#but with like- the lightest of touch regarding angst

[giggly-squiggily]

Not What I Actually Meant (Big Windup)

*dancing* Hey hey guess who's got Big Windup to share? I do :D I wrote this for the ever amazing @intheticklecloset and wanted to share it! I hope y'all like it :D

Summary: Abe blurts out something he doesn't mean in the heat of the moment, and now Mihashi's overthinking himself sick. Time to sort things out.

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@cupcake-spice13

Abe was in a pickle.

It was especially bad, given how he didn’t even like pickles!

It all started a few days ago during baseball practice. The day had been long and he was oh so very tired. So tired in fact he didn’t see Tajima until the little bastard was behind him, sinking his fingers into his ribs.

“GAH! Son of a-Tajima!” He snapped as he twisted around, facing the grinning clean up hitter. “Would you freaking STOP?”

“What’s wrong, Abe? You’re so grumpy today!” Tajima stuck his tongue out playfully, unfazed by the catcher’s glare. “A real sour puss too! I haven’t seen you smile once this entire session!”

“It’s hard to smile when you have idiots running around jamming fingers in your ribs! I freaking hate that!” Abe fussed, swatting at him as Tajima did a little crab dance, mock pinching at him just out of reach. “Go mess with someone else if you’re so bored!”

Tajima blew a raspberry at him before running off, doing exactly as Abe suggested. Rubbing at his sides, he turned to find Mihashi standing nearby. “What a pain in the ass. He’s lucky he’s so good at what he does, else I’d break his arms.”

The pitcher was quiet as they walked, something tense in the air between them. “Are you listening?”

“Huh? Oh, I, erm- ugh..” Mihashi yelped at the question, his face lined with anxiety. “S-Sorry, I just eh..”

Abe took a breath, waving him off in what he hoped to be a gesture of faith. He really didn’t have the mental strength to do this today. “It’s fine. Don’t sweat it, Mihashi.” When that anxious look remained, he reached out and punched his shoulder. “Good job today.”

That seemed to help. Mihashi flushed with pride, eyes shining. “T-Thank you! Y-You did good too.”

And yet, despite this- that anxious frown somehow found its way back as they walked home, seeming to remain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a few days since, and Mihashi was still acting weird around him.

At first, Abe assumed it was due to stress. It was mid-year exam time, that combined with practice running longer meant there was more to juggle than usual. That explained why he suddenly looked ready to faint all the time.

That didn’t explain however why he was being distant-literally. In game, Mihashi was golden; following his signs and tuned in to his comments and critiques. Outside that, he put at least three feet of space between them on the bench, and when they were standing next to one another, he’d freeze up, straight as a board and barely breathing.

At some point the catcher gave himself a discreet sniff to see if he offended, but outside sweat, he smelled fine.

Finally, after what felt like an additional foot of space was added between them, he had enough.

“Come here.” Abe didn’t bother with questions, grabbing Mihashi’s arm and dragging him out of the dugout. He waved off concerned brows as they made their way towards the school, finally having a minute alone. “What’s going on, Mihashi?”

The pitcher flinched at the directness of his tone. “Erm, I..erm…”

“Come on, spit it out already!” Abe growled, wincing when the pitcher’s lip quivered. Gentle, gentle. “You’ve been distancing yourself from me lately, and whenever we’re standing near each other you get all weird.” He hated the tone of hurt creeping into his voice, but so be it. “What, do you not want to hang out anymore?”

“No!” Mihashi yelped out, wide eyed as he shook his head. “No, not at all!”

That sounded earnest enough. Abe waited, knowing if he demanded an answer the pitcher would only shut down. Mihashi took a breath as he looked at his hands, lips quivering and eyes filling. “I feel ba-ad, that’s a-all.”

“...Huh?” Abe blinked, not sure what that meant. “What do you have to feel bad about? You haven’t done anything wrong?”

“B-But-” Mihashi shook his head, his frown deepening. “I have! Y-You said the o-other day…about Tajima, an-and..”

The other day? Abe had mostly forgotten what he said. “What did I say about Tajima?”

“Yo-You told him you…that you ha-hated it when..” Mihashi waved his hands, voice shaking as his anxiety got worse. “When he tickled you. I felt bad because I’ve been doing it t-too…I’m rea-ally sorry, Abe.”

The catcher stared, racking his brain as he tried to remember when he ever said that. Wait- wasn’t it-

Oh.

Oh.

“Ah geez.” Abe rubbed his face with both hands, both relieved and exhausted at the same time. Mihashi looked up at him with wide, wet eyes- seeming to forget how to breathe. “I really messed up, didn’t I?”

“A-Abe? No, I-”

“You heard me tell Tajima I hated being tickled.” The catcher stated, watching Mihashi deflate some. “And now you feel like you’ve been making me uncomfortable this entire time and feel like shit. Am I somewhere in the ball park here?”

Nail in the coffin. Mihashi bowed his head as he nodded, pulling at his fingers so tightly they were turning white. Abe felt his neck get hot as he looked towards the field, finding the words.

“Look, in that moment, that was how I felt. I was tired and cranky, and I didn't like being tickled at that moment.” He willed himself to look back at the pitcher- finding those wide nervous eyes on him. “That…doesn’t mean I don’t like being tickled at all. I don’t mind it when I’m in a better mood, and I..don’t really mind it when you do it either.” God, was it hot in here? He tugged at his collar, gritting his teeth. “So stop acting so weird about it. You’ve done nothing wrong, and if I actually want you to stop, I’ll tell you.”

“O-Okay.” The pitcher nodded, seeming to relax. Not enough if you asked Abe though. “T-Thank you for telling me.”

The catcher nodded, leaving them kinda standing there. This was getting more and more awkward by the minute. Mihashi looked like he wanted to ask something, opening and closing his mouth as he fiddled with his hands.

“You can do it if you want.” Abe gestured, earning a small yelp from the other.

“Are you sure?”

“Would I be offering it if I wasn’t?” He put his arms up and behind his head, looking at Mihashi expectantly. “If it puts your mind at ease, then do it. I’ll tell you when I’m through.”

The shy pitcher nodded, hesitantly reaching out and prodding at Abe’s side. It made him twitch, but he refused to put his arms down. “C-come on now, I know you can do better than thahat!”

The gentle prods turned into more fingers, lightly clawing at his side while Abe puffed his cheeks. Sure, he could just laugh, but what fun would that be? “O-Okay! Here I come, Abe!”

He would have told the pitcher to “bring it” if he hadn’t immediately broken into giggles at the addition of a second hand. “Gah! Ehehhahahaha! S-Sehehehehee? Thihihis if fihihihne! I’m nohohohoht hahahahhting thihihihis at ahahahhahall!”

Mihashi’s worried look was fading with each laugh earned, his eyes softening and his frown fading into a small smile. “G-Good! I’m happy to hear t-that.” He changed his finger positioning in such a way it nearly made the catcher shoot his arms down, the tickles riding his nervous system in waves.

Who knew the world’s most anxious pitcher was this good at tickling? If he ever got serious, he could probably put Tajima to shame. “Aheahhahahha! Gehahhaha, cooohohome ohohohon- I’m nhoohohot juhuhuhust tihihihicklish oohohn my rihihihibs!”

“D-Do you want me to move?” Mihashi asked, pausing briefly while Abe caught his breath. “I can go somewhere else if you want..”

“Heh..hehehe..y-yeah, sure. Whahahtever works.” Abe didn’t really have a preference. Whatever floats his boat, right?

Then fingers dug into his stomach out of nowhere and Abe began regretting giving Mihashi such free range.

“GAHAHA!” He immediately doubled over at the touch, arms shooting down and blocking his belly as he fell to his knees. “Gahhahad, a wahaharning next tihihime, Mihihhashi! Ehehehee! Yohoohu can’t go arohohund thiihckling a man’s pudge like that!”

Mihashi seemed stunned into silence, eyes wide. For a moment, Abe wondered if he was too harsh in his response.

Then the pitcher was covering his mouth, cheeks puffing and warming. He let out a few muffled giggles before giving up and laughing outright. “Ahehehehahaha! Puuhuhudge?”

He did say that, didn’t he? Abe snorted, grinning at the sight of Mihashi all but falling on  his butt in soft giggles, one hand covering his mouth while the other held his belly. “That really tickled you, didn’t it?”

Laughing still, Mihashi could only nod as he wiped at his face. It was such a refreshing sight, seeing those anxious lines finally, finally fade away. “Eheheh..heheh..sohohorry.”

“What did I say about apologizing?” Abe tsked, reaching out and lightly shoving Mihashi when the other panicked. “Relax, dude. Really- you’re fine.”

The pitcher nodded, something easier in his gaze when he met his eye again. “Thank you..but still, I am sorry for being weird earlier. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You-” Damn, was it obvious. Abe cleared his throat as he looked away. The field felt hot once more. “Fine, okay, maybe it did piss me off, but we’re fine now. I’m over it.”

“But-”

“Mihashi, if you apologize one more time I’m gonna sit on you and tickle you until you pee.” Abe glared, putting all his intensity in it. An empty threat, but it did the job. The pitcher nodded rapidly, muttering about understanding. “Cool? Cool. Let’s get back before Coach sends Tajima after us.” He pulled Mihashi to his feet, walking back feeling refreshed. To his personal satisfaction, Mihashi wasn’t putting distance between them anymore.

When they got back to the dugout, he even felt a small poke in the ribs before the pitcher headed onto the field for drills. Abe raised a brow, strangely proud.

He likely just released yet another tickle monster upon himself.

Eh. Worth it if it meant he felt more confident.

Thanks for reading!

[notthefirstfallenangel]

Hello 👋 👋 do you take requests cause I had this idea in my mind but I suck in writing

how bout a ghost x reader where he had a bad day and takes it out on his beloved reader who he's been in a really long relationship with, by starting an argument and maybe saying some really mean and bad things that break the reader. Like the reader is only a shell of herself and completely ruined by ghosts words and just crying or sitting completely still staring off the wall or just staring at nothing just being numb.

What would be interesting is Simons reaction when he realizes the damage that he's done, maybe he would cry/break down idk when he sees the usually happy reader being so dull and almost lifeless yk

But Pleasee don't do this to our hearts and write some comfort and a happy ending please I couldn't handle too much angst😭❤️

I really enjoyed writing this! I hope you like it and that's close enough to what you had in mind.❤️

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn reader

Warnings: established relationship, argument, swearing, fluff

Summary: Simon had a hard time today and lashed out, hurting the one he loves.

Words: 3.2k

Having known Simon for years, you knew him to be rather reserved in regard to expressing his emotions. This was not merely an observation but something you had come to grudgingly accept and respect over the years.

In nearly all things, he exuded an overpowering stoicism that was difficult to penetrate. However, there were moments when you saw flashes of his emotions that were connected to you; they came to you like brief glimpses of lightning through storm clouds. His eyes would burn with intensity, and his voice would simmer with passion. When the two of you fought, it was like watching a tempest arise from the depths of his soul. His body would tense up, and his fists would clench as he struggled to contain the turmoil within him. It was at those moments that you knew you had touched something deep, something primal within him.

His raging anger was so unusual to you; it was almost as if his love for you transcended to the heavens, making him incapable of showing anything but adoration.

But exceptions make rules, and this time, It all started with the lightest touch and an apparently simple question.

Simon was in one of his peculiar moods recently, completely detached and unable to have a simple conversation that didn’t imply a sarcastic tone, a short answer or an annoyed look. His mind was elsewhere, trapped in a bizarre maze with no exit and surrounded by millions of strange thoughts.

