#did he just fizzle out or was he turned into another god? who knows!

[xxswagcorexx]

gosh i cant stop thinking about red being an old god because. there are SO many things u can work into that concept when it comes to worldbuilding (esp if you work in stuff with ash). like, the idea of red being an old god and ash being a newer god who shares a few practices with red's religion (and also lets be real since this ramble is gonna follow a lot of stuff with greek mythology)/cult is soooo fascinating to me bc it leads to fun things like the same rituals being done but for different reasons is sooooo interesting to me

like for example in my made up symbolism about them, i think that they'd both use blood in their rituals, but have different concepts/ideas for them. like with red's religion, i can imagine that rituals are often done with your own blood and mostly done for blood pacts, as red has a ton of themes of loyalty and that being reflected in his religion is sooo interesting. but on the other hand, ash's religion would use your enemy's blood as a sacrifice/sign of triumph, as well as a sign of loyalty to ash as a god. i think it would fit in so well with his constant hunt on having the upper hand/power and its sooooo. its so interesting to me this concept scratches my brain soooo bad

and going along with the old god thing, i think it would be fun if both of their cults met up enough that they started sharing their cultures with the other, and eventually adopting some of the same rituals into their respective beliefs. red would be the older religion that's not as worshiped compared to ash's (probs bc im thinking of red's religion as more of an ideology than a religion that offers stuff like grace or material goods LOL), but the fact they'd slowly be involved with the other to the point where you can feel the other's religion effect the other even if one has more followers than the other is soooooo. imagine the mythology with them it would go SO HARD

[girls-alias]

Tease - Robert Chase

Title: Tease - Robert Chase

Words: 1,567

Relations: Robert chase X Reader

TW: Sexual hinting. Sexualising hands. Sub reader.

Masterlist

I pushed the office door open with my butt, careful not to spill the coffees I had just collected. I spun around as I stepped into the office, My eyes instantly landing on Chase as he approached the door. I looked up at him startled by his presence. From his body language, it was clear he was going to open the door for me, I blushed slightly, knowing he had a clear view of my ass pushing the glass door open. I gulped, admiring his freshly trimmed hair, subtle green eyes and furrowed brows. I could read from his expression he was confused and had a hint of another emotion. In others, I would say it was an attraction but the sexy, blonde, handsome, angelic, Australian, smart, did I mention sexy, doctor... wouldn't think that of me. I'm me. Just average me.

I smiled innocently at Chase as he continued to stare at me. His expression showed less of his confusion and more of the other emotion I couldn't place but (somewhere deep inside, I knew it was attraction) (Or maybe wishful thinking) he displayed this emotion more until the confusion had fizzled from his expression.

"Are you going to stand there all day or give me my coffee," House barked grumpily. I shook myself out of it and walked around Chase to reach the table. I placed the drinks down, serving them out to each of the team to make sure everyone had the right drink. I walked around the table, placing Chase's drink in front of him before occupying the seat beside him. He smiled at me, I swooned a little but smiled back. An attempt to play it cool when he makes my spine jelly without trying.

House began the differential by writing on the board the patient's symptoms. I placed my drink on the table as I picked up the file, sitting back to read it. I added comments briefly to dismiss someone's idea if the current test results didn't align with their diagnosis. Finally, I looked up to gather who House's snarky comment was aimed at. Not me, good. As Chase was leaning forward, his elbows on the table, his hands in front of his face, playing with them slightly. I, of course, was now only able to focus on them.

I gulped, my mouth seeming wrong. My breath quickening. The butterflies in my stomach twirling. I crossed my legs, my wetness growing as I watched my crush's hands, the way they moved, the things I had dreams about them doing. I couldn't peel my eyes away even when he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and then smirked when he looked away. His hands didn't stop moving and if anything, they seemed to do more, slow and precise movements. There could be an earthquake in the room and I still wouldn't be able to look away. He has hypnotised me. I watched almost breathlessly as he sat back in the seat and his hand slowly travelled to his thigh. Oh, God his thighs! I took a deep breath, gulping as I watched his hands.

His hands gripped his thigh tightly, and a soft whimper left my lips subconsciously. I tighten my lips into a thin line, the rest of the world coming into focus as I looked around, recognising that everyone had heard me and was confused. I almost lost all of my ability to function as Chase turned to smirk at me. He did it on purpose, he was messing with me. I was annoyed for half a second it took till I realised that he caught me checking him out, sexualising him and he not only knew but teased me. My eyes widened, avoiding Chase's gaze. My brain instantly went into hyperdrive to dismiss this realisation with the most likely factor being that he didn't know and was simply smirking to not laugh at your whimper.

"You must really want to run the labs," Foreman commented sarcastically. I almost applauded Foreman and shook his hand for giving me an easy excuse.

"Yeah, I just don't want to deal with parents right now," I chuckled, realising quickly I was unsure of the files I had read only minutes ago. They all looked a little more confused.

"Our patient is a 32-year-old, male," Cameron clarified but confusion clear in her tone.

"His parents brought him in, it's in his file," I lied. I don't know who brought him in, they could tell me he flew in on a UFO I would agree, I don't know what happened during the differential when Chase's hands were more appealing than the conversation. Foreman looked confused but understood as Cameron flicked through the file. I smiled, my poker face clearing me of questions.

"Foreman and Cameron, you're with the patient," House instructed and everyone stood. Oh, okay we're done. I stood from my seat, and collected my things, realising quickly I would be alone in the lab with Chase. My eyes widened as I grabbed my drink and headed out of the office, Chase held the door open for me, his smirk still gracing his lips. I nodded softly to be polite and began approaching the lab. I gulped as Chase walked beside me.

"I didn't know you whimpered," He teased, his smirk still present. I blushed but rolled my eyes forcing a convincing chuckle.

"I just really want lab work today," I shrugged trying to play it off. A part of me believes the delusion of him possibly not noticing me sexualising his hands. He smirked rushing to stop in front of me looking a little confused but smug.

"I can think of five reasons that's a lie," He smirked, raising his left hand for effect and flaunting the knowledge that he knew what he was doing. My expression faltered at the shocking revelation and realisation he truly was teasing me with his hands, and did for a fact know I was affected. He grinned, turning back to continue his way to the lab. I took a second to compose myself before following. I stopped just before the lab entrance to prepare myself before I was in a room alone with Chase for presumably hours.

I walked in to see Chase already using the computer to get started. He smiled as I walked in, not looking up from the screen. I cleared my throat before taking a seat at the opposite station. I got to work on running labs, reading the file closely to figure out what labs we needed, and Chase offering tests I should take while he did others, basically letting me know what to do. I'm glad one of us was paying attention.

We were working somewhat quietly as we focused on the tests. I was just looking through the microscope when he spoke abruptly.

"Have you always been attracted to hands or just mine?" He asked, I was so startled by his question. I felt called out, seen. I staggered over my thoughts slightly.

"What?" I asked finally, the only thing I could manage to say. Though my tone should have been confused it was more panicked. I looked up at him, watching as he smirked. I gulped, watching as he slowly walked around the station, edging closer to me, my crossed legs subconsciously squeezing tighter.

"What is it about my hands that flusters you?" He asked rhetorically. His tone was mischievous and menacing. His smirk returned. I watched with shallow breaths as his hand trailed along the marble tops. I gulp again to try and maintain some control of my body. My breath quickened the closer he got to me. My breath fluttered as he stood right in front of me. "Is it that they're attached to me or that you can imagine what I'd like to do with them?" He asked, his hand coming under my chin to raise it so I was looking up at him. I breathed in as he raised my chin but suddenly my breathing stopped as I made eye contact with him. My mind cleared. My only thought was that he was going to kiss me. Please, kiss me.

I watched as his eyes trailed to my lips before he smiled. His eyes were deep and dark, full of want. I gulped. "I'm taking you to dinner," He instructed, not a question but an explanation. I watched intently as he searched my expression, it was clear, he could read nothing. He seemed to wait for my response. I nodded softly, his fingers still present under my chin. He smiled with half his mouth. "Good," He added, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. I waited, his eyes once again travelling to his lips as he held my gaze on him. "Your results are in," He commented. My eyebrows furrowed before the timer went off. I jumped at the sudden beeping. Chase chuckled as he walked away to his station. I sighed slightly, hitting the timer off and composing myself. "We'll go straight from work, that shirt needs to be shown off," He added, watching me between the stations. I smiled nervously as I slowly processed the fact I wasn't imagining it like usual.

I looked at the results to distract myself. I groaned as I showed Chase the results. Positive. We quickly headed to the others to inform them.

Masterlist

[novashelby]

It Feels Like Home When You're Here~Tommy Shelby x Reader One-shot

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Mention of war, mention of sex, but overall sfw.

Word Count: 1,246

Summary: Tommy Shelby feels disconnected with everyone after the war. Everyone except you. This was a request using the prompt: "Why do I feel like I’m home whenever you’re near me?" Just know the prompt is not mine, but I can no longer find the list. I will credit it once I find it.

Please enjoy! Please consider commenting and a reblog!

War did something to boys. Took good boys…good natured, impressionable boys and turned them into hardened, difficult to do men. Tommy wasn’t any different. No matter how he wanted to think or what he knew of himself, he was no different than the others who went to France and died. Everyone died in France in one way or another. Everyone died and everyone killed. And after scurrying through the dark, rat infested tunnels with no light other than a hand held torch, nowhere felt normal. Nowhere felt like home. People he once could connect with weared thin and fizzled off, and before he knew it, the only thing that soothed him was the brown liquor filled bottle. But they weared thin, too, and he’d have to go buy a new friend. 

After a busy Wednesday, Tommy headed to the pub. It was an unusual case. In fact, it’d be unusual if he didn’t go to the pub for a drink or two. Pushing through the creaky wooden door, he skimmed over the sea of people. Every time he’d walk anywhere, there’d be a chorus of greetings. A popular man he was. But lonely, God, fucking lonely, but he’d feel pathetic to admit it. In the farthest right corner of the Garrison, John and Arthur were sharing a rum.

“Thought I’d find ya’ two here,” Tommy said, taking a crack at a poor excuse of a sarcastic joke. He sat down and whistled for a glass. Of course, it came promptly. No one dared to make a Shelby wait for anything. 

John, already two sheets to the wind, looked over at his older brother. In a slew of slurred jumbles, he asked, “and what has ya’?” Meaning, in some sort of way; how are you? Tommy couldn’t answer before the direction of conversation changed to what it always was; women, money, horse racing. John was going on about some whore he came across the previous night. “The back end on her.” He elbowed Arthur in the side who joked that he had kids to go home to.

Sometimes Tommy would join in on the banter, enjoying the occasional lightheartedness, but usually he’d half-listen and half-observe the space around while his head just slowly drifted. That particular night, he watched the barman slide down pints and poured glasses of brown liquor. 

The door swung open, the tiny bell on the frame ringing. Tommy glanced over for a second and went back to his drink when it hit him. Only men and the occasional whore walked through those doors. But her long hair and petite features stuck out like a sore thumb. Unlike the men who dressed in browns, blues, and beiges, she fashioned something lighter. A pretty lilac under a white winter coat made of mink, or so she said. He looked back over again, eyes following her. He knew why she was there and it didn’t take long for their eyes to connect.

John stopped talking and Arthur, under his breath, mumbled, “my fookin’ God.” But she was neither of theirs, Tommy thought as she approached the table. The pub followed her as she walked. John and Arthur looked up at her, but Tommy silently slid from the table and extended his hand.

“I was looking for you,” she said, but he didn’t respond. He simply took her arm with one hand, and with the other, he downed his whiskey and took out a smoke from his pocket. Together, they walked out of the pub in silence, down the dusty Birmingham street. It was a little bit before either of them spoke. Just when they hit her small dingy flat, she said, “I was going to cook you dinner, but last time you hardly touched a thing-”

“I don’t see you for dinner,” he said, taking over the key that she fumbled with in her hands. She sighed, putting her palms in the air, moving off to the side. He just wanted to feel her bedsheets against his skin. He fiddled with the door and it came undone easily. “You need a better lock-”

“When will you admit you see me for more than sex?”

“I don’t admit things very often,” he said, and they paused together in the entryway of the flat, bodies pressed. He smiled, touching her rosy rouge tinted cheek, thumb making circles. He nodded for her to continue onward, and she untangled herself from his overbearing stance. 

Her apartment was always cold, but it was the only place where life didn’t suck. That and the pub. But even the pub became lonely and dark. He took his usual spot on the sofa and when she walked by, he reached up and snaked his arms around her waist to pull her down with him. “I don’t need another drink,” he said, nose tangled in her hair, sniffing the lavender scented shampoo in her thick curls. 

“Perhaps I wanted one,” she said, twisting herself to look at him. Hearing him whisper c��mere was like music to her ears. Instantly, she rotated, putting one leg on each side of him. She straddled him as his hands rested on her hips, keeping her steady. Intimately, she placed her hands on his cheeks, thumbs rubbing circles. She chuckled, “you need a shave.”

Tommy smiled, leaning in to peck at her lips. “I’ve only shaved this past Saturday.”

“It’s Wednesday-”

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Then I’ll just get up now and-”

She pressed harder against him, snaking her arms around his neck to pull him in close. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Her lips ghosted over his ear moving to his temple, leaving a lingering kiss while his hands tickled up her back under her blouse. When his fingers worked at her bra, she let out a soft sigh. “When will it ever be about something other than sex, Thomas?” she asked, pushing away. His hands dropped, finding a new home on her thighs. They stared at one another for a few moments before continuing, “hmm? Will you ever let me in deeper?”

Tommy looked off to the side, swallowing. “It’s just hard for me right now-”

“You always say that,” she accused, grabbing his face, cupping his cheeks in her hands. “You always say that. Thomas! When is it ever not hard? It’s always going to be hard, but don’t you understand…you’re here. Other men weren’t as lucky!”

Before he could process his thoughts, he replied, “no, they were luckier.”

She straightened her back, dropping her hands to her side. Scoffing, she said, “so my brother-”

“No, no, no,” he said, stopping her before she could speak anymore. He held her close again, working around her stiffness. He rubbed his face into the crook of her neck before resting his forehead on his shoulder. “We don’t have to have sex…it’s just the way I know how to express my emotions.” 

She eased a bit, running her fingers through his hair. “It’s hard, is all. learning how to navigate you-”

“Out of everywhere, this is the only place that feels right,” he said, looking up at her. “Why do I feel like I’m home whenever you’re near me?” There was no answer for that. She didn’t know what to say because she herself couldn’t explain it. They agreed it’d never happen. That they’d stay neutral and it’d just be as it was and nothing more. But somewhere along the way, they bonded to one another. 

And neither minded.

[hederasgarden]

Today I’m thinking about a somehow equally nerdy navy medic with a crush on sweet Bob and Phoenix and hangman obsessed with trying to get these 2 to realise they like each other that’s all…

Hangman would be so amused, I think, and view it as his personal reality TV show. Maybe Rooster catches on because Hangman is staring awfully hard at Bob one day.

“Working on a crush there, buddy?" Rooster asks, tilting his head in Bob's direction. "It's okay, you can tell me. This is a safe space."

“Huh?" Jake asks before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "No. But someone else is," he says, drawing the other man's attention to the way you're leaning against the wall, openly staring at their WSO. You're watching him so intently that it takes you a few tries to find your straw with your tongue. It's almost endearing how inept you are.

Then the two of them end up working together to help you get the attention of a clueless Bob and oblivious Phoenix. After a few mishaps, Hangman decides a direct approach is necessary because as oblivious as his two teammates are, you’re even worse.

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace

Word count: 700

Rating: Gen. Humor and flirting.

Hangman first comes to you after you've finished the annual mandatory CPR training course for the pilots.

“Look,” he starts, leaning in close enough for you to get a whiff of his overpowering aftershave. Your nose wrinkles in disgust. “I get it, you’re a little inept at this whole thing but I’m here to help.”

“Okay, buddy...I think I know way more about anatomy than you do,” you tell him, packing away the CPR dummies. His friend with the mustache coughs and Hangman arches one golden eyebrow looking bemused. It takes you a few seconds to realize what you said. Before you have the chance to feel embarrassed or over explain yourself, he speaks.

"I get it," he assures you. "But I was referring to your little crush on Bob and Phoenix."

