ravenclaw thats hates to read, but I love learning & know tons of trivia; like I know so many random facts about so many things from history, to movies, to graveyards, and much more. I often correct people on things, which some perceive as me belittling them, but its never my intention I'm just trying to share my knowledge and trying to help them. I am very creative I love crafting; resin art, macrame, cross stich, those are just some of my favorite things to do art wise, I also enjoy coloring books. I love to laugh and think I'm pretty funny, I usually have a dark sense of humor, if you don't like humor we won't vibe together, and if you can't make me laugh we will not be a good relationship match. I like to go to the bar and do karaoke, it's one thing I've learned I'mvery good at. It took me about 2 years, but I've since learned to be confident with my singing and now its one of my favorite things to do. I drink, obviously, gin and tonic is my favorite. I also smoke, I love my hookah, and I've had my medical card for about a year and it's done wonders for my insomnia and cramps. For about 2 years I've been getting severe cramps and stomach pains, and after 5 er trips in a month they didn't find anything, its still a mystery but at least the bud helps the pain. l'm very into the witchy aesthetic; my style is either very Stevie Nicks, pinup, or 2009 emo/scene depending on the day. I collect animal skulls and bone, taxidermy, crystals, and plants; I also practice the craft & love to make spell jars for people. I love tarot and really enjoy doing it. I live for Halloween & enjoy all things macabre! My favorite show is That 70's Show and if I could live in a replica of the Forman's house that would be my dream. I am also very sex positive and rather adventurous in bed. I'm a brat and a voyeur, I'll get down with just about anything. My love language is giving and receiving gifts. I put alot of thought into holidays like Christmas, I plan months in advance to make sure I get everyone the perfect gift; but I also will sometimes see something that just reminds me of someone and have to get it for them. That is all I can think of right now to add about myself. And I feel I don't connect with Vincent at all, so I'd really rather not be paired with him. And for the prompts I'd love 4 and/or 10. Thank you so much in advance, totally appreciate you doing these, sorry it got long..

 Hello, thank you so much for requesting! 🥰 I did your ikevamp matchup first but the ikerev one is on its way. Sorry if I got something wrong, I tried to implement as much of the information as I could. I really hope you enjoy this! Also, I’m sorry to hear about your cramps, i hope you will find a permanent solution soon! Stay healthy and have an amazing day!❤

I match you with

Napoleon!

I went back and forth a bit but I ended up going with our lovely monsieur de Wahaha.

 You two would be a great match considering you both appreciate a good sense of humor. I can see you trying to out-joke each other and ending up doubled over laughing, inevitably calling it a truce.

 Whenever you’re feeling down, he tries to subtly lift you spirits without asking for explanations, unless you’re willing to give them.

  He is also very thoughtful and cares about other people so you two would totally vibe! You appreciate what he does for the children and even tune in to help sometimes, as long as it doesn’t involve fencing. 

  He is very interested in hearing about your interests and any fun fact you have to give him since he’s also eager to learn and teach new things.

 He tries to involve himself in your hobbies to understand you better. Your love for witchy related activities is a part of you that he finds very intriguing.  He’s so fascinated that he asks you to do tarots for him!

  Another thing that you have discovered is that when he’s being stubborn about waking up all it takes is for you to sing to him for his eyes to open in awe, skipping on his usual morning kiss until you’re both properly awake!

  When your first birthday with him rolled around he tried his best to come up with an amazing gift for you, wanting to make sure his love for you is clear. In the end when you unwrapped his gift you found a knitted scarf, dark purple with what tried to be stars scattered throughout. He told you he had observed you very closely while you were working on your own knitting in an attempt to figure out how to do it properly, seemingly very proud despite the garment’s wonky appearance.

 Prompt 4: Meet Cute:

You were deeply invested in your current project, knitting away when you noticed the children on the other side of the fountain, chatting around a man who seemed to be trying to explain a math problem to them. You were about to leave, opting to stay away from the loud crowd when you noticed a man sitting a few feet away from you, his head bowed and his eyes closed. You couldn’t help but put down your supplies and walk over to him, nudging his shoulder.

“Sir, are you okay?” it didn’t take more to wake him up, considering his current position. He flashed you a smile like he hadn’t just been sleeping sitting up.

“I must have fallen asleep. Thank you for waking me, Madame.” Something was odd about him and you couldn’t help but smile back at him.

 He asked you about the project you were working on after noticing the supplies next to you, not paying any mind to the sun slowly setting as you explained. You couldn’t help but  crack a smile every time his curious eyes melted into confusion, urging you to continue explaining.

When he informed you it was time for the both of you to return home- not forgetting to offer walking you back- you made mental note to visit the fountain more often.

