#delirious from blood loss or is this true love..?

[slime-pupp]

And a bonus self indulgent piece of my favorite toxic ship. Sam and her sad little meow meow Garten. (@vlasseblaster)

[after-witch]

Fresh Blood [Yandere L x Vampire!Reader]

Title: Fresh Blood [Yandere L x Vampire!Reader]

Synopsis: Vampires aren’t real. Everyone knows that. Except for L Lawliet, who knows the truth: vampires are very, very much real… and you’re one of them.

Word Count: 2400ish

Notes: yandere, mentions of death and non-graphic violence, reader is a vampire

You haven’t seen the sunrise in several lifetimes. And you would never see it again, unless you were eager to burst into flames and turn into nothing but crumbling, black dust. 

It wasn’t true that vampires were weak against garlic (you didn’t mind it, on nights when you ate human food); or crosses (pretty things, especially in silver); or even gunshots (though they hurt like a bitch). But the sun, well--the sun was a surefire way to turn what was immortal into nothing at all. 

So, the sunrise was out. So were all the little things that went with it; glistening dewdrops and deer making their way to the edge of the forest in the dappled light of the sunrise. The soft call of birds waking up the world. The quiet, hum of life beginning in the city, in the country, everywhere and anywhere.

But… you don’t regret this loss anymore. Once, when poked and prodded by someone else in your clan during one of their melancholy bouts, you’d quipped: “I’m just not a morning person--it’s fate!” and flashed your sweetest grin. 

Your morning had been replaced by the night. Though, thanks to the advent of incredibly efficient blackout blinds and curtains, you could usually wake up a bit earlier and get a few things in before you headed out for the evening. For blood or clan meetings or--more common--both. 

You love the routine that it creates, really. You wake up. You shower. You watch a little TV, if you’re in the mood. You might practice the piano or rearrange some books in your library. And then you get dressed--something modest, elegant; your closet was filled with classic pantsuits and expensive silver jewelry that shined in the evening light--and leave.

And in that evening, that black evening, who knows what you’ll do? Who you’ll meet or eat, what you’ll see. 

And when the darkness begins to wane, you head home. You shower. You throw your clothes, if they’re bloody, into cold water to soak for the night. You change into pajamas. You go into your bedroom. You lock the door. You lock the windows. You sleep, dreamless, in the dark. 

And then you wake up the next evening and start everything over again.

--

Someone has been inside your apartment. Someone has been inside your apartment. 

Someone has been inside your apartment. 

The thought repeats itself in your brain until it becomes a boiling, blurry scream that threatens to burst out of your chest. Your fingers clench into fists, and if you could bleed, it would be pouring out from the sharpness of your nails digging into your palm. 

There is a hair in your sink. It’s not your hair. It’s black, somewhat long, curled up against the white porcelain like a baby. Something that anyone else might dismiss, shrug away, or miss entirely. But the sight of it is as obvious to you as a smear of red blood against the porcelain tile.

Your fingers reach out, trembling, and grasp the offending hair in your fingertips. 

You stick your tongue to it, thinking--desperately, your enraged brain becoming somewhat delirious--you might be able to track the offender down by their taste. But it’s hair, disconnected from anything living, and all it does is make you peel it off and toss it into the trash in a fit.

Who would dare enter your domain? A vampire's home was their sanctuary. Invitations were everything. Especially to you, who guarded yourself so securely; you aimed to get to the top of society, and you didn’t do that by throwing open your home to anyone who waltzed nearby.

So who… the fuck… has been in your house?

--

You’re a vampire. 

The revelation is not something that L cares to share with anyone else, although he will eventually have to tell Watari about it in order to pull through with the logistics of his plans. The information is, strictly speaking, need-to-know. And who else would believe him? 

But the pathways this knowledge opened up were surely something he could appreciate. Vampires were real. So what else was real? What else, dismissed as a ridiculous myth borne out of horror stories, might really be lurking in the dark?

It was a double pleasure, that his interest in you led to this discovery--and surely many more in the future.

He saw you walking past his favorite cafe one evening. You looked attractive, which wasn’t an immediate draw for him. Plenty of people were pretty. But something about you made you stand out like an oil painting amidst crude pencil drawings. It was like you glowed. 

And he did enjoy things that stood out from the crowd. 

He can still remember the early days, staking out (he pardons his own pun) your apartment, jotting down every little detail about you. Your schedule was strange. No stranger than his, he supposed at the time, but certainly unusual for some random civilian. 

You never went outside until it was dark. You didn’t seem to sleep, or at least not in your bedroom. You didn’t eat.  Yet you never looked tired or sick. 

Your home had blackout film and blackout blinds and blackout curtains and, to top it off, blackout screens that could be pulled over each window. Your fridge never had food, only bags and bottles of the same red liquid, too thick to be a fruit smoothie.

And curious, curious, curious… there was not a single mirror in your home. Not one in the bathroom. Not one in the hallway, or your bedroom, or stuck behind the closet of your wardrobe. 

Why the strangeness? What were you hiding? What made you different? 

It made him need to know more about you. 

And more.

And more.

And now… he knows things that humans were never meant to know. At least, humans who weren’t about to become blood bags for creatures like you.

He knows every step in your routine, every detail about your home life and public life and as much as he’s been able to sketch out in between. He knows what songs you play on the piano, how many blood bags you have in your fridge, what songs you hum under your breath while you get ready to leave your home and drain someone of their blood for your dinner.

He knows that you’re hundreds, if not thousands of years old, and that you subsist on the blood of people whom you kill and drain night upon night. 

The cameras helped with all that. They’d been there for longer than he anticipated, given your observant nature. Maybe you were cocky. That would help, certainly, with his plans. 

He saw you find his hair in the sink (he planted it, naturally) and smiled as he watched you through your little tantrum. What would you do, if--when, he corrects himself, you’re too smart not to find them--you noticed the cameras?

What will you do when you notice the other things he has touched? He’s left himself all over your apartment, bit by bit, waiting with a gnawed-on thumb to see what you do. 

Oh you, you, you. 

He couldn’t tell if you were unlucky that he decided he needed you, or if he was unlucky that the one person he became invested in wasn’t actually a human being. Maybe a bit of both. It certainly made it trickier to figure out how to approach the problem of your continued freedom.

You were slippery.

L didn’t like it when things he wanted were slippery.

--

You’re going to kill someone.

Who that someone is has yet to be determined. But you will determine it, and you will find them, and end their life--a pathetic, measly thing, no doubt--in the most viscous way possible.

No amount of blood, no amount of meditation, will ease your broiling anger. 

The hair on the sink came first. 

And then, little things. A picture frame, tilted just-so in the opposite direction. A rug shifted an inch to the left. 

And now… now this absolutely infuriating middle-finger-to-you. An unmistakable gesture that could not be ignored or brushed off or brooded over. 

This demanded action.

There was a mirror at the end of the hallway. The glass glistened dully, reflecting nothing, even as you stood right in front of it. You’d made it as far as the hallway after coming home from your evening feeding, intent on grabbing the comfiest robe from your bedroom before you hit the shower.

And then you saw the mirror.

Your nostrils flare, and you’re about to bash your hand against the glass to smash it into a thousand pieces, when something shifts in your field of vision.

There’s someone in the mirror. Behind you, next to you, or rather, next to where your reflection would be if you had one.

It’s a man with dark eyes and messy hair and a calm, but undeniably pleased expression on his face. Your brain flashes a thought--like a cat licking up cream--before you whirl around, breath cold with rage, and launch yourself at his face with your sharpened nails ready to gouge out an eye.

But you don’t get to gouge out an eye. You don’t get to do anything. Because as soon as you whirl around, he pulls something--a rope?--and morning sunlight bursts into your living room. You jerk back, keeping yourself in the protection of the darkened hallway. 

“Who the fuck are you?” You spit. 

The man drops the rope and sticks his fingers in his pockets. He smiles at you. A calm, sweet expression that he should not be wearing at this moment. Yet he is, somehow. It makes you want to sew his lips shut with a needle and thread. It makes you want to pull out his teeth. It makes you want to keep him alive for weeks as you drain him again and again.

“There will be time for introductions later,” he says, almost murmuring. “Right now, you’re clearly in a state of agitation, and not likely to remember personal details, anyway.” His gaze seems to appraise you. “You do have a temper, don’t you?” He raises his eyebrows. “I’m surprised, given what I saw on the cameras.”

Your cold chest seems to grow icier still.

“The what?”

He gestures languidly around. “I’ve set up quite a few. I thought you’d notice. But you were too busy with your clandestine meetings, I suppose.” He suddenly claps his hands and raises his eyebrows in an odd, reassuring gesture. “Don’t worry, I didn’t put one in your bathroom, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You wish,  for once, that your non-living breath might be hot instead of cold. It might better reflect your mood. 

Your eyes dart around the room and now, now, you finally see the microscopic cameras installed around the space. In the corner of the ceiling. On a figurine in your bookshelf. No doubt the other rooms would yield similar findings.

You would rip them out one by one, and then rip out his spleen. Or maybe an eye. Whatever hurt worse and kept him along the longest. 

You stare at this man, whose hair was in your sink, whose fingers touched your belongings, whose feet crossed your threshold--until you’re sure that your gaze would kill, if you had that power. 

“I’m going to kill you,” you say, finally. You bare your fangs. You think, stupidly, of simply launching yourself at him and hoping you’re fast enough to grab him and pull him back into the darkened hallway before the sunlight kills you.

Rage makes you stupid, but only for a moment. You keep your legs still on the carpet, eyeing him with utter contempt.

He watches you. He hums. 

“You might try.”

Your eyes glance around the room, behind you in the hallway, looking for the best second option. Your bedroom? If you can get in there, you can get to your phone.  A quick call to another member of your clan, and they’ll be here. And then you can take your time killing him, slow and methodical. 

“Ah,” he says, as if he can sense your train of thought. “I wouldn’t recommend going into the bedroom. Or the bathroom. Or any of the rooms, really.” He gestures towards the bottom of your bedroom door, and you turn to look.

Sunlight can be seen peeking through the edge. 

“I took the liberty of uninstalling everything on the other windows, too. You’re quite thorough, but so am I.” 

You bare your teeth at him again.

“Are you going to kill me?” It’s a challenge, all puffed up, perhaps your last words before he pulls out a stake or something else he’d concocted to end your immortal existence. 

He stares at you, eyebrows raised.

“Kill you?” The question is said in such a soft, incredulous tone, as if what you asked was simply absurd. 

Was he not a vampire hunter? Though most humans thought vampires were myths, there were a few now and then who figured it out and tried to hunt your kind down. 

This man was apparently not one of those few. 

He pulls something out of his pocket. It looks like a gun, 

“It will be easier to keep you here for now, once I get a proper containment room set up for you.” He gestures at the blackout set-up that he dismantled. “Don’t worry, it will be blacked out.” He sticks his hands back in his pockets. “You’ve done some of my work for me already, with your isolated schedule, so it will be a while before anyone notices something’s amiss. I do need to get you transported sooner than later, especially if…”

You listen, mute with rage and something else, as he drones on; detailing how he is going to keep you and subdue you and transfer you somewhere else--nice and dark, he assures you. As he speaks, there’s an increasing unfamiliar sensation that squirms under your skin like worms. Not anger. Not confusion. But…

Fear.

As he raises the gun and you see--too late--that the end is marked with some kind of tranquilizer, the thought comes:

Is this what it’s like to be the prey? 

[diejager]

evil! reader x makarov/power ‘couple’ would be the type to make out and fuck as they torture someone

(hope you don’t mind, love your writing!!!!! i give you a shiny rock)

Bloody Love Cw: smut,DARKFIC, torture, kissing, blood and gore, interrogation, creampie, riding, thigh riding, wall sex, sex marathon, sadism, reader is evil, tell me if I missed any.

Makarov doesn’t usually do the torturing, he prefers to leave it to his henchmen and allies, but, on occasion, he wouldn’t mind participating in some good, old fashioned, romantic torture with you. If it fits your fancy and that you’re feeling it, he’d willingly bend back to make your dream come true. While he has other ways of showing you off and letting you control the moment, he finds a certain joy in pleasing you while in the throes of pleasure and making a man slowly bleed to death.

And despite being a man of class, the sight of you covered in blood, manic grin stretched across your face and eyes gleaming darkly, he can’t help himself from falling deeper into this obsession of his. The vulgar and violent appearance of yours only drives him up the wall, his cock tenting his pants, pushing uncomfortably against his briefs. He knows it disturbs the others and his little captive, the show of viciousness and narcissism that you both show, laughing and taunting the poor man while you kissed. 

You bleed the man, running a rusted knife - tetanus is a bastard once it’s in your bloodstream - along the curve of his collar, your tongue peeking out to lick at your bottom lip with a crazed gleam. Red had always been a pretty colour, crimson being a passionate and powerful shade to paint your world. Carmine is a fitting colour for you, he liked to see you bathed in it, lips, eyes, cheeks, nails, skin and clothes.

He kisses you like he hungers for you, devouring and hungry, tongue curling around yours and pulling moan and groans from your throat. He sits you on his lap while you make out, pawing at his chest and sinking your teeth into his lip, bleeding him like you bled the other man turned a whimpering and crying mess. He grips and ruts against you, finding ways to fuck you without undressing, to make you come twice as often as he does, helping you grind against his thigh until you gush all over his black pants, soaking the fabric with slick. 

You take turn cutting and interrogating your captive, switching between a plier to a saw to rough up the man and drive your arousal higher and higher, to the point that you can’t help shrugging your pants off and riding Makarov. You sink onto him, throwing your head back and bucking against his sloppy thrusts, lost to your own world while your audience sobs, eyes bleary and body in so much pain that the last thing that would bother him is watching you and Makarov fuck.

You’d torture him again after your first session, still hanging on that post orgasm haze of pure happiness and giggles, landing the fess blows that would usually bring them to their knees and spill their secrets —so close, yet so far. Then Makarov ploughes your against the wall, pants sliding down to his ankles as he rolls his hips and thrust upwards, ramming home to fill you up a second time. He makes sure you clench around him, gripping him like a vice and nails drawing your mark on him - marking your territory - before he comes, his cock spurting thick, white cum from the tip.

Only after a third of fourth session do you and Makarov let the man go, on the brink of death and delirious from blood loss. You’re satisfied and happy, which means he’s satisfied and happy, and has all the information he first wanted with the man —it was the best of both worlds.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah

[cpacs-blog]

I Never Told You

An angsty af Petruo short-fic

Eld is sweaty and gray. He smells awful… like dirt and iron and rot, and this entire stupid hospital smells the same. Petra forces herself to sit close and to not throw up.

“You don’t have to speak,” she says quietly to him. She’s quiet because she doesn’t want to wake Eld’s nameless roommate behind the curtain, but that scout is dead already so it doesn’t really matter. “You’re healing. You don’t have to entertain me. You can rest.”

Rest… that’s selfishly the last thing she wants for her good friend. Eld’s serrated leg and his decimated arm are weeping blood and gathering infection and flies in this humid hell, but she can’t let him go just yet. If he rests, he might rest forever and that is unacceptable. She can’t bear his suffering but she can’t bear his loss either. She won’t get to choose.

He speaks, mouth gummy and slow. “-Y-You?”

“Me.” She holds his hand through her splints. “Broken arm. Broken wrists. Broken ribs. But I’m fine. It will heal.”

Eld surveys her and sees it is all true, she is broken, but she is still in one piece which is more than he can claim for himself. “Th- the others?”

“Eren’s safe.” That nosy, insolent shit. “We did it, Eld,” she beams. “We kept him alive. He can still fix the wall. Levi is fine too. And, well, Gunther…” She can’t pretend. They all saw it… Gunther’s swinging body, exsanguinating a faucet of blood. Eld’s delirious, but not to the point of true stupidity yet so she knows she can’t deny the obvious. “We cut him down and brought him back,” she reports instead. “He’s home. His grandparents have him now.”

“Quick? It was quick?”

“It was quick,” she assures.

He is only a little mollified and he tries not to think too much about it. “Ruo?”

Petra smiles, heart bursting. “He made it, Eld. He’s okay. He’s downstairs. He’s still a jackass.”

Good. That idiot annoyed Eld beyond what he thought was possible and yet Eld loved him completely. “Did he tell you?”

Petra squeezes Eld’s hand tight, fierce. “Yes. He did. He told me everything.”