“That's not… what… you're crazy," you sputter, shaking your head. "You're way off base," you go on, internally freaking out because you'd been SO careful to play it cool and keep it on the DL. You were a consummate professional every time you interacted with Bob and Phoenix. Calm, cool, and collected. Smooth as butter.

"Uh-huh. There's no need to be shy, sweetheart. We're gonna help you get your man. And girl," he adds.

You're not sure if it's his insufferable smirk or the ridiculousness of the situation but your embarrassment fizzles out and you're left feeling more annoyed than anything else. Who did this guy think he was?

"First, Lieutenant Trace isn't a girl. She is a woman and an accomplished pilot to boot. Also, don't call me sweetheart. It's weird and creepy.” You poke him in the chest to drive home your point. "Also, you can tell Tom Selleck over there I don't need his help either."

“Woah, hey," the other man says, hands raised. "I'm just an innocent bystander here."

"What's your plan?" Hangman questions. "Stare at them some more?"

You scowl but before you can reply another voice interjects. “This guy bothering you?”

Your freeze at the familiar voice, your surprised expression mirroring Hangman’s. Phoenix’s dark brown eyes meet yours when you turn and oh god, she looks so effortlessly beautiful. You should reply with something witty and funny but it’s all you can do to stand there, slack jawed until you see Bob right behind her.

He offers you a bright smile and Phoenix touches your shoulder as she leans in to mock whisper, “Hangman’s not always the best at knowing when he’s not wanted. Like now for example.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Hangman asks.

“As entertaining as it was to watch you obsess over this whole thing, I decided the direct approach was easier for everyone involved,” the mustached man says.

“Okay, Tom. You’re good people,” you finally say.

“It’s Rooster actually and I know. Such a good person,” he says with a wink, nudging Hangman.

“Bye, Bagman,” Bob says, staring at the other man until he finally leaves with Rooster.

“Now,” Phoenix begins, fingertips dancing down your arm to capture your hand in hers. “What’s this about you having a crush on us?”

[jiminiecrickets]

LOVE'S LITTLE DAGGER: PART II. KTH / M!READER

summary. taehyung still hates you. he does. but you make him feel deeper things, and it's not just because you're buried up in his lungs.

wc. 4.8k

tags. smut | sub bottom!tae, dom top!reader, playboy tae, jealousy, mention of fwb!jimin, reader cockblocks tae once lol, alcohol mention, unprotected sex, 69, degradation: whore, slut (tae receiving), brat taming, rimming + ass eating, overstimulation + multiple orgasms, one mention of "daddy" (r. receiving)

[ part one ] [ requested ]

on the evening before the ultimate freeze of the universe, where even doomsday preppers have little power in a crumbled society, kim taehyung would remain a massive fucking dick.

this, like the inevitable heat death of everything everywhere all at once, remains a steadfast fact. his natural charisma – which you can't deny – would make him a leader in this hypothetical end-of-times, and you'd bet real money that he'd manage to swindle someone with a bunker out of it. then, of course, he'd kick them all out to feel existence die on their skin and hold his nintendo switch above his face as he lounges on a mattress.

welcome... to the check-in counter for your deserted island getaway package!

"taehyung! did you finish the milk again?"

"hm," he mumbles noncommittedly. he tucks his feet up against the couch armrest, squinting up at his switch.

you close the fridge with a huff and roll your eyes, disappearing into your bedroom. when you return, you're wearing a jacket, your phone and wallet clutched in one hand as you hop into a pair of shoes. you bee-line towards the couch and snatch his game away, turning it off and setting it on the coffee table next to him. he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"stop complaining. you have class in two hours and you're wearing nothing but your underwear. i'm helping."

he scowls. "i'm not going today. i would be fine if someone didn't fuck me into next sunday!" he hears you walking away, and he raises his voice. "i hate you so much!"

"just put a shirt on," you call, one foot propping open the front door as you pat your pockets for everything you need. "you better be clothed by the time i return. you don't want to be running when you're sore, do you?"

"i hate you!"

"mhm, be back in fifteen."

the door swings shut with a click and he scoffs, glancing at the blinking screen of his game. he folds his arms over his chest and stretches his legs out, smoothing out his black briefs, and pouts to himself.

what a jerk. so callous. fine – if you were going to ignore everything that happened the night before, so would he. and, because he's very good at everything he does, he's going to beat you at it! he's going to ignore you so well and forget all about how you made him feel and find another guy who's willing to take him to bed. given his looks, he doubts he'll have to go far.

game on.

—

there's a boy on your lap. he's pretty – real pretty, with plump glossy lips and long sugar-brown hair styled in soft waves back from his forehead. he's playful, grinding and swaying his hips over your lap while his friends cheer him on. some of the guys from the beer pong table have stopped to watch.

taehyung simmers hotly in the corner of the room, scowling into his red cup. he nurses his drink, which is slowly fizzling flat and warm – he'd snooped around in the mini-fridge of the upstairs games room and found an unopened bottle of solo, which he promptly cracked open and hoped no one would notice. it feels better to carry around than a cold, wet can of cheap beer.

but god, did he wish he drank something alcoholic. maybe it'd take the sting out of the scene in front of him.

taehyung knows the boy in your lap. he's seen him sleeping peacefully in your bed when he passes by your cracked-open door in the mornings, and rumour has it that he's trying for something more than casual with you. the sight of your hands on his hips, reciprocating his touches, makes his stomach curdle like milk.

but who wouldn't want to be with you? you're smart, and handsome, and you remember people's favourite meals and make it for them when they're having a bad day. a bitter taste fills taehyung's mouth and he can't stand the taste of lemonade any longer.

he tips out the rest of his drink and tosses the cup into the bin, schooling his features into simple, shallow flirtatiousness, leaning against the beer pong table with an arch of his back that shortens his already-cropped jacket and accentuates his ass. he glances aside, meeting the eyes of the blandly-attractive guy currently winning the game, and smirks, bringing his lower lip between his teeth as he turns back to the cups of beer, playing coy.

the guy's mates whisper in his ears, glancing at taehyung with glimmering eyes. he elbows one of them in the stomach at something he says and the guy doubles over with laughter.

taehyung remains pleasantly oblivious to what they're saying and watches the ping pong ball bounce, its tap light and clear through the constant chatter and loud music. he smiles as it bounces neatly into a cup and he slips his fingers around the one closest to him, since the other team look to be in no position to be drinking any more than they already have. half of their team are blacked out on the ground.

a body sidles up to him. "hey."

his fingertip glides around the rim of his cup. his gaze flickers up; he tucks his lower lip between his teeth to hide a smile. "hey, yourself."

by the couch, jimin sits in the bowl of your lap, a fan of cards in his hands. he giggles softly as your arms shift around his waist and your chin rests on his shoulder. he tucks the fan of cards into his chest. "you're not allowed to look, hyung."

"can't i?" you hum into his shoulder. "i thought we were on the same team."

"i can't trust anyone but myself. you're probably double-teaming with jungkook." he inclines his head towards the younger man, who's sprawled upside-down on the couch with his feet hanging over the backrest.

you scoff, hands absently smoothing over his thighs before snaking around him again. "he doesn't need my help. if i were to double-team with anyone, i'd probably go with namjoon-hyung. he'd make sure we'd win. i'd just be his cheerleader. minimum effort to emerge victorious."

jimin hums, lowering his cards. he smells sweet, yet smoky. he tucks his lips into your neck and you feel them curve into a sneaky smile. "i think double-teaming would be fun, baby..."

you chuckle. "of course you would. hey, look sharp – you're still playing this game. it's almost your turn."

when taehyung sees him lean in, whispering against your skin and looking far too cosy for his liking, his stomach churns. he scoffs quietly and glides his fingers down his plaything's bare arm, slim and soft in an elven sort of way – the way rich boys tend to be, having never done a hard day's work in their lives.

he's nothing like you – he's entitled, pretentious, grabbing and pushing his body around as if he owns it. still, taehyung leans into his shoulder, glaring daggers into the side of your head until it tingles down your spine and you glance over.

when you do, he doesn't divert his eyes, doesn't curl his upper lip. he just levels his gaze, lifting another red cup of beer with a pinky raised in a mocking toast, and turns away, dragging his plaything along behind him by the wrist.

he refuses to give him any sort of affection, any pretence of gentleness. all he wants is a body above his and a high, no matter how dry and bland it'll be. anything to take his mind off of the unfamiliar and unwanted twist in his gut.

he finds an empty bedroom quickly – it's almost as if he's developed a sixth sense for them. he sets the cup of untouched alcohol on a chest of drawers and easily rolls into routine with the guy he'd stolen from the beer pong table – shirts off, shoes off, thoughts off.

the guy leans down to kiss him – he turns his head, letting his lips fall on the corner of his mouth instead. taehyung's down to his briefs, laying still on his back as the vaguely-familiar young man above him grinds against his ass, mostly dressed except for his shirt.

at least one of them is excited. he didn't even bother taking off his jeans – just unzipped his fly.

with a creak, the door opens, and yellow hallway light floods the room. taehyung doesn't lift his gaze from the dark corner of the room, examining the branches of a crack in the plain wallpaper.

"hey! what the fuck, man? room's taken, can't you see?"

"get off of him."

"what?"

"i said: get off of him, asshole. he's drunk – can't you see?"

stubbornly, taehyung shuts his eyes as he feels the body on top of him stumble, leaving him entirely. his skin prickles with the chill.

"he literally dragged me here, what's your damn problem? don't you hate this guy? look, man, just leave right now and i'll forget this ever happened, alright?"

"put your clothes on. he's going home."

evidently, he doesn't think taehyung's worth any more arguing, and he mutters as he picks his clothes up off of the floor and shuffles away. he doesn't close the door behind him, so you do it instead. the lock clicks. when you turn back around, you nearly jump out of your skin – taehyung stands upright three feet away, staring silently up at you.

"fucking – don't do that," you scold, taking his arm and sitting him down on the edge of the bed. he watches with furrowed brows as you move across the room, folding his clothes over your arm. you even grab his shoes for him, dropping them by his feet.

"arms out," you instruct, holding out his jacket. you're not going to even attempt his shirt – it has more buckles and straps than you can count and he'd be pissed if you managed to ruin it.

he just stares up at you, utterly confused.

"lift your arms, taehyung," you repeat, gently sliding his hands through the sleeves. he lets you, staring at the side of your face.

"okay. time to get your pants on."

his lips part. "i'm not drunk."

"mhm. stand up."

"no, really," he protests, grabbing your wrists before you can tug him to his feet. "i haven't had a sip tonight."

you glance at him. "you were holding a beer. you looked like you were drinking from it."

"i was just holding it." he shrugs. "i don't like beer – it tastes disgusting."

"oh." you lean back. "so... why'd you let me kick that guy out?"

he smiles wryly. "i wanted to see what'd happen."

"uh-huh. well, i can call him back, if you want."

his hand shoots out to grab your sleeve. "no," he says quickly. "i don't want him."

"no?"

"no." his grip loosens and he glances away, fisting the bedsheets below him. "sorry for scaring you. you can go back to jaemin, or whatever his name is. i'll get home fine on my own."

"jimin," you correct. your brows furrow. "wait... taehyung, are you jealous?"

"fucking no," he snaps, far too quickly.

a grin grows on your features. a glint returns to your eye as you place your hands on your hips. "holy fucking shit. you are. kim fucking taehyung is jealous over me." you bark out a laugh, turning away to amuse yourself with a bunch of skincare pots and tubes on the dresser nearby. "my dick that good, huh?"

his face burns. "shut the fuck up! it was average, at best. having a big cock doesn't mean you know how to use it."

you toss a pot of moisturiser in the air, catching it before placing it back. you saunter over to taehyung, whose arms are crossed over his chest petulantly. you lean down to his level. "and who was the one screaming for more, hm? you really think i believe it when you say i was just some average lay?"

he shoots to his feet and jabs you in the chest. "you were," he snarls. "i was being gracious. your technique's sloppy and it's like you'd never touched a guy before. you're lucky i was so pent-up – that's the only reason i finished at all."

your smirk widens and your gaze flickers over his body. his hair pricks on end with a shiver. you lean in, not quite touching him – as if there's an invisible layer separating you from him, a glass case for the piece of art. your breath is hot against the shell of his ear.

"really? so if i was to, say, start taking off my clothes... you wouldn't be interested?"

his breath hitches. he says nothing.

"is that a no, sweet thing?"

"no," he breathes. "it's not."

you lean back and your lips turn up. his body yearns for your warmth, goosebumps shivering over his skin. "don't worry, taehyung. i didn't expect an answer – you take an awful long time to do things, and it really shows when you're getting second place on the class leaderboard."

his head snaps towards you. he grabs your shirt and yanks you onto the bed, throwing a leg over your lap. his brows are furrowed, his mouth tight. "bringing our scores into this?" he hisses. "low fucking blow, ln. fine – i'll show you slow."

he pushes your shirt up over your stomach, scraping his nails over your hips as he loosens your belt and unzips your fly. you prop yourself onto your elbows to watch with a smirk as he takes you out of your pants, stroking and squeezing with reverence that he tries to hide.

it doesn't work very well. you can see the way he stares at it as it hardens in his palm, his gaze heavy and wanting with a flush to his cheeks. he kisses the tip, suckling on it as he dips his tongue into the slit, and groans softly as he trails his wet tongue down the underside along the veins, fisting it and swiping his thumb over the tip as he takes your balls into his mouth, one at a time.

you curse and tangle your hand in his hair. his mouth is hot and wet, his breath warm as he pants against the base of your cock, staring up at you with smoky eyes and ruby lips. he sucks softly, dragging his tongue along the velvety skin, and closes his eyes as you groan his name. he hums softly in acknowledgement, moving back to your cockhead. he lavishes his attention upon it, lapping at it and sucking gently on just the first few inches – he teases the rest, pumping it and twisting his wrist expertly.

you chuckle as he moans, his hips swaying in the air. you toss off your shirt. "you're enjoying this a little too much. fuckin' whore, getting off to this..."

he moans again, sharper this time. he doesn't even dispute it. he chokes down a few inches of your cock and your head falls back as his tight throat pulses around you.

it's almost funny how quickly he's abandoned the idea of teasing you. no more slow jerks of his wrist, no more kitten licks – he's fucking gulping you down, moaning quietly as saliva drips down his knuckles.

shit. you suck in a breath through your teeth. he's really fucking good at taking you. it's like magic, watching the inches disappear down his warm throat.

he only begins to slow down when he reaches the base of your cock, his fingers pumping it shallowly. his jaw is stretched wide around you, the vibrations of his moans through your cock sinful – his tight throat strokes you, closing around you, and he doesn't seem to care that he's gagging on it, bobbing his head to a quick, steady beat. he thrusts against air.

you lick your lips, finding your voice. when it comes out, it's raspy – hungrier than you want it to be. "fuck, sweetheart – c'mere. wanna taste you, too."

he pops off with a slick sound, panting against your shaft. his lips shine with saliva. he grins, breathless, and shimmies out of his tight briefs – he groans in relief when he frees his cock, wet and throbbing. he clambers on top of you, the air hot and thick – all attempts at smooth seduction are forgotten. he's messy, hungry, and so, so human.

you grin as he arches his back, his knees beside your head. from the way he's holding his hips, you can tell he expects you to give his cock a little love – but you like to subvert expectations, and instead, you grab his slim hips and drag his ass towards your face.

he startles, arching to glance back at you. you grin, eyes glinting, and lick a long stripe over his asshole.

his hips jerk. he moans, turning back to your cock, and kisses the tip with soft warm lips, precum beading at the slit.

you hum, fingers digging into the supple flesh of his ass. two of your fingers slip easily into him – either he's been playing with himself, or his body is still recuperating from your extensive loving the night before. either way, he moans loudly around your cock, rocking his hips down onto your fingers.