But that night was worse than any other; he was in an intense state of anger, tension and anxiety.

When he got home from work, the night was thick and black, and the lights of the city spilt into the sky in front of him. The streets were deserted, save for a few scant cars that cast dull reflections on the wet pavement.

He put his keys down on the kitchen counter and poured himself a strong shot of bourbon. Settling into his favourite chair in the living room, he flipped on the television and watched football.

The sound of the TV echoed down the hallway and caught your attention. You were lying in bed with the covers pulled up to your chin, drifting in that hazy place between awake and asleep as you tried to wait for him. You sat up and threw off the blankets. The sound grew louder as you stepped out of your room and walked toward its source.

The pale blue glow of the television cast a faint light into the living room. It bounced off the walls and covered Simon’s face in a pale blue hue, his stern features barely rendered in the dim light.

You watched him for a moment, noticing the way his chest rose and fell with each long breath. You knew him well enough to understand when he needed space and when he needed a comforting presence, and right now, it seemed that he needed both. You sat down next to him, close enough that your thighs brushed against each other but far enough that he didn’t feel suffocated by your presence.

“Dinner is in the oven,” you said.

He grunted in response, not taking his eyes off the screen. You knew that he was not in the mood for small talk, but you couldn’t help but feel slightly hurt by his dismissal.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, your voice soft and gentle. You placed your hand on his thigh, not expecting a response but just offering a touch of comfort. You watched his face, saw his jaw clenched tightly, and knew he was holding something back.

He met your gaze with an expression void of emotion. His stare was heavy and unfamiliar, and you felt as if he was looking right through you.

“I’m fine,” Simon muttered, his voice as flat as his expression.

He made no move to reciprocate the touch, not wanting to risk being drawn into any sort of conversation right now, especially not the dreaded ‘How are you, darling?’ talk that seemed to have become inevitable between you.

Your gaze travelled up his strong frame, and the broad shoulders now slumped with a heaviness you had never seen before. You had known him for years and, in that time, had become familiar with his habit of self-reliance; he rarely asked for help or confided in anyone. But the strain on his face was clear—you could only imagine how much he must be enduring.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” you ventured.

“I just need a bloody drink,” he said, his tone becoming more irritable.

You knew that he was hiding something, but you didn’t know what it was. You reached for his glass, taking it from him before he could react, and set it on the coffee table.

“It might be better if you didn’t drink right now,” you said gently.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he muttered, his voice raw and tired.

You understood his need to escape, to push all of his problems away and bury himself in something mindless. Still, you knew he needed to talk about what was bothering him.

“Simon, please talk to me,” you said softly, your voice a gentle caress. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but I want to know what’s going on with you.”

"There's bloody nothin' to talk about.”

The words tasted like poison on his tongue. He could feel the liquor burning down his throat, washing away all reason from his mind with its fiery embrace.

His response to any emotional vulnerability was immediate and instinctive, like a reflex of a broken heart. It seemed easier for him to face a wild animal than to show his vulnerable side to the person he treasured most in this world. He was determined to keep all thoughts and feelings under wraps- a habit of self-preservation, his biggest weakness. But you were different. You were the only one who had ever been able to breach that barrier, the only one who had ever been able to see past the tough façade that he had built to protect himself.

You moved closer, your hands gently cradling his face. His bristly beard tickled your palms as his warm skin heated up beneath your fingertips. The faint scars were like old stitches holding a piece of fabric together. You could feel the ridges and curves of those white lines.

“Simon,” you whispered, “Please let me in. I won’t let you go until you do.”

He moved his head away from your touch. His jaw tensed, and his brows furrowed as he looked to the ground. He crossed his arms tight over his body as if the tension of his arms was necessary to protect himself, to conceal his vulnerability.

He was so big, so intimidating. But you knew that beneath that tough exterior was a man who was hurting, a man who needed to let it out. You didn’t give up.

He looked away. He was always a man of few words, direct and to the point. His movements were controlled and precise.

"You fockin' know I hate it when you do this,” he muttered.

“Do what? I just want to help you.”

Your voice was gentle, but he could hear the determination in your words.

“I don’t need your help,” he said stubbornly.

“Simon, please don’t do this,” you said, “I love you, and I want to help you.”

“I don’t bloody need your help,” he growled angrily under his breath. “Can't ya just leave me alone when I come home for once, love?.”

His tone was venomous as he said the words, a coldness in his eyes that you had never seen before.

He gritted his teeth together to prevent an outburst of anger. The atmosphere was charged with tension, like a thundercloud about to break, and he exhaled deeply.

“You can’t keep pushing me away like this, Simon. We’re a couple, and we need to be able to talk about things and work through them together.”

“You’re the one not listening,” he hissed, his fists clenched tight in anger as he prepared to unleash the fury that had been boiling beneath the surface. “ All you do is talk, and I can't be bothered to deal with yer constant bullshit, 'specially when I come home from work and I get fockin' interrogated by you all the time. I'm sick of this nonsense. Can ya stop with your constant neediness!?”

“I’m just trying to help,” you protested. “I care about you!”

“You wanna know what's wrong with me? Fine, ” he snapped, his voice quivering with anger as he stood up and turned to face you.”You think you know what I want. You think 'yah know what's best for me. Well, you don't. You haven't a bloody clue. I'm just sick of all of this... sick of you!”

You watched as Simon’s chest heaved, his eyes wild with fury. You had never seen him like this before, and it scared you. It was as if he was a stranger, a man who had disappeared into himself and returned changed, unrecognisable. Your hand reached out to touch him, but he swatted it away with a ferocity that made you flinch.

Tears pricked at the edge of your eyes, and you refused to let them fall. You refused to give Simon the satisfaction of seeing you broken by his words. Instead, you stood up too and looked him straight in the eye.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” you said, your voice steady despite your heart racing.” But you don’t get to treat me like this. I won’t be spoken to like I’m an inconvenience. Especially since I’ve been there for you through everything, every high, every low. I’m always here for you-”

“You were there for me? Ha! Please,” he said, laughing harshly as he rolled his eyes. “It's 'cause you need someone to need, and that's the only bloody reason you're still 'ere with me! You thrive off all this fockin' attention! Ya keep bloody tryina fix someone else 'cause ya can't look at yourself!”

“That’s not true,” you argued.

“Oh, but it is,” Simon sneered. “You’re nothing but a manipulator who’s gotten too good at playin' the victim.”

He had finally crossed the line, his words hitting you like a truck. This was by far the worst argument you had ever had, his words cutting far more profound than he intended if he wasn’t so consumed by anger.

“I won’t stand for this,” you said, your voice trembling with anger. “You don’t get to talk to me that way. Not after everything we’ve been through. I’m the one who loves you, and I will always stand by you.”

“You don’t know anything about love,” he said stern;

His voice was so icy, devoid of any emotion or warmth. It carried no trace of familiarity-just an unfamiliar chill that made it sound like somebody else talking.

He grabbed his jacket and turned away from you, walking off into the night without another word.

Your heart feels like it’s been crushed as you watch him go. You knew he was angry, but this was far beyond anything he had ever said to you. His words felt like a physical punch to the gut, and you can’t believe how easily he managed to shatter your heart.

You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying your best to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. Simon’s words repeated themselves over and over again in your mind, each one feeling like a stab to the heart. You couldn’t believe that he thought of you like that, and it hurt more than anything else ever had.

Time blurred together, yet you stayed planted on the couch. You were a mannequin of despair, too petrified to move or think. It was almost comical that someone so devoted could hurt you this badly.

You recalled the good times you had shared, from laughter to tender kisses. You felt your stomach churn as you remembered him claiming he loved you and that it would last forever. Now you questioned whether any of those feelings were real or if it had all just been an illusion.

You ran your fingers across your cheeks, wiping away the tears and salt water. As the truth sank in, you felt the goosebumps rising on your skin that the person you loved more than anything else was starting to despise you.

It felt like your body was burning from the inside out, like you were being eaten alive from the inside.

You felt your eyelids droop under the heavy burden as you lay on the couch, racked with an unbearable weight of sorrow and guilt. The room was still and oppressive. No other sound filled the air but a distant TV playing a commercial about an extravagantly priced product no one could possibly need, emphasising the complete silence around you. It felt like a thousand-pound weight on your chest as you sat alone in the emptiness.

-

The sun had barely crested the horizon when Simon opened the door, yet the living room was already aglow with a faint light that cast shadows over your figure. The light refracting off your bright blue sweater made it look almost electric in the low morning light. It felt like the air of an autumn morning when the wind carried a chill, and the sun was still rising.

He hesitated at the threshold, unsure whether to step inside or not. He knew he had deeply hurt you with his words, and the guilt weighed heavily on his conscience. Simon had never intended to lash out at you like that, but at that moment, his emotions had gotten the best of him, and he couldn’t control the venom that had spewed from his mouth.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, making his way towards the couch where you lay. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could feel his palms growing sweaty with nerves.

When he reached the couch, he stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. You looked so small and vulnerable lying there, and it made him ache with regret for what he had done. It had been so long since he’d seen you cry he’d forgotten what it looked like. You were always the strong, optimistic one, but this . . . this sight was new to him.

He knelt before you, his hands shaking as he slowly reached out to brush the tips of his fingers through your hair. His eyes were full of emotion and desperation as he silently pleaded for forgiveness.

You jolted backwards as if an electrical current had just run through you. His heart sank, and he dropped his hand to his side; his vision blurred with tears, realising his attempt to push you away finally came back to haunt him.

His lips parted, but no words came out. His eyes were glassy, and his brow furrowed in anguish. He glanced down at the ground, searching for the right thing to say, trying to make sense of all the emotions bubbling within him. He knew it was his fault; he had been too stubborn and scared to let you in. Now, he was in a moment of despair, not knowing what to do or how to fix it.

You watched him in silence, feeling the weight of his guilt and regret like a heavy burden on your chest. He hurt you, but you still loved him, and the thought of losing him was unbearable. You sat up slowly, still unsure if you wanted to forgive him or not.

Simon looked up at you, his eyes locking onto yours, and he saw something he had never seen before. He saw the pain that he had caused you, the hurt and the heartache, and it was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Simon’s eyes were brimming with tears, and one teardrop crept its way down his cheek and onto his chin before falling onto his shirt. It lay there for a moment and then absorbed into the fabric of the cotton garment, leaving behind only a damp spot.

Those tears were nothing but a mirror of your own. You were both sharing the same feeling, both experiencing the same anguish.

You felt his strong, warm hands on your face. He used his thumbs to brush away the salty tears that trickled down from your eyes. He kissed each teardrop away with a soft press of his lips on your cheeks, chin and eyes.

You heard his voice crack ever so slightly as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, love.I'm so goddamn sorry.”

You closed your eyes, feeling his lips on your skin and the warmth of his breath on your face. His touch was gentle, and you could feel the sincerity in his apology as he continued to kiss away your tears. A part of you wanted to push him away, to make him suffer like you had, but another part yearned for his touch and love. You were torn between anger and forgiveness, between hurt and love.

Simon pulled back, his gaze still fixed on yours as he searched for any sign of forgiveness. You looked at him, and for the first time in a long while, you saw the vulnerability in his eyes. You saw the pain and regret that he was feeling, and it moved you. It made you realise that he wasn’t invincible, flawed, and needed you just as much as you needed him.

“Didn’t mean any of that shite I said… I was angry, ‘n took it out on you. The job I’m on right now… It’s… rough.,” He blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears from flowing down. “But you don’t deserve this.”