Eld’s mouth lifts and he finally feels peace settle in his minced bones. “Thank god. I’ve been asking him to for years.”

~~~

The last thing she truly hears is Eld crashing to the ground in several pieces. He crumples and breaks; his limbs leave a gingerbread trail to his hemorrhaging body.

And Petra- young, idealistic, spritely Petra- is left to contend with a wash of adrenaline that freezes every muscle in her exhausted shell. She is in thin air but somehow underwater as sound and light delay their path to her senses. She watches the giant move towards her but she is a spectator outside her body, frozen and doomed.

So she doesn’t see or hear it. All she knows is she was middair and in the way for one heartbeat, then cartwheeling off course to safety the next. The moss receives her fall but she hits the ground hard enough it feels like cobblestone. Her arm is at an odd angle with the bone tenting her translucent skin. Her mouth pools with metallic blood.

Distantly, one explosion rocks the trees, then two titans. Goddammit, Eren. Petra rolls herself to look at the perfect blue sky and tries to tame her thundering heart. She is alive. She was in the way, but now she is alive.

He is too far away to properly see, kicked and painted across the forest trees. So she never sees him again, never hears his sarcastic and wry humor, his poorly concealed insecurities. He is gone from her, and she would lie to her last dying friend in the hospital a week later because they never brought the dead home. The cart never came; they left them where they lay. So she never sees or hears from him again, but she has the bruise of his handprint on her back that tells her everything she needs to know.

~~~

Eld dies before the oil lamp does. His fever breaks him and he sweats so much, Petra is sure he is deflating in front of her. It’s not noble or heroic: he weeps, thrashes, and relieves himself as his story closes around him. She sits and holds his hand until the end and covers him with a white sheet before she leaves the room.

Author’s note: thanks for reading my fic! I am procrastinating on real work and loooovvveee imagining/writing the angstiest, most emo shit imaginable when I’m tired. I hate that the og squad is dead: they would’ve been so cool to see develop in the later seasons. But as a hoe for unrequited love stories and someone who loves putting her favorite characters through hell for sport, I had to do this.

[charnelhouse]

Hey! I just read death, I don't know why it took me so long but I think it’s because I was just scared of the feelings that would come with it... or because I'm stupid

Your externalization of Will's pov was magnificent. With every story you post I get more and more fascinated with your brilliant mind and writing skills. Thank you so much for sharing it with us!

It made me wonder what it would have been like if it had been the opposite. If one of the boys had died... I don't know if anyone has asked you this before, sorry if it's repetitive. But how would the reader react to the loss of one of them? Would she walk away from them like they did or perhaps become dependent on them? Or nothing like that, idk

A/N: Character Death.

It is as if it happens in slow motion. Stars-burst behind your eyes. The taste of ash and cordite in your mouth as you collapse. There’s a scream caught in your throat - swelling painful and burdensome and you think no no no no -

This can’t be real. This can’t be true.

“Frankie,” you whisper as you crawl towards him. There’s the pound of lukewarm rain across your shoulders - soaking your hair and making your fingers squish through the mud. You cannot breathe - you cannot find a center to focus on. You’re dizzy and there’s the rush of salt from your tears streaking - thinning to a river that wells in the cup of your lower lip.

When did you start crying?

“Frankie,” you call to him as you brush up against his side. There’s a bullet hole and there’s a second. A third. You tug at your pack - searching for bandages or cloth and your fingers won’t even respond. You’re shaking - trembling and you can’t get your head on straight.

“Baby,” Frankie rasps as he reaches for you. He places his hand on your thigh - the sun-browned skin gradually fading to grey.

“One-one second,” you tell him - your voice thin and weak. “Let me - let me find some bandages and I - I can fix this. I can fix this.”

He says your name - it rolls out from his lips - soft and delirious.

“Look at me,” he pleads - his fingers slightly tightening around your knuckles. You choke on a sob before you glance up at him. You immediately regret it. There’s a thin stream of blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth.

“This is bad, honey,” His thumb strokes a tight circle across the top of your hand. He is soothing you - relaxing you - when he is the one who is - who is - jesus christ - you think you might be sick. “I-I’m not getting out of this -”

“Shut up,’ you growl. “Shut up! It’s okay. I’ll stem the bleeding and drag you out. Just - just fucking hold on for me.”

But Frankie is wheezing  - his grip on you going paper-weak. There’s a sharp splatter of blood with each cough - it stains his shirt and you uselessly rub at it. You can’t even see clearly as your vision blurs - your head ringing and this can’t fucking be real -

“Hey,” he smiles. “Don’t cry. Just - just c’mere.”

You do - dropping your head to taste his mouth - to let him kiss you and there’s the flush of iron and copper. It makes you gag but you keep it down. You cling to his face as you hold him steady - as you breathe i love you - i love you - i love you

He jerks beneath you - going boneless and lank. You don’t open your eyes. You screw them tighter - keeping the vision of him alive and hot with a pumping heart.

[giordirossi]

drrutherford​:

.

‘Didn’t know it was you until now.’ — He wonders if that’s true.

He wonders why he cares. He wonders why he wonders, either way.

Forcing his attention back to the call, the Rutherford strips out of his jacket with his free hand, switching the cell over from his right to his left as he gets the other arm out in turn. The call connects and starts to ring as the man crouches next to the Italian, tucks the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, and begins tying the sleeves of his jacket tightly around her bleeding wound. Tighter, and tighter still.

An answer on the second ring. “Vernon, it’s Gid… Can’t talk right now, emergency — Where are you?… Good. Need ya at Florence & Hawes intersection in Islington asap. Can you do that for me?… Yeah, I’ll talk to Damon. See ya soon.” @damon-rutherford​

Thankfully, Damon’s trusty chauffeur doesn’t question the order or its urgency.

Already, he can hear his brother’s old admonishment: ‘You really need to get yourself some hired help… You never know when you might need it. Consider it for your own protection, Gid.’ He’s sure this will rehash that debate later tonight, once Vernon gets back to Damon. But at the minute, it isn’t his own safety he’s concerned about, but that of the woman beginning to fade on the pavement beside him. 

“Hey! Wake up,” He demands, giving her a hard shake. “I’m sure you’d love nothing more than to frame me for your murder— ” Gideon looks at her leg, reaching over to tighten the tourniquet around it. “ —But when I go to prison for that particular crime I’ll insist on the pleasure of having committed it first.” Her only response is a meagre request for no hospitals, and the surgeon’s eyes snap up to meet her bleary gaze.

“You’re in no position to make demands.” He rebukes her irritably, because of course someone who’d gotten injured while up to no good would have every cause to avoid a public hospital. And yet, he thinks, she also happens to be with the one whelp in all of London stupid enough to lend an ear to her wants, however disapproving. "My place, then,” The Rutherford acquiesces gruffly. “But if you deteriorate, all bets are off.”

+

Hey! Wake up.

Unfortunately, she still is. The empty threat comes as a surprise–– or perhaps not-so-empty, Giordana often finds it miraculous what people are capable of under the right provocation... Regardless, his words encourage heavy eyelids to open up at him yet again and she laughs. 

For once the sound isn’t hollow or mocking as genuine mirth rings quietly across her vocal cords, an almost foreign response these days. Maybe she’s gone delirious from the blood loss and increasing pressure of the tourniquet around her thigh; or maybe he managed to tap into that specific brand of morbid humor they once teased each other about.

You’re in no position to make demands. “And that’s your favorite... I remember.” Another chuckle escapes and she offers a weary half-salute when the conversation rounds off with a more prominent threat of being hospitalized. “Stay alive. Got it.”

The memory of how Gideon transports her to his apartment remains fuzzy, even as they burst through the door and he drops her unceremoniously onto his sofa. Vaguely she recalls a car and passing streets, then the bright overhead lights of his building. Once Giordana regains any semblance of bearings, her head angles upward to a side table and she takes note of the new light fixture with blurry amusement.

“You got a new lamp,” her voice comments faintly as she shifts, somehow possessing just enough wherewithal to not lay her bleeding appendage on the fabric of his couch. “I like it better than your old one.”

[cresvalkyrie]

Ok, that slice of life enemies-to-lovers AU was fun. So it’s my turn to do my enemies-to-lovers fantasy AU XD

And since you’re curious, gonna tag you here: @fangaminghell.

The rundown for the premise is that Erin, being the Argent Dragoon and their best warrior against the dragon legions, runs into Artemis, the princess of the Dravanians and they fall in love with each other despite its forbidden nature. Of course, their people being enemies, the two will at first start out as bitter nemeses as well. Since, you know... a thousand years of bloodshed and feuding can’t be erased overnight.

So, the idea I had is that Erin was fighting Artemis during one of the usual skirmishes between their people. However, when she landed a hit on her, the dragon ends up carrying her away in her moment of panic and Erin is separated from her army. The two continue their fight mid-air, in which the Dragoon was able to severely wound the dragon and the two crash in the middle of Dravanian territory.

The crash-landing injures Erin as well, and being stranded in the midst of enemy territory didn’t bode well for her. After wandering around for a little bit, she was attacked by a white-haired huntress who quickly disarmed her and pinned her to the ground. The huntress threatened to kill her by plunging a dragonfang dagger through the neck, but hesitated when the Dragoon - delirious from exhaustion and blood loss - said that her eyes were beautiful.

Eventually, she changed her mind and took Erin back to her retreat, where she carefully nursed her back to health. As she recovered, she soon learned that the huntress’ name was Hauyne. The two grew closer and gradually fell in love with each other, but Erin was suspicious about her host’s evasiveness about her past, how she forbade her from opening the chest in the corner, or how she tried to discourage her from returning to her kingdom.

At some point, her curiosity won out, and she opened the forbidden chest. To her shock, she finds a silvery dragon-hide covered in faint scars... wounds she had inflicted upon a white dragon some moons ago.  When Erin confronts Hauyne about this, she burst into tears and confessed the truth.

Hauyne, as it turned out, was actually the princess of the Dravanians. However, she was wounded too severely during her skirmish with Erin, forcing her to shed her dragonhide and assume a human form to preserve her own life. It was shortly after her transformation when she ran into Erin once more, and she had originally wanted to kill her - as vengeance for reducing her into a lesser form and also to eliminate the possibility of her potentially witnessing her transformation. However, she had a change of heart when she heard the Dragoon’s delirious words, and decided to heal her instead.

She didn’t know when, but she eventually grew fond of the Dragoon as the days passed. To the point that even though she had long since healed enough to resume her true form, she chose to stay as a human so that she could remain by her side, even going so far as to lock her dragon hide away in a chest to stave off the instinctual urge building up within her.

Unfortunately for Hauyne, Erin was too heartbroken by the betrayal to listen past the part where she admitted to wanting to kill her at first and stormed out. All while she cried out for her and begged for her to return. But all that answered her was silence...

Torn by anguish, Hauyne returned to her dragon form and roared her vow - that she would make the Argent Dragoon pay for the humiliation.

[redrobin-detective]

Side Effects of ghost powers

Hey all! I’m writing a DP fic called Side Effects exploring the physical and later mental/emotional impact of Danny initially getting his ghost powers. As an ICU stepdown nurse for 3 years, I wanted to view Danny’s accident through a slightly more realistic, medical lens. 

Note: I had to fudge a good amount because Danny really should have fucking died and there’s no getting around that.

I do recommend you read the fic first before reading this as there’s some spoilers. Or if you don’t care you can read on. So! The two factors we are looking at regarding the accident are: ecto-contamination secondary to electrocution. 

Electrocution

I was forced to downplay a lot of the severe symptoms of electrocution because, again, a bad enough shock will kill someone. My hand-wavey explanation is simply that the portal didn’t activate at a deadly voltage so he got a good shock but not enough to be fatal. I guess.

Muscle weakness/spasms: intermittent muscle spasms are common from shocks, muscles being activated by electricity and reacting to the lingering impulses. Danny’s is transient but quite annoying for a time. But his muscles are gonna be weak and achy af for days if not weeks after from the massive contractions caused by the shock and the after effects. Sensory issues: lots of things can cause nerve damage, including electrocution so Danny is experiencing some pretty severe neuropathy primarily manifesting with numbness and tingling throughout his body. His entire skin and peripheral nervous system got fried so while its mostly numb it’s also super sensitive for a bit of time causing massive pain and discomfort from your body tingling like a thousand bee stings. It’s worst in the hours after the accident but is something that never quite really goes back to normal both from the electrocution and his ghost half taking over and generally dulling his sense of touch.

Hearing/Vision loss: Like skin/nerves, your sensory organs in your eyes and ears would be affected by such a severe and allover electric shock. Danny has some blurred and occasionally double vision from his eyes not properly receiving/understanding input. Hearing loss is common following electricity given how delicate the inner ear is but I just give Danny some nasty tinnitus (ear ringing) for a bit. This inner ear problem also massively throws off his balance when he’s trying to move post accident. These factors are exacerbated by the ecto-contamination and mostly fade in the days following the accident before going away as his superhuman healing kicks in.

Heart Arrhythmia: an irregular heartbeat caused by the electrical impulses that control basal heartrate not coordinating they they should for a variety of reasons, in this case, massive electric shock. Danny would be somewhat aware of it, its not exactly painful exactly but you can just feel that your heart isn’t beating right. Secondary side effects are dizziness, chest pain, fatigue and shortness of breath. This resolves almost entirely when Danny stabilizes

Cognitive issues: Danny got his brains a little scrambled in addition to his molecules being rearranged. The first third of the story Danny is very clearly NOT thinking straight and Tucker/Sam should not have left him alone. Shocks can cause things like irrational emotional behaviors from hormone release along with memory loss and depression. He constantly waxes and wanes in mood and opinions on what to do in the story and never comes to a true decision that, damn lucky for him, worked out on its own.

Ecto-Contamination

Alright so Danny got massively shocked, sucks right but people live through that all the time. Ecto-contamination is more tricky (not only cause its made up and I had to think about what symptoms it would theoretically produce) but because the effects are more life threatening. It’s also irreversible, once he was contaminated it was only something that could be survived not cured. 

So I theorized that Danny got shocked by the accident and was slowly dying of ecto-contamination and was pretty much clinically dead for a brief moment there, the death was enough for the large quantity of ectoplasm in him to immediately coalesce into a ghost (Phantom). So Danny was mostly dead but not quite, I’ve coded and brought back enough people to know it can be reversed somewhat. Danny becomes Phantom but the sudden stable formation of the ectoplasm into what its supposed to be, a ghost, caused his body to stop fighting the ectoplasm as a foreign invader and become part of the self. His core finished forming in his chest and his body started back up again, his ghost safely nestled in his once again living body as he slowly comes to grips with his actual death experience. 

Nausea/Vomiting: I likened the idea of ecto-contamination to radiation poisoning, something that is essentially the antithesis to life. One of the first symptoms of radiation is n/v which is also why it’s one of the first overt symptoms Danny has. He was heavily electrocuted/irradiated and his body wants to expunge it all. As for the ectoplasm/blood he vomits, that’s the next section. 

Gastrointestinal (GI) Bleed: So I was a little mean here. When one vomits up blood (or in this case ectoplasm/blood mix) it has to come from somewhere and a lot of the times it’s a GI Bleed. These are nasty, they need to be either cauterized or surgically repaired not to mention replenishing the blood lost. Fanon says that ectoplasm is at least mildly corrosive to humans so it is here, as it’s bonding to him, it’s literally eating him very slowly from the inside out which is causing a great deal of his internal pain. It’s not enough to be immediately life threatening but would kill him eventually. He developed some nasty bleeding ulcers in his stomach which let in blood and ectoplasm which were expunged. Danny’s core formed overnight and began healing the damage it had previously been causing but Dan is still gonna be vomiting excess blood/ectoplasm not to mention having black, tarry stools for at least a few days afterwards.

Hypothermia/Tremors: Hypothermia is when the body hits 95F/35C which Danny is just above at the start of the chapter. Danny initially starts shaking really bad (rigors) but as his body temperature cools further his shaking slows and eventually stops, a sure sign that the body is rapidly losing the fight to hypothermia and will likely die soon without immediate intervention. This is caused not only by the ectoplasm but his ice core shakily starting to form inside of him. Once he fully turns half ghost his hypothermia doesn’t change but it just no longer negatively affects him (I say Danny hovers naturally around 96-95F/35-33C getting much colder as Phantom at baseline. His body still can be damaged by going too cold but that’s a whole other post.) 