"pretty," you muse, watching the way he clenches around your fingers. "arch your back a little more, slut."

he gasps as your tongue laps at his rim. "f-fuck – eat me out properly, damn it! if you're gonna talk big game, you – mngh—!"

you can't reply because you've got your tongue in his ass. you'd smile at the absurdity of it all if you could – the boy you've been butting heads with all year sounds much better crying out for you.

you don't even know why he's being a little jealous baby. he could've just asked – there is no universe in which you'd turn down fucking kim taehyung.

but he's stubborn and a cocky sonovabitch. you can't say that it's not a little cute: angry pretty boys standing their ground, firm in their beliefs until they get so flustered they forget what their next argument is.

and kim taehyung is flustered. he's whining into your thigh, gripping your hip so tightly you think he's drawing blood. he rocks his hips onto your tongue, his ass clenching around it, and buries his hot face into your hip, panting and swearing his pretty little head off as his cock spurts and pulses hotly, overexcited.

arousal curls in your stomach as he drags your cock against his lips, sinking down on it to muffle his own moans. you buck your hips into his mouth and while he gags, he lowers himself further, one shaky hand cupping your balls, and bobs his head desperately, silky lips dragging against the veins of your cock. he swallows you deeper as your cock pulses and twitches against the tight walls of his throat.

you come without warning. serves him right, the attention whore, but he doesn't seem to mind – in fact, he seems to like it, moaning and whining around your cock as he struggles to keep it all in. he fails eventually, hot cum dripping down the corner of his lips as he glides off your cock with a wet kiss. his cock twitches, already wanting more.

you tease him, dragging out his orgasm as he grinds into your face. the warm weight of his body grows as he slumps onto you and you can't be annoyed at the fact that he's only loosely gripping your cock, too busy basking in his own afterglow. his breath is warm and quick against it.

you draw away, shifting under him as you guide him into your lap. he shivers, still a little dazed, but manages to find your hand in the tangle of limbs. he entwines his fingers with yours, his pounding heart fluttering in his chest.

he presses his lips to your neck, pushing you down against the bed – to your surprise, he tugs off your pants and underwear entirely, leaving you just as naked as he.

"was bothering me," he rasps, kissing your cock. he crawls up your body again, hovering over you face-to-face. "eat me out again."

"mh, would love to. just tell me when you wanna." you stroke his sides.

he tilts his head, those dark eyes clearing of their fog. "no, i'm not talking about a few days in the future or whatever. i'm talking now. i want your tongue in me right fucking now, baby – want you to make me come again with that silver tongue of yours." he grazes your lower lip with the pad of his thumb. "i like it better like this than down his throat."

you snicker, flipping your bodies over and hovering over him instead. you've done it in a way where he's on his stomach. "jealous bitch, aren't you?"

"says the one who calls me 'puppy'," he growls, eyes flashing. he leans into the pillows, his eyes challenging, and he spreads his legs, placing one hand high on his ass as he lifts his hips. "now stop yapping and fuck me, ln."

"sir, yes, sir," you tease. he feels your presence drift lower until your hands spread his ass.

at first, he entertains some degree of control, fucking himself back on your tongue as you groan into his skin, pulling his hips closer. he enjoys a second high, untouched, but you've grown curious. how many times can you make the infamous playboy come?

the answer: a lot. you just can't expect him to keep his wits about him after a few.

he's been on his knees for so long that they're beginning to hurt, even on the mattress. the discomfort, however, is far outweighed by your ravenous hunger – he can't stop crying out for you, your tongue and fingers working in tandem to fuck him stupid. you'd even started to pump his cock for him – he'd almost cried, throwing his head back with a whiny babble.

more, more, more. he'd begged for it – he knew this, somewhere at the back of his mind. he'd heard his own voice, usually so strong and steady, reduced to a crumbling whimper, collapsing in on itself as you pumped three fingers in and out of his wet hole, messy with lube and saliva.

you'd never seen him like this before. you never thought he could get like this – teary-eyed, flushed dark pink from head to toe, gaze faraway and hazy, focussed on nothing in particular even when you muse aloud about his latest academic losses. all he does is whine, trembling, and reach back blindly for your cock, groping and grabbing.

he pants over his shoulder. his red hair is coppery where it sticks to his skin, shining with a thin layer of sweat.

"please," he begs, grinding messily against your cock. "p-please, please..."

taehyung is gorgeous when he lets go. when your cock glides in with no resistance, his walls soft and hot around you, his eyes roll back into his skull, and he lets out a soft, thankful sob. his chest heaves as you push in deeper, testing how much he can take, and all he does is grab your hip, nails clawing at it as if he'd die otherwise.

his hole is sloppy with lube. you press your nose to his collarbone, groaning softly as he clamps around you.

his fingers dig into the white bedsheets, his eyes screwed shut as he focuses on remembering how to breathe. your cock grinds against his swollen prostate and he keens – his voice cracks as he whines into the pillows. you hush him, your hips moving quickly.

"daddy," he sobs, and by his tightening sides, you know he's close. his cock leaks like a broken faucet, bobbing between his messy thighs. his eyes roll back and he grips handfuls of the bedsheets. "fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—"

he dissolves into a babbling mess. you groan into his shoulder, kissing the freckles smattered across it, and chuckle softly. "what a basic-bitch thing to like, sweetheart. it's almost cute."

he whimpers in response, his body jostling harshly. you grab his hip, forcing him to rock back onto you, and he drawls out a long, broken moan.

"takin' my cock so well, baby," you whisper, feeling his sides tense up at the praise. "like you were made to take it."

"mmh – mhm," he slurs out, spine arching and ass pressing deeper against your hips. he sucks his swollen lower lip between his teeth. he doesn't say anything else for a long time, losing himself in your constant gentle caresses.

despite biting his lower lip in an effort to quieten himself, his mouth soon hangs open, slick lips parted to loose loud, punched moans from deep in his belly. they're cute, quavering. he sounds as if he's about to burst into tears.

"g-gonna..." his fingers twist in the bedsheets, knuckles white. your cock glides in and out of his slick asshole, punching the air out of his lungs on every snap of your hips. he can't fucking breathe; it feels too good. "'m gonna...!"

"not until you make me come," you demand, your voice growing breathier by the second. your thrusts grow heavier, messier, and his voice cracks through a cry. "else i might decide jimin deserves my cock more, slut."

he squeezes his eyes shut, and a tear falls down his cheek from the corner of his eye. he moans as he throws his ass back on your cock, piercing himself again and again and again with the wet smack of skin on skin. when you come with a groan, he loses it – he hiccups past a cry of your name, nails digging painfully into the bedsheets. he comes so hard stars explode behind his eyelids and in his veins.

his body quivers as you fuck him lazily, your breath hot against the shell of his ear as you fill him up. your cock pulses inside him, thick and warm – he trembles, burying his face in the pillows, and lifts himself slightly on weak arms, pushing his back and shoulders against the numbing heat of your body.

with a shaky sigh, he leans back against you and you press your lips against his shoulder, securing his tingling body with one firm, steady hand. his hips jerk, his body still not finished with the aftershocks of his high, and you hush him, caressing his hip. his heart pounds beneath his ribs as if he's sprinted a marathon.

it takes a long time for him to blink awake from his whiteout daze, control returning to his limbs. he hums sleepily into your skin, his head propped up on your chest.

"fucking hell," he whispers wearily. you laugh at the extra rasp in his voice.

"fucking hell indeed," you reply, too tired to move off of the bed. you stroke his shoulder, tracing circles and hearts into his skin. you tuck your other arm under your head with a soft exhale. "can you still 'get home fine on your own'?"

he pauses for a while, trying to scoop enough of his brain into a pile to remember what you're talking about. he sighs, closing his eyes, and buries his face in your chest. "shut the fuck up. i'm not getting up 'til tomorrow. and when i do, you'd better be there to carry me."

"what the fuck – why'm i the one who has to do all the work all the time?"

"i will punch your stupid pretty teeth out if you don't."

you scoff, flicking your wrists up in some half-assed form of surrender. "yeah, yeah..."

he shifts, sliding his leg over yours, and cups your side in one hand. he practically clings to you like a koala. in the warm summer silence, his breaths slow, and his muscles relax. every so often, though, you feel him tense up and shift slightly.

after the first handful of times, you groan, irritated and drowsy. "quit fucking moving, idiot. just go to sleep."

his limbs tighten around you.

"stop worrying, taehyung. i'll be here when you wake up." your voice softens – just a smidge. "promise."

that smidge is all he needs. he rests his cheek against your collarbone and mumbles – something like don't tell me what to do – and squeezes you tighter, adamant on re-establishing his authority in this relationship. he falls dead asleep, though, in just a few minutes, snoring softly as he cuddles into you.

you smile. you'll let him have this win.

[lunarw0rks]

hi!! just wanted to stop in and give an idea ig

141 with a reader who’s like a mother hen after a mission, making sure everyone’s not injured, and god forbid they are, she’s trying to stop the bleeding, and scolding soap for being so reckless!! even after they get back to base after a long day, she’s fussy.

IDK JUST A RANDOM BLURB??

A/N: Such a cute idea, not one I would've thought of on my own! Hope I did the request justice <3

Summary: It's in your nature, the motherly role you feel towards the other members of the Task Force. Patching up their injuries, and scolding the two most reckless ones, it's all become routine.

Warning(s): platonic!141, fem!reader, canon-typical violence, blood/minor injury mention, mild language, suggestive banter, no use of y/n

Word Count: 2.1k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

Troublemakers // Drabble

Though you hadn’t said a word on the ride back, at least outside of ones pertaining to the operation, the look on your face said enough. For every mission, no matter the time and place, something goes wrong—someone gets hurt.

“Anybody broken?” Captain Price comes through the comms, the static crackling through the jeep.

“Everybody’s fine, Captain. For now.” Your voice hissed back into the radio, eyes scanning their faces for any signs of an injury. Right now, there weren’t any signs. But the second this jeep stopped, there was no way in hell they were getting past you without you at least checking. It had become your unofficial job; the mother of the team, the medic without an official title, even the ‘buzzkill’ at some points.

There was no time to fuss over them at first, during evac. Everyone had piled into the vehicles too quickly, and you were eager to get out of there just as much. You were a natural nurturer, but not blinded by your instincts—there was a chain of command, after all. When your Captain says to evac, you evac, no questions.

Once the titles and formalities fizzled out, once the comms went quiet, that side of you always came out.

The jeep was moving at high speeds, and the passing landscape was a blur. A secluded, abandoned field where the operation went wrong; the taperings of town turning into the city; fizzled out until it turned into the secluded dry field again—when you reached the base.

In usual fashion, everyone got out first, and you last.

It was second nature, ushering them out like a clown car, then examining the inside of the empty vehicle to make sure nobody forgot anything. It was comical to them, so comical they still shot amused looks as you cased the car. Any further into this role, and you would start saying “C’mon kids” every time you went somewhere with them.

Another challenge to their chivalry was the way you held the door open for each of them, eyes glued to them as pursed your lips in discontent. But, they knew the drill just as well as you did.

First, you peered at Simon, though he just walked by with his usual scowl, probably finding a dark corner to brood in. He was the only one you didn’t bother to fuss over, unless you wanted to get chewed out, naturally.

It was the other two you were the most concerned about—Gaz and Soap, the troublemakers. If you could call them that in the field, you would have a thousand times already, and most likely more than that, knowing them.

Heavy sighs filled the room, sweaty brows wiped as they relieved their bodies of the extra pounds their gear gave them. Vests and buckles undone, muscles stretched as the adrenaline coursing through each of you steadied itself.

For once, you were also overjoyed to see the bland walls of this base, and them too, as much as they gave you grief. Each mission was like watching a toddler climb up to the top of a playset, waiting for the inevitable injury that comes once they fall—and every time, your hammering heart nearly came through your chest.

Yes, they were grown men, trained soldiers, but that instinct still prevailed. You couldn’t trust them with your life if they didn’t have theirs, could you? The world kept turning, and the clocks kept ticking, all as long as you played your maternal part in this arrangement.

You squinted at the two troublemakers, that gut instinct showing itself. “You sure nothing went wrong, you two? No blood?” It was a series of accusations, not naive questions. You knew something was up, there was that bubbling in your chest.

Gaz’s lip tightened into a line like he was trying not to reveal the truth. “No blood.” What a liar, and a bad one at that. Knowing these two, Soap was probably pinching his skin where you couldn’t see, trying to contort it until you were left with no suspicions.

There was no way you could force the truth out, so if they didn’t want your help, they weren’t getting it from you.

With a slow nod, you began to take off your own gear, gathering your pack and all the extras. Perhaps, for once, it would be a happy ending. You would settle into your dorm, lay back on your cot, and catch up on some paperwork, maybe even some light reading—

Well, that fantasy came about as quickly as it went.

Soap’s palm was hovering over his side, letting out a grunt of pain when he put his backpack over his shoulders. He had turned so abruptly, nearly scampering down to reach his own dorm. But he wasn’t quick enough, and your iron grip on his wrist—it was as unyielding as your grit.

“C’mon, I’m fine, Lass.” Soap grunts, like a child embarrassed when his mother dabs his face with a napkin. “It’s just a—”

“—a scratch?” You scoff, lightly smacking your free hand against his tender side. No matter how tough he was, how well he thought he was going to hide it, he had keeled over and held the spot you barely made contact with.

Gaz was attempting to contain his laughter, which was only met with the kick of one of Soap’s legs to his shin.

You couldn’t believe it, from causing trouble and bickering to working as a team and failing miserably.

The grip on Soap’s wrist loosened, instead now on the strap of his bag, gently sliding it off his tender shoulder. “Let me look at it, please.” You pleaded, trying to keep your tone both firm but concerned all at once. It seems it wasn’t just a scratch; once again you were right.

“I got nothin’ but admiration for you, why do you do this to me?” Soap whines, still not budging and letting you examine the wounds.

You ran your tongue over the inside of your cheek, cocking a brow at him. “Sit down, Johnny. Now.”

Your finger was pointing at one of the spare dining chairs in the kitchenette, and it wasn’t a request either. He knew that by now. Soap could try and swoon you, butter you up until you left it alone, but it wouldn’t work.

“Yes, ma’am.” His tone was defeated, but he still had a smirk on his face, like he was enjoying the attention.

Gaz snickered from behind you, and you could hear him begin his trek out of the room. “Better to just listen to the lady, or she won’t stop.”

Before you could even lay eyes on Soap’s injury, your head snapped in Gaz’s direction. He was on just as thin of ice, he was only lucky you could tolerate his jokes. “You’re part of this too, Gaz. I suggest you don’t wander too far.”

It was ironic; men who had worked so hard, trained to kill, and yet, they were downright gutless when in your sights, especially when caught in a lie.

All apart from Simon, who maintained the same distance with you as everyone else—that you could accept, it was just the way he was. But from these two clowns? Not for a second.

It wasn’t coming from thin air, either, this was a two-sided deal. The first time you were injured in the field, you attempted to diminish it, to write it off and suffer by yourself. It went about as well for you as it was for Soap right now—forced into a chair and stitched up with an icy glare, one that says “don’t ever do that again” without any actual words surfacing.

That’s how you knew this wasn’t in vain, even if your work didn’t always come with a response of gratitude.

You were strong where they were weak—and in return, they would quite literally kill for you, in and out of the field. God knows you’ve had to hold them back more than a few times; order comes out wrong at the restaurant, you get ghosted after a date, or someone insults your abilities as a soldier? It’s a mess.

Your eyes stayed on Soap’s pout through the reflection of the window above the sink, scrubbing away the grime on your hands before you got to work on him. In mere minutes, you’d retrieved the very used first aid kit, laying out any supplies you might need. Knowing him, it could be as small as a papercut, or a gushing wound under the fabric of his shirt.

He had already removed his, cheeks rosy and lips crinkled like you hadn’t seen this a thousand times. Not to mention, you were patching him up, not asking for a striptease. He was the one making things awkward, for the record.

Aside from the dirt, the scars, and small scrapes, it was an injury that needed to be looked at, regardless of how stubborn the patient was. A nasty bruise was forming on his peck area and below it a gash with some tiny glass shards still embedded in it. The shoulder had no visible injury, but based on how tender the skin was, he had sprained it again.

“Christ. How do you manage this? It was a simple sweep mission, MacTavish.” You shook your head in disapproval, putting on a pair of disposable gloves with a loud snap of the blue latex.

He takes the hits like a dog that knows he’s in trouble, only it's a look of acceptance rather than apprehension. It was coming from a place of care, not anger, and by God did Soap’s reckless behavior make your heart drop often.

Your rambles continued, almost as if you were talking to yourself. Your fingers worked carefully, using the tweezers to get any debris out of there.

“Can you do anything about this, Captain?” Soap’s words made your work slow, not stop.

“No, I cannot, Sergeant.” Even Price was aware of this dynamic, and frankly, he was thankful for it, one less person to worry about getting in trouble. You scolded it, didn’t partake in it—and that left less paternal instincts of his own to run dry.