 Prompt 10: Admission of feelings

It had been a few months since that first day you found him sleeping on the fountain. You had continued visiting him when he was giving lessons to the children, observing him closely as he taught them about a variety of things.

One of those days while you were observing his lesson, you spoke up before you could think better of it, correcting one of his statements. He seemed surprised at first, but quickly recovered, urging you to continue on with a smile on his face. Despite your worries he pulled you aside, after handing the children over to Isaac, to thank you for correcting him.

You continued to help him after that, often tuning in to help with lessons. It became a sort of routine for you. It took a while, but eventually you two started meeting outside of the impromptu classes, going for walks and the occasional dinner. He seemed increasingly interested in hearing about you.

As you two got to know each other better, he eventually discovered of your love for tarot cards. It took you by surprise when he asked you for a reading. His next words were even more surprising.

“I hope you see yourself in my future.” You didn’t understand what he meant at first, starring at him in confusion for a solid few minutes. He smiled awkwardly before continuing his thoughts, making his intentions clear.

“What I’m saying is I’d like us to be more than friends. I want to keep discovering more about you, if that’s alright with you.” After the initial shock, you nodded, smiling widely at him, your hand reaching for his. When the waiter arrived, asking if you were ready to order, blushing furiously when he realized what had transpired, you both burst into laughter, happiness bursting out of the both of you.

[agwitow]

I saw @gingerly-writing 's story for the prompt and while I very much enjoyed it, I wanted to try my own hand at it. Def a different vibe lol

Hope you enjoy! :)

~*~

There are so many different gods, all with power over different things. Time, Death, Life, Growing Things, Animals, the Opressed, Soldiers, Dreams, Family, and so many more. Some are incredibly powerful by virtue of their domain or the power poured into them by human worship. Others, less so.

I am one of those. My domain is, technically, quite expansive, but it is not one of power, nor does it inspire worship. But that is okay. I have never been particularly vain or ambitious.

Most days I tend to my sacred spaces alone. There's the worn-down shrine in the mountains where a young couple gave thanks for my gifts many years ago. The ancient fountain in the middle of a city park that no one remembers belongs to me. A submerged village that once held a temple dedicated to me, before a dam was built and flooded the village's valley. And a grove in the untamed wilds, where no human has ever set foot, but the animals of the woods come to receive my blessings.

A few people leave little offerings for me on windowsills and in the branches of flowering trees. An even fewer number whisper prayers full of hope, thanks, need, and grief. I tend to them as best I can, but often it is not enough. Most don't pray to me a second time.

But that is okay. My power has never been derived from human worship, and I am not one to begrudge them making their prayers and offerings to my brethern who are better able to help.

Which is why I was so surprised to find a young woman at the edge of one of my sacred places, bloodied and frightened, one day.

"Sanctuary," she said, the word barely slipping past her swollen lips and carrying with it a mist of pain.

"Come, Young One," I say, offering her my hand. "You will be safe here."

She shook her head, but took my hand, leaning on my as I led her into the weathered circle of stones that had been built to honour me, Fertility, and Spring. When the humans left, my siblings left the ruins to me, so it was solely mine now, though I had been almost an afterthought when it had been built.

"Rest here," I said, leading her to a moss covered rock large enough to cradle a weary body.

She sank onto the stone, but gripped my hand tighter. "Not safe," she mumbled.

"Shh, Young One. You will come to no harm here."

She shook her head again, but had no energy to protest further. I could see the struggle in her eyes as she tried to fight off the exhaustion.

Even gods, when injured and on the verge of death, must rest.

She had tried to hide what she was, and it was a very good cloak, especially considering how hurt she was, but I could feel her power. It glistened in her blood, and shimmered on her skin, and filled the air with the scent of heat and sweat and mortal blood until it overpowered the smell of damp earth and green things.

It would have been better if she'd sought sanctuary with Healing or the Hunter. One to tend her wounds, the other to defend her. But she had come to me, and so I would use every trick I knew to keep her safe.

While she slept, I walked the perimeter of the sacred space, whispering enchantments to strengthen the boundaries, calling on the memories of long-past rituals to reaffirm my attachment to the land. I wove spells to shroud the space from those with ill intentions, and made offerings of my own to enlist the aid of some of my fellow gods. Safety, Hospitality, and Peace.

They were all too busy to come lend their support in person, of course, but I could feel the little sparks of magic they added to the protections I wove.

And then I waited.

Waited for my guest to wake, or for her tormentor to show themselves. Though I couldn't imagine who could hurt and frighten War as much as she'd been.

I didn't have to wait too long.

Silence fell as his dark presence rolled over and around and through the forest. Shadows deepened and cold snapped through the air. Though the sun was just past midday, it felt as dim as an overcast twilight. And the slick feel of his hunger pressed against me, as if he might devour me simply by looking.