Incoherency/Hallucinations: I mentioned in the electrocution section that Danny is more than a little addled and the contamination didn’t help in that regard. Not only is he not thinking clearly but he’s also getting a little delirious and seeing things. Common hallucinations I see are: someone in the room watching you, things crawling on the walls, creeping shadows, you’re in the wrong place. I think its a solid 50/50 as far as Danny straight up hallucinating but also becoming more aware of natural ectoplasm that hangs around in the atmosphere. (And before anyone asks, yes Clockwork did come and visit, Danny just doesn’t remember)

Pain: Being electrocuted, irradiated, being dissolved slowly on the inside is enough to cause massive amounts of pain. Danny is 14, he doesn’t understand true pain and probably underestimated how much it would hurt. Once it got bad, it was almost paralyzing so it got to the point where even when he wanted to call for help, he couldn’t move or think past the horrible pain of his every molecule slowly dying and rearranging itself.

Weakness/Fatigue: I don’t really have anything much to add for this section that hasn’t been said in the others. Just the combination of all of the above meant Danny is so incredibly weak and fatigued, this will be problematic in the days and weeks following the accident as his body heals from the stress put on it. Poor boy was probably just getting past the worst of his symptoms by the time of the Lunch lady attack one month in.

Ghost instinct: Going off the medical rant for a minute to go into another aspect of the contamination present in the story, the idea of ectoplasm adding inherent ghostiness to Danny. Its common fanon that all ghosts (through ectoplasm) have their own unique code and language that is just omnipresent and instinctive. Such a massive, body altering dose of ectoplasm saw those things start to leech into Danny even before he became half ghost. The biggest is his fear of being seen, majority of ghosts are completely invisible and don’t want to be seen by the living. As Danny’s suffering and literally dying, he can’t bring himself to confess to his loved ones for very understandable reasons but also this ghostly instinct in the back of his head telling him to hide and get away. Other instincts are a strong attraction to the portal/Ghost Zone, lowkey being able to sense living people around him and a bit of an emotional dampener when Phantom. 

[the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon]

• Lady Dimitrescu x female reader 💋

• Warnings ⚠️ : graphic depictions of violence, gore, blood, very strong horror elements, Stockholm Syndrome, mental anguish, character death.

glass angel, part XV.

Smoke took the shape of vile specters as it floated around your groggy head. Through its gray veil, brilliant yellow eyes peered at you with inhuman hunger whilst large drops of murky blood oozed from grinning mouths. Dark, tar-like lips would lean close, murmuring bone-chilling threats which you never truly deciphered. Your body felt sedated, heavy like lead, your voice muted as if you were trapped in a lucid nightmare.

To your distress, this wasn’t a dream.

Satin fingers caressed your navel lovingly, instantly drawing your attention to the woman of your heart's desire. Her features were so alluring in their wickedness, you’d fall for her again, had it not been for the palpable fear making your teeth chatter. You pushed your knees closed defiantly, struggling to free your arms from the daughters’ ruthless grips. Behind you, their sickening breaths of joy were like violent daggers, stabbing the back of your head, deafening and painful. You’ve heard those shrills late at night, in your dreams, even in the brightest hours of the day –

Play with us,

Come out, come out!

You managed to run and slip through their murderous fingers, only to end up caught in the web of their equally devilish mother.

“.. wh… why?...why-"

A quiet sob left you. Anguished tears threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes as you watched the graceful matriarch. Your heart shattered at the realization that she was the monster slithering behind the walls in the dark, moving beneath the bedsheets and stalking you from every haunted corner. She was the embodiment of your night terrors, and so very cruel for playing the part of a caring, gentle woman by day.

Alcina’s perfect countenance was void of emotion as she, almost tenderly, caressed the soft dips and curves of your chest. Her touch was agonizing as it neared your heart, strange and unfamiliar against your feverish skin. You could’ve sworn you caught a glimpse of regret in her beautiful eyes when she met your terrified look. The lady of the castle was a true enigma, one which you’ve never had the chance to unravel. Her cigarette died with a final inhale, and through the thick cloud of nicotine, her bewitching gaze flickered with carnivorous lust.

A smaller, vicious hand smacked over your lips, holding your head down when you begun to shake violently. Your throat swelled with involuntary screams as your legs were forced apart and pinned to the torture table, powerless. You tried to bite into the palm that muffled your panicked cries, yet your mouth filled with large, crawling bugs. Appalled, you struggled to spit the insects out and soothe your air-deprived lungs. A heavy taste of rot and blood melted the sweetness of your mouth, leaving you to choke on a deep feeling of disgust. Heavy swarms of buzzing flies suddenly flooded the ceiling, taking the lights out and throwing you in an endless pit of despair.

I don’t want to die… I don’t want to die…

You clenched your teeth painfully tight, convinced you’d drown either in foul water or those dreadful roaches. Large palms cupped the gentle curves of your nude body, a feeling that once made you arch in willing surrender. Now, the blinding thought of death occupied every corner of your mind, making you wail like a slaughtered lamb.

Massive jaws tore into your limbs deeply, canines scraping bone as they split your flesh apart. Blood flowed abundantly from the gaping wound, into the feral mouth latched onto your inner thigh. Small, crimson rivulets pooled beneath you on the table as Lady Dimitrescu suckled your raw flesh with greedy hunger, familiar tongue lapping at the gash almost sensually. The sound of warm meat crushing between teeth filled your throat with bitterness, bile ready to spill.

Delirious, you begun replaying moments of your life when you were happy, safe in the company of loved ones who would never do you harm – your life flashing before your eyes.

Somehow, in the midst of your horrid torture, bolts of euphoria rushed through your broken limbs, akin to the ones you’ve felt when your lady’s masterful tongue pleasured you. Was this your brain's laughable attempt to bring comfort in those harrowing moments? Alcina leered with unsated appetite whilst thick blood overflowed her flawless chin, pooling in between her large breasts.

The velvety feel of her smooth tongue was excruciating, blinding you with ripples of debilitating pain, only to forcefully draw sensual pleasure out of you the next moment. You suddenly climaxed, yet the orgasmic bliss was barely able to compensate for the agony of being eaten alive.

It was a never-ending dance of extremities which blurred the lines between good and evil, reality and dream. You floated in and out of consciousness as life was stolen from you, drained through vampiric indentations drilled into your still-living flesh. At times, you’d see swarms of darkness clouding the pristine ceiling and you were sure the daughters were feeding on you as well. But you soon realized they were only there to aid their mother in whatever unholy ritual she was subjecting you to. Scarlet lips savored your skin with sensual kisses, smearing your life essence from the throbbing injuries on your thighs to the vulnerable warmth in between. You fearfully anticipated another agonizing bite, yet it never came. Instead, pleasure pooled hotly in your core as she painted your flower red, brining you yet again to the heights of forbidden ecstasy.

“A Phoenix needs to be consumed by flames in order to be born anew.”

Alcina murmured sweetly, resting her large palm at the base of your throat, gentle thumb stroking your weak pulse. You wished you could’ve hated her for what she was doing, for what she’d done, yet only naive adoration filled your chest at the sight of her dazzling eyes. She pulled away from your burning flesh, swallowing deeply. Even freed, your limbs were useless as you watched her with unfocused, half-lidded eyes. Your senses were shutting down rapidly from the copious amount of blood loss, each strangled breath threatening to be your last.

The madam stood to her magnificent height, towering over you as she paced about the room and observed you closely. At times you swore you saw a concerned frown darkening her flawless features, and then she’d smile mischievously while threading long fingers through your hair, touching your cold forehead. When the door opened and her perfume dissipated, you finally let your heavy lids fall close.

Her daughters gathered around you in her absence, eager to lap each precious trace of blood off your weak body. Their mouths were large, grotesque slugs, their fingers crawling insect legs, picking at your tender wounds. Feeling awful, you groaned and shifted with the last bits of strength you could muster. A sudden weight crushed your chest, making you heave as if you were about to vomit all the pain, the distress, the horror of being there.

Grisly faces loomed over you whilst you were carefully laid upon the floor on a single white bedsheet. Then, in the blink of an eye, the three macabre figures exploded into restless insects, taking away the chamber's light. In the overwhelming gloom, you heard the sound of your own sternum breaking, bone shards making a home into your dry flesh. Strangely, you didn’t feel a thing, as if you were naught but a corpse on the autopsy table, your soul damned to linger in its decaying shell. Something moved within you, slithering between your ribs and feeding on your heart, your lungs.

Dim candles came to life, revealing the charming image of Lady Dimitrescu kneeling over you, as beautiful as the moment you first saw her. She took your lips in a sensual kiss, and with it, your last breath.

-          To be continued...

*part XVI.

[hotpinkworks]

School had never been one of Steve’s strong points, or rather, he had never been bothered enough to be good at it. He didn’t remember much, and what he had learned in English, History and whatever the fuck the quadratic equation was had been pushed aside by demogorgons, mindflayers and one too many beatings to the head. 

There was one small morsel of knowledge, however, that seemed to have leapt forth from his brain as he sat on the floor of his kitchen. Completely numb aside from the sting of his eyes. 

The tale of Orpheus and Euridice, from what little Steve remembered, was the story of a couple who fell madly in love and got married, only to go for a walk on the night of their wedding and come across a snake. The snake had bitten Euridice.

Steve’s eyes flashed down to the blood caught under his nails, throat squeezing as the thought of bites flashed through his brain.

She had died on the spot, cradled in Orpheus’ arms. Unable to live without his love, Orpheus had used his music to get access to the underworld, persuading Hades to free his wife only to turn around and lose her to the one stipulation he had been given. To not look back.

Steve had looked back too. Out the window of the trailer at the halo of bats that had fallen around the one he desperately didn’t want to leave behind. Steve desperately wanted some part of the myth to be true, so badly that it made his entire body ache. Afterall, there was an underworld beneath his feet and demons at his door, so it stood to reason that he should be able to march back in there, grab Eddie by the hand and yank him back to the surface. Back to safety and never, ever let go of him again. Except…

“Except you’re the musician Eds,” he explained to the empty room, “and I don’t have a way to bring you back,” he sobbed, a new wave of tears drowning his ability to speak as he clutched at the denim on his shoulders.

Steve wasn’t Orpheus, he had no magical song, no way to charm death into giving his heart back to him. That wasn’t the way that the Upside Down worked, it didn’t deal in happy endings, it created horrors that only worked to destroy. Barb. Billy.

Eddie.

If it were Eddie who had survived, if Steve had died in his place, he was convinced that Eddie would have found a way to save him anyway. That was just the way he was, an unstoppable blustering force that never stopped. So unapologetically himself that he practically shone, bright bold energy pouring off of every inch of skin no matter how many people tried to block it out. Eddie probably would have pulled his guitar out and shredded until the very ground split open from the noise of it. 

Steve laughed maniacally at the thought, the sound garbled by the tears leaking down the back of his throat. 

Orpheus had died, sacrificing himself for Euridice before anyone could hear the true power of his music, of his soul. Steve wondered what the real Euridice would do if the fates had swapped their roles. She would undoubtedly have done something more useful than mope on the floor of her abandoned house like Steve was doing. His eyes swam so heavily with tears that the dim light of the kitchen bulb distorted, almost looking like it was flickering. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and his vision cleared but the light kept flickering anyway. Steve stared at the bulb with a resigned focus, not moving from his spot on the kitchen floor. Instead he morbidly wondered what exactly was coming to finish him off. Vecna perhaps? Or maybe a demogorgon, to bring him full circle.

He wondered if this was what Euridice would do. Would she have stalked back into the woods and demanded that the snake take her too? Let its venom drag her to the river below?

Steve waited patiently, tired of fighting only to lose people, tired of his cold empty house, tired of himself. But the longer he watched and waited, the more familiar the blinking light seemed to feel. Perhaps he was delirious from blood loss and grief, but the flickering didn’t seem to be the sporadic warning he had seen so many times over the past few years, it looked more like a pattern.

Three short blinks. Three long blinks. Three short blinks again.

It was a pattern. More than a pattern. It was a code, a code that Steve was intimately familiar with. He had watched in awe only days before as the same pattern had illuminated Eddie’s face in the dark of the Upside Down.

S.O.S.

“Eddie,” he croaked, the noise sounding desperate even to his own ears. He was probably wrong, probably hallucinating but there was no one there to judge him and he wasn’t in any position to deny the hopeful little spark that flared to life inside him. The bulb matched the swell, flooding the room with light at the sound of the word, brighter than it had been in years. As bright as sunshine.

Just like Eddie, Steve thought, scrambling to get up. As he stood he spared a final thought for Euridice. In the light of the insistent bulb, Steve realised that she would never have given up on Orpheus. That she would have torn open the entrance to the underworld with her bare hands if she had to and slapped Hades for good measure.

And you know what? He grinned as he reached up to touch the bulb. He was confident that she would have been successful. 

[sweetsubharry]

hi! do you have any fic recs of like really fluffy one shots

Hiya!! yes I do!! Aren’t they just the best sometimes?? Sorry this took me a few days to do! I had over 260 fics to go through on ao3 just under fluff (I really need to tidy my bookmarks!)  💖 There’s 79 in this list so it’s a long one!! ^-^

please stay safe and read the tags everyone! :)

freeze this moment in a frame and stay like this by rosesau

Harry (not so) secretly crushes on the cute footie player and fills pages with sketches of him.

Thunder started it by booloveshiscuppycake

Harry's always been scared of thunder storms. But louis' always been there to comfort him. Friendship and comfort turn into love. (Fluffy as shit)

but he cant be what you need (if he's eighteen) by lingerielarries

“I need you to do something for me.” Harry said, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

“It seems like you’re asking me to kill for you, H.” Louis laughed nervously.

“It’s nothing that drastic, I promise. It’s just. I don’t think it’s a secret that I’m not a.. normal eighteen year old.” Louis furrowed his eyebrows at that, narrowing his eyes at the younger boy.

“Are people giving you a hard time?” Louis wondered. Harry shifted in his seat and brushed some of his fringe off his forehead.

“Yeah, that’s. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Harry swallowed nervously. He could feel the sweat pooling at his hairline so he wiped it with the sleeve of his sweater. “I need you to uhm, pretend to be my boyfriend.”

or

the one where harry is sick of getting bullied and casts louis as the hot punk boyfriend to scare them away. louis needs harry to return the favor.

punk!louis and flowerchild!harry

the love is ours to make (so we should make it) by lingerielarries

“I’m.. Harry. I nanny? For Ernest and Doris?” Harry responded.

“A nanny? How old even are you? You look twelve.” Louis remarked. Something caught Louis’ eye, and a closer look revealed that Harry had a coat of pink nail polish on his fingers.

“Nineteen. I’m nineteen.” Harry replied.

“Right. Nineteen, wears pink, flower crowns and paints his nails. Who the actual fuck did my mum hire?”

or

the one where louis takes some time off from life to return home, only to be met with a strange boy in pink and a flowercrown as the nanny of his siblings.

All I See is You by ElegantSurrender

Even with the blood gushing from his nose, he couldn’t keep his thoughts on anything but the boy in front of him. He was just so… pretty. He smiled to himself, which only seemed to worry his boyfriend more.

“Why’re you smiling?” Louis asked confusedly, moving Harry’s bloody hand away, and replacing it with his, pinching his nose shut with a tissue. “You’re bleeding, and you’re fucking smiling.”

“Seeing you makes me happy.”

(or the one where Harry has a bloody nose and Louis takes care of him, and Harry really really loves Louis)

Pretty Blue Eyes (I don't care about the nightmares) by justgotowisharder

Harry has nightmares, Louis hates sharing the bed, they end up talking about dreams, they read Freud and they fall in love in the process.

Breathe by dontlietomehoney

Harry has an asthma attack and Louis is scared to death. What follows after though, scares both boys, pulling them apart and bringing them together.

with your love we could breathe underwater by luminescents

Harry’s brow furrows, a look of confusion spreading over his face. “But I am real. I exist, see,” he says, raising a hand out of the water and wiggling his fingers at Louis.

Louis finds himself relaxing a bit. Harry seems harmless really. And he’s quite cute, for something that’s not supposed to exist. If Louis is indeed having a hallucination right now, at least it’s a cute one.

AU where Harry is a mermaid, Louis is a human, and they both discover a lot more than they anticipated.

yes, you make my life worthwhile by orphan_account

Harry whispers to him that this feels like every dream he’s had for the last three years and Louis kisses his temple, behind his ear, across his cheeks and by the edge of his jaw. He runs the back of his finger across Winnie’s sleep-warm cheeks and sighs, the weight of the world finally off his shoulder.