You felt your heart swell with emotion. You wanted to forgive him, and you knew that if you could do it, it would be a fresh start for both of you. You took a deep breath and nodded in agreement, finally finding the courage to tell him how much his words had hurt you.

You told him about all the sleepless nights spent worrying about what he was thinking and feeling, all the moments when loneliness had taken over your life, and how scared you had been of losing him forever.

But as you spoke, something inside of you changed. The pain slowly dissolved away as forgiveness crept into your body like the sun’s rays on a cold winter morning. Simon listened intently without interruption while tears streamed down his face; he held your hands tightly as he apologised again before pulling you closer to him in an embrace.

At that moment, everything seemed to fall into place.

He buried his face in your neck and whispered how much he loved you over and over again until all traces of sadness had dissipated from you.

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other’s arms, and you knew right then and there that no matter what happened in the future, he would always be your home.

[sophieswundergarten]

WAIT

It's Floorboard Chomping Friday!!!

Here (in no particular order) are some of my all-time favourites!!

"Some Choice Words" by @mysteriouseggsbenedict

Choice Tags: angry nicholas benedict, he yells in all caps!!, everyone say it with me: curtain sucks!!

"A collection of records, regarding Ms. Dipika Perumal and one missing child" by @3584-tropical-fish

Choice Tags: Epistolary, Missing Persons, technically that is true but we the audience know where he is, Mentioned Reynie Muldoon - Freeform

"Nicholas Benedict's Home For Misfits" by @fandom-queen-13

Choice Tags: there is a fight scene, and a description of two lab escapees, three if you include Milligan, look it's not my fault he just appeared one day and even he doesn't know if he's an escapee or not, SQ shows up briefly at the end

"of scarecrows, sunshine, and curses" by @mashpotatoequeen

Choice Tags: Kate Wetherall Needs a Hug, Milligan also needs a hug, Milligan was described as a scarecrow in the first book, i take this concept and complete a 400 meter sprint with it, the ten man are tinmen, i think I am funny

"Treat Them With(out) Mercy" by @nobodysdaydreams

Choice Tags: Electrocution, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemy Caregiver, Whumptober 2023, no.4 Shock

"Chirps of a Bird" by @heyitsthatonesmolgay

Choice Tags: Echolalia, Stimming, Family Fluff

"Skin Hunger" by @mvshortcut

Choice Tags: Touch-Starved Nicholas Benedict, Touch-Starvation, Platonic Cuddling, Spells & Enchantments, read the notes for some warnings please!

"you're going too fast, you'll burn up soon" by @oflightningandstars

Choice Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Kate is having a rough time in this one, I love when Kate is happy and doing well I promise, I just also enjoy putting her in the blender

"the lightest touch" by @bi-demon-ium

Choice Tags: Mr. Benedict-centricas is the norm for me <3, Touch-Starved Nicholas Benedict, very non graphic mention of car accident, no one we care about, mr benedict is kind of an unreliable narrator when it comes to himself, Found Family, Nicholas Benedict Needs a Hug, NO. SERIOUSLY. HE REALLY REALLY NEEDS A HUG, SOMEONE PLEASE GIVE HIM A HUG IM BEGGING Y

"Food for Thought" by @phtalogreenpoison

Choice Tags: there is mention of a knife, Friendship, Father Figures, I am promoting the Milligan is like a second dad to Number Two agenda, also I headcanon Number Two is 27 ish and Milligan is like mid forties

"The Psychic File" by @acollectionofcuriousreblogs

Choice Tags: Found Family, Reynie needs a break, Just let him rest, Ledroptha Curtain is a jerk, What if the good guys didn’t win?, cause the world needs more of these types of fics, Takes place after book three as a Riddle of ages replacement

"here's to (never) growing up" by @binnudacademy

Choice Tags: the old hag, Nightmares, is apparently the only tag AO3 officially has? boo, Reynie Muldoon Needs a Hug, Sticky Washington Needs A Hug, Constance contraire needs a hug

"are you sick of me? would you like to be?"

Choice Tags: Reynie Muldoon-centric, placed in the year between season 1 and 2, Light Angst, we are safe here, made for a light read, no ship focus, read this however you'd like to, 5+1 Things

"Wrapped around her little finger"

Choice Tags: Mirror fic, This is so sad everyone, But also super adorable, show! Constance as a two year old, Being adorable, Mr. Benedict being equally adorable with Constance, Alice in wonderland is my favorite book but I also think Mr. Benedict would really enjoy it, And Constance because theres no rules there, He loves her so immediately, I love how much he loves her, Constance pulling on his beard is my favorite

[petrichoraline]

wait stay by my side is good??? and no one told me??? or maybe i keep confusing stay by side and stay with me lol

as someone who is all caught up on both shows - they're both fun 😄

this ask is from three days ago when I talked about how stay by my side (taiwanese show about a boy who can hear ghosts and the guy who gives him a break through touch) had a very fun sixth episode. i wasn't into the show that much but ep.6 gave me some heart-fluttering moments and cute angst that I neither took seriously nor disliked - it was fun for me because of the execution, the fact I don't take anything happening in the show to heart and because the show is short enough so I sensed a resolution was coming very soon 😁

now ive seen episode 7 as well and I can say 6 is definitely my fave. the conflicts are predictable, theres nothing really new but thats what goves you the safe feeling - you dont risk breaking your heart watching it haha. i'd recommend this in case you want a quick sweet watch with "cute silly boy denying his feelings" and "cold rude guy turned passionate suitor". it's the lightest watch i've seen in a while and it's my palette cleanser these days (everything I watch is angsty apparently and the angst supreme™️ trio of loa, of and dr hasn't even reared its ugly head yet lol)

stay with me (the og title of which I find real cute: "gege, don't run") is as far as I know a remake of addicted - a chinese bl that was Very direct in regards to what it's about and therefore got canceled AND banned and the main actors - banned from interacting with each other on tv or at public events for years; I thought swm would be a story set in the same universe or smth but as I watched the first episode I kept getting deja vu until I realised it's the same plot lol

it's about two teens whose dad and mom, respectively, got together - the boys claim to hate each other before they even meet, then fate brings them together without them recognizing each other and shenanigans ensue. it's about found family, finding common ground with parents you can't communicate with, about forgiveness and acceptance. the characters are very lovable <3 the crew is doing their best fighting censorship so it's very clear that the couple are not just bros. they can't, however, do what addicted did so many might prefer the 2016 show. I, personally, was not a fan of the mains in that - wu bi is too possessive for me in this version but his predecessor was Something Else

it's a very standard modern mainland china show. the reason im mentioning this is because of clips on tt and having not seen a cdrama in a while, i had the impression itd be more like a taiwanese or korean bl. the editing, dubbing, bizarrely cut scenes - nothing new in cdrama land. i was wondering if I would recommend it but I think I would, yes. some coincidences and plot points are just so beyond belief that you'd roll your eyes but it's not smth unheard of when it comes to asian dramas haha and I think you'd get so caught up in the angst, domesticity and hunting down hints spread around like easter eggs that you just won't mind the convenient plots (if you would care bout such a thing in the first place)

I'm doing a bad job at promoting this show but I do want more people to see it. the cast is perfect imo (..except for duo duo, I'm sorry but that bby cannot act..her face and aura suit the character though), the sets are all amazing (I like the school, I like su yu's home, I like the shared space later on etc.etc., all decor is very well picked and pleasant to the eye) and the moral of the story is heartwarming, its execution too.

you get passionate hot-headed athletic rich boy who's crazy for his equally smitten furrow-browed genius humble guy - they both value family and each other very much and are willing to do everything for those close to them. it's very endearing and their dynamic is swoonworthy, they're a complete power couple.

(also, spoiler, you get enemies to friends to lovers which is pretty neat)(the spark is there from day 1 tho)

EDIT: i wrote this before the final two episodes were released so disclaimer - POST FINALE SPOILER: if you don't like open endings, esp distressing ones, i don't advise you watch it now - better wait for a secure second season

[lovetohate001]

I was thinking about an imagine with 001 that starts with smut and the next day 002 tells dr. Brenner that reader and 001 are secretly dating and the reader says it's her fault. So she gets tortured and shit. Then Brenner decides to let her go and Peter comforts her after and takes care of her PLEASE I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!!

Never Let You Go

Peter Ballard x Female!Reader | ANGST, R-Rated sexual content

CW: spoilers for season 4, shock treatment scene

word count: 1.4k

© lovetohate001, 2022. reposting/translating is not allowed.

He was never harsh. And he was never cruel. Whatever he had done to end up here was something you would never fully understand. Because how could someone so gentle and so beautiful possibly have been a monster, when he was so gently touching the parts of you that you weren’t even aware of.

“I need you to use your words,” he whispered softly into your ear, his breath against your neck sending a wave of desire through you.

 “Please…” you sighed. “Please touch me.”

“Like this?” he circled your entrance with his index and middle finger, putting the lightest of pressure there. And he was almost-so close to pushing in. 

You whined when he pulled back again and met your gaze. 

“You look so beautiful like that,” he marvelled, his eyes sweeping over your body underneath him. “And it’s all for me.”

You held back a yelp as he pushed his fingers into you slowly, and softly. His eyes never left yours, his kiss-swollen lips parted as he watched what he could do to you, what his fingers did to that pretty face of yours, furrowing your brows and squeezing your eyes oh so tightly in pleasure.

Nights like these weren’t uncommon for the two of you. As orderlies in the Rainbow Room, the two of you spent large amounts of time together, and while you had established a beautiful friendship, the two of you grew older, and feelings blossomed into something a little bit more. 

This night was special, though. Peter wanted you to escape. He wanted the two of you to have a life outside of this lab where you both could be more than this. But he needed a plan. And he needed 011 to do it. 

Your nails dug into his back harshly as he left small bites down your neck, his hands still continuing their ministrations, his fingers gliding in and out of you perfectly, the other at your breast, kneading it softly. Breaths coming out in small gasps, your body went lax as warmth spread throughout you, Peter holding you close and peppering kisses across your face, muttering hushed words of praise.

 “I love you so much,” you finally said, your breath caught and your eyes drooping with sleep. 

“Sleep, my love.” He held you close and curled up next to you on the small bed.

You’d never felt safer in your life in a place that was crueller than the world outside. 

The next morning was just as mundane as all the others before. Breakfast. Training. The Rainbow Room. Break. Training. Lunch. Academic Tests. Training. Rest. Dinner. What shocked you most was when Doctor Brenner approached you personally on the way to the dinner hall after your shift was over, his face grim and his frown etched into the crease between his brows. 

“Please, come with me, there are some things we need to discuss in a more private setting.”

You did not like the sound of that. You trailed behind Brenner down the hallway, to his office on the other end. The smell of books and polished wood hit you as he opened the door and guided you in. 002 sat in one of the two chairs facing Brenner’s desk. His grey eyes shot up to meet yours quickly before going back to the ground. He threw a cocky smirk your way while Brenner’s closed the door.

 “As you may know, Y/N, we have strict rules regarding fellow employees and test subjects at this facility,” Brenner started. “And with this in mind, you can confirm that you are very aware of the consequences if you are caught compromising these rules?”

“Yes, I am aware,” you answered, your gaze unwavering as you made direct eye contact with the doctor. 

You could not under any circumstances let him see through your façade. Your loyalty and love for Peter ran deeper than that. Brenner couldn’t scare you into admitting a single damned thing. He’d have to kill you.

“The you are also aware that you have compromised these rules already,” Brenner said coolly, tilting his head 002’s way. “002 came to me this morning to report an incident he came across last night on his way back from the infirmary after his training. He states that you and Peter Ballard were in a rather compromising position regarding your place in this facility.”