Price’s boots retreated without another word, probably to work tirelessly in his office for the rest of the night. Now, it was clear to Soap that there really was no way out of this, no way to shimmy away from your caring nature.

Might as well take advantage of it the only way he knew how. “You look like you need a drink, Lass. Always so tense.”

You stared up at him through your lashes, wrapping the gauze a little tighter than you usually would. What were you supposed to say to that? He was right, you could use a drink, but he wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of being right—being right was your job.

Before you could utter a witty response, Simon spoke up for the first time since the mission. “She has a scalpel at the ready, Johnny. I would tread lightly if I were you.” For once, his cynical humor had landed on your side, and it nearly made you spit out a laugh, if you weren’t so focused.

If you were as childish as Soap, you might’ve said I told you so, but your stern look said enough. After you finished disinfecting the wounds, you bandaged them up, patting the cotton with your fingers to make it stick.

“All better now, just don’t do it again.” A satisfied beam appeared on your face, that worry in your gut dissipating when he was patched up. “Please?” Now, it was desperate and anxiety-filled.

He probably would do something like this again, but maybe next time he would at least think first, and you could live with that.

Soaps fingers find his shirt, slipping it over his head slowly with a pained groan. “I can’t promise that.” Then, they find the nearest bottle of whiskey, in true fashion for him. “But I’ll find you first next time, ask permission to get hurt.”

You scoffed and let out a sarcastic ha-ha, but stepped back enough to give him space, discarding the gloves into the waste basket. Once he had collected his things, keeping them in his uninjured arm this time, a cheek smirk appeared again.

He waited until you had turned your back to wash your hands again, and to be safe, a few feet further from you. “Thanks, Mom.” Soap turned on his heels and whipped around the corner, down the hall before you could show him your face of shock.

On second thought, maybe next time he wouldn’t have to ask to get hurt, and it would be your own two hands making him pay for that comment.

[enkas-illusion]

About My Man - Part 2/5

Fandom / Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen / Choso x f!reader, Suguru x f!reader

Rating: SFW - but the next parts won’t be so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Content Warning: Fluff, language

Chapter Summary: A tale of three lovers and a series of unfortunate incidents. Your heart’s a mess in this tug of war where kindling romance is fizzled before it has a chance to bloom.

Author’s Note: I love writing this shit so much dksbgsbgzgndgbjabgr!!! Hope you enjoyed reading it just as much.

~ Eren’s Birdie

Part 1 | Part 3

Song Dedication: Almost Is Never Enough by Ariana Grande & Nathan Sykes

“Hi stranger… Do you remember me?” he smiles at you.

It takes a few seconds for your words to actually escape your throat, “Of course I do, Suguru.”

The slight caution in his eyes dissipates upon hearing your words. He takes a step closer, a little too close for someone who's supposed to be an ‘estranged friend’.

Invading your space and looking down at you, he delivers a joke that reeks of arrogance, “Right, it's hard to forget someone like me.”

You see a glimpse of the guy you once knew, still feeling a weird churning sensation in your stomach as you turn on your heels to face the door again without returning his smile. 

The key unlocks your door without much trouble this time. You open the door wide, step to the side and look at him once again. He calmly walks in and you close the door behind him.

“So, what brings you here? How did you even find my address?” You ask as you lead him to the sofa, dropping your gym bag to its side.

“Damn, not even gonna ask me for a coffee or something?” he snickers.

You almost roll your eyes before playing along to get this over with quickly, “Sure… would you like some coffee?”

“Sure,” he smiles as he plops down in the centre of the sofa.

“Black? Or with milk?” You keep your questions short.

He smiles as he looks at you, who's trying the hardest to maintain a stoic face and avoid eye contact, “Don't you remember what I like?”

“Nope,” you give him a smile that can be better described as forcibly stretching one’s face muscles.

“Ouch,” his playful tone doesn't waver, “Plain milk, without sugar… just like your mom used to make for me.”

“Okay, be right back,” you speed walk into the kitchen. You make two cups of coffee and put them in the microwave as you slouch over the counter, almost collapsing completely.

My god… get a grip!

You rub your hands over your face, lightly slapping your cheeks a few times to snap out of it. With the beep of the microwave, you decide to be civil to the man sitting outside, no matter how annoyed you may feel.

You grab the two cups and walk out into the living room, placing his cup on the table in front of the sofa. He scoots to one side to make space for you but you settle down on the chair that's further away from his end.

He grabs the cup and scoots to the end near you nonetheless. You don't react. You simply blow on the steam emitting from your mug before taking a sip.

There's awkward silence as he looks at you. You don't look at him but you can feel him looking at you. 

You simply concentrate on your coffee and take one sip. Then another. Then another. Then ano–

“Can you stop it?” He interrupts finally. When you look at him, the crease on his forehead disappears as soon as it arrives, no hint of irritation visible.

“Stop what? Drinking coffee?” You ask plainly as you take another sip.

“Why are you acting like this? As if I’m a total stranger?” He asks, sincerity in his voice. 

“Because we are strangers. I don't know you… anymore,” you answer, holding his gaze.

“No, we’re old friends who just drifted apart,” he states matter-of-factly. 

“Easy for you to say,” you snort.

“What does that mean?” He pokes, his calm voice irritating you beyond measure.

Don't do it. Don't say it. Just don't. Contro–

“Well of course it's no big deal for you! You crushed me when we left for college. I cried over you for like six damn months and then moved on like normal people do. And now you're here like nothing’s wrong and talking to me as if we're old buddies for whatever reason! Suguru, I couldn’t care less about you but it's your fake serenity that's annoying the shit out of me,” you speak in one breath.

Suguru is caught off guard for the first time during your entire conversation. And for the first time today, a rancid feeling seeps in his heart – maybe you two really have turned into strangers in the last 5 years.

“Right, I'm sorry,” he says without knowing what exactly he's sorry for. You wait for him to continue so he does, “I guess I just wanted to start again on good terms since we're gonna be neighbours.”

Your eyes almost pop out of their socket as you almost yell, “I'm sorry, what?”

“Oh,” he smiles awkwardly as he puts two and two together in his head, “I guess you haven't spoken to your mom recently. Since I got a job in the city, I was looking for a place to live. My mom told your mom about it and she gave me the contact number of your landlord… he owns the apartment next to this one as well.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to say, stunned at the massive dump of new information.

“Umm… I was hoping we could start off on the right note? Be friends again perhaps?” he hesitates. 

“Right… welcome neighbour,” you smile and reduce the hostility in your voice. Figuring out your confused state of emotions can wait until after he's out of your house.

You hear a door unlock as your roommate walks out of her room in her pyjamas. 

“Good morning, babygurlll,” she says to you in her baby voice, rubbing her eyes, unaware of Suguru’s presence.

Yet when he turns around to look at her, she's stupefied by his beauty (understandably so). Unwillingly tearing her eyes off of him, she looks at you for answers.

“This is Suguru, my old friend and apparently our new neighbour,” you speak, still in disbelief, “and that's Luna, my roommate and best friend.”

“Ah, so you’re the one to replace me?” He jokes, flashing his pearly whites to her.

You clear your throat at this and he turns to look at you. The calm serenity restored in his eyes.

“I'll get going now. See you around neighbour,” he drinks his now cold coffee in one chug before getting up. You lead him to the door.

“Yup. Bye,” you say as you close the door without returning his smile.

You walk back in and Luna almost sprints to get closer to you.

“Can you believe this guy?” You whisper. 

“THAT'S Suguru?!” Luna's voice is too loud for a whisper, “Holy shit, he's hot!”

“Right,” you stare into nothingness as you contemplate life all over again… but before that, you had to call your mother and scold her for playing cupid with the wrong person.

~~~

You don’t dare step out of the house for the rest of the day, avoiding Suguru as if he were the plague. At least till you rationalised the whole situation in your brain, it was the right thing to do – or so you told yourself.

Choso and Satoru arrive on time for a change, but only because the latter got hungry and wanted to devour the pizzas as soon as possible. You ban him from touching the food, wanting everyone to eat together since Maki was only 15 minutes away.

“Then can I at least have those biscuits you baked last week?” Satoru pouts.

“Fineeee, wait here,” you roll your eyes at him as you leave to fetch the cookies for blondie.

Choso calmly follows you into the kitchen.

“Been busy?” he asks as you grab the cookie container from one of the overhead shelves.

“Hmm?” you turn to look at him.

“In the morning you hung up so abruptly, I figured you’d be busy, but then you didn't text me all day.”

“Sorry, it slipped my mind,” you sigh.

“All good? I was kinda worried for a sec… not much though,” he teases.

Your brain freezes for a second when you remember the events of the morning. You hesitate before speaking, “No, just… exhausted.”

He nods.

“Why? Missed me?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him.

“And what if I say yes?” he retorts, folding his hands over his chest.

“Then I’d say, I'm right in front of you. You’ve got no reason to miss me,” you tease back.

“Hmmm, what about the…” he mumbles, concentrating on his maths, “ten whole hours since the morning?”

All you can do is blush. How do you even respond when your legs feel like jelly, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his arms?

“Well, no worries, you can just make it up to me now,” he answers his own question, moving closer to you with a smile.

“Sure, this should do it,” you open the box and bring a cookie up to his mouth, which he bites into oh-so-delicately. You try not to stare at his lips shamelessly as you look down to close the lid.

“I doubt it. The more you feed me, the more I keep craving,” he sighs with a delighted smile, “Is this your plan to get me addicted?”

“I can bake as many cookies as you want,” you smile back at him sincerely.

“Mmhm?” Choso moves closer, caging you against the counter, “So you do plan to get me addicted…”

Choso leans impossibly closer to you – so close that you feel his soft breath against your cheek. You break eye contact to look down at his lips, bringing a hand up to rub off the tiny bit of cookie crumble from the corner of his mouth. He brings his hand up against yours to tightly intertwine your fingers, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“Are cookies really the worst thing to be addicted to?” you almost whisper, feeling the butterflies wreaking havoc in your stomach.

You close your eyes when he nudges his nose against yours. You feel his soft breath fanning your lips as he whispers back, “Nope, just another excuse to be near yo–”

“I’M STARVING!” you hear an encroaching shriek, abruptly pushing Choso away just in time for Satoru to find you both standing in the middle of the kitchen like two deers stuck in headlights.

“I-I couldn’t remember where I’d kept it,” you stutter your way through the unnecessary lie as you extend the container out to Satoru.

He grins as he grabs it from you, “I’m calling dibs on whatever’s left in here.”

He takes a step to the exit and then looks back at you both again, “What are you guys waiting for? Maki’s here, let’s have dinner.”

You nod as Satoru walks out, about to follow behind when Choso grabs you by the arm and you feel embarrassment shoot through your every nerve. You turn around to look at him and he takes you by surprise when his soft lips gently land on your cheek. You place your hands over his chest to steady your racing heart.

“Choso,” you whisper as he leans down to rest his forehead against yours. He whispers your name back, his hands cupping your cheeks. You stare at the way he licks his lips on instinct and you crane your neck up as your hands scrunch the fabric of his t-shirt.

He teases you – so close, yet not closing the half-inch gap. His intoxicated eyes look into yours as one of his thumbs rubs over your bottom lip before tugging it open slightly. You hear him cuss a light ‘fuck’ as his patience wears thin. Your lips almost touch and you feel goosebumps prick all over your skin.

“GUYSSSS BEER!” you hear the same annoying voice howling from the living room, startling you.

You feel your skin grow hot like lava under Choso’s touch but he’s moving away before you get a chance to melt completely. The silence is so loud that you don’t miss the sigh of disappointment Choso lets out, one he had been holding in since the moment Satoru had first interrupted.

“I’ll take these outside,” he sighs, running his fingers through his hair in frustration, grabbing the bag of beer cans from the counter.

“I’ll get a– water,” you point towards the fridge and he nods before leaving you alone in the kitchen. You quickly turn on the sink to splash some cold water on your face. With a few deep breaths, you fix your appearance, grab the chilled bottles and walk out to join the group in the living room.

The minute you settle down, everyone basically inhales the slices. Once again, you and Choso are one clueless-blonde-friend distance away, who sits comfortably on the sofa, separating the two of you. Throughout the dinner, you catch Choso stealing glances at you because you’re busy doing the same thing, your eyes trying to find him subconsciously. 

When Satoru extends a hand out for the last slice, Choso slaps his hand away to grab it instead.

“Mine,” Choso mumbles, taking a bite of the piece he already has in one hand. It makes you giggle.

“Hey! How can you be so ungrateful? I’m your best friend!” Satoru complains.

“Have my beer… I don’t care for it,” Choso tilts his head to the unopened can on the coffee table.

“You’re forgiven,” Gojo is quick to grab it, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa.

“Wow, I’m full. What about everyone else?” Luna wonders out loud.

“I’d love some ice cream!” Maki squeals.

“Nah, I’m done too,” you sigh as you rest your head back, “Check in the fridge, maybe there’s some chocochip left.”

Maki’s faster than lightning as she quickly returns from the kitchen with the ice cream container, “There’s not much left here, maybe for two people.”

The doorbell rings. Luna gets up to answer it.

“You can have it if you want! No worries…” your voice trails off when you see Suguru enter behind Luna. 

Why the fuck can I not catch a break today?

“Hi,” Suguru smiles at you, almost ignoring everyone else.

“What are you doing here?” you didn’t mean for it to sound so rude but when Luna shoots you a look as if to say behave, you soften the frown on your face.

“I just finished unpacking and I was getting bored so I wondered if we could hang out,” Suguru explains himself, “but since you’ve got company, I better leave–”

“Are you the new neighbour? I noticed the lights were on when we arrived,” Maki asks.

“Yes,” he smiles at her, “that’s me.”

“Cool, what’s your name, neighbour?” Satoru’s next.

“I’m Suguru Geto,” the minute the words escape Suguru’s mouth, it feels as if the air changes and gets heavier… Okay, even if that might be an exaggeration, what Satoru says next might’ve just given you an embarrassing memory that’ll haunt you forever for the rest of your life.

“Suguru?” Satoru squeals, connecting the dots served to him on a silver platter, “Aww, that’s so cute! Did you really move here cause you missed your girl so much?” 

You see a faint crease form on Suguru’s forehead in confusion that further deepens when his eyes meet your petrified ones. 

“Suguru, would you like some beer?” you get up abruptly, making your way to the kitchen without waiting for an answer. He nods anyway, taking the hint as he follows behind you till you reach the kitchen.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you turn to face him as you mumble, “So, this is kinda embarrassing…”

“Does your friend know me?” Suguru questions calmly.

“Right, this is going to sound crazy but I have a valid reason,” you explain.

Suguru leans against the counter, an amused smile starting to form in the corner of his lips, he knows he’s going to enjoy this.

“Right… you saw the black haired guy outside?” you ask and he nods. You continue, “I kinda like him… well, a lot.”

“Like you used to like me,” he smiles smugly.

“Like I don’t anymore…” you glare at him but realise you might need his help so your eyes soften again, “Anyway, I was too scared to confess to him and when he asked me if I was seeing anyone, I sort of ended up lying that I had a long-distance boyfriend back home.”

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, pointing his index finger to his own chest, “Me?”

You simply nod.

“So I’m your pretend boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend.” you clarify.

“Right…” he contemplates, “But I’m here now.”

“Yup, that’s the problem. We’re supposed to be broken up cause you couldn’t handle long distance… hence blondie made that comment earlier,” you add.

“Hey, I can handle long distance shit! I’m not one to give up so easily,” he sounds offended.

“Right, when it’s someone you really like,” you snide.

In your desperation, you’d forgotten to realise how pathetic this seems. As much as you want to save yourself from this embarrassment, Suguru doesn’t owe you shit. He broke your heart once upon a time and you got over it long ago. It’s over, there’s no point in acting like a stubborn child and then feeling entitled to his help when you’ve been nothing but hostile towards him since the morning.

You take a deep breath to speak in a calmer manner this time, “Obviously you’re not obligated to play along. I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

“This is so odd. I can’t figure you out,” he folds his hands to his chest, tilting his head slightly, “I felt like shit in the morning – it’s like you’re an entirely different person now, yet I keep seeing glimpses of the old you I knew so well.”

“People change. I’m sure you have too... look, no hard feelings, you’re allowed to walk out and say whatever you want, I won’t hold it against you,” you speak with a formal smile. He notices there’s no venom in your words and smiles at you.

“Okay… I’ll be your long lost, long-distance boyfriend… and it’s only cause you’re someone I really like,” he repeats your previous accusation.

“Ex-boyfriend,” you remind him again.

“Well, then we better get out before they start wondering if we’ve rekindled our romance,” he grins as he ruffles your hair before walking out, leaving you alone in the kitchen. 

Your shoulders slump as you sigh. You grab a can of beer from the fridge before regaining your composure to follow him out quickly. You hand the can to Suguru and he enjoys it throughout the whole ordeal.

Suguru is surprisingly civil throughout the entire conversation with your friends. He had a smooth lie for every invasive question Satoru bombarded him with.

“So, will you guys get back together now that distance is no longer an issue?” Satoru asks with heart-eyes and eager for gossip. Choso, who had gone quiet since Suguru arrived, looks at you.

“Who knows–” 

“No!” you interrupt Suguru’s answer, which somehow seems directed at Choso as you hold his gaze. You look at Suguru, who’s sitting on the chair you had dragged out from your room, and make another excuse, “We’ve decided to be just friends now.”

“But exes can’t be friends,” Choso speaks up for the first time since Suguru's arrival.

“Sure they can… we’ve been best friends before we started dating. We’ll be fine,” Suguru defends.

There’s an awkward silence in the air. Luna again comes to the rescue, “Guys, let’s start the movie? Or we won’t be able to sleep till late.”

“It’s Sunday tomorrow anyway,” Satoru groans.

“No, let’s begin. I’ll get the popcorn,” you answer as you make your way to the kitchen for the umpteenth time. This time you manage to get out without another breakdown-inducing incident.

When you come out with the popcorn, Suguru’s already leaving, excusing himself as he was too tired to stay for the movie. You lead him out the door and exchange no more than polite ‘good night’s. 

As Luna presses play on the TV remote and Maki turns off the lights in the room, you successfully manage to sit next to Choso on the sofa with Satoru on his other side.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” Choso turns his head to look at you. With uncertainty in your eyes, you smile at him. In the dim light emitted through the TV screen, you see him smile back at you, but for the first time, you can’t tell if it’s sincere. You slowly rest your head on his shoulder – if this was the night you’d lose the guy you really liked cause you were too chicken to do anything about it then you might as well savour every minute of it. Choso relaxes his shoulders, allowing you to rest more comfortably. 

You don’t remember when you fell asleep during the movie but you wake up when you feel movement around you. 

You get up off the sofa, squinting your eyes at the lights being too bright, “Where’s everyone?”

“They left a few minutes ago,” Luna says as she finishes cleaning up the cans and boxes.

“Did Choso say anything?” you ask. 

Luna shakes her head, “Nope.”

You touch your forehead, feeling as if your head will burst anytime. Luna calls out your name and you look at her. 

“Go to sleep. Don’t think too much,” she smiles at you. You nod and make your way to your room. Overthinking could wait till the morning.

~to be continued~

[indigosabyss]

Tentative Champions Roster For Champions x Umbrella Academy S3

Reality changed with a fizzle, and seven pairs of feet digging into ground they were never meant to touch.

"Well, that... wasn't how I was expecting this to go," Kamala noted, hands resting on her hips as she looked at a giant billboard ad of some superhero group.

"Oh, god, are we trapped here forever?" Qureshi asked nervously.

"Data from previous incidents say we shall be back home in a week, maximum," Viv consoled.

"Standard protocol: we link up with the local team here," Kamala said, looking around, "But which of us were caught in the jump?"