Louis' a pediatrician, Harry's a preschooler teacher, and they're having a baby.

Weigh Us Down (We're In Love) by orphan_account

Harry’s eyes widen slightly at that. “We’re friends?”

Louis nods eagerly, smiling even wider. “Of course we are! You’re like, my first ever friend here. We just moved in, you see. Did I already tell you about that? Anyway! Maybe you can stay for dinner and I can show you my toys?”

Harry smiles. “You’ll let me play with you?”

Louis nods again, excited. “Of course!” He looks thoughtful for a moment, and then he’s slipping off the couch and crouching in front of Harry. “Oh, and Mum always kisses my wounds after she fixes them up. It makes me feel loads better all the time, so.” He leans forward and puckers his lips, pressing them over the bandage on Harry’s knee.

(harry and louis first meet when they’re eight and ten. this is their story throughout the years.)

Breathe by Jade_eyed

Can you write a Larry high school AU where Harry's a sophomore and Louis' his senior boyfriend and Harry's being bullied during class and has a panic attack and all he's saying is 'Louis' so someone goes into louis' classroom and gets him and louis' like freaking out when he finds out and just really fluffy and stuff i just need this okay

[ I changed it a bit , I'm sorry babe I tried. :( ]

Cause If You Let Me, Here's What I'll Do by stylesforstiles

Five times where Harry is Louis' baby

Zero Means Nothing When I'm With You by StripedAndBowtied

Louis doesn't know what he's looking for until he finds it.

Harry just knows he may defy his gender norms, with his height and clumsiness, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want litters of pups running around while he does domestic things all day long.

In other words, boy meets boy and no one can stop pining.

All my senses come to life by erikaeurekajoe

And it was true. Harry's senses were all coming to life, on overdrive in fact because a handsome blue-eyed stranger was holding his hands.

Because of Louis Tomlinson's Arse by AggressiveStress

One in which Harry is a clumsy Uni student that first sees Louis leaning over, picking up his things with his arse very prominent. Harry then falls down the stairs and Louis- wearing a nice little beanie- helps him back to his feet.

In All Its Imperfections by BriaMaria

From: Louis Tomlinson To: Undisclosed Recipients

Hello!

I’ve asked the front desk and you lovely folks are the ones who are on the same level as me in the car park. I found a to-do list today that looked somewhat important because it has lines of poetry scribbled at the bottom that seemed like they might be for a card project. The stationary has a moose in a canoe at the top of it (and he is quite adorable). Let me know if it’s yours!

Cheers!

“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” Harry whispered, his eyes darting over the sentences again willing them not to make sense. They did, they did make sense. “Oh. My. Bloody. Fucking. God.”

The next thing he knew he was on the floor, staring at the ceiling, with a very concerned Liam hovering over his head.

"What happened, mate?" Liam asked.

Harry just pointed to his computer.

Liam bent over Harry’s desk to read the email. “What? This isn’t bad. Is that your to-do list? Did you finally come up with the inside text for those cards?”

“Leeyum" he groaned. “It’s what’s on the list.”

“Oh,” Liam paused for a beat. “Is it dirty stuff?”

Harry nodded.

There was more silence. And then, “Dirty stuff with Louis?”

Delirious in Love by yourpricelessadvice (orphan_account)

Louis is there for Harry waking up from minor surgery; he wouldn't miss it for the world. For two reasons.

Stars Will Align For Us by 2tiedships2

"The serial monogamist is single," Niall said by way of introduction when he sat down across from Harry in the canteen.

Harry sipped his chocolate milk. "What are you going on about?"

"Your alpha dream boat," Niall said. "That tiny little footie player? I heard from Hannah that he's broken it off with his boyfriend so he’s single and ready to flamingle. Now's the time to make your move."

Harry sipped his chocolate milk harder to keep himself from replying.

Or the one where Harry is an omega at a loss of how to get past his pining and gain the attention of Louis...especially considering the alpha is always in a relationship.

(twenty minutes later) wound up in the hospital by callmelover

“Baby, I think a quick trip to A&E might do you some good, hm?” Louis keeps his voice as calm as possible. He doesn't want to startle Harry or make him scared, but he knows that Harry’s fever is too high and he can't risk Harry choking himself into another attack when he's so poorly.

He hears a sharp intake of breath come for Harry and he knows Harry is starting to panic. Louis moves his hand from Harry's hair to his back, rubbing circles into his sweat-soaked shirt.

“No, no. Shh, don't worry, darling. Everything is okay, you’ll be okay. I just know that the doctors will be able to make you feel much better much sooner than I can...Just want you to get healthy as soon as possible, okay?”

-

or the one where harry has the flu and louis is a protective, nervous-wreck of a boyfriend

You live in my heart by styleztomlinson

As soon as they’re done with their set, Louis only has one thing on his mind and that’s to get out of there as soon as possible.or,Harry is sick during their performance at the iHeartRadio festival. Afterwards, Louis takes cares of his baby, and dotes on his husband.

Take Care by secretlylarry

Louis really does love to take care of Harry when he's sick.

if we got nothing, we got us by tumsa

Harry is Louis' baby and he's sick as well.

Peppermint and Lavender (and Coffee) by 2tiedships2

“He was there again,” Louis announced by way of greeting. “Lottie was right and she can never know.”

"What the fuck are you talking about?” Niall asked as he snapped his laptop closed.

“The omega, Niall. He was there today. Just sitting in the corner looking pretty. Or at least his back is. He hasn’t turned around when I’m available to see. I know he’s beautiful though.”

"Okay?” Niall questioned. “What does that have to do with Lottie?”

Louis let out a huff. "She told me I shouldn’t work at a coffee shop. She was right.”

Or the one where Louis might have met the love of his life in a coffee shop. But that’s not how it’s supposed to happen.

So Long I've Been Waiting by kikikryslee

Niall held up his glass in a toast. “Cheers.” Harry stared at Louis as he brought the glass up to his lips, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t like he could refuse the drink, but he certainly didn’t want to have any champagne. Louis monitored everyone else, and as soon as they all had their heads tilted back, drinking their mimosa, he reached out and knocked Harry’s glass right out of his hand, sending it crashing to the floor. “Oh, no!” Louis pretended to be shocked at what had just happened. “Harry, you’re so clumsy. You dropped your glass.” “Yes,” Harry said seriously. “I am very clumsy.” --- Or, the one where Harry and Louis are having their first baby, and keeping it a secret until the end of the first trimester is a lot harder than they thought it would be.

Nothing's Gonna Stop Me But Divine Intervention by kikikryslee

“So… what’s next on the soul mate search?” Louis asked. “I don’t know,” Harry answered. “Whatever I’m doing isn’t working. I’m not finding him anywhere.” “He’ll get here. I know it." “Yeah. I know he’s out there somewhere; I just have to figure out where.” --- Or, the soul mate AU where Harry overthinks everything having to do with finding the love of his life, and Louis doesn't think there's a Mr. Right for him at all. It takes them a while to realize that their soul mate is the person they want it to be: each other.

We Made These Memories for Ourselves by supernope

Breath held, Harry squints his eyes open and focuses on the first stick. A blue line. Harry breathes out an unsteady breath. He’s pretty sure he read that one blue line is a negative, but he fishes the box from the bottom of the pile just to make sure.

“Negative,” he confirms, voice echoing around the small room. “Next.”

Now that he’s feeling a little less shaky, he scans the rest of the tests at once, is met with a headache-inducing mixture of pink plus signs and blue double lines. His heart rate picks up until it’s pounding triple-time in the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach, thundering in his ears and throbbing in his temples. He flips over the rest of the boxes slowly, but he knows what they’re going to say before he even looks.

[or, Louis is a footballer, Harry owns a bakery, and they're having a baby.]

taken by the wind by scrunchyharry

When he decided to move to London with his sister, Harry thought he would finally get to learn how to control his magic. He couldn't possibly have predicted that he would fall for her neighbour.

Or the one where Harry is a clumsy witch and Louis is making everything worse just by existing.

Piece by Piece by SadaVeniren

He rubbed his hand over his lower stomach and closed his eyes. Louis was going to lose his fucking mind.

(aka Harry tells Louis he's pregnant and it goes as expected)

And We Linger On by stylesforstiles

Harry is pouting. Louis takes care of him

There's a Hole In My Soul, Can You Fill It? by stylesforstiles

Sometimes Harry is so tired. Louis always wants to fix it.

one glance and the avalanche drops by Wankerville

It's strange, honestly, having someone so gorgeous in his kitchen, and not only physically gorgeous, but, like, the everything else gorgeous. The type of gorgeous that Louis wants his life to always be covered in. The type of gorgeous he wants lying in sweatpants and an old t-shirt on his couch when he gets home from class. The type of gorgeous he wants to have shoving crisps down the front of his shirt. The type of goddamn gorgeous he wants to kiss, and coddle, and like, love.

Which is ridiculous- he doesn't know him. Pfft.

(or an au wherein louis buys a christmas tree and harry is the boy in leggings who delivers it. they are a christmas classic.)

Do Not Falter (There's a Star Ahead) by LadyLondonderry

It's Christmas Eve, and every single one of Louis' family members are crowded inside his little flat. Really, what more could he ask for on his birthday?

The present he never knew he wanted - in the form of an omega from his past - might just make this his most memorable Christmas.

Right Here Waiting by lovelarry10

Louis and Harry are expecting a baby. Harry's heavily pregnant and nesting madly, determined to make their home ready for their baby.

Blow Out the Candles, Baby by iwillpaintasongforlou

Louis' been planning Harry's 20th birthday party for weeks, and Harry's too sick to move. Louis might be the kind of sap who tries to nurse him back to health with cuddles and jokes and cupcakes for two.

Never Let You Fall by iwillpaintasongforlou

Harry slips on stage and gets a minor concussion, and Louis insists that he spend the night in the hospital just in case. He then turns into a protective baby lion because that is his Harry and he'll be damned if anything happens to him on Louis' watch. Harry rolls his eyes a lot but doesn't really mind.

Asthma and Bad Jokes by Larry_Klaine_Stylinson

When Harry has an asthma attack on stage, Louis has to go and help him. He leaves Niall in charge of keeping the audience entertained.

All I Need is Oxygen (and You) by lululawrence

There are only two ways to navigate Bloomfield High School: become popular or make yourself invisible.

With the help of his best mate Niall, Harry’s introduction to high school hadn’t been half bad. Despite being a “bandie” – the lowest of the low in the ancient hierarchy of high school –Harry had somehow managed to survive freshman year relatively unscathed. So naturally, Harry would have been perfectly happy to resume his position of invisible trombone player number four for the remainder of high school. But one day something drastic happened, something that would change the course of Harry’s entire existence (probably).

It was the last football game of his freshman year, and the band was back in the stands after performing a rousing rendition of Bloomfield’s alma mater during half time. Harry was gracelessly wiping the slobber from the mouthpiece of his trombone when he saw him.

Louis Tomlinson.

Or...a High School AU where Harry is a bandie and Louis is the epitome of cool, so naturally, Harry must find a way to get his attention and win his affections.

i’d burn this city down to show you the light by you_explode

Harry's a sheltered rich kid and Louis's a punk with a heart of gold. They meet when Louis breaks into Harry's house, Harry obtains an instant and all-encompassing crush, and they spend the summer falling into a whirlwind romance.

put your head on my shoulder by wayfared

Niall gives Harry until the end of marching season to either a) make a move on Louis Tomlinson or b) get the fuck over him. Either is easier said than done. Basically, your High School AU with a drum beat.

we should get jerseys, 'cause we make a good team by ellisaco

Harry's not very good at football, but he's aces at cheering Louis on.

Snow by hlftanna

Louis hid something from him. Harry was 100% sure of that. He knew him better than he knew himself. And. He. Hid. Something. From. Him. Harry just hasn't figured out what. Because if Louis wanted to hide something from anyone he usually succeeded because he was Louis Tomlinson.

Use Your Words by zedi

based off this prompt: collage au where jock!harry always serenades flowercrown!louis with love songs in their music class. what nobody knows is that harry actually kinda means the words he sings.

But instead it's Louis as the jock and Harry as the flowerchild because I do what I want.

see the truth (it's me for you) by orphan_account

If you asked Louis the first day of his French Literature class what he’d be doing on the last, he’d probably never have guessed it would involve helping a poorly Harry Styles study for the final exam. Good thing he’s not a betting man.

(Or the one where Louis and Harry spend an entire semester ignoring each other after a one-night stand, only to come face to face when Harry manages to catch the stomach flu during finals week. Sometimes fate is funny like that.)

calling out for somebody to hold tonight by heartinsidemine

“Dunno why I can’t sleep,” is the first thing Harry says into the still, quiet night.

“New flat, new noises,” Louis murmurs, finally setting the kettle on the stove and turning properly toward him. “New responsibilities, too, eh? Second year, you’re working your way up in the world.”

Harry rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Nothing’s really new, though, is it? I mean, the location, but… I’ve got the same job I had last year, same basic courses, same workload…” He sighs out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You and me are in the same boat, though,” Louis murmurs to him. He hates seeing Harry like this, even though rationally he knows that he can’t do anything about Harry’s insomnia. “Finding it difficult to sleep myself. Was gonna turn on the telly, maybe the cooking channel until I fall asleep. Care to join me?”

He doesn’t think twice about the offer before making it; it only makes sense. They’re both exhausted and they both sleep better with a cuddle, and anyway Louis would absolutely rather have a conversation partner than only the walls of his room for company.

Running Down To The Riptide by sweaterpawstyles

"I can't give you your present yet, Lou."

Louis furrowed his brows. "And why is that, my love?"

Harry smiled at his lap. "Because your present is under my sweater," he pulled his free hand that wasn't laced with Louis' and gently laid it on his stomach. "I'm pregnant."

Or

It's New Year's Eve and Harry has a surprise under his sweater

Song For The Springtime by sunshiner

“Cherry blossoms,” Harry mumbles. “The solution’s cherry blossoms.”

Uni AU.

the happiest place in our universe by tippytoetomlinstyles

Harry holds Louis’ hand and looks around at all the exciting and beautiful things and Louis looks at him because he finds him the most beautiful and exciting thing there is.

or the one where Louis takes Harry to Disneyland and Harry convinces Louis to wear Mickey Mouse ears to match his Minnie Mouse ears.

Made From Love by lovelarry10

It's almost Christmas, and amongst the preparations, Louis' realised something about his husband Harry.

Harry, however, seems to be oblivious.

Louis' determined to open Harry's eyes and make him realise the real magic that's happening this Christmas...

Another Constellation to Trace by screwstyles

Louis wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m winning that bet.”

“What bet?” comes Niall’s excited voice from behind them, followed by footsteps. “I wanna be in on the bet!” he shouts, prompting Harry to quickly roll down his shirt sleeve and straighten his shirt where it’s still crinkly after Louis’ hands.

Niall takes one look at them and purses his lips in a tight line. “Were you guys making out again? Isn’t the fire meant to die down a bit after eight years?”

“Trust me, the fire is still very much alive,” Louis winks at Harry. “One could even say it’s cooking something.”

-

Mpreg AU: Louis and Harry bet on who can keep Harry's pregnancy a secret for longer. Neither of them is particularly good at it, and it doesn't help that their soulmate tattoos make it even harder.

another pair of feet by honey_beeing

where Harry is pregnant and Louis is an oblivious idiot.

We Were Made to Love by supernope  

“Everything all sorted? Need help with the buckles? I know they’re a bit tricky in this compartment.”

The voice startles Louis out of his daze, and he turns toward the voice to let him know he figured it out. When he catches sight of the owner of the voice, though, his response dies in his throat. Whatever he had imagined the conductor of a children’s train that rides around the shopping centre in Leeds would look like, this is certainly not it.

Leaning through the window, arms folded across the sill, is a green-eyed angel with cherry red lips stretched wide in a smile and dimples flirting in his cheeks. A black conductor’s hat is the only confirmation that this is not some gorgeous stranger who’s come to flirt with Louis through the window of a children’s train, but is just a man doing his job.

[or, Harry drives a kiddie train in the shopping centre for the summer and is obsessed with babies, and Louis never stood a chance.]

here comes the sun by orphan_account

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Louis promises, his pink, chapped lips moving slowly in the cold. It matches the beanie on his head—pink, because they found out this morning that they’re having a girl and that’s just.