You sat up a little straighter in your seat before replying, “I have no recollecting of such happenings, Doctor.”

“Well…it seems it is 002’s words against yours,” Brenner sighed. “It seems like we will have to take disciplinary action either way, since we have no way of confirming or denying these actions.”

“Cameras aren’t allowed in anyone’s rooms, as you clarified in our contracts, Doctor Brenner,” you confirmed, nodding your head in respect. Your sweet words tasted bitter on your tongue.

“They were together!” 002’s outburst made you and Doctor Brenner start. “I saw him go into her room. She’s lying!”

You looked at 002 with the best look of disbelief you could muster. This child. For all he was worth, you wished one of the other children would put him in his place. He was arrogant. And selfish.

 “I trust that you aren’t lying, 002,” Brenner started, his voice calm and understanding, “but I am concerned as to why Y/N has decided to take the other side.”

“I am not lying. That was in my contract too.”

“I trust that 002, and all the other subjects here would never lie. But you are an outsider,” Brenner explained, his eyes cold and distant. “And I know outsiders don’t have the same amount of trust and respect that these children have. But I think you know where I’m going with this by now…”

“Take her to the therapy room,” Brenner said, waving a hand to one of the other orderlies who stood by the door. 

You felt strong hands wrap around your arms and hoist you from your chair. You didn’t even fight it. If you did, he’d think you’d had something to hide. Something worth fighting for. And so, you allowed yourself to be dragged through the hallway.

 You cast your eyes down to the floor when they strapped you into the chair. The hum of electricity filled your ears. an orderly placed a cap over your head. Stuck wires to your temples. Tied your hands to the armrests. A metal taste filled your mouth. You’d bitten your tongue when they’d let the current out, to run through your body, through your skull, your arms, your torso. If it weren’t for the straps, you’d have slid down onto the floor. 

Your fingertips buzzed and your toes prickled with what felt like pins and needles. They asked you the same question every time: have you had any unprofessional relations with Peter Ballard? And every time you shook your head, before another current was sent through you, cutting into your bones and spiking your heart rate.

The dial went up, up, up, and so your consciousness swam down, down, down, until you allowed the darkness to swallow you whole. 

“Y/N…”

It was a soft voice. A gentle voice. One you knew well, that dragged you back to the fluorescent lights of the infirmary.

 “Y/N…”A calloused hand squeezed yours, harder and harder as you came back. Urging you to stay with him.

“It’s alright. I’m here. I’m here….” Those words were whispered by your ear as you felt arms lift you into a sitting position, coaxing a glass of water into your hands.

 The sound of ice blocks clink clink clinking against glass. The water wet your dry lips and moistened your dry throat. You coughed. It stung to swallow. You couldn’t speak. Tears welled up in your eyes.

“Don’t cry my love. Don’t cry.” Gentle hands brushed your cheeks, wiping your tears away.

 “My love.” Peter hugged you tightly and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “My love, you are alright. You are here. You are alive.”

You let out a small whimper, allowing your tears to fall freely now. You thought Brenner had taken him. You’d had such horrible dreams.

“We’re getting out of here. Tomorrow,” he murmured in your ear. “011 has agreed to help me. To escape with us. Tomorrow, my love. Then this will be all over.

”You nodded and took in a shaky breath. Soon. Soon it’ll be all over. For now, you would rest.

“After tomorrow, I’m never letting you go, never letting you out of my sight again,” he said into your hair.

The world had been cruel enough. It was time he showed them what monsters they had created. Even if it meant a few deaths for their freedom. Everything had a price in life for the means of restoring balance. And he knew the cost. He knew it all. For you.

MASTERLIST

SEND AN ASK / FIC REQUEST HERE

[ineffable-doll]

For the WIP ask game (sorry for the late ask), I'm curious about "angst fic sad times oof"

[In reference to this post]

I started that WIP based on an Angstember prompt last year: “You don’t have to tell me what happened, but you can if you want to.” I like what I have written but lost motivation at some point! Here's a snippet:

~~~

Crowley made to reply, but a giant yawn interrupted him, and he blinked tiredly after, trying to ignore every sign from his body that he ought to be resting in a bed somewhere. He’d go nap when he was done. When his stupid insides were calmed by whatever it was Aziraphale’s presence did to him.

He hated to admit it, but this far from the first time he’d sought Aziraphale out after...well...something bad.

This time, though, Aziraphale was regarding him with a certain level of confusion, traced with alarm. “Crowley...my goodness.”

The demon drew back a bit, surprised. “What?”

“Your...energy,” he said vaguely, gesturing around Crowley. “I can’t believe I didn’t see. There’s practically nothing there. What in the world have you been doing?”

“Nothing,” Crowley replied, crossing his arms again. “Just haven’t slept in a bit, that’s all.”

“I’m sure you’ve been wasting your energy on all sorts of nonsense,” Aziraphale sighed fondly, walking past him to the counter. “Influencing minds to evil deeds, I suppose? Salacious hullabaloo? Doodling on miniatures?” 

Their shoulders brushed, and it was nothing, it was the lightest thing, barely a touch, Crowley even saw it coming, knew it would happen-

He flinched, hand immediately rising to his shoulder.

Aziraphale paused there, eyes wide. “Are you-”

“Going? Yes,” Crowley said, pulling away and making for the door. This had been a mistake; he should never have come here.

~~~

It's a rude place to leave you, I know! hopefully I'll finish it eventually.

[gingerpeachtae]

Concentric [20]

masterlist

Words: 4.4k

Genres: fantasy!AU, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, eventual smut (?)

Warnings: n/a

Summary: You had been ready for the end of the semester. You had been ready to spend time away from your best friend, Jimin, and finally move on from the feelings you harbored. Yet, after your friend was forced to reveal a secret, you found yourself in a new world that was chock full of magic, war, and wonder. So, here you were, basically thrown into your own fantasy novel, with your best friend on one side, and six male warriors on the other.

A/N: Thank you everyone for being so patient again. I’m so grateful to have such wonderful readers 💙

Jimin hoisted himself up through the tree limbs, his heart feeling the lightest it had in days. Full of hope and potential and acceptance.

The bark of his father’s draeva scraped his palms as he climbed higher. The branches scratched against his face as he wove, twisted, and turned through the maze of limbs. The occasional leaf tickled his skin.

A forceful breeze rustled the tree just as the handprint burned into the wood came into sight.

Jimin heaved his strong, lithe body onto the thick branch that was just below the mark and crouched down to balance himself in the blowing wind.

Below him, he knew Jiae and Mingi were watching, hoping. For it to work this time. For him to use whatever key was inside of him and unlock the secret held within the draeva. For them to finally get answers.

With a deep breath, the half-Saeni briefly closed his eyes and did his best to do what you had suggested. To drop whatever mental wall he had constructed against the father he never knew. Slowly letting out the air, Jimin opened his brown eyes and raised his free hand. After flexing his fingers once, he then reached out.

Fingertips lightly met the black mark.

A jolt shuddered through his fingers, trailing up his hand, through his arm, and into his entire his entire body.

Jimin stiffened as he gasped in air, his eyes going wide as the jolt transformed into a surge of something.

“Hello, Jimin.” A warm, feminine voice floated into his head. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The apricot-head recoiled as his sight went blurry and began to go white at the edges. His body grew numb and heavy. He felt himself start to teeter to the side, losing his balance.

“It’ll be okay,” the voice soothed. “This will help you understand.”

Then, as his foot slipped and he heard a distant scream of his name, Jimin lost all feeling in his body.

He fell, his eyes rolling back into his head.

But all he could see was a blinding white.

Until the white exploded into a collection of flashing images... memories that were not his own.

She is nothing. Just a thought, a fleeting moment, a consciousness scattered across an endless sky.

She is formed. Gentle hands, slender limbs, and glittering eyes reminiscent of a rainbow.

She is not alone. To one side is a female with a sharp features and strength running through her bones. Sister. To the other side, a male with contemplative eyes and half-black, half-white hair. Brother. They give her a name: Illai.

She creates life. Her feet meet the barren ground softly as she radiates a soft, white light. In her wake, trees and flowers sprout and expand over the earth.

She meets a stranger. He expels an inky darkness, so different from her pure light. But he has playfulness in his ruby eyes. It draws her in.

She falls in love. Stolen glances turn to kisses and he gifts her the night, so she may see the twinkling lights in the darkness. Soon after, promises of forever are whispered in her ear.

She births children. Each of them take charge of a different season, making the world cycle and turn.

She grows stronger. From the seeds of a tree, she brings forth a race to inhabit the world. She names them ‘Saeni,’ after the tree species of which they are born. To her disappointment, she is never able to grow that tree again.

She discovers manifested chaos. As her powers grow, so do her lover’s. Death, despair, darkness. It seeps into the souls of Saeni, and it all stems from the male at her side.

She ignores her siblings’ warnings. They see it in his eyes. How his powers begin to consume him and drive him mad.

She doesn’t notice it, too lost in his touch and promises.

She watches by as peace slowly falls apart.

She watches as smoke and darkness invades the minds of all living creatures.

She watches as the playfulness behind his eyes turns sinister.

She watches as the world starts to burn with anarchy.

She watches until she finally realizes he’s no longer the male he once was.

She betrays her lover. It’s cold and damp. She hears the shaking of chains and screams of anger. She shivers. His ruby eyes hate her. She extracts part of his power as tears leak down her cheeks.

She runs.

She heals the world.

But not herself.

She makes herself remember the pain, the darkness.

She makes herself carry the piece of his heart she removed. Wisps of black smoke constantly swirl around her, bringing little bits of chaos into the world.

She makes herself remember the male that gave her the night sky and fathered her children.

The male with ruby eyes who whispered sweet nothings into her ear.

The male she loves. The male she locked away. The male she will never let herself forget.

Her dark star. Her Uzjuk.

You gaped at your best friend as he continued to kneel on the ground, his eyes still a swirling sea of changing colors.

As you blinked rapidly as if it were a trick of your eyes, you felt Jungkook shift closer to you. Stealing a quick glance at your boyfriend, you saw he had a set jaw and narrowed eyes as he warily regarded his apricot-headed brother.

Returning your eyes to the half-Saeni, you held your breath while Jiae gingerly reached her delicate hand out to touch Jimin’s shoulder and whisper his name.

Your best friend slowly turned his head to take in the lilac-haired female next to him and shook his head with a soft smile. “He’s not here right now, dear.”

You, Jiae, and every other Saeni bristled at his words. He still looked like your Jimin. He still sounded like your Jimin. But something was off. Something was not right.

It was in the stiff movements of his body, like he wasn’t used to it. It was in the way he looked at everyone, as if he didn’t recognize who you were. It was in the way his eyes were now goddamn rainbows.

“I’m not surprised you don’t know who I am,” Not-Jimin said as he folded his hands together at his torso. “This is not how I usually appear in the paintings or stories.”

Mingi hastily pulled Jiae to her feet and yanked her behind him as he placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. “So, who are you exactly?”

Most of the kiela also cautiously rested their hands on their weapons, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. In Yoongi’s case, he rose to his feet and trained his lightly glowing hands on his brother. To your surprise, however, was that Jungkook did not reach for his dagger or for one of his short swords over his shoulder. Instead, he gripped your hand tighter and took a small step forward, so that he was in front of you. With wide eyes, you tried to tug him back, but he refused to move an inch.

With a huff, you peeked around Jungkook’s form and you saw Not-Jimin bow his head slightly. “I am the one who gave you all life.”