I stood and stepped forward, drawing upon my reserves to be ready for anything he might try.

"It has been a long time, Ignored One," he said, his voice seeming to come from all around me, though I knew it was simply one of his tricks.

"Not long enough, I think."

"Ah, such bravado from someone like you... it is a shame I have no use for your domain. You would be delicious."

"Is that why you attacked her?"

The shadows thickened into the form of a man. Tall and menacing, he did not bother to create a more defined shape. It was unsettling, especially for humans, but then, that was likely the point. "There is so much I could do with her powers. There is so much more I can already do, thanks to the blood I've drunk."

I grimaced. "You will get nothing more from her."

He laughed. "I have no use for you, but I won't hesitate to kill you as well. Step aside. Let me finish her. She has never done anything for you. Why should you care if she dies?"

"She has asked for sanctuary, and I have given it."

He sneered. "It will do neither of you any good."

I shrugged. "No matter. You are not welcome here."

Even though I was expecting it, the force of his power crashing against my wards still rocked me. Energy crackled and light flared around my sacred space, enclosing it in a shimmery golden bubble with streaks of white.

He pressed harder. Dark cracks spider-webbed across the dome of the bubble.

I fed power into the barrier, willing the cracks to mend. As soon as one crack sealed, another would form. I could feel my energy draining with each one. I didn't have enough power to keep him out forever. Especially not when he was riding high on stolen strength.

Think. He is stronger than me, so I must be clever and quick.

I pulled some of my power back and let the cracks spread.

There were so many all he would need to do would be to give it one good push and my wards would shatter. But he had always liked to draw things out.

One of the cracks widened as his shadows slipped in, forcing it to widen. The shadows spread out, like an oily cloud, searching for more cracks to widen.

I shivered, but kept my gaze focused on the shadows. I needed him to push enough of his power through that this would hurt him. Badly. Enough that he would retreat to lick his wounds like the coward that he is.

Part of me wanted to just lash out, to drive him away, to not let him breach my sacred place any more than he already had. But I had to be patient.

Once there was a roiling mass of shadows hovering above me, I shoved as much power as I could into the barrier. The cracks snapped shut, cutting off everything he'd slid inside.

He howled in agony and rage.

But I wasn't done yet.

Even though I was swaying on my feet, I wrapped his stranded power in my own, teasing out the knots and coils, smoothing the rough edges and coaxing it into a reflection of mine.

Sweat soaked me, but I kept working until every last vestige of his shadow glowed a soft silver.

I opened the barrier and released his power back to him.

He screamed again as the power slammed home. Cracks of silver rippled through his shadows, making them writhe. He collapsed into himself, taking on an almost human appearance as he tried to hold himself together.

He looked up at me, glaring. "I won't forget this." Then he disappeared in a swirl of darkness.

I collapsed on the ground and marveled in the feel of still being alive.

There was no way I could have killed him, and I certainly hadn't had any energy left over if he'd chosen to push through the pain. The nearness of Death -- normally something quite distant to a god -- left me shaking.

"You've made an enemy for all time," War said, her voice hoarse.

I turned my head and blinked at her.

Already she was looking better. Her split lip was closed, though the swelling hadn't gone done. Her many wounds had stopped bleeding, leaving a rich golden-red glistening in the torn places of her skin.

"He already hated me," I mumbled. Then giggled.

Her lips quirked up on one side. "Mm, I suppose that's true enough. Hate holds grudges though. You barely drove him off. What happens the next time he attacks?"

I waved a hand, though it was more if an awkward flopping. "I have fought him before, though I will admit he is much stronger than the last time -- and not just because he'd dined on your power."

She frowned. "Who are you?"

"You asked me for sanctuary, and you didn't even know who I was?"

"I'd barely gotten away from him. This was the closest place of power."

I nodded. Hatred rarely did his dirty work where others could witness it. At least, not unless he was sure no one would interfere. "I have no simple name. I am too inconsequential for that."

"That's okay."

I sighed. "I am the softness when holding a child, the joy of seeing flowers bloom, and the smile returned. I am the desire to see others happy and safe."

War smiled and moved to my side. "You might not have a simple name, but I promise to protect and cherish you."

I had no response to that, so I simply smiled up at her. Who would have thought something as little as me could matter to something as powerful as her?

** I have always loved the Classical concept of Mars. War to protect the warmth and safety of home, rather than War for the sake of conquest and glory (and carnage; Ares wasn't a great god) **

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You are a small god, with very little power or influence. But you are happy, and take care of your few worshippers as much as you are able. An extraordinarily powerful being stumbles bloodied into your sacred place, and cries “Sanctuary.”