~~~

Kamala Khan aka "Ms Marvel"

They watched the fans gathered at the base of the building, clamoring to grab the towel thrown from the roof.

Kamala wrinkled her nose, "Ew."

"I know," Amka rested a hand on her shoulder.

"I wanna bite something, those costumes are so disgusting. How dare they be the only superheroes and do this."

"Shhh, it'll be alright. Don't fight this guy, you know we need them on our side," Amka said carefully, tugging Viv over to grip Kamala's other arm, in case she tried to lunge at him.

~~~~~

2. Vivian Vision aka "Viv"

They were in a standoff in the mansion, the Champs and two other teams that seemed to have a lot more history with each other.

Finally, the silence was broken by a man with a beard, looking desperately at a corridor, "Mom?"

"'Mom'? She's a robot, you pervert," a woman from the Sparrow Academy said.

"Something wrong with that?" Viv asked, irked.

~~~~~

3. Amka Aliyak aka "Snowguard"

Fei called her crows back to absorb them into her back.

One of them, however, didn't meld into her.

Instead, it transformed into a girl in white and blue clothes.

"Surprise!" she grinned, and then turned into a bear.

~~~~~

4. Nadia van Dyne aka "The Wasp"

The crows drove Allison and Klaus into a closet, and were now chipping away on the outside.

"Hey, you wanna get out of here?" a cheery voice asked from behind Allison while she braced the door.

Both of the Umbrellas yelped, before processing that it was one of the teenagers that had made this whole thing so much more confusing.

This one was the white girl with a bobcut and a poofy skirt.

"We're trying to leave," she pointed out, "But there's murder birds on the other side."

"Also, how'd you get in there?" Klaus asked.

"Snuck in through the gap in the bottom. Pinpoint, get us out of here!" she clapped. A disk of light opened under their feet.

~~~~~~

5. Qureshi Gupta aka "Pinpoint"

They fell through the disk, and landed in blinding sunlight. On a roof.

Allison looked around in surprise, seeing the mansion across the street from them.

"What the hell?" she turned to the girl, "Did you do that?"

"No, I shrink and grow," Bobcut Girl said, "Pinpoint teleports."

A boy standing to the side waved shyly.

"Wow, you're so tiny. Allison, were we this tiny when Dad made us...?" Klaus asked.

~~~~~

7. Fernanda Rodriguez aka "The Locust"

"Coming through!" the girl with the bulky red getup and blue scarf yelled, bringing one massive foot down on Alphonso.

He didn't move, though out of surprise this time than any tactical reason.

The superpowered kick landed, and both him and the girl suffered the full brunt of it, landing side by side on the ground, wheezing.

"You're strong," she said.

"So're you. Super strength?" he guessed, unsure why he was asking. Never fought another super before, after all.

"Nah, don't have powers," she replied, "That's just hydraulics."

Huh.

He thinks he broke a rib.

~~~~~

6. Tommy Shepherd aka "Speed"

They were all catching their breath at the park. Everyone except Tommy, who was nursing a different wound.

"I'm totally going to lose my job," he languished on an entire bench by himself, "And for what? An adventure with the Baby Avengers?"

Viv hummed, "I thought you would be more excited for a mission with me."

He perked up immensely, "Oh, fuck yeah! It's gonna be a brother sister bonding mission! We're gonna make Billy so jealous."

"He's Emperor Consort of two different alien empires. There's nothing you can do to make him jealous," Nadia told him.

Luther looked between them all, "Why're you guys still here?"

[dr-docktor]

Local Docktor wakes up at 4:30 am, feverishly writes about his own OCs like he’s a young Victorian man dying from mysterious illness and he needs to write his will.

Ugh this group makes me so insane. I love when the team of misfits and outcasts and found family falls apart <3 I miss them every day

warning for a high school school exploding? Nobody dies but one of ‘em gets hurt pretty bad

Revon has always been an odd kid.

Deadly silent, even in his movements, the only thing that ever alerted people to his presence was the click of his cane against the stone tiles.

Yet here he lay on the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs. Almost louder than the ringing in his ears. Almost.

He was going to kill Chuzu personally. Doesn’t matter if his cane snapped in two in the ensuing events of the explosion. He was going to claw tooth and nail to watch the life drain out of those wide blue eyes.

Speaking of which… there’s the bastard! Standing just a few feet away, facing the massive fire that raged through the halls. The guy gently sways back and forth on his feet almost as if he were in a daze. He pays no mind to his friend’s screams, the motherfucker.

Gathering the courage to let his hands unclamp from around his ears, Revon could only stare in horror as the palms come away stained with blood.

He wonders if he stopped screaming. he can’t exactly hear it, but his mouth definitely feels closed. Whatever. That’s the least of his worries. He first needs to deal with the bastard who started this.

There’s some sick satisfaction to being right. Chuzu had been acting off for months and yet nobody listened to his concerns. Half a years worth investigation work incinerated in seconds. Revon no longer cares about the motive like he normally would. He no longer cares about the how or even about who could be the true mastermind pulling the strings. Instead his vision tunnels and all he can see is the betrayal of what he thought was one of his only friends.

“ABONHANDS!” He screeches, hauling himself to his feet using the wall for support. At least he thinks he yells. He still can’t really tell.

“CHUZU ABONHANDS, YOU COWARD! COME AND FACE ME!” No answer. The guy doesn’t even turn around.

Pure rage burns brightly in Revon’s chest, threatening to consume him entirely. He’s never been impulsive. But hey, his parents did always say Chuzu was a bad influence.

Revon weakly pushes his long hair out of his face, preparing to lunge at the man who ruined everything. The man who fueled his paranoia for months on end. The man who took their friendship, something so rare and so sacred for Revon, and quite literally blew it all up.

He shifts forward, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain flaring up in his hip. ‘This is for Salem, you dirty-‘

His thoughts are cut short by a hand grabbing the back of his shirt, yanking him back with a surprising amount of force.

Kiki.

God, Revon wishes he knew what she was saying. Knowing her, it would be something inappropriately funny. But her face is deadly serious, eyebrows knitted in worry as she realizes he can’t understand her. She pulls his arm across her shoulder, insisting he leans on her for support.

Reluctantly, he does. The seething rage in his chest finally starts to fizzle out, leaving room for exhaustion. There’s very few things more humiliating than being dragged around like a useless little rag doll by your friend. But for once in his goddamned life, Revon is willing to put his pride aside. After all, there’s much more pressing matters.

It’s not until Revon’s knees hit soft grass does the crushing weight of everything start to press down on his shoulders.

One tear. Then another. And then a third.

Sobbing and wheezing violently, he can’t help but wonder if this makes him weak.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Burned Out

hiya! guess who’s craving more angst?? me!! So, since bruised ego, creative block, and shackled creativity has already been done plenty times, what if Roman had literal burnout. like maybe he’s got a high fever or he feels like he’s literally being burnt and he doesn’t realize it. Maybe another side smells the smoke and follow it to Roman who is just working away and he looks exhausted and sick and stuff. And then the sides take care of him and give him comfort. - lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie

 Read on Ao3

Warnings: burn out, emotional and physical

Pairings: DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 3382

The first time Roman noticed it, he thought it was a new power.

 The first time Roman noticed it, he thought it was a new power.

In his defense, he was still young! Creativity still reigned supreme in the Imagination, how was he supposed to know what it meant? The Imagination was wild and free and he was the only one who could tame it! He and his brother would craft wondrous things the other Sides couldn't hope to imagine, and they did it every day, all day, until Thomas had to go to sleep and they could slip into his dreams and play all night long.

So when he saw a spark curling up from the tips of his fingers, he thought he'd created something new.

It was so cool to have fires burning in his fingers, wasn't it? Fire at this point was still dangerous and scary and all the adults told you never to go near it because it was so scary. So if Roman could have fires burning in his fingers that made smoke and sparks, that was cool.

"Maybe you're gonna be like a dragon," Remus had suggested, his tentacles flopping around. It was at this point that the—well, the Sides that would become the Dark Sides had started to show their more animalistic features. Janus's scales had begun to show, his extra arms making him a menace when it came to movie nights. Virgil's voice was doing this weird thing now that made his ghost stories extra scary. And Remus, well, Remus smacks Roman's arm. "That's cool! I'm a Kraken, you're a dragon!"

"I thought Logan said you were an octopus."

"A Kraken is just a really big octopus."

"No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is!"

Roman reaches out to push Remus over but another set of sparks comes from his fingers and Remus shrieks. "Ow!"

"Oh, god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't—I forgot—are you okay?"

"Yeah, 'm fine." Remus gives himself a good shake and grins maniacally. "See?"

Roman lets out a breath of relief and looks at his fingers again. The sparks are still curling from them, drifting down on the grass. Everywhere they land, the grass fizzles and snaps and turns black.

"Maybe I shouldn't be here right now. I don't wanna burn everything."

"But you don't wanna burn the Mindscape either."

Roman sighs. That is true. "Maybe—maybe we can just—sit? So I don't burn anything?"

"Fine by me. You can tell me what ending you came up with for the story if you want."

He goes to do that but instead yelps at the sudden pain in his fingers. "Uh, maybe not."

"Do you wanna go…tell someone about this?"

"What? No, no, it's fine. Besides," he declares, puffing his chest up, "I'm gonna be a proper dragon when they all see me!"

"Bet I'll finish transforming first."

"Bet you won't!"

"Bet I will!"

 2.

The first time Roman figures out what it is, he almost destroys every single project he's been working on for the last month.

It hadn't been the…easiest of months, that's for sure, but it wasn't like it was the worst one he'd ever had. Sure, he had a lot of projects to do for Thomas but that was his job, he couldn't complain about being able to do his job. It was hard enough convincing everyone that it was worth taking the time to do these projects, he couldn't exactly start complaining about them now. And sure, it wasn't like it was gonna be a one-and-done thing, he had to submit them for everyone to talk about before he could officially pronounce them done, but still.

He's fine.

This is fine.

He's just come from a meeting where Logan was…not too enthusiastic about the amount of time he'd been spending holed up in his room working on things. Well, 'working' on things as Logan put it, was a core element of his, ahem, 'evaluation' of Roman wherein he described exactly how unproductive Roman's time-spent-to-product-shown ratio is.

Two weeks for just one chapter, Roman? In the past, you have managed to complete multiple chapters in the same day. Why have you decided to decrease productivity?

"It's not like I can just push a button and this stuff comes out," Roman grumbles as he goes back to sorting through his desk, "I'm not a machine. Do you know how much braining it takes to make the words go? No, all you care about is whether you can tick the little box that says 'Roman's Dumb Project' off your to-do list."

The other part of it, one that Roman argued for during the meeting, is that he's better now. When he was younger—when Thomas was younger, it was just a matter of getting things down on a page. He wasn't worried about language or narrative or characters, didn't have to hold himself to higher standards because he hadn't made those yet. He's worked to get better at what he does and so now it takes more time.

The problem is that Logan's type of work is the kind that becomes easier when you're better at it, so Logan argued that because he was better, it should be taking less time.

"We're not the same," Roman mutters to himself as he had said downstairs, "you can't hold me to the same degree you hold yourself."

I can, Logan had said as everyone else looked away in silent agreement, and I should. If you don't increase productivity, perhaps we need to reevaluate how we approach projects like this in the future.

"I'll reevaluate your face, how about that?"

He goes to pick up the sheaf of paper that represents all the work he's put into the past month with Logan's comments on it and his fingers twitch.

A single spark touches the paper.

"What? No, no, no!"

It races along the edge, curling into a blackened, ruined husk in a matter of moments. Roman rushes to put it out, get that piece of paper away from the rest, but more sparks keep catching and soon the flames begin to lick at the entire stack. In a blind panic, he flails for his water bottle and empties the contents over the burning pages. The fire dies with a wet sizzle.

Panting, he looks down at his hands. His fingertips are smudged with ash.

And the entire project with Logan's careful annotations sits in a wet, soggy mush.

"Thank god," he mutters to himself, "I took notes."

He waits a few more minutes to ensure he's not about to set fire to anything else and carefully disposes of the now-ruined stack of paper. It slides into the trash with a desolate squishing sound. He decides it's probably a good idea to wait before touching his notebook too.

 3.

The first time he sets fire to a canvas, he knows this isn't a superpower.

Granted, he hasn't really thought that since the Split. The only Sides that had animal-like features and such were the Dark Sides and Roman was Not a Dark Side. He was a Light Side and that meant that he shouldn't tell anyone else about it. But still, privately, just for himself (and maybe a few times in a corner of the Imagination no one but Remus knows about) he pretends that he can summon flame as a superpower.

Not in a 'back now, ye villain!' way or a 'let's see you defeat me when I can do this!' way, but in a quieter way. Maybe that's why he doesn't tell anyone about it, because it doesn't fit with his big arrogant Princely persona.