Could this wanker be anymore cryptic? What’s going on? But more importantly, what the fuck happened to Jimin!?

To mask your rising panic, you rolled your eyes at the vague answer.

Not-Jimin caught sight of your action and let out a tinkle of laughter. “Well, all of you but one.”

As your brows furrowed in confusion, a quiet breeze picked up and shook the leaves.

As the trees trembled in the wind and made the shade cast by the leaves sway, Not-Jimin closed his kaleidoscope eyes and breathed in deeply.

“It has been a long time since I was able to experience the world this way. I’ve missed it.”

Under your breath, you whispered a “what the fuck?” and raised your free hand to grip Jungkook’s wrist as you stared in heated befuddlement at Not-Jimin.

Meanwhile, Yoongi carefully observed the kneeling half-Saeni and slowly moved his pink eyes to Namjoon, who appeared to be in contemplation.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Yoongi asked his yellow-eyed brother.

Before Namjoon could answer, Not-Jimin opened his eyes and smiled at them. “If you’re thinking that I am your mother goddess, then you would be correct.”

All at once, the Saeni’s eyes widened. Jin and Hobi’s mouths dropped open and Tae even stumbled back in surprise. Yoongi let go of his magic, the hint of glowing blue disappearing immediately while Jungkook sucked in a breath sharply. Mingi gaped, and Jiae gasped as she covered her mouth with a hand. In a blink of an eye, all cautious hostility aimed at the apricot-head vanished and was replaced with shock.

What the…?

At the same time, anger bubbled up within you. What were they doing? Are they forgetting that that wasn’t their brother? That Jimin was basically gone!?

The thought had you breathing heavily, and you yanked your hand out of Jungkook’s. At the loss of contact, the male quickly turned to you with concern filling his peridot eyes.

Seeing how upset you were, he reached toward your face. “Y/N-”

“No!” You swatted his hand away, stepped back, and glared at him, the others, and Not-Jimin. “Where is he?”

The anger was hurriedly switching to panic as you were met with silence. Your heavy breaths turned rapid and you felt your eyes sting as you pointed at the imposter still kneeling on the ground.

“That’s not Jimin, so where is he!?” You helplessly peered between Jungkook and Not-Jimin as you wrapped your arms round yourself in an attempt to gain comfort.

You wanted Jungkook, no, needed him, to tell you where your best friend was. You basically just got him back, he had just told you he wanted to be normal with you again and now he was gone.

Wordlessly, Jungkook pulled you into his arms and cradled you close, whispering that everything was going to be alright. Between his quiet assurances, you heard Tae sadly call your name.

“It seems you are still confused as to who I am so let me introduce myself.” You heard Not-Jimin speak up in a patient tone.

Taking several deep breaths, you turned your head where it rested against Jungkook’s chest to glare at the person who stole your best friend’s body and voice.

“I am Illai.” He bowed his head to you slightly. “The life goddess and mother of all living things in this world.”

You raised a skeptical brow. This bitch really expects me to believe that?

Scoffing, you looked up at Jungkook, but he only gave you a tiny nod. Rearing back at his response, you looked at the others and all of them seemed to actually believe this was a goddess inhabiting Jimin’s body.

“Little scorja…?” Tae worriedly called to you again as you dug your fingers into your scalp.

Okay. Okay. Okay. So maybe a goddess is possessing my best friend. But what in the hell gave her the right to do that!?

Fury once again erupted within you as you let your hands drop from your head and you marched over to the self-acclaimed goddess.

You dropped to a crouch and seethed, “I don’t give a rat’s ass who or what you are, now where the fuck is Jimin?”

“Y/N!” You heard Jiae gasp out in an appalled manner beside you.

Ignoring her, you stared deep into the rainbow eyes that should be brown like tiger’s eye gemstones. “Answer. Me.”

Illai blinked at you once. “He’s living my past as I live his present.”

You clenched your fists and fumed internally as you breathed in sharply through your nose. Can we stop with the vague responses? Oh my fuckin-

Your thoughts were cut off as strong arms wrapped around your torso and lifted you off the ground. Yelling out, you tried to break free, but Jungkook shushed you and continued to carry you away from the source of your outrage.

As you cursed at your boyfriend to put you down, you heard Namjoon and Jin meekly apologize to the goddess, which only made your anger spike once more.

Why are they apologizing when she’s the one possessing Jimin!?

“Calm down,” Jungkook harshly whispered into your ear as he plopped down on the ground in a sun patch and held you captive between his arms and legs.

He carried your flailing form far enough from the others that they wouldn’t need to worry about you running over and smacking a certain goddess, but he stayed close enough that you could still hear snippets of their conversations.

“I’m worried and confused and mad too, fuck, you have no idea how much, but you need to calm down, okay?”

You hung your head and did your best to do as Jungkook said, because you knew he was right. You let his comforting scent wash over you and took deep breaths as he held you tightly and kissed your neck and cheek. His lips and the cold silver of his earring trailing against your skin helped distract you from your mess of emotions.

“Strange that she is not of this world, yet she shares a draeva connection with him.” You heard the goddess comment and you felt your breath hitch because she was talking about you and Jungkook.

“Shhh.” Your boyfriend nuzzled into you and you felt yourself instantly relax. “It’s okay. I got you. I always got you.”

Slowly, your breathing became even once more but you continued to focus on Jungkook and the sunlight enwrapping you. After another minute, you finally felt in control of yourself again and you murmured a thanks to the male holding you.

“Are you okay to go back or do you want to stay here?” He asked you softly.

Replying that you wanted to go back, he hummed and lightly grabbed your chin to tilt your face back toward him. After pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, he let his hand trail down until it rested over the choker at your neck. You felt your breath catch again, this time for an entirely different reason from before, and he lowly chuckled while planting another kiss on your head and heaving you both to your feet. Intertwining your fingers, he waited for you to give him a final, confirming nod that you were good before leading you back to the others, who were now all sitting on the ground before the goddess. As you rejoined the group, you heard them speaking of the draikensu and Illai was frowning at Namjoon’s descriptions.

At your return, Tae bolted to his feet and gave you a big hug. Then, he took ahold of your free hand and tugged you forward. As you sat down between the two males holding your hands, you bit your lip and swallowed your negative emotions as you looked at the goddess inhabiting your best friend’s body. Illai smiled at you, but it wasn’t Jimin’s smile. The eyes didn’t squish closed.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to speak up. “I’m sorry, though I hope you can understand my… apprehension… to the situation.”

The goddess nodded at you. “It is quite alright. I know this is not what you were expecting.”

“Not in the fucking slightest,” you muttered beneath your breath.

She regarded you with gentle eyes. “And so you know, Jimin is quite safe and will return once I leave his body.”

Jungkook squeezed your hand and you heard him exhale in relief.

“If you will allow me to, I will explain how and why I am here.”

When nobody objected, the goddess expressed her thanks. “I will try to keep this relatively short, since my time here is not limitless.

“Millennia ago, it was just me and my siblings. We existed, but that was all. We walked the earth but had no calling. We simply lived. Then one day I came across a stranger. He had ebony hair and eyes that glinted like red gems. He radiated a dark, powerful energy, but he had playfulness in his eyes and a kind face. His name was Uzjuk.”

Your eyes bugged out. Uzjuk was a god!?

“From your reactions, I take it you’ve heard of him?” Illai inquired, and you silently confirmed with a small nod.

Namjoon closed his eyes for a moment before replying, “The draikensu I had been talking of, they’ve mentioned the name before. It seems as though they follow his bidding.”

The goddess sighed as her expression dropped into something melancholic. “He’s always been ambitious and mischievous, but when we met, he was a light-hearted and caring male. He dreamed of creating a world where we could live in wonder, happiness, and adventure. He gifted me the night sky so I could see the stars. He would chase me through meadows and kiss me beneath the moon. He would hold me so gently.”

You tilted your head to the side as you came to a realization. “You loved him.”

Illai’s thumb rubbed soothing circles over the back of her hand as she met your gaze, eyes still shifting colors though they seemed to be dominated by blues. “I still do. At least, the small part of him that is still the male I once knew.”

“What happened?” Jiae asked tentatively while the wind died down and created an eerie stillness.

Illai explained that it all started shortly after the birth of their children, the four seasonal gods. Her power had grown after their conception and grew further once they were brought into the world. With her increased power, she created the Saeni race. But in doing so, she unknowingly initiated her lover’s demise. While she was the goddess of light and life, he was the god of darkness and pain. Before the creation of the Saeni, there had been little for Uzjuk to have influence over, but as the population of the Saeni grew, so did Uzjuk’s power and desire to command his will over others.

“My siblings were the first to notice, as I was too in love to realize his change. But they saw it. How his eyes would turn harsh and deadly. How his power began to overpower his soul.”

The goddess went on to describe how Exia and Juufa tried to warn her about her lover. To make her see the truth. But she was blind to the chaos erupting in the world. She couldn’t imagine that the sweet, playful male she loved would ever be capable of doing such a thing.

“Because of my ignorance, so many Saeni suffered. They were consumed by his darkness and driven to kill and inflict pain upon others. So much blood spilled. So many lives taken. By the time I woke up to the truth and saw his destruction, he was no longer the same male I fell in love with. He had changed entirely. He had become twisted and corrupted by his own power.

“I begged and pleaded with him to stop it, but he would only sneer and laugh. It broke my heart. Seeing the world suffer every day because of him broke my heart. Every single day I saw him unleash chaos made me shatter more and more.

“It went on for years. Endless pleading and so much death and pain until finally, with Exia’s help, I managed to trick him and lock him away deep underground in our celestial plane.”

You all stayed still, silently absorbing her story. Not even the birds or the bugs made any noise.

Then, Jin asked in a breathless voice. “Has he escaped? Is that how the draikensu follow his orders?”

Illai shook her head. “No, he’s still locked away… mostly.”

Seeing your questioning looks, she elaborated, “I chained him, but before I left, I took a piece of his heart with me. The world has to stay in balance, meaning there needs to be some darkness and pain present. A little bit of chaos. But by having part of him free, he can sometimes claw his way into people’s minds.

“The former king’s wife is one of those who had been infected by his power. When she learned of the king’s affair with Jimin’s mother, she was so consumed with the thought of not being good enough, so torn apart and angry that her husband would go to a human for pleasure instead of her, that she inadvertently opened herself up to Uzjuk’s will. It usually happens during dreams. He will creep into your mind and try to drown you with your fears and pain. Try to make you succumb to them and turn you into his subject; a dark, violent version of yourself.”

Jungkook stiffened beside you and tightened his hold on your hand while you went still as you remembered the dream you had before the fight at the village. How you had been surrounded by inky, swirling black. How Jungkook’s face had cracked and fell apart. How you had almost sunk into the darkness.

Had that been Uzjuk? You shuddered at the possibility, feeling violated and disgusted.

The goddess continued, expressing how the Saeni who leads the draikensu must have experienced something so traumatic that it latched on to what little of Uzjuk’s power that was present and opened a rift between the physical world and their celestial plane, thus presenting the god a chance to slowly ooze out and break free from his chains.

“It would make sense why there’s so many Saeni turning dark.” Namjoon noted as he pinched the bridge of his nose in incredulity. “The rift is letting more of his influence escape.”

“Precisely.” Illai agreed with the yellow-eyed male. “And as the world turns more chaotic, even more of him escapes.”

“So how do we close it? Destroying the rift should cut off his influence,” Hobi commented as he took out a blade to nervously mess with, “well most of it besides the piece you took.”

“I’m going to guess this is where our brother comes into play.” Yoongi added as he placed a reassuring hand on Hobi’s arm.