Harry’s going to be a dad. To a little girl. Five months from now he’ll be holding her in his arms, and she’ll be so lovely and small.

They’re going to have a spring baby and she’s probably going to have Louis’ eyes. What a blessing that would be. Harry crosses his fingers on the hand inside his pocket, hoping that she does. He’ll love her either way—blue or green or even brown eyes, it doesn’t matter—but he’d really like them to be blue, he thinks.

[Harry is a pediatric specialist, Louis is a neurosurgeon. All they want is a baby.]

So Put Your Hands In (The Holes of My Sweater) by Kat_rawr

“Are you gonna kiss me then?” He asks so quiet he isn’t even sure Louis heard him.

“I think it’s bad luck if I don’t.“ Louis’ breath is hot on Harry’s skin in the cold air. They stand in the dark; Louis’ face only lit up by the yellow-ish light from the street light a few metres away. The light over the door of their building hasn’t worked in years.

“Okay,” Harry says, and of course his cheeks heat up. There are definitely butterflies in stomach and his mouth is definitely dry.

or,

Harry and Louis go on a lot of not-dates

A Little Kind of Magic by Star55

A tiny tale of Louis' Very Important Birthday and Christmas at Hogwarts that Harry loves celebrating with his best friend whom he absolutely is not in love with. No matter what Niall says. (He's a little in love with Louis.)

it tastes like you, only sweeter by EmmyLouWho

Sometimes Harry hates being a second year, like when all his older friends get to go to Hogsmeade and he has to stay behind in the castle. Luckily, Harry has a Louis to make everything better.

For the prompt: “I’m not allowed to go to Hogsmeade but you always tell me stories about it and bring me candy from Honeydukes”

Sun-Dappled by QuickedWeen

Louis and his best friend Harry are in their seventh year at Hogwarts, facing down their future together. Louis has been in love with his best friend for as long as he can remember, and he begins to feel a sense of urgency as the second semester begins. Finally he hatches a plan to tell Harry about his feelings on Harry's birthday.

Sweet Like Sunshine by orphan_account

When Louis saves him from some seventh years bullying him on his lack of Quidditch skills, Harry takes offense. Louis offers to teach him to make up for it. They fall in love somewhere along the way.

Featuring one exasperated Niall, trips to Hogsmede and many flying sessions.

Follow Me Down This Time by supernope

Harry first noticed Louis in his second term at Hogwarts, and despite three years of inventing ways to stumble across Louis, he's never managed to actually work up the courage to speak to him. Also known as, self-indulgent Hogwarts AU, because every fandom needs Hogwarts AUs.

For Reasons Wretched and Divine by panicmoonwalk

Niall’s head was sitting in the fireplace, wide grin lighting up his features as flames licked the bright tips of his hair. Louis promptly dropped his tray at the sight.

“Bloody hell!” He yelled, half at the sudden appearance of Niall in the fire and half at the scalding cocoa he’d just dropped on his bare foot. “What are you doing?!”

Niall just continued to grin, clearly highly amused by Louis hopping on one foot and desperately trying to search for a weapon he could use to beat his friend’s head out of the fireplace.

“Well,” Niall began. “We’re going on an adventure!”

Or, the one where Louis and Harry’s Christmas holiday at Hogwarts is rudely interrupted when they’re dragged off on a tropical wizard’s vacation, featuring some angry centaurs, a spell gone wrong, and the ‘weirdest birthday anyone’s ever had. Ever’.

Loving with a Little Twist by hrrytomlinson

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know Niall! I just promised my mother I’m bringing my boyfriend - a boyfriend I don’t have - to Thanksgiving dinner. What should I do? I can’t call back and be like, ‘Oh yeah mom, that boyfriend I said that I have, I don’t actually have. Sorry to disappoint you.’ My life is ruined.” Harry returns to suffocating himself with the pillow.

Niall laughs and Harry growls at his best friend’s unwarranted happiness in this life-ending situation. Harry is fucked. Fuck. He needs a boyfriend. Fuck.

(or a thanksgiving themed fake/pretend relationship au)

everywhere (i wanna be with you) by itiswhatitisbutterfly

Harry and Louis meet because they have terrible friends, they fall in love because something feels right in a world of uncertainty and shifting grounds. Louis is an actor and Harry is a model at the top of his game, the best things in life are the most unexpected ones and the things that hit you when you are least expecting it.

Featuring winter in London, nights in Paris, early mornings in New York, burning heat in Monte Carlo and an enduring love spent transcending four corners of the globe.

on a wednesday, in a cafe by wreckedboyfriends

“What can I get for you today?” he asked without looking up, arranging the last of the pastries.

“Have any recommendations? Never been here before, actually.” Harry hit his head on the top of the case in his haste to look at the source of the voice. It was a really beautiful voice, small and high and just lovely, if a voice could be lovely. Harry thought so. “Alright, mate?” the man asked when Harry finally composed himself, rubbing the top of his head as he took his place at the register.

Harry opened his eyes, and fuck. If Harry had thought his voice was lovely, the man himself was on a whole other level. “Alright, mate?” He repeated and shit. Harry had been openly staring for quite awhile, hadn’t he?

“Yeah,” Harry replied, and it came out sounding like a semi trailer running over gravel. He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he repeated. “Um, the cherry danish is quite good, I think. ’S my favorite.”

The man smiled. “One cherry danish it is, then.”

OR Harry’s spent the last year with six locks on his door, a pair of too-flamboyant boots buried in the back of his closet, and insecurity issues the size of a mammoth. Louis changes some of that, but Harry changes the most.

I Long For You by AnotherAnonymousWriter

Thirty minutes later, he's sat on a bench in Hyde Park with a book in his lap and a travel mug with hot tea in his hand. Not far from where he's sat, a group of boys are playing football and a bunch of children are chasing each other. Life is good.

Or at least, life is good until he hears a familiar “LOOK OUT!” and sees a football flying in the direction of his face.

And then everything is black.

(Harry gets hit in the head by various objects and falls for a boy with blue eyes.)

Let It Snow by thebrainisafunnyplace

Bakery owner Harry Styles is always cold, until he hires local university student, Louis Tomlinson to work as a cashier. When the storm of the year hits, the boys find themselves stuck together inside the bakery the night before Christmas Eve. Luckily, they have each other to keep warm.

everything i can arrange, every part of me you change by orphan_account

“Don’t you try that shit with me,” Niall spits the second he reaches Louis, pulling off the hood with force. “What the hell is this?” He plops down next to Louis on the empty bleacher and unceremoniously pushes a sheet of crumpled paper in his face.

Netflix and Chill Buddy Application

It’s like no matter how hard Louis tries, he can’t seem to run away from this stupid fucking flyer. All the girls (and some of the boys) in every one of his classes have been talking about it all week. It’s on every wall of every building on campus. Louis went for a jog last night and he nearly tripped and died over a loose one on the football track.

[Harry needs a big spoon and Louis refuses to let anyone steal his position. Based on this post.]

No words by becharlatan

Harry is a music student who never talks because he's a total introvert. Louis happens to bump into him by accident and as if like the constellations, the two have aligned their paths together despite their differences.

Sun Emoji Moon Emoji by mybeanieandme

For the prompt:

University!au: Harry works at a cafe as the busboy and Louis just really wants to get to know him. (Louis pines for an insecure Harry for a semester)

nonstop earthquake dreams of you by lumineres

And there's heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole--everything else sucked out of existence. There's no bed and there's no pillow and they're not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there's no room and there's no X Factor house and there's no Niall snuffling or Liam's deep, even breathing and there's no wind or traffic outside and there's no hum of the heating unit and it's all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.

or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom

Kiss From A Rose by lovelarry10

Harry is the quiet one in the office no one ever notices. Until Louis does, that is. When notes start appearing on Harry’s desk, he ponders who is behind the kind words, oblivious to Louis’ attempts to get his attention...

Black Cat by lalune15

Inspired by this tumblr post (not asked or requested): fic where louis works at a haunted house jumping out at people and harry’s friends drag him along even though he doesn’t really like haunted houses. when louis jumps out to scare their group, harry freaks out and accidentally jumps into louis’s arms. louis just squeaks. harry ends up sitting there with louis the rest of his shift and totally doesn’t come back every night after that.

Be Mine, For Always by zams

Louis is happy when Harry is happy. That's what Louis wants, and so when Louis starts feeling weird when Harry cuddles with Liam, Zayn, or Niall instead of him, he keeps quiet. But the burning, uncomfortable feeling Louis gets deep in his stomach when he sees Harry contentedly nuzzling Liam's neck, or Harry's arms and legs tangled around Niall like an octopus, or Harry's face smushed in Zayn's stomach as Zayn plays with his hair only gets worse as the days go by.

Loosen Up My Buttons by softfonds

The beautiful man opened this bakery about a year ago. He remembered the exact day he came: a glum, rainy morning in the middle of February, which instantly turned brighter the minute he saw him. The man had come in with some paint buckets and tools, and Louis doubted he would be able to fix up the drab place all by himself. But as he walked down the stairs at the end of the day and saw the man standing there in the middle of a gorgeous pink and white shop, clearly proud of his work, Louis fell in love at first sight. If only he knew how to talk to him.

Usually, Louis knew how to flirt. He prided himself on it. But every time he looked at the beautiful man, he completely forgot how to form sentences, and there was no way he could go up to him only to make a fool of himself. That was the last thing he needed.

Or, Louis owns a tattoo shop called Pretty in Ink, Harry owns a bakery called Rolling Scones, they haven't been introduced, and Valentine’s Day seems like the perfect opportunity to finally talk to the man Louis has been pinning over for the past year. And they both end up with more love than they bargained for.

Coffee Cups and Football Boots by kimtaedumb

Harry’s stood behind the counter again, but this time he’s painting his nails. Louis strolls up to the counter and, thanks to his no brain-to-mouth filter, blurts out, “Isn’t that a little girlish, Haz?” leaning closer to inspect.

Harry lets out a little huff as his hand slips, “Oh, damn, now I’ve messed it up,” he pouts and turns to Louis, “Why should making myself feel pretty be girly?”

Louis holds up his hands in surrender, “’M not judging, jus’ curious is all.”

(The entirely cheesy and cliché Christmas AU, in which Harry doesn’t give a damn what people think about him – mostly – and Louis may be a little bit in love.

Alternatively, the one in which Harry owns a café that’s barely scraping by and Louis is a footballer and he takes Harry away for Christmas.

Featuring Zayn as a cocky little shit that most definitely needs to be put back in his place, Niall as the loveable Irish dude who drinks too much and flirts with Zayn more than the average girl, and Liam who loves everyone but hates them all at the same time.)

you make my whole world feel so right when it's wrong by orphan_account

“Curly?” Louis says, stepping into Harry’s sight. “You okay?” Harry looks up from where he has two things in his hands, a thick winter coat sized for a newborn, and a sweatshirt fitting a grown man such as himself. He looks up at Louis, stricken, and holds them out for him to see. “They’re the same price,” he says. “They’re both forty dollars! Forty dollars for such little material.”

(or, Harry is pregnant and stops at the mall to buy cheap baby clothes. Louis has extra money from working a long shift, and he can't think of a better way to spend it than on him.)

you were the ocean, i was drawn into you by by orphan_account

where harry takes pictures and worries too much and louis plays guitar.

i'll be your sunflower by scagnetism

“What do you think’s gonna stop us now?” Harry says cheekily, laughter in his voice as he looks up at Louis. “Something’s gotta get in our way like always, doesn’t it?”

“Ha,” Louis grins, kissing his cheek and holding open the door for him as they make their way toward the car. “Nothing’s gonna interrupt us this time. ‘S gonna be perfect, just like Pumpkin.”

Or, a few interruptions aren't going to stop Harry from having a perfect pregnancy and having the family he and Louis have always dreamed of.

Send Me Your Pillow (The One That You Dream On) by flowercrownfemme

Harry is embarrassed to realize he's nesting but can't stop stealing Louis' things for his nest.

Short fluffy o/o gaybo drabble with lots of cuddles and softness and sock stealing <3

As one we are everything/We are everything we need by louloubaby92

Harry finally marries the love of his life. He's got the mating mark, he's got Louis' ring on his finger.

And now, he's on his honeymoon. Louis is but a door away, waiting for him.

Honestly, he doesn't understand why he's nervous.

only guilty of loving you by sweetrevenge

After Harry gets set up with his co-worker's alpha friend Louis, he's expecting some pleasant conversation, free dinner, and maybe a new friend. What he doesn't expect, however, is that Louis' arrival in his life begins a life of crime Harry never knew he had in him.

A You've Got Mail!AU with a twist.

[inkformyblood]

would you love me the same

Commander Cody Week Day 06: AU [Combination Role Swap AU and Fix-It: post-War; no Order-66] @commandercodyweek Inspired by @new-anon art of Jedi! Cody and Clone Commander Obi-Wan which is a thing of pure beauty and everyone needs to see it Pairing: Codywan

Summary: The war is over, and still Cody and Obi-Wan haven’t addressed the tangled net of emotions that had grown between them. Cody felt the tremor of falling rain reverberate through the Force like a struck bell, and turned his face to the sky reflexively. It would be a long time before he could feel the cold drumbeat of rain against his skin without being transported back to the clinging mud of yet another battlefield, tasting his own blood in his mouth as he tried desperately to keep just one more of his men alive.

His guilt twisted through his chest like a crawling vine, locking around his heart with a grip like ice, and Cody let it. The feeling washed over him, and, for a moment, he was drowning in it. His hands were stained with the blood of the men he had led to their deaths, just as surely as if he cut them down himself. 

Cody felt the first drop of rain hit his face as he let the emotion flow through him, releasing it into the Force. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours when he returned to himself, feeling hollowed out but steady. He began to walk once more, aimless and heading nowhere in particular — the light fabric of his robes growing heavier as the rain continued to fall.

“Sir!”

Cody paused, turning to glance over his shoulder as a small smile unfurled across his face. He should have known that Obi-Wan would be able to find him wherever he went, a look of such open concern splashed across his features that it made Cody’s heart ache. 

It wasn’t that he couldn’t sense the other man in the Force; he could always feel Obi-Wan’s presence, warm and full of such sweet worry that it settled across Cody’s shoulders like a blanket regardless of how far apart they were. 

Cody could admit that he loved Obi-Wan, loved him with every part of his soul, but he had never found the right words. In the early dark of the mornings during the war — when they both mere shadows of themselves held together by frantic worry and sheer force of will — their hands would brush together, their eyes would meet, and they both knew the unspoken words that lay between them. 

The war was over now, and still neither had mentioned it.

“Obi-Wan.” Cody turned, letting Obi-Wan slip into the space at his side. The clone was still wearing his armour, his hair starting to curl around his ears and highlight the slight slip of skin at the nape of his neck. It was normally covered by his helmet, a tantalising glimpse that haunted Cody’s dreams, and now the Jedi felt his cheeks burn at the openness of it all. “I thought you would be enjoying your free time.”

“I could ask the same of you, sir.” Obi-Wan’s grin was a sly thing that was masked in perfect, unquestionable innocence right until the end. “General Rex mentioned that he was looking forward to meeting you for drinks tonight.”

Cody huffed out a laugh, shaking his head and sending the droplets that had gathered in his curls flying. “Rex is excited to see everyone again. It’s been a long time since we were all able to see each other.”

He had known his brothers were safe, could feel their presence in the Force as clearly as if they were the stars compared to the glow of the sun that was Obi-Wan, but it wasn’t the same as seeing them with his own eyes. It was good timing on the Council’s part — helped along by Cody’s vote, despite the fact that the seat still felt too big for him, made for a dead man — that the meeting had been cancelled the next morning.

“Sir?” 

Cody thought he knew every cadence of Obi-Wan’s voice, could categorise their sensation against his skin through the Force like a study of great artworks, but this was new. He had heard Obi-Wan in defiance, the sound ringing through the universe like a struck gong. He had heard Obi-Wan in panic, notably when a piece of debris had sliced Cody’s face open, leaving Obi-Wan to press desperate hands to his skin and come away drenched in blood. Then, Obi-Wan had felt like a black hole, threatening to consume everything in his anguish.

But this was something else.