He pretends he's an old man in a quiet little cave, far away from his kingdom. His cave is filled with soft moss and warm rocks and in the center is a little firepit. When weary travelers come from far and wide, looking for a place to spend the nights, he takes them in and lights his fire, offering simple meals that taste more filling than anything you could ever dream of, and stories to help you fall asleep.

It's a selfish dream, but it's his favorite.

It's been a long week. He's had projects piling up on top of each other and everything seems to need an emergency last draft because apparently people don't understand that when he says I'm finished, that's not an invitation for them to come in and say oh, can you fix this, this, and this? 'Finished' means 'no more edits.' It means 'you've missed your window to tell me there are things you want changed.' It means 'you're the asshole who set this fucking deadline so you don't get to give me more work and then complain that I'm missing deadlines.'

He's a bit upset over it.

The point is he's been working overtime recently trying to get his work in and done and out of the way so he can focus on other things. Namely, all of the other goddamn projects they keep giving him. And finally, finally, he's at the end of the week and everything is done and now, now it's the weekend. Which means it's time for him to do the things he wants to do.

Remus has claimed the Imagination for the day—they each have to go through every month or so and do a spring cleaning of sorts—and so he's in his room, toying with all the things he could work on. He could keep working on that short story he's been putzing around for a while, he could do that crafting thing he's been meaning to do forever…

He looks down at his fingers. They've gone black again. They've started to do that more often now. He absentmindedly rubs them together and they smear across his hand with a slight sting of tender flesh. It reminds him of the ashes in his little firepit and he smiles.

That's what he can do. He can paint his little safe haven.

He summons a large blank canvas and paints, carefully mixing up the colors he wants to use and reaching for a brush. The moment his fingers touch it, he yelps in pain.

The metal rim around the base of the bristles cracks and warps from the heat of the fire. He frowns, trying again, only for the wood to start to smolder and he quickly drops it.

"Alright," he mutters, "maybe different brushes?"

The plastic ones just start to melt and smell horrible. The better wood ones just get way too hot to hold and he has to let them go with stinging palms. Even the littlest ones that he can pinch between two fingers aren't working.

He tries switching mediums. The colored pencils just snap. The markers start to smell so toxic he has to stop for a good ten minutes to fan the fumes away. The oil pastels melt all over his hands and it would be cool if it weren't so frustrating.

In a last-ditch attempt to just do something, he drags his fingers through the paint and grins victoriously when it stays on there. He reaches out to smear it across the canvas and—

He watches in horror as the flames eat through the canvas in a matter of seconds.

The empty wooden frame clatters hollowly to the floor.

 4.

The first time he gets a fever, he knows this is how he experiences burnout.

He's put it together by then. It's oddly poetic—at least it would be if it weren't so infuriating.

But when he wakes up one day with his head pounding and his entire body sweating and feverish, it goes from infuriating to downright torturous.

The fever is relentless, burning him alive one moment—not literally, thank all the gods that have ever been invented and a few that haven't yet—and freezing him the next. He sweats through all of his clothes in what feels like two seconds and half his blankets to boot, and then he's forced to curl back in up in the gross sticky sheets because he feels like he's going to freeze to death. His head has sledgehammers beating against it from all sides and he must start crying from it at one point because he's got tears on his cheeks and a stuffy nose on top of everything else.

He wants someone here. He wants someone to take care of him. He wants someone to kiss his forehead and tell him it's all gonna be okay so bad.

Immediately, his mind goes to the Imagination. Of all the selfish things he indulges in there, the people he's conjured just to take care of them are right near the top of the list.

He thinks of the castle steward, the slightly too-flirty young man with curly hair and a wicked smirk who softens at the first sign of genuine discomfort. He wants him to come and find him like this with some off-hand pickup line about getting even hotter before he calls for a bath to help get his fever down.

He whines as the fever suddenly flares hot again and he shoves the blankets down around his knees.

He thinks of the sweet no-nonsense woman who makes chainmail in the town square and how he just wants her to come say oh, it's alright, love, you'll be alright. He wants her to come make sure he's got enough fluids in him and sit with him, stroking his brow and keeping him focused on resting, not how awful he feels.

The pounding in his head gets worse.

He thinks of the kindly old knight who is one of the few people that actually remembers and how he looks at Roman like he's so proud of him. He wants him to come and just be here, maybe if he's feeling particularly pathetic, he'll cup his face with one gloved hand, kiss his sweaty temple and murmur this too shall pass, my dear boy.

He doesn't realize the ash has spread to his arms until he tries to wipe his face and sees the burning sparks.

It's cruel, he decides in one of his last lucid moments before he succumbs to the fever, that the very things that bring him comfort in his worst moments are the same ones he is to be punished for by the flames.

 5.

The first time the ashes spread to his face, he thinks he might die.

It's not been good. He feels chained to his desk, fingers bound to the keys of the keyboard churning out word after word after word. He's not even sure of their quality anymore, only sure that the number in the corner keeps getting higher and they won't be happy unless it reaches four digits. The work isn't even fun anymore. It's just a chore. The ideas that once ran around his brain with boundless energy have vanished.

Burned to a crisp.

He's stopped wearing his prince costume. The ash just gets on the white immediately and it's so hard to clean. He wears ratty old T-shirts now because no one will notice if they're a little more threadbare than they were when he started. The ash trails all over his pants, his desk, his computer, up his arms and across his torso.

He thinks hysterically that he can see his fingers getting shorter with the amount of ash he keeps losing.

The fever never really goes away. He keeps a hot water bottle and a bowl full of ice next to him as he works, either to put on his lap when his fingers tremble from the cold or to stick in his mouth when he can't breathe from the heat. His typing will grow clumsy and he has to force himself to go back and fix his typos, lest he forget and accidentally submit them to the others.

It hurts. There's nothing poetic or glamorous about it. It just really fucking hurts.

When he drags himself to the bathroom too many times for how few words he's written, he stops.

There, in the mirror. His face…

He's run out of words to describe it. He just looks at his face covered in ashes and cries.

That hurts too.

 +1.

The first time the others come to take care of him, he thinks he's dreaming.

He thinks he's dreaming when he hears Patton quietly go oh, sweetheart, and gentle hands reach for him and adjust the covers around his head. They tuck back the blankets just enough so he can breathe easier and the softest kiss presses to the tip of his nose. It's okay, sweetheart, we're here now.

He thinks he's dreaming when he feels Virgil's arms hook under his and lift him up so he can carry him to the bathroom. Easy, Princey, it's okay. We're gonna get you in the bath, okay? You're a mess right now. The strong chest next to his cheek feels soft and he can't help trying to nuzzle into it. Shh, it's okay, bud, I gotcha.

He thinks he's dreaming when he hears Logan's voice instructing quietly how to make him better. The water will feel cold to you but it isn't. You've got to let it do its work and help break that fever, alright? Strong and sure hands wipe the tears from his cheeks and he just keeps crying. Hush now, little one, it's alright. We're right here.

He thinks he's dreaming when he feels a soft washcloth brushing against his face, his neck, down his arms and legs. The smell of Janus's favorite body wash fills his nose as an almost hypnotic whisper fills his ears. Shh, shh, my prince, don't you fret. We'll take care of you.

He thinks he's dreaming when it apparently comes time to get him out of the bath and Remus is there, tentacles and all, drying him off with a soft fluffy towel and getting him into a clean shirt and boxers. You're such a mess, Roro. I love you so much.

He thinks he's dreaming, but then he remembers that it hurts to dream right now.

He thinks—he thinks—

"…Re?"

"Roro? Ro-bro, can you hear me?"

"'S that you?"

"Yeah, Roro, it's me. I'm right here. Oh, fuck, I'm right here, you're doing so good, okay? It's gonna be okay, we're right here."

"Easy, Remus, you're gonna freak him out more. Calm down, bud."

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down, Roman's—"

"Still not out of the woods, so shush."

He blinks, trying to figure out what's going on. Someone with glasses leans over him.

"Roman? Can you hear me, little one?"

"L'gan?"

"Yes, that's me." He can't be imagining the relief in Logan's voice. "Your fever's broken but we need to get you to drink something. Have you been able to keep things down?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Janus—"

"Right here." A cool hand supports his head and another guides something to his lips. "Your favorite flavor, sweetie, we need to get your electrolytes back up."

He drinks. A hand strokes his throat to help him swallow. By the time it's pulled away from him, he feels a little bit more human.

"Good," Janus whispers, his hands still cradling Roman's body, "good job, sweetie."

"Kiddo? Can you look at me?"

It takes a moment, but Roman manages to open his eyes, turning his head to try and find Patton. Patton smiles when he does it, reaching out to stroke his cheek.

"You're gonna be okay," he says in that firm voice that brokers no argument, "you will. I know it might not seem like it right now, but you're gonna be okay."

"…yeah?"

"Yeah, sweetheart," he promises, "you're gonna be okay."

For the first time, in perhaps a very, very long time, a different spark flares to life inside Roman's chest.

Hope.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @ultrageekygirl  

[leoandraphssoulmate]

Dead End

A FLUX Alternate AU Short (Or is it?)

The hard edge of the bricks, that lined the outer edge of the roof, cut into the fur on the backs of my thighs as I stared down at the busy New York street below. It had been more than six months and I hadn’t heard a word from him.

Not one single breath.

And I'd give ANYTHING to hear Leo and Raph fight! Crazy as that may seem.

I'd give anything to hear them scream. To hear them cuss one another out.

At least they'd be here.

My mind seems to be chasing more than a few ghosts these days. Because just a moment ago I could have sworn I heard him and his brothers shouting somewhere behind me. 

I laid my ears back, closing my eyes as a tear escaped, rolling down to disappear in the fur on my cheek. Where did we go wrong? Where did I go wrong? This reality? It’s not the same without him. This world has lost its magic. 

I.

Have.

Lost.

My.

Magic.

I don’t know how to get home. Not without my powers. Not without Donnie. Not. Without. Them. 

I’m trapped. Stuck in my fox form. Forced to hide from this world as he and his brothers do.

But I’m on the other side of the glass.

I don’t know who to turn to.

I don’t know where to go for help. 

There’s no Shredder here.

No April.

No Casey.

I’ve looked.

It’s all different.

This reality is entirely void of anything related to them. Everything is much more bitter here. No one seems to be kind. 

A cold breeze blows through my hair making me shiver. I pull Leo’s jacket tight around me, pressing my lips together. I remembered when he put it around my shoulders, his warmth making me smile. OH god! I miss him so much! And Raph…. 

I stretch out my legs, looking down at my fur clad feet. Winter was fast approaching. I had yet to secure a proper hideout and I worried that I might not be able to in time.

Sure, I was hiding out in the sewers where….

Ugh! 

Exactly where their lair was supposed to be! But it was completely bare when I got there! Utterly void of their existence! 

“I don’t know what to do.” I whispered to myself. Cause who else would I be talking to? 

“How about ya stand up and give me a hug for starters?” 

My stomach tightened, my eyes widening.  No way. I slowly turned my head, my eyes landing on the mountain of muscle that was literally one of my soulmates. His arms were outstretched, his green eyes sparkling.

“Did ya really think that we’d stop lookin for ya?” He smirked. 

“Raph?” I said, disbelief fizzling away as I stood. “I can’t believe it!” I shouted, bolting for him. The second I made contact with him, every fiber of my being came to life, sparking up my power deep inside me. 

Faintly, in the distance I heard Donnie shouting that Raph had found me. I immediately recognized the tone of the voice that followed.

Leo.

In all the fabric of space and time, I'd never forget that voice.

I peeked up over Raph’s shoulder as he lifted me up in his arms, holding me tight against him.

There he was. His blue eyes locked on mine. “Leo.” I whispered. 

After a few quick pecks on the lips, Raph set me back down, chuckling, and I sprinted around him, practically leaping into Leo’s arms as he kneeled down, arms wide. “I thought I’d lost all of you!” I cried, nuzzling my nose into his neck. 

“Never.” He slowly stood, pulling me up with him, then picking me up bridal style. “You’ll never lose us.” He smirked. “I’d slice through every universe. Implode a million suns. Before I ever stopped looking for you.” 

My heart raced as I turned my head to see Mikey and Donnie standing near what appeared to be some sort of capsule. Before I could ask what it was, Donnie cleared his throat, then smiled. “Heya, Star. We had a hell of a time finding you, but I was finally able to use the bond you have with Raph and Leo to find you.” 

I looked back at Raph, holding my hand out to him. He smirked, then gently took my hand. “And now I’m just ready to go home.” I laid my head on Leo’s shoulder, a sigh escaping my lips as my power returned to full strength. “The usual way.”

“Hell yeah! Cause that capsule is wayyy too small!” Mikey laughed as I raised my hands, creating a portal directly behind him. 

Author's Note:

I always have alternate versions of FLUX floating around in my head. This is just one of them. The love between Leo, Raph and Star gives me sheer joy. They would never stop trying to find her and she would always go to any length to find them. There's just no seperating them. EVER. I know it may seem cheesy and a over used trope, but thinking about them gives me a place to just quietly be.

@thelaundrybitch @wynndigogh

[howyouloveyourdragon]

wips

– Lady By The Sea – bran stark x mermaid!reader It's late at night that bran Stark sees something new in the depths of his minds but he can't comprehend it until his adolescence when he almost drowns at sea – Prince of Rouge – moulin rouge au, satine!aegon targaryen x reader The year is 1899 when you enter your new city's most hailed night club and meet the mysterious Aegon. After a night of passion and lingering glances, you come to find that he has already been promised to another and a choice paints your mind. Fizzle your desires or dance in secret hallways. – Of Lances and Thorns– male!hightower x rhaenyra targaryen Rhaenyra's world stopped spinning the day her father married her best friend but when her wallowing is interrupted by the chastised older Hightower, she finds that there may be some silver amidst her grey. – The Memories – aegon targaryen x reader Aegon hadn't touched his drinks in years but when he sees your face in his nightmares, he will do anything to forget that fateful night. – A Sunset Seal – male!martell x rhaenyra targaryen Rhaenyra had never liked the thought of being used like a pawn and especially not after she meets a mysterious Dornish man who also hates the chains that marriage embraces. When they both find themselves betrothed they plan to run away together...they don't know how close they are to their very own curse – The Set-Up – male!velaryon x alicent hightower Alicent is determined to find Rhaenyra a compelling match and Y/n is determined to gift his uncle a throne. When they mutually agree to convince the Velaryon's cousin to propose to the heir of Westeros, a young Queen and Lord find their intentions swaying in the worst way. They are falling in love. – Perfect – rhaenyra targaryen x fem!tully reader smut Rhaenyra has never been more bored than when on her tour for marital prospects...but then she met that sweet red haired girl with the most sweet doe eyes. What doesn't bore her are all the stirring images her mind curates at the sight of the innocent riña in her bed. – All's Fair In Love and Enchantments – rhaenyra targaryen x witch!reader x jacaerys velaryon, it's messy When Jacaerys is sent crashing from his Dragon into a dark forest and slowly feels himself drift from this realm...until he awakens to a charming woman ensuring his health. A witch. Inviting her home is easy but it turns when he discovers this witch is not unknown to his mother and neither is her heart.

– I Think He Did It – modern helaena targaryen x reader Helaena has been your friend for a long time. She tells you everything, what she ate that morning, whether her spider Dreamfyre snuck out again or how the children are but most importantly where she suspects her husband to be spending his nights because it is most certainly not in her bed. So it is no surprise who you are suspicious of when she suddenly goes missing. – The Flower and Her Sword – rhaegar targaryen x tyrell!reader 'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet' but this rose comes in danger when a certain prince suddenly grows affection for her. It is curious just how quickly a tale of beautiful maidens and entrancing tourneys can turn to one of nightmares. – Glue modern jacaerys velaryon & cregan stark x fem!reader Y/n has always been besotted with two men. She has never fallen so quickly for anyone quicker than she has for her boyfriends but they grow worried when she suddenly appears very distant...worry festers just as quickly. – My Breeze of Decay – eurydice!alicent hightower x orpheus!reader Falling in love comes easy to you, a love match unites you with a beauty of the Lands and once you are wed, you could not be more elated...until a horrible incident occurs and her fate is left with the gods. Can you travel the journey to her? – Crystals – dark!alys rivers x reader x dark!aemond targaryen smut You have been a travelling bard ever since you were young but after accidentally being left in Harrenhal, you are left at the mercy of a witch and her prince... – My One And Only, My Lifeline – band au, alicent x rhaenyra Rhaenyra has been in love with her best friend for as long as she can remember which is why she doesn't notice when the lines between platonic and romantic start to blur...maybe she isn't as infatuated with Cole as she thought she was afterall. It only takes one explosive gig to prove that. – The Study of Affection – cregan stark x reader Cregan Stark cannot say that he is used to romance which is why it is so nerve-wracking when he realises the princes expects him to court her rather than negotiate an arrangement. The lord finds himself in need of help and your nephew is more than eager to provide. – Lack of Lessons– jacaerys velaryon x reader (ft aegon targaryen) "Love comes later,, Your mother had told you - promised you - and yet you feel no love as the King's son rolls his eyes at your presence and begrudgingly takes your hand...Until a second prince catches your eye. You find yourself in lessons with his nephew as you both learn to navigate the new world you have been thrust into. – Some Seam of Regret – some thread of time part 2 – Some Ghost of Time – some thread of time prequel

[that-one-random-writer]

Caution to the Wayward Son Chapter 2

Rooster x f! Not pilot Reader- Enemies to lovers

Summary: One bad first date. That's all it takes for an impression to be rotten. A reputation costs more than just the price of dinner. Six months deployed on an aircraft carrier across the hall from the date the very next afternoon. That is priceless in the navy.