“Yes. I made an agreement with Jimin’s ancestor. In exchange for having some of my blood run through his and his descendants’ veins, I would be allowed to temporarily take over their bodies if this situation were to ever happen.” Illai’s rainbow eyes shone brightly with determination. “If you get Jimin to the origin of the rift, I will be able to close it.”

You couldn’t hold back the quiet snort that escaped past your lips. “So all this ‘key’ stuff is that Jimin is just a fleshy Uber for a celestial being? Cool. Nice. I was hoping for a dragon or something more flashy.”

Jungkook nudged you with his shoulder.

Rolling your eyes, you nudged him right back. “Oh, come on, Coco. Even you have to admit that it’s pretty ridiculous.”

“I don’t know what an ‘Uver’ is, and don’t call me ‘Coco.’” Although he tried to sound serious, he wasn’t able to fully mask the smile teasing at his lips.

Tae leaned over and whispered in your ear, “What’s an Uber?”

“Not the time, hyung.” Jungkook murmured back before you could answer, making his brother pout.

Jiae brought a hand up over her heart as she looked down at her lap. “That’s why they’re targeting Chim, because if he was dead then there would be no way for you to close the rift and stop Uzjuk.”

You let out a long exhale. “They’ll keep targeting him for the rest of his life unless we close it. Not to mention the world will probably fall to shit if we don’t.”

“How do we find it? The rift?” Tae piped up while worriedly tugging at his headband.

“Now that I am connected to Jimin, I will be able to pinpoint the location and guide him in his mind.”

Alrighty then, back to GPS Jimin I guess.

“My time is almost up. I cannot stay for much longer without injuring Jimin’s body.” Rainbow eyes traveled over the group until they rested on Yoongi. “If you have been wondering, young magic user, how the draikensu were able to find you despite your glamours, Jimin had a tracker on him. It was old and fading out, but still very much so active.”

Yoongi’s petal pink eyes widened and he opened and closed his mouth several times, but nothing came out.

“I removed it so no need to worry, just be more careful and aware in the future, yes?”

The mint-haired Saeni’s jaw snapped shut and he nodded. A few sparks of blue light began to escape from his palms, giving away how annoyed he was for missing such a thing, but otherwise the Saeni remained silent. Hobi shifted and placed a hand over the magic user’s sparking ones and the light gradually died out beneath his touch.

“By now, Uzjuk will have felt my presence in the physical world and will most likely change whatever course he is on to guard the rift, so I urge you all to hurry. I apologize for the circumstances of our meetings and for causing you worry. I will leave you for now… I hope to meet you all again in better times.” The goddess spoke in a light, hopeful tone before smiling one last time.

Then, her ever-shifting eyes rolled back, and she collapsed to the side.

Jimin’s body went limp and all of you scrambled over to him anxiously. To your relief, you could see his chest moving up and down, indicating that he was breathing and indeed still alive. At the sight you sagged against Jungkook, who wrapped his arms around you, and you watched as Yoongi’s hands once again flared up and pressed against your best friend’s chest. The magic user sent a pulse of magic into his body and in the next instant, Jimin’s eyes shot open and he began sucking in air deeply.

Jiae cried out his name and grabbed his face in her small hands. As if he was disoriented, Jimin blinked several times until he was able to focus on her face.

“Jiae?”

The lilac-haired female breathed out a sob and tackled the half-Saeni in a hug.

Everyone else leaned back and caught their breath, but you just stared at Jimin’s face. Taking in the brown of his irises and the squishing of his eyes as he smiled into Jiae’s neck.

He was back. Your Jimin was back.

You smiled to yourself and held on to Jungkook’s arms as the trees swayed above you.

Jimin was back. He was fine.

But everything just got so much more complicated.

previous [19] — next [21]

taglist: @cookied-dreams @apurpledheart @james-herondale023 @lorengarcia-yut @kittycuptea @toddsgirl27 @a-feeling-of-euphoria @treatpeoplewithkindnesshoe @kthdior @taigaajin​ @lylanie12​ @kassandravictoria​ @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore

[jmeddows2]

“I promise” Roger Taylor One-shot (fluff/angst/TRIGGER WARNING)

Notes: Sorry for grammar mistakes/ weird sentence structures. English is not my first language but anyways, I gave it a go.   

WARNINGS: TRIGGER WARNING!!! mentions of domestic violence, anorexia, low self-consciousness Remember I DON’T ACCUSE/IMPLY ANYONE MENTIONED OF DOING SUCH THINGS!! PLEASE BE AWARE OF THAT! I HOPE EVERYONE IS DOING ALRIGHT, IF YOU NEED SOMEONE TO TALK, HIT ME UP IN THE DM’S!!!!! Words: 1562 “Roger, are you home?” You found yourself knocking on his bedroom window. No sounds. It‘s been weeks since Roger has been to school. It was your senior year of high school though, so you started to worry.

Roger and you have been best friends since kindergarten but his behavior in the last weeks has been rather strange. “Roger, I know you’re here, your car is home” Still nothing. It‘s been ages since the last time you saw him. “Let me in or I’ll break this bloody window” Suddenly you recognize a slim figure approaching the window, his long, dark blonde, curly hair was messy. Blood shot, tired eyes. He looked exhausted. And it shocked you, as he carefully guarded you inside.

His room was a mess, books that once decorated the shelfs were now on the floor, broken records all over the place. “Roger what’s going on, what happened?” He didn’t dare to look at you, eyes on the floor and a sad look on his face. You were best friends so you’d usually know, when something was wrong with him. You studied him. As you took an even closer look you noticed that there were bruises all over his face, throat and collarbones. Purple bruises. Red bruises. Painful, blue eyes, now daring to look into yours. “Roger...” as you tried to reach for him he flinched and took a step back. “No, leave!” It sounded so harsh. “Not until you tell me what happened!” 

His eyes fell to the floor once again. After a moment of silence he sat down on his bed, with his head in his hands. “...it’s... it’s not that easy... I’m good for nothing” tears pooling in his eyes as he sobbed. “..he... he blamed drumming because of my low grades.. got drunk and he... he just... fuck this is so embarrassing, please just leave, Y/N” 'He’. Referring to his father. You always knew they had heated arguments, of which he’d tell you about with a lot of anger. That was also where his own hot headed persona came from. But you never thought that his own father would lay his hands on him. To see your best friend sit here, bruises all over, abused by his own dad made your heart ache. “Listen, you can tell me anything, I’m here for you. I certainly won’t let you stay here alone with him, Roger” slowly turning to him, petting his hair, then embracing him in a tight hug. As soon as he felt the lightest touch, he hissed loudly, but started to calm down, once he knew that he was safe in your arms. The car ride to your home remained silent. You convinced him to pack a duffle bag with as many belongings of his as possible. As you glanced at him he looked tired, worn out, broken. Yet another purple mark had formed under his eye, which he received just about 20 minutes, before you came to his rescue. Your heart broke at this sight. He still managed to be the most beautiful person in this world, his long eyelashes curled perfectly. Truth was, you truly loved him, which made this even harder to look at. Seeing the person you love the most in such a miserable state. But he was just your best friend. “Do you want me to run you a bath, Rog? It will help you calm down and relax!” “You don’t have to, Y/N. I don’t want you to pity me, I’m fine I promise.” “I don’t pity you, i just want the best for you. Always. And just admit it, a bath is always a good idea” With that, a smile crept onto his lips. A smile you dreaded to see for the past few weeks. You started to run the water into the bathtub, when you noticed he struggled with taking his shirt off. “Here, let me help you” Lifting his shirt over his head there were even more bruises visible on his arms and his back. Dozens of old and new ones. Red dots covered his shoulders, which seemed to be caused by cigarettes burns. His eyes met the floor once again. It seemed to be the 100th time that day. Tears once again dribbled down his eyes and you wiped them away, caressing his cheek. While taking his bath, you managed to always hand him new frozen packs of peas to treat his facial bruises. You helped him dry off. And no, it was not weird, you had seen him naked a numerous amount of times, considering your friendship of now approximately 13 years. Even though you had been very gentle, you could sense his pain, as he flinched and his eyes shut quickly, once the rough fabric of the towel made contact with his skin. “When was the last time you ate something, Rog? C‘mon I‘ll make you your favourite sandwich.“ It‘s been in fact days, since he last ate. He felt weak, worthless. There‘d be no point in putting food into his mouth, at least that‘s what he thought. His already tiny frame became even tinier, ribs started to stick out even more. The way he looked like, disgusted him. He thought that no one would want him anymore. Silence. Silence as he was digging into his sandwich and downed the water you prepared for him. It definitely took some time to convince him to eat something, but he couldn’t say no to you. While he enjoyed his ham sandwich, you decided to brush out his long, wet hair with a brush.

“I don‘t deserve this, I don‘t deserve to be here. I don‘t deserve you, Y/N!“ But you continued to brush his hair. He didn‘t expect your next move, as you brushed his hair to one side and decided to calm him and his worries with a gentle kiss on his bare shoulder. Right on a purple spot. The way your hot lips touched his cold, bruised body made him close his eyes. Trying to hold back yet another tear. Not because of pain. But because of emotion. He hated it for you to see him so vulnerable. Especially because of all these feeling he kept deep inside of him. Feelings he had never been able to show. You‘re just his best friend after all.

This kiss on his shoulder meant everything to him. It was overwhelming. Love. He felt love. He forgot how it felt to have someone touch him, without leaving not only physical, but also mental scars. You continued a trail of kisses along his shoulders and then you stopped. Hugging him from behind with your lips touching his neck, as he continued to eat his sandwich and enjoyed your warmth, keeping his eyes closed throughout. He missed this. He missed you. He had a reputation regarding girls. But no one. No one, held him like you did. Touched him like you just did. And for him it was everything. Like he‘d never been hurt before. He started to believe, that your touch was able to heal his wounds. It all came crashing down when you let go of him. “I‘m so sorry, Rog. Really, I‘m sorry, I got carried away a bit“ “No, don‘t. Please, please don‘t stop, I want to feel again. I want to feel you, please touch me“, he said and turned around to face you, looking deep into your eyes. There was so much pain in them. He meant it, but not in a sexual way. And you could see it in his eyes. He was begging for it. You reached out your hand to caress his cheek and he leant into your touch. “Let‘s go to bed“ was all you could say and he agreed. After changing into your night gowns, you let yourself fall into your bed and it made him laugh, because you almost bounced back down to the floor. He loved your goofiness. "I missed that smile, but I missed you more, all of you!“ you managed to say You were now laying there, his head on your chest. Your fingertips tracing his facial features: his jaw, his eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones, his sideburns and then you finally landed on his lips. His eyes stayed closed, humming, wishing he could just stay like that forever. He looked so calm and peaceful. “You‘re so beautiful, you know that, right?“ He blushed but managed to mouth a  “yeah I know baby“ with a smug smile. There again was the Roger you knew. “But real talk now, I‘ll always be there for you.“ “I really don‘t deserve you, you‘re always so good to me. Y/N, you mean so much to me, you’re so beautiful, caring. And I know you don’t feel the same, especially after seeing me like this, but I have to say it now or else it’ll kill me deep inside... I... I love you“ There was a tear slowly making it’s way down from his eyes to his lip. He meant it.  You answered with a gentle kiss on lips, tasting the salty tear. “I love you, Roger! No matter what!“ “Please don’t ever leave me, Y/N” “I promise” He snuggled into your chest and it only took a few gentle strokes over his beautiful face before he drifted off to sleep. It didn‘t take long for you to follow after.