“Is everything okay?” Cody stopped walking, his brow furrowed in concern, and reached up to cup Obi-Wan’s face, thumb smoothing over the curve of his cheekbone. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes were impossibly blue, the dark of his pupil threatening to encompass everything as he stared, a blush filtering into his cheeks, the skin warming beneath Cody’s palm. Wordlessly, he held up a familiar wrapped object. “I saw that you had left without it, and I was worried.”

His words rang true and earnest; his blush only deepening to a brilliant pink of a sunset over Coruscant. It threw the clusters of small freckles that were tucked beneath his eyes like constellations into sharp relief. “I didn’t unwrap it. I remembered that you said your sabre was like your soul.”

Cody fell helplessly in love with the man all over again in that moment, as he moved his hand to take his lightsaber from Obi-Wan, loosening the wrappings to attach it onto the empty space at his belt. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

They were so close together that the chill of the rain no longer reminded Cody of the battlefield, instead sending him swaying closer to Obi-Wan as lightning cracked overhead, a rolling boom of thunder following on its heels. 

“It was a memorable occasion,” Obi-Wan laughed, but the noise stuttered in his throat as his eyes lingered on Cody’s mouth — curved into a gentle smile — and caught his gaze. 

Cody remembered the fight well: the immediate gut-wrenching loss as his lightsaber was ripped away from him; the shriek of metal as the world tipped the other way, but he still managed to land a blow on Grievous, his fist sinking into the weaker metal plate. Obi-Wan had caught him as they both slid, his grip hard enough to bruise, and had reached out for Cody’s lightsaber when the cry broke free from his chest, childlike in his sudden instinctive terror. 

The flinch, pressing Obi-Wan closer to him in reflexive protection, had been an instinctual move, reaching out with the Force to hook the blade closer. Obi-Wan’s hand had been warm in his, his glove torn away and his palm slick with sweat as the Force sang in comfort. 

Cody stepped impossibly closer, rain running over his face like a benediction, catching Obi-Wan’s hands in his. The other man had forgone his gloves, and Cody’s fingers pressed against the familiar callouses, so similar and yet so different to his own. 

“If anyone would hold my soul,” Cody murmured, his gaze never leaving Obi-Wan’s, “then I would want it to be you.”

Obi-Wan leant down slowly, giving Cody every chance to move away, despite the lack of space between them. It felt as if the Universe was holding its breath, the ceaseless spinning slowly as Obi-Wan pressed his forehead to Cody’s in a Keldabe kiss, their noses bumping together slightly as they both breathed shakily, eyes fluttering, torn between the desire to close and to keep watching the other.

It was a moment that could have lasted a lifetime, but Obi-Wan straightened slightly, his eyes searching Cody’s face intently before he moved to kiss him properly. His hands were a burning brand on Cody’s hips, his lips soft even as the faint stubble scratched against his cheeks.

“Cyar’ika,” Obi-Wan murmured against Cody’s mouth, barely moving away an inch before surging back to kiss the other man again and again and again.

“Kar’ta,” Cody countered, drawing Obi-Wan back into Keldabe as they caught their breath, swaying helplessly together as the sky opened up around them, soaking them to the bone as they laughed, unburdened and deliriously happy.

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 12 | The Law of Surprise

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 4600

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡  Oh boy did this one take a reallllllyyyy long time for me to write. I hope it’s worth it!  🤍

“Stop,” the Queen yells, but the room doesn’t pay her any mind, only Geralt stays his blade. 

“Stop!” she yells, louder than before. This time, all sound and movement in the room seize. Weapons clang against the floor, screams of rage and pain silence, no one in the room daring to move. Visenya lies on the ground, breathing so loudly she fears the entirety of the room can hear each shallow breath, yet her heart pounds too heavily for her to care. Shaky and pale hands touch the cold marble floor, using her remaining strength to pull her body into a sitting position. Jaskier places his hands - that are nearly as shaky as Visenya’s - on her back helping her slowly stand as she leans the majority of her weight against him. 

Everyone stares at Geralt and Queen Calanthe, with bated breath and wide eyes, waiting for either of them to make a move. Instead, it’s Princess Pavetta who makes the first move. She pushes her chair back, dashing down the steps, and towards the knight, the chaos is centered around.

“Duny!” her sugar-sweet voice calls out, distress evident with every crack in her words. She closes the distance between them, throwing her arms around his body. He returns her embrace, lifting her off the ground and swinging her around before gently setting her shaking form down. “I told you to stay away,” she says, glistening tears falling onto cheeks that are flushed red, as she cradles his face with her hands. 

Queen Calanthe’s eyes are glued on the two of them, watching as her daughter searches for any injuries on Duny. Calanthe’s eyes are wide and mouth agape, as her sword slowly lowers, but still rests firmly in her grasp. She moves around the two of them, heels echoing around the Main Hall. Pavetta and Duny look away from each other, Duny stepping away from Pavetta, kneeling before Queen Calanthe as he slowly sets down his makeshift weapon, only to stand moments later. 

“Your Majesty… the Witcher speaks the truth. I was cursed as a young boy. My whole life was spent living in misery until the day that I saved your husband, King Roegner, from certain death. By tradition, I chose the Law of Surprise as payment. Whatever windfall he came home to find… would be mine,” he says, looking down towards the ground at the end of his statement. 

Visenya watches with sharp eyes, no longer feeling delirious from blood loss, her strength slowly returning. The Queen’s face contorts into disgust, eyes giving away all thoughts and opinions she holds for her late husband. 

“Oh, the stupid bastard. Better you had let him die!” she spits out, each word as venomous as a Dornish viper. 

‘You knew he’d come, and you pushed me to kill him,” Geralt says, inserting himself into the conversation. His face is set in a grim scowl, clearly unhappy with the Queen trying to use him as a pawn. However, she ignores him, gaze solely focusing on her daughter now. Visenya pushes away from Jaskier, slowly stepping towards Geralt. Jaskier reaches his hand out, trying to catch her before she can get too far away, but she slips from his grasp like water.

“And you… carousing with the beast that swindled your stupid father!” Queen Calanthe exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at Pavetta, who shies away from her mother’s anger. Visenya feels her temper flare-up, the bitter words too similar to all the times Catelyn would berate and scold her when she stood too close to Jon. But she inhales deeply, forcing the fire out of her veins. 

‘There’s already enough blood on my hands.’ 

“Tis no swindle. Asking for payment with the Law of Surprise is as old as mankind itself,” Lord Eist speaks up, moving closer towards the small cluster of people. 

Pavetta moves towards Duny, grabbing his hand in her own, standing side by side with him. Her head is held high, with a challenging glint in her eyes. And for the first time that night, she finally looks like a proud lioness, instead of the scared pup she played all night long. Despite knowing nothing about the woman, Visenya feels pride burning in her as she watches the small act of defiance. 

“Don’t lecture me, Eist,” Calanthe says, pinning a harsh glare towards him. 

“It’s an honest gamble. As likely to be rewarded with a bumper crop as a newborn pup. Or… a child of surprise. He could not know. Destiny has determined the surprise be Pavetta,” Eist continues, unbothered by Calanthe’s angry demeanor. 

“When I heard that King Roegner had returned to find a child on the way… I abandoned all thought of claiming the Law of Surprise. I knew…. I knew no woman would ever accept me like this,” Duny says, he then turns his head facing Pavetta. “And so I waited. I waited until the twelfth bell when the curse broke. I never intended to meet her. Just to watch from afar,”

“Until destiny intervened...and our hearts collided,” Pavetta interrupts, a small smile on her lips as she holds his face in her hands once again, staring into his eyes. A small smile tugs on the corner of her lips as she watches him with wide glistening eyes. 

 “And at dawn, I awoke with her in my arms and me… like this,” Duny says.

“Who are we to challenge destiny? A life was saved, a debt must be paid or the whole order of the world falls apart.” Eist pleads, stepping closer to Calanthe.

“Honor destiny’s wish, or unleash its wrath upon us,” Mousesack says.

“There is no us,” Calanthe spits. “I bow to no law made by men who never bore a child. Is there not a man before you who does not cower before destiny?” Queen Calanthe shouts, eyes passing over every person in the room, a challenge burning in her eyes. Her eyes land on Visenya, focusing on her for a moment. Visenya doesn’t waver, simply raising a single brow and raising her chin, a silent show of defiance. Only a lion could believe themselves above fate and the Gods. At least Westeros and this world have that in common. The queen scowls, but then her eyes rest on Geralt. 

“You Witcher, who has known monsters of every fang and claw, are you afraid too?” she asks. Her tone is mocking, the scowl on Visenya’s face deepening. 

“No,” Geralt says, his gruff voice a stark contrast to Calanthe’s smooth one. Visenya turns to look at Geralt, unsurprised by his lack of faith. “I’ve seen mother’s lash themselves raw over the death of a child, believing they crossed destiny, ignoring the stench of the fifty other children in plague carts outside. Destiny helps people believe there’s an order to this horse shit: there isn’t. But a promise made must be honored. That’s true for a commoner as it is a queen.” Geralt says. 

Pavetta touches Duny’s face, causing him to turn and face her. “I love Duny mother, I will marry him. I will finally be free,” she exclaims, unbridled happiness overflowing in each word she speaks as her eyes stay locked on Duny.

The words sting Visenya, another parallel of what Visenya could’ve had if she’d only been brave enough to chase it; brave enough to demand Jon be with her and demand Lord Stark to allow it. But the feeling fades as quickly as it came. 

‘There’s no sense in regretting what can’t be changed.’ Visenya berates herself. 

Calanthe watches the two of them, her stone façade beginning to crack and crumble away. Her harsh and austere eyes grow glossy with tears. Her sword arm grows limp, Eist slowly pulling the blade out of her hand, and she allows him to render her unarmed. Slowly she holds a hand out and Duny grabs it. She leans forward to whisper something into his ears. She pulls back, a small smile on her face.

But Visenya isn’t convinced by the serene façade. Only moments ago, Calanthe was willing to tear apart the world if it kept Pavetta from Duny. A pep talk from Geralt about honor can’t change that type of stubbornness. 

 But then she reaches into her side, pulling a dagger from its sheath, blade pointing towards Duny’s neck. Horror paints itself onto Pavetta’s face as Calanthe pulls her dagger farther back and then forward, moments away from stabbing - and killing - Duny.

“No!” Pavetta screams as if she holds the power of ten banshees. It’s sharp, cutting through the room, leaving a painful ringing in the ears of everyone in the room. Glass begins to crack, spider webs forming in the tall windows in the Main Hall. Time moves in slow motion, almost stopping entirely, all the focus on Pavetta. A strong gust of wind explodes from Pavetta, pushing everyone within its grasp as far from her and Duny as physically possible. Glass shatters, hitting the floor and stabbing into unsuspecting victims. The furniture is blown to the ground and into the far corners of the room. Visenya yelps, her body hitting the wall, reopening the bloody wounds that Mousesack sealed with his magic only minutes ago. Her back digs into a particularly sharp corner, gritting her teeth as more pain ebbs through her body. The loud crack from the impact is quickly drowned by the scream. 

Strong winds swirl around Pavetta and Duny, slowly lifting their forms off the ground and into the air. Foreign words pour from her mouth, tone monotonous, and inhuman. Her emerald eyes bore into Duny, unwavering and unblinking. The words echo around the room and into Visenya’s ears, getting louder and louder with each word. The words, despite the chaos around them, lull Visenya into a sense of tranquility, her tense limbs slacking instantly, eyes fluttering shut as the words swirl in her head. They’re familiar and maternal, giving a similar feeling that her mother’s bedtime stories gave her. Or when Lady Catelyn would read to her when she was sick in bed, too weak to even open her eyes sometimes. 

It sounds like home, but it leaves behind a sharp feeling, like a paper cut that never healed right.

It’s intoxicating, yet invasive all the same, the feeling that someone can see into the deepest parts of her mind. The hairs on the back of her neck stand stiff, leaving a tingling sensation all over her body in its wake.

The words nearly take physical form in the darkness of her mind.  

And then the blackness ignites, the worlds beginning to fade.

Suddenly she’s no longer in the Main Hall, devastated by the tumultuous magic of a distressed princess. Instead of stone walls and marble floors, there’s an open field, a roaring fire consuming it, encasing her body like armor. It dances around her limbs, licking her skin, but never leaving a burn. Left then right, there’s nothing but fire. She moves forward, stepping with bare feet on rocky terrain, and despite sharp ends piercing into her feet, she doesn’t stop, doesn’t even blink. Then, she pauses, so still, she doesn’t even breathe. The fire crackles, louder this time, thundering in her ear with the ferocity of a calvary ten thousand strong charging into battle. She inhales, sharply, watching with bated breath for...something to happen.

And then her heart stops, brain freezing like an ice statue.  

Screech.

The noise is small and breathy, not nearly as terrifying as she instinctively knows it will become. Before her eyes, Visenya watches as a large egg continues to crack, the burnt orange shell melting into the flames. A reptilian face is the first to break through the hardened shell, shimmering red eyes glimmering in the light, then one wing, followed by the other until it’s full body is free. It’s gold scales shimmer in the fire, nearly mimicking Visenya’s own eyes. She smiles, letting out a choked laugh like her throat is full of ash from the flames that dance around her. 

Screech.

It roars again, batting it’s small bat-like wings as it steps out of the shell that encased it for so long. She moves towards it, but with each step, the dragon seems to get farther away until she can hardly see it. But she can hear it, Gods can she hear the dragon roar, each one louder and more terrifying than the last. The noise rumbles the ground beneath her, shaking her to the very core, but filling her with child-like wonder. She tries to run, hoping a faster pace will close the distance, eager to feel its scales beneath her fingers. Would they be smooth or rough? Soft like skin or coarse like salt? 

The scene dissipates, leaving her in darkness once again. She stays this way, for seconds, minutes, hours: who could tell? But then she opens her eyes, and instead of a burning field, she’s back in the Main Hall, chaos still reigning in the room. Pavetta and Duny are higher this time as she continues to chant the same eerie words over and over. 

Visenya glances to her right, watching Geralt slowly stand from the floor, fighting against the strong wind storm. He moves towards the two and thrusts two fingers forward. A burst of arcane force leaves his fingertips, causing Pavetta’s head to whip around, eyes focusing on Geralt instead of Duny. She lets out a yelp, ending the spell that holds everyone in the room hostage. Duny and her plummet to the hard ground, the wind dissipating as quickly as it appeared. 

Visenya breathes out a heavy sigh, slowly standing from her position against the wall. Queen Calanthe wastes no time, rushing towards Pavetta who is slowly standing from the ground, harsh bruises blossoming all over her delicate body. Without a word, Calanthe wraps her arms around Pavetta, tightly holding her. A moment later she releases Pavetta, delicately cradling her face in her rough hands.

“I thought your grandmother’s gift had skipped you… as it did me. It seems I was wrong...about so many things,” she says with a softness Visenya hasn’t seen in the Queen all night. Pavetta smiles, and despite the messy state of her hair and clothes, Pavetta is still easily a shining gem of beauty in the room. 

Calanthe slowly lets go of Pavetta, moving to face the large crowd that gathered around them. Duny moves beside Pavetta, the both of them moving to face the crowd as well, Pavetta tightly holding Duny’s hand in one and Queen Calanthe’s with her other.

“Destiny has spoken! And I have listened. The Law of Surprise will be honored. Pavetta will marry… Lord Urcheon,” Calanthe declares, loud enough that even the ghosts of the Lords and guards that died tonight can hear her from the beyond. 

“React poorly and you won’t just face the Lioness, you will be facing the Sea Hounds of Skellige. Because Queen Calanthe has… agreed to my proposal of marriage.” Lord Eist speaks up, moving to stand on the other side of Calanthe, grasping her hand in his own. She looks over at him, a sly smirk on her face, but she doesn’t rebuke his notion.

“There will be two vows here tonight! I assume that’s agreeable?” Calanthe exclaims. Murmurs of agreement from nearly everyone fill the room, the majority of the room nodding as well. “Delightful,” the Queen relaxes her shoulders, a smile gracing her face.

o0o0o

All is quiet in the room, so silent each inhale and exhale echos in the room like a vicious scream. The lords and ladies stand in a large circle, each holding a lit candle. It’s surprisingly calm, despite the turmoil and chaos in the room only a short while ago. Duny and Pavetta are on the ground, kneeling before Queen Calanthe. Visenya is standing directly across from the Queen, with Jaskier to her right and Geralt on her left. The candle in her hand shakes ever so slightly, her arms weak and heavy, the adrenaline in her body completely gone, leaving her frail like Old Nan from Winterfell. 