Warnings: Cursing, Drinking, 18+ eventually Words: 1,741 no use of Y/N,

Chapter 1 | Other stories from me

Bradley walked to the rec room when everyone was dismissed from formation. He would be on shift in the morning, so for now, he would find a place to relax.

The aircraft carriers were like small cities. They have a cafeteria called a galley, they have an area for relaxation called rec room, they set up basketball or volleyball courts in the hanger bay when no one is flying, there is a gym, a grocery store, they even have events like bingo night, talent shows, and many more to boost moral.

Keeping 17,000 people in high spirits while away at sea for months at a time is important to function in the carrier. How in the hell Bradley ended up across the hall from the girl that stood him up, then yelled at him before turning around and leaving when she finally did show up because he had a few drinks due to her being a no show? only God knows.

Bradley sat down. He noticed a group of people in the far left a few feet away. He heard a loud female voice. The voice took over the spotlight in the small group.

He opened a small book and began to read. He heard the voice talking about how she 'can't wait' to get back home to her curling iron, louis purse, and getting her hair out of a bun for more than twelve hours. Then it stopped. The voice started back up, and as he peaked up, it fizzled out again. He looked back down and continued to read. He heard the voice again and snapped his view up to meet your lips, attaching to the voice.

First absolute embarrassment from being stood up on a date, and now irritation. How could someone who was that gorgeous be such a bummer?

He was lost in thought while staring at his book. He could see how you could be shallow. You just looked like a girl who was not supposed to be in the navy.

You had that look about you. The one where you would be told on a regular basis that you could never be in the navy. You wouldn't last a day, and yet somehow you were here deployed and made it through basic training and all training since then.

You absolutely had a shallow look about you. You had that gorgeous hair that other girls would kill for... Bradley noticed he was looking at you and then shoved his eyes back to his book.

He continued trying to read until the voice was too much from him to handle.

He got up to leave, but unbeknownst to him, so did you. You beat him going through another exit and down the hall.

Bradley noticed you were in front of him, mazing slowly through the corridors. His pace slowed as he met up behind you.

He took steps slowly, silently growing irritated, and each step seemed slower than the last.

You had to have known he was behind you. There was a shadow casting showing someone behind you. You had to be doing this on purpose just to spite him. How cruel to embarrass him more.... his thoughts raced. "Could you walk any slower...?" He added your name to the end of his sentence.

You looked back, breaking you out of your thought to see Rooster. "Oh, you remember my name this time." You turned back, ignoring him, and even walked slower. He found you quite obnoxious and rude.

"Will you please move so I can pass?" He tried a different approach.

"And the pig has manners." You cringed at the memory of him saying, 'You want me to take it off.' , fresh on your mind from last night. Those were some tempting words coming out of his mouth, that voice was tantalizing, just thinking of being under his body was lot to handle, but random drunk man sex just didnt quite do it for you.

You stepped aside for him to pass. You looked at him while he passed. Your cheeks turned a hue of pink. Remembering you has just been on a date with this man. Embarrassment running cold through the pair, and now irritation from both sides.

He quickened his pace before turning around. "How about we just make a deal to stay the hell away from each other?"

You just simply stood there ignoring him. You didn't like dealing with conflict, so avoiding him was already on your priorities.

He shows up behind you. You didn't know he was there. Then he just makes a snide comment at you. There was no sense in wasting your breath.

He turned around and walked into his room. He picked his book back up and hopped on his bunk to read. He heard the sound of jet planes landing on top of the dorms, vibrating the entire room, and yet somehow, that was still easier to deal with than the uncomfortable, annoying situation he shared with you.

Rooster woke up at a decent time to get ready for work. He got his morning shower and dressed up, ready for the day. He walked out the door.

Luckily, your door wasn't open. He reported to the station he was supposed to be at. Then, he sat at his seat at the table.

The class piled in, and there were not only pilots. There were WSOs and NFOs. He turned around just in time that you were rolling in the class. You came in with not a second to spare.

The seats were assigned by order of last name and job title he ended the B's for pilots, and you started the B's for NFOs.

You walked up to the seat and sat your bag under the chair. 'You've got to be fucking kidding me' the pair thought in unison as you stood next to Bradley's seat and in front of yours.

Attention was called and everyone else stood up. "At ease..." Everyone sat down and waited for instruction.

The admiral spoke to the group. "All of you will be studying the new plane. It will be within the next year that it is released from testing and ready to be flown for training. To save on space we will be teaching it in one full class. There is some time before we make it to the mission point, and you all will be learning, training for the mission, or sleeping. The mission is our priority alpha. This new plane is our priority beta. You are all expected to know the manuals front to back with more time to spare before reaching the mission point. Do I make myself clear?"

Everyone internally groaned, not daring to make a fuss about it in front of the admiral. "Yes, sir"

He continued. "Your instructor will be Lieutenant Commander Sebastian Garrison. Call sign, Atlas. He has been working with the B-21 Raider for many years. It goes without saying he deserves your highest respect.

Lt. Commander Garrison walked up to the podium and made his speech about the plane. Everyone was issued a manual and given clear instructions on the first order of business.

They have to study the General Arrangement, a diagram with fifty different site word with numbers coinciding. The numbers point to where they are on the plane.

"I expect that I don't have to babysit you. Don't prove me wrong. I'll be back in an hour for the first twenty to be memorized for an oral quiz. Do not move ahead once you're complete."

You opened the book, turning the page. To the diagram. You looked through your bag and pulled out your highlighters. You started marking them and studying.

Bradley brought out his notebook and wrote down each word ten times, followed by the location. He cringed with the highlighter squeaks. Each squeak seems longer. They finally came to an end.

Bradley noticed her highlighters were spread across the table. He pushed one off the table that was in his area.

You didn't flinch. You just continued studying. You knew he had done it, but you were going to take the high road and do exactly what he asked before. Stay away from him at all cost, and ignore him. You flipped the page after completing the first task, just briefly looking at the next task so you can prep for tonight's study.

"You're not supposed to do that." Rooster whispers.

You rolled your eyes. "I'm not studying it. I'm trying to prep for studying tonight."

"You're breaking the rules." He whispered back.

"Rules are meant to be broken." You glanced over at him. "Deals are not, and you're breaking yours right now."

Rooster leaned back in his chair. "Well that's kind of null and void now. We can't exactly stay away from each other."

You had a condescending tone within the whisper. "You could try staying out of my business, and not having open commentary about what you think I'm doing wrong. That might suffice as ending my nightmare."

Rooster sat back up in his seat, gripping his hands on the table whispering with anger flowing out. "This is a nightmare for you? This is a nightmare for me. I'm the one that has to deal with you. A shallow woman that has no consideration for other people's time, nor anything else that has to do with others for that matter, especially when walking down hallways, and a woman that is incredible rude with disrespectful commentary herself."

You scoffed. "That's what you think of me?"

He nodded. "Uh, yeah. That's what I just said isn't it?"

Your mouth hung open at his inexcusable response. "Fine. Yes mine is a nightmare because I have to deal with a horrid man that is insufferably rude, and has to point out anything he thinks is wrong, and has an amazing body and is so vain about it, he feels it's appropriate to take off his shirt during a first date to try and impress women."

Bradley flustered. The complement was so back-handed all he could do was sizzle about it. You were huffing and trying to be quiet best you could.

"Well now I get it..." Rooster trailed.

"Get what...?" You spoke slowly through gritted teeth.

"you're an unbearable bitch." Rooster spoke calmy going back to writing.

"And you're an unbelievable asshole." You got up from your seat before going to the bathroom to cool off.

Chapter 3

A/N feel free to comment anything you'd like 🥰

Please don't repost my work to any website. Don't steal my work, you'll be a c u next Tuesday.

[sulfur-eyes]

Uh I’m new to this whole content warning thing so sorry if I get anything wrong.

CW: panic attacks, angst, trauma, night terrors, minor blood? uHH shoot I dunno.

To Steve- Eddie’s house was more comfy, more lived in, happier, alive. He was there more often, especially after they started dating.

Steve had gotten so accustomed to fewer nightmares since he’d started staying at Eddie’s place, sleeping together. Always curled up and taking turns with who would be the big spoon that night.

So it’s a shock to his system when he wakes up one night from a particularly bad nightmare. It felt more like a vision. Eddie lying there, dead in the upside-down and Steve knowing that he’d failed another person. Desperately grabbing his shirt, his skin, begging him to come back. He can feel it, it’s too real. It’s all too real.

He woke up with a gasp. clutching at his damp night shirt, choking on air. He blinked a few times then squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to catch his breath, but all he saw were static stars and that image of Eddie’s dead eyes staring back at him. Usually he was able to look over at Eddie and relax again- but tonight. Tonight was not one of those nights. Ever since starcourt he’d been having hallucinations. Brought on by the head trauma from the ‘fire’, so doctors said. Well Steve hadn’t told anyone, not that he was seeing things. He could deal with it. He COULD. He had to be the strong one. If he wasn’t the strong one then what was he…?

Weak.

Usually he could sit it out, blink rapidly until it fizzled out. But tonight the vision wouldn’t go away, Eddie still lying there- now in the bed. Sheets soaked with blood, those eyes boring a hole through his heart. Steve patted around the sheets, he could feel they were dry, he could feel Eddie’s eyes were closed, but that didn’t make anything he saw less horrible. He gave a strangled sound before he threw off the covers and ran to the bathroom to hide, locking it behind him. Just so Eddie didn’t follow him in. Didn’t see this pathetic crybaby version of him. Out of everyone he needed to be strong for he needed to be strong for Eddie. He’d only ever cried in the safety of his own room- away from anyone. Everyone. No one could see him like this.

He found the farthest corner of the small room. Pressing against the cool tile wall and sliding down to curl up into a tight ball as he felt tears welling in his eyes, strong and stinging, they burned as he sobbed into his arms. His heart thudded in his chest and ears, his vision tunneled until all he could hear was the rushing blood and pumping of his own heart. Getting air into his lungs was an impossible task, he thought his chest might explode.

Eddie woke up from the frantic patting on his face and groaned “Stevie, babe- it’s like 3 am what are you-“ he lightly batted his hand away, adjusting to the darkness just enough that he could see Steve’s figure run for the bathroom seemingly in a hurry. And then- then. Sobs. Muffled like he was trying to keep them quiet but god they sounded nothing short of wails. Well boy did that wake Eddie up fast. He sprinted to that door and knocked. “Steve- Steve! Hey- Stevie what’s wrong- Cmon- open the door.” He jiggled the handle and let out a curse as he realized it was locked. He heard a particularly sharp cry from Steve. Was it Vecna? Was he back? Or worse? What was worse!! “Sweetheart let me in- I can help! Steve-!” Eddie glanced down at the handle to the door, remembering that the keyhole was on his side.

Eddie had been a crazy kid, often snatching whatever sweets Wayne put out and running to eat his fill of sugar in the safe haven of the bathroom. He changed the lock so he could unlock it from the outside so Eddie didn’t constantly have sugar crashes. Only problem is that when Wayne realized that Eddie was doing much worse than stuffing cookies into his face in the bathroom he gave up in caring about his sugar intake and discarded the key somewhere. Another curse left his lips before pressing his forehead to the door, still only hearing desperate choked back cries.

“Steve? I’ll be right back- I’ll be right there just. Just hold on okay? Hold on!” He began to frantically pull open drawers, cabinets, boxes, anything he could find. After a good five scattered minute of searching he spotted it in a cup of random things they tossed in there. Giving a short ‘aha!’ before sprinting back to the bathroom, his hands trembled and fumbled as he tried to open the lock. Once he heard the click he quickly burst open the door, just short of breaking it down if the key didn’t work.

God what a heartbreaking sight, Steve seemed so small, vulnerable, dare Eddie say weak. It wasn’t Vecna- thankfully. But that didn’t make it much better. The former jock’s body was wracked with shudders, he was wheezing like he couldn’t breathe, and the strangled sobbing that emitted him scared Eddie to death. He looked up in a panic as Eddie entered, quickly shaking his head and shielding himself away once more- he wanted to say ‘no, don’t look at me like this.’ Or ‘get out’ but all he could mutter was “no, no, no, no.” And hold out a trembling hand as though to stop him while Eddie approached like he was a feral cat. Eddie was stubborn and he wouldn’t let Steve suffer alone.

“Steve… hey- Steve, I’m right here. I’m right here. Talk to me.” He knelt down next to him, Steve leaned away, turning his face to the side, tears continued to cascade down his cheeks. “No. Don’t— look away— go away” Steve choked out, hiccuping as he willed the tears to stop. Stop. STOP.

They didn’t.

“Whatever it is you can tell me. I can help. Let me help..” Eddie’s voice strained and desperate. Steve shook his head “no-hic- you can’t— I—“ his throat caught before he managed to force the words out. “I don’t wa-ant you to see me- hic- like this. Go away-” he tried to bat a hand in Eddie’s general direction but it was hard with his face buried in his arm and knees and the darkness of the corner.

“See you like what- Steve- what happened. What’s wrong…” he settled down next to Steve, his heart ached to help him. “I’m- not sup-supposed go cry— I’m supposed to b-buh-be s-strong- boys do-on’t cry!“ came his response, voice cracking. Eddie’s brows furrowed. “What? Says who? Who told you that?”

Steve didn’t respond, only able to cough and hiccup every so often. “Your dad?” Eddie supplied, and it was a moment before Steve gave a nod. He puffed out a breath of disdain, one more reason to hate Mr. Harrington. “well, I’m pretty sure your dad cried when he was born so he doesn’t get a say.” Steve gave the smallest wet laugh then a cough, kind of seemed like it hurt.

“It’s okay to cry Stevie, it’s good. Everyone should cry. You don’t have to be strong all the time- no one can be. ‘S just not possible.” Eddie reached towards him only to hesitate. “Can I hug you?” he asked, Steve took another long moment before giving a nod.

Eddie wrapped his arms tight around the other boy, squeezing him close in a vice grip. Because that’s the way Steve likes to be hugged, tight, he needed to know that he was there. That he wouldn’t let go. Steve turned into Eddie, face burying into his chest. He wasn’t choking on air anymore, but Eddie could feel a wet spot forming on the tank top where his face was. His body still shaking like a leaf. “Was it a nightmare?” He asked, Steve only gave a shrug. No words.

“Okay. You’re safe. I promise.” Steve clung to the fabric of his shirt like if he let go he’d fall off the edge of the world. It was awhile before his crying eventually reduced to sniffles as Eddie rocked them gently in the dark of the bathroom, petting through his hair just the way Steve liked. When he finally stopped shaking and his breathing was normal enough, Eddie helped him get up and led him back to the bedroom, back into the bed while Steve rubbed tear tracks from his face. Eddie grabbed a glass of water from the nightstand and had him drink until it was empty, rubbing a soothing hand over his back.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Steve shook his head.

“Alright, later. Another time.”

Steve’s eyes flicked from Eddie back to the glass before giving a nod. Later. Another time. That worked.

They both managed to fall asleep again, tangled up together tighter than before, swaddled in too many blankets. And Eddie wouldn’t ask until Steve was ready, but he’d be there ready to help when he was. Because he understood all too well.