[ravenqueen89]

Commission fill time

I was commissioned by the wonderful @numphet to write a fic featuring her amazing OC Katla Hawke. I really loved writing Katla, she’s such a complex and nuanced and vivid character, and I loved spending time with her. Thank you so much for the opportunity!

Fandom: Dragon Age II

Title: Keep this feeling safe tonight

Pairing: Katla Hawke/Ser Thrask

Rating: R

Summary: A relationship that occurs in the shadows has its one evening in public aka Katla and Thrask go to Satinalia together.

Notes: Is there rambling? Yes. Is there no dialogue? Also yes. Same old, same old in terms of style. There is also: angst, mentions of body image issues, mentions of using alcohol as a coping mechanism, and a lot of gloomy weather. This is the suit Katla wears, inspired by my lurking in her OC tag. I also randomly used details associated with Saturnalia when describing Satinalia. Title from PJ Harvey’s One Line. 

Also on AO3. 

There is no snow in Kirkwall’s winters,  just a chilled damp and the wind rushing in from the sea, howling with the voices of ghosts through Hightown’s streets and insinuating disease into the chests of Darktown dwellers.

Katla leaves the windows open when the wind comes because the desperation in the sound is as familiar as the taste of wine and of Thrask’s skin. On sleepless nights when she is intimate only with the emptiness inside her she stands on the balcony with the alcohol souring on her tongue and reddening her skin and finds solace in the noise, in the fury of the wind, in the way it sings of loss. It smells of brine and decay and it fits on her, tangling in her hair and clutching at her skin like the lover she won’t admit she misses.

It is after one such night, when she still carries the imprint of her own nails across her palm, that Isabela drags her to a nondescript building, the clouds heavy and dark above them, the humidity making it hard to breathe, making them shiver. The wine still in Katla’s blood isn’t as guilty of making her stumble as the wind, and the streets are almost empty. She knows better than to ask Isabela what this is about and braces herself for yet another hat shop, but inside the building there is an explosion of fabric, and in the midst of all that colour a woman dressed in black, her hair silver and her face lined and drained by life.

Katla stands half-naked in the middle of the room as Isabela chats away about Satinalia fashion trends and how to ignore them, the seamstress holding various materials next to Katla’s skin, measuring with practiced efficiency. There is a mirror in front of her, and Katla stares at herself with little kindness, trying to distract from the reflection by remembering Thrask’s hands on the fullness of her thighs, the mark of his fingerprints along the soft sprawl of her belly. She knows that everything about her is too much, overflowing, but he never seems to mind it in their stolen moments together. He always seems as hungry for her as she is for him, and nothing makes him pause, not her magic, as red as their hair, not her body, not the way she screams at him when her feelings claw their way out of her throat.

Isabela talks and talks without requiring a reply, and Katla finds comfort in the sound without paying attention to the words. The seamstress asks no questions, but notices where Katla’s eyes wander, notices the colours and materials she reaches out to touch, notices which of the displayed outfits she studies.

By the end of the appointment, Isabela drags her out, thirsty for rum and gossip at the Hanged Man, and Katla remains none the wiser regarding her Satinalia outfit.

*

It had started off as a joke influenced by wishful thinking, whispered in the lack of space between them as Thrask kept kissing her like he wanted to remove the wine stain from her lips.

He’d said it first, as the wind slammed the doors and windows of her estate and witnessed the illicit way their bodies came together. The words ‘I would like to take you to Satinalia’ slipped from his lips and reached under her ribs, making hope bloom in her heart. Hope was never something she truly trusted, however, and what she said in return was not ‘yes’, but ‘won’t your dear Order comment on it?’ and she couldn’t stop the rest of the snide words descended from all her fears and anger, his mention of the traditional masks preserving their anonymity only stoking her ire. By the time dawn broke, he was gone and Katla was drinking, and it took days for her to slip a note with her answer to him through Isabela’s mediation. She watched, unseen, as he smiled upon receiving the scribbled word, and her heart beat faster and faster until she had to look away from him, the hope as painful as the futile longing for a normal life - a long life- with him.

*

When Katla goes to collect the suit on the morning that heralds the beginning of the festivities, she doesn’t look into the mirror until she is fully clothed and when she then glances at her reflection she doesn’t see an enemy there.

The suit fits her so well she almost suspects some sort of magic at work, but the scent and trace of lyrium is absent from the seamstress and her shop, so Katla can only stare, stunned, as Isabela wolf whistles, pulling Katla’s hair into a low bun that settles heavily at the nape of her neck.

There is contrast at play between the stark whiteness of the shirt and the darkness of the jacket, balanced by accents of velvet in the same crimson as the waistcoat.

‘I had some lace sent from the Valence cloister lying around,’ the seamstress says, as Katla touches the delicate material woven over the suit, the final touch of a masterpiece.

The half-mask is simple and  the colour of burnished gold, making her eyes glow and matching the earrings that Isabela slips out of her barely-there pocket with a sly grin that makes Katla unwilling to ask questions about the provenance of the jewellery. None of it is what Katla would usually wear while dealing with the complications of her daily life, but she feels invincible in a way she hasn’t felt in years. She feels alive, her flushed cheeks highlighting her freckles. Her reflection smiles at her from the corner of her mouth, and when Isabela twirls her around, Katla laughs.

* Katla had thought it best to meet Thrask at the Lowtown festivities, so Isabela half-drags her through the crowds that are starting to gather and then takes over Varric’s quarters for the afternoon. The three of them drink together, and Isabela braids Katla’s hair with perfumed hands before pinning it in place. The perfume smells like heat and leather, like sweetness and smoke, and Isabela brushes the scent over Katla’s wrist, leaving the trace of it behind her ears, and Katla knows she should feel anxious but she only feels powerful. Varric and Isabela are staring at her like they are entranced, and there’s a giddiness in her that has little to do with the wine.

Before she dons the mask and makes her way down the stairs, she paints lipstick the colour of blood along the lines of her lips, and everyone turns to stare at her as she walks through the bustle, the drunken crowd parting around her.

Thrask is standing right outside the tavern, his posture as impeccable as always, and Katla’s breath stutters not only at the sight of him out of armour, but also because he’s not wearing a mask, because he’s right there, bare-faced and making her heart sing in a way it shouldn’t. He looks so handsome in his dark blue outfit, the scar around his neck mimicking the stars of the night sky, the material so soft looking that her hands ache to tear it. Katla wants to take her time and watch him, but the moment she moves his blue eyes find her straight away, and the way his lips part at the sight of her makes her magic hum inside her, make her blood rush to her head. Thrask reaches for her hand and presses his mouth to her wristbone, leading her into the revelry, and it all feels like she’s dreaming, like the Fade is showing her everything she wishes, as she walks hand in hand with him in the midst of a crowd of witnesses. She is wearing her mask, but the way Thrask holds onto her cannot be confused for anything else. She remains anonymous, but she is clearly not one of his rumoured conquests from the Rose, those rumoured conquests that shield them from the Order. If anyone were to look closely enough at her hair and her eyes, they would know, and Katla feels almost drunk on the feeling, on the defiance that surges within her.

She has wanted to claim him for too long, and for one night, Kirkwall shall watch.

*

The dreariness of Lowtown seems hidden underneath the Satinalia decorations, the usual greyness masked by crimson garlands and wreaths of greenery. The wind is still screeching its way around crowds and corners, tangling itself into Katla’s hair and around where her hand is entwined with Thrask’s. It also helps with chasing the smell from the streets, preserving the dreamlike atmosphere, dangling the lamps and creating a dance of lights.

The stalls are both colourful and plentiful, standard fare for the holiday, but Katla can’t say she’s noticed them much before. She’s kept away from Kirkwall festivities throughout the years, preferring to drink either at a tavern or in private, especially as the loss and the despair grew.

This occasion feels different, as Thrask whispers in her ear, letting his lips linger along the sensitive skin of her neck as he breathes in her perfume. There’s something racing inside her, something she can’t name, won’t name, and it makes her magic glow in her eyes, so she looks down, at her hand in his.

Thrask leads her to several stalls, where they taste hot spiced wine and the lightest of pastries, his fingers lingering on her tongue as he feeds her delicacies, and it would look scandalous, even for Lowtown, if everyone else weren't lost in the same lack of inhibition.

Katla takes advantage of the headiness in the air and kisses Thrask, in front of everyone, the smell of sugar and spice and brine and him around her, his beard soft against her jaw. She leaves the trace of her lipstick on his mouth and neither of them bother to wipe it off as her fingers tangle in the redness of his hair. Katla says nothing, because she knows her voice would shake with the weight of it, with the beauty of it, and she doesn’t want to break the moment with the acknowledgement of its enormity.

It feels like she’s part of the wind, light on her feet, whirling as the crowd parts around her, around them. Food has been like ash on her tongue for months, but tonight she feasts with Thrask on gilded cakes chased off with the decadence of the spiced wine. She kisses caramel off his lips that golden apples leave behind and basks in it, in kissing Thrask of the Templar Order in public, and she a mage and a blood mage at that, no matter how willing.

She laughs and he laughs with her, the lines left by suffering on his face smoothing over at the same time as her heart soars, and when he leads her into a dance she doesn’t even stumble, not once.

They dance until the bells of the Chantry toll over the city, marking midnight. Tradition states that during Kirkwall’s days of Satinalia, masks come off each time the bells strike midnight, but Katla knows better than to dare, so she holds onto Thrask and kisses him, for luck, for hope, for all the things she’s not allowed to want, like those forbidden dreams of futures that cannot happen.

She kisses him to forget the pain, kisses him to remember how it feels to be alive, kisses him to tell him how she feels in a way she’ll never be able to say out loud, and when she stops kissing him, when she presses her forehead to his and looks right into his eyes in that open way she seldom allows herself, he unties the ribbon holding her mask up, ever so slowly, and takes it off. Katla catches her breath before it turns into a gasp, and when he kisses her there is no anonymity left, there’s nothing but a templar and a mage, out in the open, part of the world.

They have so much hunger for each other between the two of them that by the time they stop kissing Katla is almost sure it must be dawn already. When she looks around, no one is watching them, the drunken crowd staggering together and coming apart, the crunch of shattered fragments of golden ornaments underfoot. The wind staggers, and then returns with renewed violence, bringing rain with it, and shouts mingle with laughter and bawdy songs.

Katla can feel the illusion coming to an end so she holds on, her face buried in his shoulder, taking her comfort in the way he holds her back, in the soothing pattern of his breathing, in the way he feels so alive, in the way he makes her want to exist. They stand together for long, languid moments, and it feels right, it feels the way it should, but the growing realisation that she can’t hold on forever makes the familiar bitterness bloom on Katla’s tongue.

When she moves, Thrask follows, but he catches hold of her hand before she gets too far ahead, and it hurts to want it, but she needs him there, needs to pretend just a while longer, so they walk the way back to the Hanged Man together once more, hand in hand, rain catching in Katla’s lashes, her suit most likely ruined in a way that feels fitting, and the wind slipping its chill back into her heart.

Thrask is drawing patterns along her palm with his thumb when they turn the corner right next to the tavern, but then he is gone, so abruptly that it almost jars her into thinking they are being attacked. Katla has to look behind her to see him, quite a few paces to the side and looking not at her but at the group of templars in front of the entrance to the Hanged Man. Just like that, Katla is sober and fully immersed in reality, and thirsty for wine and oblivion, the same way she always is.

With one last look at Thrask, she squares her shoulders and her mask, wrapped around her hand, falls to the ground, left to the mercy of the storm or the gangs, whichever gets there first.