The Queen’s handmaiden stands beside the Queen, back straight with a small bowl of bright blue paint in her hands that is outstretched towards Queen Calanthe. She takes a finger and presses it into the bowl, soaking it in the paint. She leans forward using the same hand to press a line on Pavetta’s head, and then does the same to Duny, a melancholic smile on her face. Her brown eyes are tired like she’s just finished fighting a thousand wars. And perhaps she has, mentally wrestling with the prospect of her daughter marrying the man she did not intend for her. 

The handmaiden then hands Queen Calanthe a velvet cloth that’s a rich blue with gold embroidery on it. Similar to the weddings the Southerners have in Westeros, she weaves the ribbon in between their hands, physically binding them together, just like their souls and hearts are now bound.

“With my blessing, I thee bind,” Calanthe says, her voice hardly above a whisper. She smiles at Pavetta again, this one wider and less sad. Pavetta and Duny slowly turn towards each other, wide grins permanently etched onto their faces. Slowly they lean towards each other, eager to seal the marriage with a kiss. 

Their lips meet for a brief second, but Duny quickly pulls away, a snarl similar to a wild animal escaping his mouth. And then again, followed by a ferocious snarl. He collapses to the floor, his body twisting and contorting in unnatural ways as the loud noises continue. Visenya glances towards Geralt, noticing his stiff posture, intent golden eyes watching the scene. Visenya’s hand ghosts over where her sword should be, the anxiety building in her when she feels nothing but air. 

Before she can scan the room for a weapon to make use of, the noise ceases. Duny lifts his head, but instead of being a beast, he has the head of a man; a very attractive man, He has a strong jaw, deep brown eyes, and matching thick hair that falls with a slight wave. He inhales sharply, shaking as he stares at his hand - his human hands. Pavetta stares at him in shock, wide eyes staring at her now human husband. Duny looks up, meeting her gaze. And like two magnets they immediately rush towards one another, though it lacks any grace due to their positions on the floor. They meet in an embrace, Pavetta’s hands caressing his face, a beaming smile on her fair face. They lean forward, capturing each other's lips in another kiss, this one more passionate than the previous, gasps of laughter pouring from Pavetta’s mouth in between each kiss. 

“The twelfth bell has not yet rung!” Pavetta says once they pull away from each other.

“What has happened?” Calanthe says, sounding as dazed as Visenya feels. 

“I think your blessing of this marriage has fulfilled a destiny,” Mousesack says, stepping forward from the circle. “The curse has been lifted.” 

“Whoo,” Jaskier exclaims, one hand touching his chest and the other wrapped around the noblewoman that stands beside him. “I think this has the makings of my best ballad yet,” he says, wiping a single tear from his eye, looking towards the lady in his arms. 

Visenya simply rolls her eyes, looking at Geralt with exasperation in her eyes. 

“If you’re alive in the morning,” Geralt’s gruff voice roughly cuts through the beautiful moment and turns to face Jaskier. “Don’t grope a trout in any peculiar rivers until dawn.” Geralt turns to swiftly exit the room. 

“Wait!” Duny exclaims, turning away from Pavetta to face the Witcher. “You saved my life. I must repay you.” Duny stands from his position on the ground, hand outstretched. Geralt stops and sighs, turning to face Duny. 

“You’ve proven yourself to be the kind of man who would do the same, I want nothing.” Geralt turns to leave again but is interrupted once again by Duny. 

“No please, please Geralt of Rivia, do not think you are doing me a service. I cannot start a new life in the shadow of a life debt.” Duny says, his lips tilting upwards, a gleam in his dark eyes. Geralt sighs once more, facing the Lord

“Fine I claim the tradition as you have, the Law of Surprise; give that which you already have but do not know,” Geralt says, the annoyance in his voice clear as day to Visenya. 

“No!” Calanthe exclaims, fear clear in her glossy brown eyes. “What have you done Witcher?”

“Do not worry Your Majesty. The next time I’m seen in your kingdom will be to kill a real monster, not claim a crop or a new pup. Destiny can go fu--”

Before Geralt can finish his sentence, Pavetta leans forward, vomiting all over the floor. Calanthe rushes to the other side of her daughter, leaning down to Pavetta’s level to look her in the eyes.

“Pavetta,” she takes a hold of her daughter's chin, gently cupping it as she stares at her. “Are you--?” She doesn’t finish her sentence, the words unable to leave her mouth. In perfect unison, Pavetta, Duny, and Queen Calanthe look towards Geralt. Visenya follows their lead, looking towards Geralt with wide eyes. Geralt looks around, heavily sighing.

“Fuck,” he says, and then quickly turns away, exiting the room before anyone can stop him. Mousesack follows after him while Duny turns back to Pavetta, helping her to her feet. The rest of the room suddenly becomes unfrozen, the circle breaking as Lords and Ladies begin to mingle about the eventful night. But Visenya’s eyes are stuck on Calanthe. The Queen feels Visenya's burning gaze, turning to meet it.

They continue to stare at each other, and in her glossy hazel eyes, Visenya swears she can see death and destruction swirling inside them, the desolation in the years to come. At that moment Visenya feels like Daenys the Dreamer, seeing the fall of a great kingdom that should be indestructible. But just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone, Queen Calanthe breaking their gaze. 

She has no proof, no reason to believe Cintra would fall. Anytime Queen Calanthe’s name falls from the lips of anyone, it’s always mummers of praise at her prowess in battle, how fierce and deadly she is in the thick of combat. She has no reason to believe it, but yet, she can feel it deep in her bones.

Cintra is going to fall.

The Lions will fall as the Dragons did all those years ago.

“You should go, before he leaves you behind,” a voice breaks Visenya from her trance. Turning around, Mousesack is the one who spoke, standing behind her with a knowing glint in his eyes. Visenya cocks her head to the side. “Geralt, I mean.” 

“I suppose it’s either him or--” Visenya moves her eyes around the room, focusing on Jaskier and the giggling noblewoman. They’re incredibly close to each other, as he whispers something into her ear, causing another round of giggles to leave her mouth. “- that.” Visenya mutters, raising a brow. Mousesack simply laughs, shaking his head, amusement glinting in his eyes. 

“No wonder Geralt enjoys your company, you’re as dour as he is.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Visenya says, a small smile on her face as she faces Mousesack. “It was nice to meet you, Mousesack, perhaps our paths will cross again.” Visenya moves to walk past him to catch up with Geralt, but his hand grips her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“Jane, I know this may not be my place to say, but I can sense immense primal power inside you, similar to what the Princess displayed,” he says, his voice hardly above a whisper.

“I don’t know what you--”

“I would be a fool to not notice the energy thrumming inside you, do not take me for a fool, Jane. Nevermind that I saw you burn a man with your bare hand,” he continues, unbothered by the way Visenya 's eyes bore into his face. 

“And what of it?” Visenya asks, straightening her posture and raising her chin slightly, like a wolf raising its hackles. 

“I also know you don’t have full control over it. Without proper training you will find yourself at the center of a situation like this, with a far worse outcome,” he says, unperturbed by Visenya's intimidation attempts. Flashes of a burning building and screaming flit through Visenya’s mind for a brief second. Her posture slackens, not by much, but enough for Mousesack to notice. 

“I suppose this is when you offer to be my teacher?” Visenya asks, sarcasm dripping from each word, a bitter laugh following shortly after. Her gold eyes narrow, lips pulled into a thin line. Mousesack chuckles, shaking his head, briefly looking away from Visenya, tracing the walls before his eyes flick back to her. 

“I’m afraid not, destiny has other plans for you, it would seem. Your place is with Geralt and whatever grand adventures you get wrapped into,” he says, mirth dancing in his eyes, visible even in the darkness of the hall. 

“Then it appears we are done here.” Visenya tries to maneuver past Mousesack, but his grip is tight, keeping Visenya in place. She turns back to him, eyes like hardened lava.

“If I might offer a piece of advice, find someone and let them help you control this power you have. But stay away from the Brotherhood, if you can. A mage outside of their grasp would be best.” Mousesack whispers, eyes staring deep into Visenya’s.

“Duly noted.” She moves to walk away again, and this time, Mousesack lets her. He releases her arm and watches as Visenya steps over the rubble and towards the exit. 

“May the gods watch over you, Visenya Targaryen,” Mousesack says. Visenya’s footsteps stop, posture as stiff as a board, the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Her heart pounds, blood filling her ears until she can’t hear anything. Like she’s been turned to stone, Visenya slowly turns around, a grim expression set on her face. But when she turns around, Mousesack has disappeared into the crowd of people. Gold eyes narrow, searching for Mousesack in the crowd for only a moment longer. 

She whirls around, eager to leave this castle and the kingdom behind. She swiftly walks through the hall, nodding at stragglers guests or guards as she passes them. It isn’t until she’s near the exit that she spots Geralt's stark white hair. The clothes Jaskier dressed him in are dirty and torn, pieces of rubble stuck in Geralt's disheveled hair.  

“Geralt!” she calls out, picking up her speed to close the distance between them. He turns around, eyes locking on her.

“Jane,” he simply says, watching as the distance between them closes until she’s standing in front of him. 

“Thought you could leave without me, did you?” she asks, a sly grin on her face. Geralt raises a brow, his lips pulling in a smirk that matches her own.

“I didn’t know you were joining me at all.”

“Well it’s either you or I stay with Jaskier and his new muse,” Visenya says, sarcasm oozing from her voice when she says muse. “And I don’t think it would be healthy to retch as much as I would be if I stayed with him.”

“So I’m your last resort?” Geralt asks, eyes glinting with mirth and just a hint of happiness.

“Of course, but don’t worry, I’ve had to put up with worse,” Visenya says. She pats Geralt on his chest as she passes him, moving towards the exit. 

o0o0o0o

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[miioouu]

Dreams Come True

Oof so many of you asked for a part 2 of this, so here we go!

 Warning: smut... 

Tags: @kittythulhugaming @memories-forgotten @silentw-lkr @loxbbg @anime-weeb-bnha @sinnersimmer-love @leeeah-loooser

      At this moment you didn't know what to do. The guilt of cheating on your boyfriend present, but it doesn't seem to win over the heat flowing through your body. With your nails scrapping at his scalp, his hand inching closer and closer to your core. Even though your boyfriend was asleep, you can feel a hallucination of his intense eyes glaring at you, burning through your body only to be holding your soul tight. But instead of backing away, fleeing this sin, you let yourself go. Slowly opening your legs, allowing kirishima access, your hold on his hair tightening, more and more, pulling. Low groans echoing in the room, hopefully low enough to keep your boyfriend in dreamland, you didn't know any better. Peaking through his eyelashes, he could see everything. From the hands wrapped around your thighs, to the freshly manicured fingers threading in red hair, and yet, jealous he wasn't. An emotion, far too familiar settling in his lower stomach, blood rushing down to his dick. Did he actually enjoy the sight of his lover cheating? Was it the fact that Kirishima's moan sound so angelic to him? The few glasses of wine he drank? He doesn't know, and cares even less to find out, all he wants to do is observe.

     Pushing your undies aside, the redhead's finger dove in your pussy. Your hand quickly flying to cover your hand, god forbids Katsuki hears you. Rolling your hips to match his thrust, rolling your eyes getting lost in pleasure, mind hazzy, instinct kicking in, mistakes being made. And this time, it's not the sin you're committing, but your reflex getting you caught. While one hand was still covering your mouth, the other flew to latch on something, anything, and unfortunately for you, it was Bakugou's arm. Nails digging in, creating crescents, trails in red across his skin. You "woke" him up. But in reality, you just gave him the perfect opportunity to make his consciousness noticed. Sitting up, his eyes stared into yours. The hand that was between your thighs gone, retreated as fast as possible, but you two were caught. From the deep red flush on your cheeks, your pink swollen lips, the precipitation on Kirishima's forehead, the guilt shinning in his eyes, it was all a given. "Why did you stop? I was enjoying the show." Now it's time for his hand to be placed on your leg, the contact making your skin burn, your heart beat so fast and you mind running wild. What does he mean? Looking between him and Kirishima, an intense atmosphere settling in, of competition and dare, you didn't like where this is going, and you absolutely hated the way your body is reacting. Your walls clenching, heat rushing to your core, desire flaming through your body, and the worst of it all, the small whine that escaped your lips. Making both men snap their attention on you. And with no more time to waste, grin evident on both their faces, your wild night began.

     Pulling you up of the couch and pushing you down the floor, Kirishima sent you a dark look as his fingers traveled all the way from your hair, your cheeks, your jaw to find your lips. With no hesitation you took them in your mouth, tongue swirling around, sucking at the digits as your eyes rolled back, your hands looking for anything to grip, dug in his muscular thighs. With a pop, he pulled them away, saliva glistening in the light, he smudged it on your cheeks as his other hand was occupied, pulling his shorts down. Boxer following suit revealing his aching dick, precum already oozing, you couldn't help but lick your lips at the sight. And when you leaned in to have a taste, you were pulled back by your hair, eyes locking with the always so intense red ones of your boyfriend. "Gonna show Eiji how good of a girl you are yeah?" Nodding your head furiously, gleam of desire, need, begging in your eyes asking for permission. Leaning down to give your lips a quick kiss yet filled with warning and danger, high expectations he let go of you, pushing your head closer to his best friend's crotch. Tongue poking out slightly, running from the base to the head and then down to do it all over again. Your pink lips wrapping around the edge, your wet muscle circling it, going over and over again over his slit, making him groan and buck his hips up. Slowly taking more and more of his length, his head pressing against your throat, your cheeks hollowing around him, tongue languidly circling around him. Through your eyelashes you watched him, head thrown back, eyes dark and yet not looking at you, instead at something or more like someone behind you. As much as you wanted to see what your boyfriend was doing, you knew better than to disobey him, you're already in for one hell of a punishment. Bopping your head faster, Kirishima's hands finding purchase in your hair, pulling you closer to him, and when he was about to cum, you could feel him twitch inside of you, you were pulled away. With tears in your eyes, with a swollen pout, you looked up, seeing a smirking Katsuki "Hm what? You guys go cheating behind my back and expect me to let you get what you wanted? You two seem to underestimate me. Y/n, take off your clothes, now!" Without wasting a second, you did as you were told, eyes never once leaving the muscular body in the process. Watching the blond get closer to the redhead, ripping out his shirt as his hand found its way around his throat, leaning in to whisper something in his ear, quietly enough to prevent you from listening, only to pull away and starting to undress himself. Tank top lost on the floor, abs glistening under the soft light, decorated with scars and wounds from past battles, with red trails and fading bites from past nights. Sights traveling down, his hands unbuttoning his jeans, pulling them down his legs exposing the already very noticeable bulge, dark spot on his underwear surprising you even more by how much he's enjoying the turn of events tonight.

     How you found yourself sitting in Eijirou's lap you don't know. His dick rubbing against your ass, you clit catching on the tough muscle of his thigh as your hips went back on forth, grinding yourself of his naked leg. And you're sure, if Katsuki wasn't making out with you, swallowing each and every sound that threaten to come out of you, your voice would've been heard from across the street. Getting yourself off and yet you knew, you weren't allowed to taste pleasure, only adding to the mix of emotions that was burning you from within. Arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you up, whining at the loss of contact, but that's all you had time to do before you found yourself pressed between two hard chest. Air became too thick around you, heat making you go insane. Too lost in it, you only came back to reality when your boyfriend lift you up again. Legs wrapping his small waist, hands holding onto his string shoulders for dear life and mouth parted, letting moans escape as his was working miracles on your neck. Reviving the fading blues and purples on some spots and creating new ones. Slowly, lowering you, his dick pushing past your folds easily, the whole situation made you more aroused than you thought, veins grazing at your inner walls, he barely gave you seconds to get used to the new position, before he started lifting you up and letting gravity do its thing, pulling you back down on his cock. Watching the two of you fuck like that made someone even more excited than what he already was. Precum oozing, dick aching, all he wanted to do was hold your hips and fuck your brains out. And that's what he did. Getting closer to you, he placed his hands on your hips, stopping Bakugou's movements who sent him an icy glare, teeth bearing ready to gave him an earful before your loud scream interrupted him. You felt something poking you from behind. The sound of spit resonating through the room, all you had to do was turn your head slightly to watch the redhead. Saliva running down his shaft, his fingers looping around and delving between your folds, grasping as much of your essence as possible with a dick being buried into you, and shoving those exact same fingers in your asshole. Giving you a few pumps, he already knew that katsuki got you all prepared out many times before, he's his best friend for a reason. Than slowly, pushing himself inside you tight whole, inch by inch making your crazier, inch by inch sending you to paradise. And once he got all inside, he carefully pulled out only to bury himself inside again.