Yippidie doo da The End. Frankly this was like a self indulgent thing, not everyone’s panic attacks are the same. I wrote my own experience with them but this doesn’t go for everyone. Don’t go touching people if they’re freaking out like this, always ask first!! Panic attacks also don’t always stop this quick but I have a word limit unlike real life so. :// ah well. Hope you enjoyed!!

[mt-musings]

The Last Silverboughs

Halsin struggles to put his past to rest, but it's haunting him in more ways than he realizes. He'd thought his time in the Underdark was long behind him, an unpleasant pitfall of youthful hubris, but remnants of his captivity remain, the youngest of which unwittingly stumbles to his rescue.

Lythra can't stop running from her past--hasn't, since she managed to make it out of the Underdark. She has no love for Menzoberranzan, or her House, or anything she left behind in the dark. Or nearly anything.

Still, she'd rather die than return--a prospect all the more likely with a tadpole jammed behind her eye. But perhaps, with the help of a renown druidic healer, she can go back to what remains of her half-life in the sun.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Read on AO3

Lythra hesitated on the threshold to the Shadowlands, unease roiling in her gut. 

She could feel the rot of the land, feel it singing in her bones, that ugly, fizzling power fighting to rise up. She curled her hands into fists, pressing the her nails into the meat of her palms. 

“Keep your lights high,” Halsin said, a fierce determination taking over his features. “The Curse is vicious, it will take any opportunity to corrupt you.”

What if it already had?

She pushed down the voice and took a step, than another into the forced night. 

“Gods, it’s bloody cold,” Astarion whinged, though she could see him faintly shiver. He stuck close to Karlach, clinging to her warmth. 

“Do you know what direction we need to go?” Lythra asked Halsin, her grip on her torch tightening. 

“Yes—there should be a path this way.”

They followed closely, though Lythra felt herself falling behind, the others’ voices drowned out by the thumping of her heart in her ears. Could something so necrotic be alive, in a way? It felt that way, like creeping tendrils, like a presence, just out of sight. 

Put out the light. Put out the light. You have no need of such a silly thing.

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts as she caught up with the others, her hand shaking so badly it made her torch flicker. It had grown easy to ignore the darkness in her bones, to nearly forget about it, but here—here it sang and snarled and fought to be free of her, for her to lose herself as she had been meant to, surrender to it and be grateful—

“Afraid of the dark, darling? How adorable,” Astarion said, turning back to laugh at her. She saw Halsin turn in her direction, but then there were people all around them and crossbows leveled at their chests.

Harpers. 

“Stop! Who’s there?” The woman seemingly in charge called, brandishing a handle in their direction. 

“We’re travelers, we mean no harm,” Halsin said, with all the authority of an Archdruid. Still, the woman surveyed them with suspicion. 

“Come into the light, hands up,” she said, just as one of her fellows stepped too far back, too far away from the protection of the torches.

A shadowy figure rose from the dark and pulling him from his feet, dragging him out of sight. His screams cut off abruptly, though he returned, eyes glowing a sickly green, neck snapped.  

Chaos erupted as more shadow specters appeared, more cursed dead. They were surrounding them, dozens of Shadow Cursed just waiting to tear them apart. Her companions were fighting, she heard steel against flesh and shouted spells, cries of pain—

And yet she was frozen, paralyzed by their call. 

She was one of them, something like them—how easy it would be to slip into Night, to slip into Darkness. Why did she deny them still, in their cradle, their domain—

Astarion cried out, one of the shades ripping its claws through the meat of his thigh. His knee gave out and he dropped to the ground, cursing. Halsin moved to cover him, but the shadows seemed to flock to them, as if drawn by the blood. 

She lost hold of the tether she gripped tight on the evil within her as she saw the shadows tear into her companions, more and more pouring from the trees. She lashed out without thinking, forcing the shadows to freeze around her, to obey, to bend to her will as she tore them apart. Her mind went blank as she gave into her nature, gave into the Dark, gave into what she’d been created to be. 

A monster. A weapon. 

An abomination. 

Her body seethed with power, felt strong for the first time in years, the first time since she’d managed to tear herself free from the tunnels below. She forgot why she was supposed to be afraid of the Shadow Curse, forgot the hungry, malevolent darkness, forgot anything that wasn’t the honied whispers of Night, of her birthright, her due. 

She tore through them with unbridled ferocity, reveling in their destruction at her hand. Oh, she had forgotten what it felt like to wield power—truepower—to not be a sniveling, cowardly, pathetic thing anymore. These were pale imitations—shadows, in every sense of the word. She was magnificent, she was powerful—

She was hungry.

~~~

Astarion watched with wide eyes as something shifted in Lythra, the usually dangerous air about her turning positively deadly. Her appearance took on an almost skeletal quality as shadows seemed to flock to her, her fingers looking more like black claws, her eyes turning pitch black. Her movement became unnatural, disjointed and flickering, and far too fast. 

She seemed to rip the darkness from the air itself, to wield it as easily as he might wield a dagger. There was that reckless fury he’d seen in their fight against Nere, but this time—this time he found little amusement in it.

It very nearly frightened him.

This was Lythra—tiny, infuriating, Lythra, and yet he struggled to find a trace of her in the thing that now wore her skin. 

In a moment it was all over—the shadows rended, the Shadow Cursed ripped apart and once again lifeless. Lythra stood, frozen, the shadows swirling around her in an almost electric frenzy of raw power. The Harpers said something about an inn, some refuge they could seek, but he wasn’t listening, eyes still locked on her.

She turned towards him eyes still black and fathomless, not an ounce of recognition behind them. 

“Lythra! By Sylvanus,” the druid said, eyes wide and he grabbed hold of her shoulders. She flinched at his voice, or perhaps the sound of her name and blinked hard, black giving way to her familiar pale eyes, though he watched as ichor dripped from them like tears, and then her nose and ears, and then from her mouth, bubbling up like blood.

It was blood—or rather there was blood in it, smelling of night and something…fetid. Rotting.

Something very nearly dead.

She swore as her legs collapsed beneath her, the druid just barely catching her before she smashed her head on the ground. Her heart beat erratically, faintly. He watched as the druid sunk a healing spell into her—

She only spit up more blood and ichor.

“Is she—is she going to turn into one of those wretched things?” He asked, looking to Gale, to Shadowheart. 

“No,” Halsin spat back, hand already glowing with another spell. “We should go to the inn. It’ll be safer.”

He cradled her in his arms, staring at her face for a long moment before following Karlach through the darkness. 

~~~

Lythra awoke blearily and spat out a mouthful of foul iron. Blood, she knew, and the knowledge turned her stomach. It had been years since she’d awoken choking on her own blood, years since she’d allowed the shadows to overtake her, years since she’d last given into her nature. Even with Kel she’d managed to keep them on a leash, but here, in the dark—

“Just breathe, little one.”

She knew that voice—she forced her eyes to focus, her whole head swimming.

Halsin was above her, his brow furrowed. Halsin, her—was he her friend? No, she didn’t have friends. Things like her didn’t have friends. The others—they were crowded around, with various expressions of shock and anger. 

Would they try to kill her? Now would be their best opportunity, when she was weak and drained. 

“Have some water. There you are,” Halsin said, holding a waterskin to her lips. He was so warm and she—she was so cold. There was no heat left in her, but she hardly had the energy to shiver. 

She’d rarely used that much magic before, and it had been years since she’d had any tolerance to its cost. She sat up slowly, grimacing at the nausea that followed, but she scooted away from Halsin, shame curling in her gut. 

He should be furious with her—why wasn’t he?

“You, you’re—that was magic. Powerful magic,” Gale said, almost accusingly, eyes wide. Lythra glanced down, wringing her hands which were once more pale and scarred and small.

“Seems you’ve been holding out on us, my dear,” Astarion said, voice silky as always, but with an edge. “What other talents have you been hiding?”

“You’ve been lying, more like,” Gale retorted, brows furrowed. “When I was showing you how to channel the Weave, when you couldn’t manage a spark—“

“It’s not the Weave!” she snapped back, hands curling into fists. “Not—not your Weave.”

“You’re a Shadow Adept,” Shadowheart said quietly, voice tinged with awe and a little bit of hurt. “You should have told me, considering we serve the same Mistress—“

“I don’t serve Shar!” she retorted, her voice a near shout as fury flared in her. “It’s not something I learned, or prayed for, it was something wretched that was done to me!”

She forced herself to her feet, setting off without any thought of the direction.

~~~

Halsin approached the lake, and the lone figure sitting with her legs pulled up to her chest on a flat outcropping of stone. She still looked pale as death, remnants of blood and ichor smeared on her face. She stiffened as she heard his approach, but didn’t turn.

He still couldn’t get the sight of her out of his head, black-eyed and furious as she tore away the shadows that surrounded he and Astarion. Not quite like the Shadow-Fallen, but something eerily similar. 

“Mind if I join you?”

She shrugged and turned back to the lake. She pretended not to see him settle on the moss next to her, dwarfing her even while sitting down. They sat in silence for a long time, long enough that he could see her grow fidgety and uncomfortable. 

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t lying,” she said finally, her voice shaking. “At least I didn’t mean to. I just—it’s dangerous. Only awful people use the Shadow Weave by choice. I don’t use it—I try not to. Not on the surface.”

“No one is condemning you for what you did, little one. I daresay you saved us back there, and the Harpers.”

“You should,” she said, voice sharp. “You saw what I did. What I used. You, of all people, should condemn me. It’s not natural—I’m not natural.”

Her lip wobbled and she dug her fingers into her forearm, hard. He pulled her into his arms without thinking, and she let out a choked sob. He expected her to push him away, but instead she clung, fingers knotting into the fabric of his shirt as she cried, silent but for her breath, her whole body shaking. 

“It’s alright. Just let it out,” he said, rubbing circles over her back. He should have brought a blanket—she was still freezing. 

Perhaps an effect of the Shadow Weave. 

He’d heard Shadow Sorcerers could be made, but he’d put very little stock into it. They were born, corrupted by a parent native to the Shadowfell. Only extreme cases of prolonged exposure might possibly cause such a manifestation, and only in one already touched with magic and very young. 

His mind wandered back to the scars that covered her body, the ones that looked nearly surgical, the one that looked like an autopsy scar. Someone had done this to her, inflicted it on her. His heart caught in his chest, and he hugged her tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“What did they do to you, little one?”

“I don’t know—she’d put things inside me. Things from the Shadowfell. Things that made me sick. It didn’t work for a long time, so there would be more and more and she’d drill it in my bones and even then—I wasn’t good at it. Not good enough. So she’d do more and more, until my body couldn’t take it. Then I’d have until I healed enough before she started again.”

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s worse here. It’s easy. There’s so much of it around. I couldn’t—I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to,” she broke off, overtaken by more near-silent sobs.

“I know,” he said, thumbing away her tears. He wondered—was it like the Shadow Curse? Might there be a cure for her?

He held her, waiting for her to cry herself out. He hoped it would provide some catharsis, even if there were no easy solutions to be had. 

[isca-rambles]

5x22 Oh god I'm anxious already before I even press play. I know what happens in this episode for the most part, but good lord I'm still nervous. How people can watch tv shows/films without spoilers beforehand is beyond me. It never takes away my enjoyment, it just makes me slightly less likely to have a full blown anxiety attack during. Ah, brains. So fun when they work like shit. Okay...here we go. Pressing play. Now. Now. Oh god don't hurt my babies. I do love the fake D&D talk though. It's so cute when shows try to pretend they know what the fuck they're talking about. Hexes don't affect saving throws, ahem, only ability checks. Unless they're using a different edition, I guess. Or homebrew. Oh god no my babies. Do not go down that dark alley at 4am in the fog don't do it please for the love of god. AND DON'T SPLIT THE PARTY. Jesus. WHY. Oh god why. To quote Lucy (and break my heart again), why are you doing this?! Celina, my baby. Aaron, my baby. God I hate this episode but I also love it because it's such a good episode and it has such a terrifying vibe. But good god. Tim and Lucy turning up together. The only respite I'm getting from this episode is them being next to each other. And yes, that jacket is so his. God the 'one of our own is in peril' episodes are always so good and always so bad for my anxiety. The angst is delicious but it hurts so much. Boyd there in the background behind Nolan. Bastard. But also why did they drop the ball so much on this big bad in S6? The strike, I guess. But they had such a good build-up and arc and it just fizzles out. Weird they don't have Lucy working on the riddle, honestly. She did so well on the last one. Is Celina still not getting a hug from anyone? Give this woman a Lucy hug, she is in need! Oh god. Grey. Don't or I'll cry. Oh god Lucy and Tim. She doesn't need to ask for a hug this time, he knows. He doesn't ask her what she needs, he knows. She folds so easily into him and there's no hesitation this time, there's no distance, no longing or lingering and then separation. They just fold into each other. Her hand on his heart, his hand on her head. Cradling each other. God the callbacks are killing me. And no doubt what's going through her mind is how they never even got a chance for this with Jackson. Never got to get him to hospital, the doctors never got to try and save him. Aaron had Celina. Jackson was alone. I'M NOT OKAY. I do wonder why they didn't go after Tim and Lucy in her apartment. Maybe because it wasn't remote enough compared to Nolan and Harper, who have houses. Maybe because they knew there'd be two cops there, two guns, whereas Harper and Nolan's partners might be less well prepared for defense. Maybe Nolan's call got to them in time? I know they get their own ambush at the end with Luke, which is equal parts terrifying and badass to see our power couple hold their own. And also I don't want more trauma for Lucy in her own home. But that is a fic idea, I guess. What if they'd gone after Lucy and Tim, instead of Nolan or Harper? God, poor Harper and James. Jesus that must be the worst feeling in the world. Oh my god this episode is still so tense and I know everything that happens. Or another fic idea, Tim and Lucy acting as bait in her home? And I know there's been a good few, but I need more hotel fics of everyone hiding out there or going there at the end of 5x22. I need more comfort fics after the ambush, or in the build-up before it. Fic prompt idea, what if they didn't abort before that door was opened and the trap triggered? Obviously no MCD, just think of the Chenford angst of being caught in a bomb or trapped in that building. Lucy's little glances with Tim. Wopez baby, my heart. Tim's smile. Give this man a baby, please. Just to hold. Damn right Lucy's not going on her own. I know you can handle yourself, Lucy, but no way you're going on your own during this crisis. Also guys stop flirting as you're entering this hell building. I mean don't stop.

Oh god this scene gives me heart troubles every time. It's such a good scene, aside from the fact they're not shooting at their legs. But otherwise it's such a brilliant scene. Our power couple just being so badass, protecting each other. Tim saying he'll hold them off, which is certain death, and Lucy instantly giving him a look of 'screw that'. And the way Tim doesn't fight back. He knows she's right and he knows she won't leave him. How in sync they are during this whole fight but especially at the start. Lucy and that shield! Tim practically dragging her up the stairs and then pushing her. He has to keep her safe. He knows she's capable but he cannot lose her. And god how small Lucy looks when that attacker has his hands around her throat. How terrified she looks. Because she can't die here and she can't leave Tim on his own to face them all. How desperate Tim is to get to her. How he just grabs her entirely and pushes her ahead of him, supporting her and guarding her. And he of course forgets all of his cop instincts and rules because he has to keep her safe. There was a gorgeous fic I read and again, I can't remember by who, but saying she was his hands and he was her eyes. Tim looks so terrified when that door opens, because he knows he can't do anything to protect them. He hasn't got any ammo and he can't reach a weapon because he has her. And Lucy holding that gun up in desperation, trying to protect them both.

And Tim still doens't let go of her. He guides her in and onto the stairs. He can't let go of her because holding onto her, even just her vest, is reassuring him that she's still alive. I just adore the power couple protecting each other so much. It's not saying she's weak, we know she's more than capable. But that doesn't mean he won't do everything in his power to keep her safe. You protect the people you love, regardless of how well they can protect themselves.

I know it was too fast paced but god I would've killed to see them just have a moment together on the stairway. Reassuring each other they'd okay. Touching faces, hands. Forehead touches. Head kisses. Anything. We still have that contact between them, but no way Tim is not holding onto her for more than a second. She's not leaving his sight and he's not leaving hers, so they're both going after Moran. The little look between Lucy and Tim. I need so much more comfort fic set after this episode.

God this really is such a brilliantly done episode. The music, the shots. It's all done so well. It's just a shame it didn't really lead anywhere much in S6.