She walks into the tavern alone, her heart screaming with all the fervour of the wind coming in from the sea, but certain, at least, that he will follow according to their usual routine, his lips carrying her mark as the inside of her thighs carry his.

Throughout the city, the wind reigns, and sings, and destroys.

[jawsandbones]

Is it possible to fit 5,6, 7 &10 in one fic? For Noya & Zevran? Maybe an argument they got into, riiight before the officiation of their relationship? From the angst drabble list!

5 -“I thought we were friends.” 6 - “Stop yelling and listen for a second.” 7 -“What you did what stupid and dangerous and scared the hell out of me.” 10 -“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you trusted me.”

He watches the moon rise, waits for the changing in her breathing. She sleeps on her stomach, arms folded underneath the pillow, long hair in a single loose braid. Slow and steady, she’s dreaming quietly, and only then does he slip from the bed. He avoids the parts of the floor which creak, all the ones he’s memorized in their time spent at this inn. Denerim has been a comfortable stay, a welcome difference from tents and mud. He dresses quietly, sheathes his daggers. 

Closing the door carefully behind him, making sure it’s locked. The streets are unkinder here, now, but he knows his way around them. He passes others, those who make their business in the night, acknowledging that they are very like him. They avoid each other, make no eye contact. The tavern door opens at his lightest touch. Everything is subdued, quiet, older patrons who hoard their drinks and watch him as he passes. 

There’s light underneath the door he stands in front of. Awake. Waiting. Zevran stands in the doorway, but Ignacio doesn’t look up when he enters. Packing his pipe by candlelight, sitting beside the table. Guards fill the room around him, keep their eyes on Zevran, and Zevran alone. “Did you think we wouldn’t expect you?” Ignacio asks, flicking the match, lighting the pipe. Zevran keeps a hand wrapped around the hilt of his dagger. 

“Then you know what I am here to ask,” he says. Ignacio regards him with utterly bored disdain. 

“Then you have truly turned your back on us for that.” Knuckles white, gripping tightly, the storm on his brows. “Pitiful,” he sighs. Dragging long and hard, sighing out smoke.

“Tell me what contracts there are on her life,” he says. 

“Why should I?” Ignacio shrugs. Zevran steps forward, draws the dagger free, and all the guards stand up straighter. Ignacio only snorts laughter. “There is only the one, which you failed. Someone else has been tasked to finish it. Perhaps someone who might even convince you to return to us.” Zevran’s blood runs suddenly cold, the shiver that works its way up his spine. “Now put that away before you embarrass yourself.” He turns the pipe to the side, knocks out the ash. 

“I will never return to the Crows,” Zevran tells him.

“We shall see,” he says. Zevran sheathes the dagger, turns on his heel. The door swings shut behind him. They’ll be coming, and soon. Taking no chances this time, an entire murder of Crows. She will need to be warned. She will need to be protected. She – she is standing outside the Tavern, a furious frown on her face, weapons in hand. 

“I knew it,” she says. “I knew you would go see him. By yourself Zevran? Really, I thought we were friends.” She keeps her voice low, mocking, but her tone is filled with anger, a scolding meant for his ears alone. He approaches her with his hands out, palms open. “Do you realize how stupid this was? They could have killed you.”

“Noya, please, amor, listen to me a moment,” he says, standing in front of her, putting his hands on her arms. She holds her spear so tightly, the shield in the other. To her credit, she closes her mouth instantly, looks at him expectantly. “There is still a contract on your life. I think I know who they have sent to finish the job. We need to be more careful.” 

“Is this why you went? Why wouldn’t you tell me you were going, Zev? I would’ve understood, you know I would’ve. But going alone? This was more dangerous than it should’ve been. You should’ve told me. I thought you trusted me,” she says.  

“I do. I do trust you. I did not know if they would speak to me with you there,” he says. She sighs, lets the spear loose from her grasp. It leans against her as she reaches for him, puts a hand at the nape of his neck. She pulls him close, touches forehead against forehead. 

“You scared me half to death,” she says.

“Did you think I left to go ask to rejoin the Crows?” He asks it teasingly.

“I know you better than that.” That silences him, and his shoulders fall slightly. Sometimes he thinks she knows him better than he knows himself. He takes her face gently in his hands, presses the kiss gentle against her lips. Her hand slips from his neck, over his shoulder, down his arm. Wrapping around his wrist, and even in the dark, even with his eyes closed, he knows the way she looks at him. A way he isn’t sure he deserves, but so desperately wants. Softly, quietly, with love.

[the-haven-of-fiction]

The Prize, Ch.9

Summary: AU Tom, set in early 19th c. London.  Madeleine and Tom have known each other since they were teenagers (her brother is married to his sister). Can they overcome their fears and choose each other?  

Genre: Romance/Angst/Drama

Rating: T - non-explicit sexuality/adult situations/mild violence/scenes of thematic peril (I LOVE SAYING THAT)

Author’s Notes:  This chapter is a little shorter than my normal, but is lots of fluff and nonsense and heart eyes. No warnings other than that.  Thank you for commenting and reblogging.  Lots more to come!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

She waited as the seconds ticked by and he looked up at her from his kneeling position, trying to understand her request.  His eyes darted back and forth from her sparkling ones to her mouth that was curving slowly into a smile.  

“No?” she asked in amusement, her enjoyment of his sudden muteness obvious.  Shock, hope, relief, doubt.  They all formed a mosaic on the canvas of his face.  Was she merely teasing him or was the teasing real?

“Very well then,” spoken with an exaggerated huff, “I shall shoulder the burden of this endeavor.”

His gaze fixed on her lips, lips that he dreamed of tasting for so long.  Lips that he imagined loving as much as he imagined loving any other part of her.  Lips that he wanted to -

“And I will kiss you.”

Every question about Mr. Kingston, about the future, was pushed to the back of his mind at the imminent transition from fantasy to reality.

She pried her hands loose from his and raised them to his face.  Fingertips traced the lines of his eyebrows, his nose.  Knuckles brushed gently across his cheekbones, down his flushed cheeks, under his chin, along his jaw.  

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” she whispered as her thumbs followed the curve of his ears and she gave the lightest teasing pinch to the lobes, causing him to shudder while he grasped a handful of the loose material of the skirt of her nightgown to keep himself steady.

“I’ve wanted to hold you and explore you and examine you like a child with a new toy,” she continued, brushing some wayward curls from his forehead, stroking his beautiful face as she would a beloved pet.

“Remember how Cassie was so possessive of that doll you gave her for Christmas when she was six?”

He could barely think at all or recall time beyond this moment; the only thing real to him was the feel of her, the sound of her.

“She simply would not allow anyone else to hold it.  She wouldn’t relinquish her grip on it for weeks.”

Her hands returned to travel around his neck, down his shoulders, being careful not to aggravate his injury.  She kneaded his upper arms, the taut muscles inspiring a series of humming sighs that accompanied her movements.  They were expressions of approval, of gratification, and grew louder as her palms rubbed small circles against the fabric.

“She could not be persuaded to let it out of her sight, even during a bath,” Madeleine giggled at the memory of her niece.  “She slept with it every night clutched to her side.”

Her hands drifted back to his neck and she placed a few fingertips just at the right spot to feel his heartbeat, looking at him as if she was waiting for permission to be granted. A nod was her cue.  He caught his breath as she increased the pressure, feeling the rapid pulsations under his skin.  He was elated at her actions and they surpassed what he had imagined. While he had envisioned her as an eager lover and they knew each other beyond the stiff and formal acquaintance of many men and women of their time due to the nature of their familial ties, he was surprised at the lengths to which she was ignoring the widely accepted rules of conduct regarding the physical interaction between a courting couple.

Down the shadowy hallways of his memory, he recalled what it had been like to share his body with a woman. He recalled what it had been like to desire and be desired.  He recalled the intensity of lust that necessitated a hasty conclusion.

This was different.

So different.

Her fingers were on his mouth again, skipping across his lips, curling up and down like they were keys on the pianoforte.  Pressing, teasing, exploring.  

No woman had ever touched him in this way: not the first, not Lucie.  

No one.

Madeleine’s touch was not a perfunctory element of the joining of bodies, it was so far removed from the self-serving, affectionless urging he remembered.  This was thoughtful and carried out with a reverence that humbled him.  

“She kissed the doll so much that the color began to fade on its cheeks and lips.”

The pleasure to be had in the contact of skin to skin, of her hands on his face, was revelatory. Stunning in its simplicity, but simultaneously of greater intimacy than anything he had ever experienced.  Based on the sounds she was making and the brightness of her eyes, he knew without a doubt that she was taking as much pleasure in giving as he was in receiving.  

Madeleine was smiling down at him, her hair falling around her face as it had when she was standing over him in his room at the inn, when she had given him the first taste of what her touch could do to him.

“And she absolutely refused to replace it, regardless of how the years showed on it.”

Please.

Please kiss me.

“Are you prepared to be loved like that, Tom?”

The question was punctuated by her hands moving to slip around his neck.  Not wanting to give her any reason to cease, he could not help but shut his eyes, feeling that he had to do something to mitigate his overwhelmed senses.

He had never heard her speak like this, both in word and manner; a low, almost rough tone that fell upon his ears in the same possessive fashion as her hands on his body.  Exhilaration raced through him as her thumbs pressed into his skin and she tugged ever so slightly on the silky curls at the base of his neck.

“Are you?” she repeated before pressing her lips to his temple.

Cherished.

That was the word.

He was being cherished.

“Are you prepared to be wanted by someone –“ a pause and a kiss to one cheek, “who will not relinquish her grip on you?”

A kiss to the other cheek.

“Are you prepared to be so smothered in embraces and kisses, until your color fades?”

A kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Are you prepared to…to…”

The sudden change, the quavering of her voice caused his eyes to fly open in concern.  Her entire countenance had changed from that delightful teasing to stark vulnerability in mere seconds.  Hands fell to her lap, her breathing becoming swift and shallow.  It was if she had been shaken from the confidence that had been driving her these last minutes, as if the unfinished thought that was hanging in the air between them had drained the courage from her. She had been the leader and now the dynamic was altered.  His mind was a storm of questions about how to proceed, but he was quick in fixing on a plan.

He coaxed her onwards by a simple, firm gesture of raising a brow that left her in no doubt of its silent meaning.

“To have such a gift placed in your charge?” she whispered.

He was aching to finally have his mouth on hers, but the tears that appeared with her question alerted him to the necessity of certain assurances that had to be given immediately.

His hand covered hers and raised them from her lap to kiss the palms and knuckles and fingertips that couldn’t get their fill of him seconds before.  

“Madeleine.”

Her hands began to tremble after he spoke her name, although he knew instinctively that it was not due to fear, rather the opposite.

“Maddy.”

No, it was not fear.  

It was a surge of strength.

“Maddy mine.”

A sob caught in her throat.

“I promise you, you could not place that gift in any more eager and steady charge.”

A shudder passed through her.

“I will do whatever you wish,” he promised with steady declaration, “say whatever you wish, be held and explored and examined however you wish, until my color fades.”

He had to stop and take a deep breath, aware of how she was trembling slightly, forcing himself not to rush.  For so long he had dreamed of this and he wanted to savor it.  

“But for now, I need you to kiss me,” he commanded as he arranged her hands in their previous position, wanting her to feel as though she was in control, “Kiss me, Maddy mine, until you are sated.”

The tears slipped down her flushed cheeks, but she was smiling again.

“And then I will kiss you,” a rasped promise that made her whimper and her fingers tightened their hold around his neck.

“But I will never be sated.”