      Katsuki being impatient, he didn't wait for you too long, after a few thrusts from Kirishima, he couldn't stop himself. Going back to his activity before someone cut him off, he bounced you on his dick. And if the feeling of just Bakugou was enough to make you delirious, now having two cocks inside you was on a whole different level. The feeling of both of them had your eyes fluttering shut, your mouth agape but not enough energy to have any sound leave it, silent screams. Tears rolling down your cheeks and head fallen back on Kirishima's shoulder. Giving Katsuki the perfect opening to sink his pearly whites into the soft flesh of your neck. Your breasts rubbing against his with every up and down, your nails digging in Kirishima's arms. It was all too much, and yet you wanted more, you needed more. The way both of them are abusing you, driving you to insanity and much further. Sending you to paradise but you know better than to wish for angels, the heat around you feels like hell. With Bakugou's dick kissing your cervix, Kirishima hitting spots in your body you didn't know existed, you didn't know would give you so much pleasure. With a scream of incoherent words, a mix of what they could only assume as their names, your walls clenched around them, walls fluttered around them, milking them for everything they have to offer you as you came. It took Kirishima a few more thrusts before pulling away, listening to Bakugou's warning of not cumming inside you, instead white ropes rolling down your back, dripping on the floot beneath you. And at this view, he couldn't control himself, Katsuki painting your inside walls white, making you see stars at the warm feeling inside of you...

     Slowly pulling out, he set you on the couch next to his friend who was looking at the both of you with such adoration with his eyes. " I never meant to.... Disturb what you two have.... But if you'd like, I'm always ready to join you in." voice breaking with hesitation, instead of being sure of himself, Kirishima was filled with doubt, guilt and fear. He didn't want to lose his best friend, and he certainly never wanted to break you apart. But what came out of Katsuki's mouth next didn't only relieved and surprised him, but you too "Is that so Eijiro? Well I don't really know, I only want the best if the best for my Y/n, so show us what you got, and I'll see if I'll keep you around..."

[go-hux-yourself]

Prisoners of circumstance

I’m a couple days behind as things are half-finished but this is Day 3′s FebuWhump prompt fill for imprisonment :D Good ol’ gingerpilot :) This work titled Prisoners of circumstance.

See also on my ao3 here. My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.

--

They dragged Hux away in binders while Poe fought the oxygen mask being fixed to his face on the gurney. There were hands trying to remove the collar from his neck. He was bleeding, and he knew they were trying to help, but his only concern was for Hux.

“Commander, lie still, please. You’re bleeding-“

“Hugs!” Poe felt delirious, reaching out as Hux left his immediate line of sight, roughly taken away in binders. He tried yelling out again for the man, and immediately cried out in pain instead.

“Poe, take it easy--”

There was something mixed in with the oxygen on his face; something chemically-sweet. Medicine, or painkillers. He wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t think straight as dizziness took him. But whether that was from the blood-loss, or the narcotics, he didn’t know.

“...Hugs!…” He was being moved out of the hangar, ceiling above him once more as they crossed a threshold. “H-He’s on our side-”

“Poe that’s--” Poe looked widely up at Finn as the man kept pace, a steadying hand on his shoulder far away from the wound. “You’ll be okay, just take it easy and let them help you.”

His vision was spotty-- he was going to pass out- but he had to let them know. They had to know; there couldn’t be any misunderstandings. Poe grabbed Finn’s forearm where the other man was trying to help keep him down. The ceiling was moving quickly above him. It was dizzying and disorienting. “...you can’t-- Finn!”

“I’m right here, man. Right here.” It was difficult to give him a quick pat with his free hand, but Finn tried to reassure him. “You’re safe, alright?”

Finn’s gaze was intense with concern as Poe’s eyes locked with his, his hand squeezing weakly in urgency. He couldn’t fight against the chemically-sweet air any longer, grip lessening as he barely got the words out. “...he’s… he’s our spy… a spy…”

--

Poe was disoriented when he woke up, heart-rate spiking after barely a moment as his consciousness connected with reality. Hux.

A gentle murmur reached him through the blood rushing in his ears, and Poe realized he wasn’t alone. He calmed just a bit as a hand pat his leg reassuringly over the covers; Leia at his bedside, Dr. Kalonia standing next to her.

“So you’re alive and in one piece,” Leia spoke. “You’ve got more lives than a cat, Dameron.”

Poe blinked at her.

“How do you feel?” Dr. Kalonia asked.

“...where’s Hux?” Poe croaked instead, mouth and throat dry.

“In a cell.” A look passed between Leia and Dr. Kalonia. The doctor made an excuse of getting something for Poe to drink, leaving them in a moment of privacy.

Poe opened his mouth to speak, but Leia beat him to it.

“You’re gonna have to explain this to me, Poe,” she said plaintively. “How is it the Starkiller is in our custody? What happened?”

“...he’s our spy.” Poe found the words easily enough. It was only because of Hux that he was even still alive.

“Him?”

He nodded emphatically. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed hard. “It’s been him the whole time… He got me out of there. Can’t go back. Doesn’t wanna go back.” Poe moved to sit up in his bed, wincing a little. He felt tender where they must’ve stitched the wound closed.

“You’ve been gone for weeks, Dameron.”

“I-I know.”

“How are you still alive?”

“...he kept me alive.” Poe began to get a bad feeling. “I know it sounds nuts, but it's real. Everything we’ve ever gotten is from him. He’s on our side.”

“Poe, we were told Kylo Ren took you prisoner himself...”

Yeah, that much was true. But Poe had been in disguise when the town had been rounded up, and the captives had been presented to Hux’s discretion as Ren headed after those who’d retreated into the forests.

Hux had recognized him almost immediately— had studied his face beyond mistake after the pilot had destroyed their dreadnought. Poe had thought he was royally screwed when he saw the recognition alight in Hux’s eyes.

But the general hadn’t said anything, instead observing the others who’d been captured, looking for more infiltrators. No one stood out, but he didn’t indicate Poe, either. The pilot had been processed with everyone else, giving a false name to their intake and being taken out of a cell just as soon as he’d been put in one.

He’d been brought to Hux for an interrogation, but not torture. No, he’d been Hux’s unwitting contact, caught in a set of coincidences that had placed him far too close to Ren for the knowledge in his head. He had to hide Poe. They were far from any inhabited systems already, and no way to possibly sneak him out until their course changed.

Poe was still having trouble believing it himself. From that first accusative finger Hux had pointed at him for being an idiot and getting caught and putting them both in jeopardy, Poe had realized he kind of liked the guy.

The small ysalamir named Millicent that Hux kept in his quarters was the only thing that borrowed him peaceful moments. It wasn’t quite a pet, but it’s very-real force-negating qualities earned the reptile the affectionate nickname of “Millie”, and a habitat with a warm rock.

The animal became Poe’s new accessory. It was the only way Hux could guarantee his safety when Ren was on board, the reptile curled up in Poe’s collar. He needed his presence undetected. Hux had information for the Resistance, and Poe needed to stay alive for his overall deadliness in battle.

The implication that Poe might’ve instead had his free-will affected, or his memory altered, made him frown. “I— what? Are you kidding me?” A flare of indignance and insult burned to life inside of him. Leia gave him an earnest look, but she didn’t entirely deny it. “You think I was brainwashed? I’m telling the truth.”

“It’s not like that,” she said with an earnest sort of tone. “I know you, Poe. And I know how powerful my son is… They had you for weeks, and we know what their reconditioning programs alone do. Put yourself in my shoes, commander.”

Poe had a really bad feeling about this. “...Can I see him?”

“Not right now, Poe.”

He suppressed the chill of anxiety at the base of his spine, growing as he anticipated another negative. “...Can I leave?”

“Not yet, Poe.”

So he was to be every bit a prisoner as Hux was until they decided whatever it was they decided about ‘Poe’s state of mind’. It was so laughably ridiculous it almost made him want to cry.

He told himself to remain calm, think clearly… Decided to spill his guts— he was in love with the man, he’d let them read his mind to prove it- but then Dr. Kalonia was coming in to the warning alarm on Poe’s vitals, and he was given a sedative to rest.

They’d talk about this later, and Leia promised she wouldn’t let anything happen to Hux while they figured things out. Poe was recovering from what could’ve been a death-blow; would’ve if he hadn’t gotten to help so quickly.

His body was weak right now, but Leia promised, as his vision swam and his eyes grew heavy, that he’d be up and about again soon after his body had a chance to rest and heal. They would talk about everything later, when he wasn’t freshly out of a coma.

But right now, as his eyes finally shut and he relaxed into the covers, he needed to heal.

--

my kofi | ao3 main

[angeltrapz]

ALSO your takes on this lil Strahm/Adam thing we’ve been discussing?? hi???? tht dynamic makes me insane i love it sm + am very excited 2 hear more of ur thoughts 💗

I'm answering this one first bc!!!!!! It makes me insane too like I cannot stop thinking abt it. I am Trying 2 put together a fic abt it!!!

Okay so. I think that Adam and Strahm are similar in several ways, and yet not at the same time. Adam is accused of being apathetic by Jigsaw, right? But we're obviously shown that it's not exactly the case; if anything, Adam's supposed apathy is a shield to protect who he really is: someone who cares deeply, maybe more than he should; someone intensely thoughtful, someone willing to keep things from people if he knows it'll hurt them while also functioning as self-preservation (not showing the polaroid to Lawrence, hiding the fact that the trash bag contained both the hacksaws AND the pictures he took), someone who altogether simply cannot truly be defined as apathetic at his core. His projected persona, however, is a completely different story - Adam is angry, bitter, jaded. And yes, he is angry, bitter in regards to his circumstances, jaded in a way that comes from a life spent living paycheck to paycheck if he could even manage that regularly. We've seen his apartment. This dude struggles. Apathetic, no, but angry? Oh, absolutely.

Strahm is... slightly more complicated. HIS projected persona is one of cool indifference, no nonsense, someone purely analytical and maybe a bit of an asshole about it. The thing is, though, is that deep down, Strahm also cares deeply - just look at how he reacted to Perez being injured + having to call her mom, when he destroyed that office room - it's just harder to get out of him. His projected persona hides someone whose emotions run just as hotly and strongly; his are just more well-hidden. He is impulsive, intelligent, result-seeking. Strahm doesn't seem like someone who allows himself to just feel things very often, and when he does, the blowout can be a fucking mess (for example, showing up to the packing plant BY HIMSELF, operating on adrenaline and rage alone).

I think, other than Perez perhaps, Adam just may be the first person to understand Strahm in a way that no one else has even attempted. Adam might be the first person who manages to see past that indifference, who embraces the writhing emotions underneath it because he gets it. And Adam is absolutely one of the very first people to look at Hoffman the way he and Perez did - after all, Adam is present in Strahm's hospital room when Hoffman pays him a visit and tells him to back the fuck off, and after the man leaves, the first thing he says to Strahm is "It's him, isn't it?"

Because he sees it too. He'd been in Hoffman's presence for all of around five minutes and he'd seen it too.

And just how world-shattering can that simple revelation be? For the first time, Strahm has someone other than Perez on his side. She's gone, there's nothing he can do to bring her back, but here is someone else who sees what he sees, feels what he feels, in a strange echo of the test that brought Strahm and Perez into this whole fucking mess. Here is someone who has no reason to agree with him, no prior pressure put upon him and someone who Strahm feels wouldn't simply agree with him on that basis anyway (as you've touched on before), and yet Adam sees it too.

I feel like, in the tensely energized space the two of them share in that room after Hoffman leaves, that is one of the very first times Strahm feels seen. He doesn't feel the need to keep his shields up, and it's liberating, in a way. He feels like he can breathe around Adam. For reasons even he isn't entirely sure of, Strahm feels safe here. He can be himself, even if that self is angry, bitter, jaded. Who better to understand that than Adam Faulkner-Stanheight?

It's a feeling that only increases after they're discharged from the hospital. There's no real reason for the two of them to stay together, no obligations (except the fact that Strahm saved Adam's life, but Strahm doesn't hold that over him & Adam doesn't stick around purely because of it), and yet they do. It's two weeks after they're sent home that Adam shows up at Strahm's apartment, shaking softly and looking so fucking miserable that Strahm couldn't even dream of turning him away - after all, he gave him the address. An unspoken agreement, an offering of companionship.

Adam has been thinking. He and Strahm, they're tied together in more than one way, aren't they? Not just their shields and safeguards, not just the similarities in their true, deep-down emotions, not even having been targeted by Jigsaw and surviving things they shouldn't have - they've both lost people. Strahm is never getting Perez back, and Adam? Adam bonded with a man in that bathroom who shot him and told him he'd come back, but never did. He never looked back. His other potential saviour, Amanda Young? Her idea of rescue was a plastic bag over his head, but even she couldn't commit to the idea. She left him there, too. He's not getting Lawrence back, he knows that. Jigsaw took something, someone, from both of them. So, he proposes, what if we did something about it?

(Strahm still thinks about when they first met, when Adam told him he loved him. He can't help it, of course he thinks about it; knowing Adam was delirious with blood loss and a dizzying combo of dehydration and starvation and infection didn't cut into the feeling the earnest declaration gave him, even if it should've. Adam stuck around when he didn't have to. He wants him here.)

They've lost everything. Adam, his peace of mind, the uncertain semi-stability of his life, functionality in his arm, one of the first people he'd made a genuine connection with. Strahm, his best friend, his colleagues' trust, the safety that came with observing the case from a distance. They have nothing and yet they have each other. They both want Jigsaw to pay for what he's done to them and the people they care about, and the innocent people they never even knew. Why shouldn't they?

Like you said, I don't think they get in the coffin. I agree with you and I think that Adam is the catalyst there, the one voice of reason that drags Strahm away from certain death before he even has the chance to get ensnared permanently in Hoffman's web. They don't even listen to the tape. They just hightail it. And it's outside of that building, chests heaving and hands shaking, that it all kind of sets in for Strahm: he could've died. Hoffman could have killed him like he wanted and he would've walked right into it had he been alone. Adam, completely unconscious of the gravity of Strahm's revelation, had turned around and saved his life, repaid a favour he didn't really owe but wanted to fulfill.

And again, like you said, it's not really a favour, is it? Not when instead of laughing in an expelling of nervous energy Adam leans up and drags Strahm down by the lapels of his jacket and kisses him hard, grip white-knuckled and short breaths huffed through his nose. No, there is the same kind of reverence to be found in the way that Adam cradles his face in his trembling hands and breathes out "You're alive," as the kind that could be heard in that first I love you. There's nothing else that Adam has to say for Strahm to understand. He just pulls him close because he needs this, too. He has spent so long living his life as someone who doesn't need tenderness, doesn't need people to care about him, feels safer in isolation than anything else, and now he doesn't feel the need anymore. He is changed, in this way, but Adam accepts it readily, and though Strahm can't say it back when Adam finally slumps against him and breathes out "I love you" against his shoulder, no fever or delirium to compromise the meaning, he feels it all the same.

They understand each other, hold each other. They have work to do, and lots of it - Hoffman's going to be rampaging in a blaze of enraged glory soon enough, knowing that Strahm (and, by extension, Adam) got away, and they're going to need a plan - but right now, they can breathe. Right now, all either of them needs is knowing the other is alive, that they'd made it through something that for all intents and purposes was meant to kill them. Strahm can't just walk away. Adam knows this; he doesn't think he can, either. Two people who are more similar than they could've ever dreamed, brought together in one of the worst ways imaginable and yet in a way that has served as a lifesaver - not Jigsaw, fuck that. They want to live. For themselves, for each other, for everyone who didn't make it out. For the people they can't get back.

It's a kind of understanding that's entirely foreign to both of them, but as they hole up in Strahm's apartment after, huddled close on the couch because neither of them can sleep and they're trembling for reasons other than just the caffeine buzz of coffee, it's one that they can learn to adapt to. They can do this. They're going to save lives. They're going to do this hand-in-hand. They have each other's backs, without the shadow of a doubt.

And, really, is that not love?