#fifteen and nine... my absolute beloveds

[landscaping-your-mind]

Fifteen and Nine are the same kind of creature to me <3

[karmavongrim]

Death Comes Knocking fanfic idea

HP AU where MoD Harry adopts Tom Riddle. And also he’s married to Death.

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- You sure you want to spend this trip only in the company of your books?

This question is the same he’s heard many times before. And just like many times before, his answer doesn’t change.

- We’ve looked almost all the sights around, pater, and I quite find them to be more desirable company than these tourists, the boy says and lifts his head from his text towards his favourite adoptive fathers.

You can tell that they aren’t a what is considered a “normal” family. Thomas Peverell, formally Tom Riddle is a rather handsome nine year old with his pale aristocratic features and styled jet black hair, who was adopted by a strange but clearly powerful gay couple.

Lord Hades Peverell who prefers to go by his mundane sobriquet “Harry”, is of clear Indian heritage. A very pleasing to the eye middle aged man; his long luscious dark hair braided over his shoulder frames his soft, near feminine profile like a painting. Then there’s his partner, Lord Mortemus “Morty” Deathly. Somewhat lackadaisical man who seems to go by his own rules. Gaunt complexion, blood red hair loosely tied at the back and pitch black eyes that stare right in and through your soul.

Tom has hard time understanding how some like Mortemus managed to catch the attention of someone as beautiful as Harry. It can’t be purely magical prowess since Harry possesses power both magical and political in his own right, if not more so. Both of the men say it’s because of love, but he was never a believer of such nonsense. At least that’s what he believed before taken in by the Lords. How annoying.

- As you will, Harry sighs. He then takes a quick glance at their surroundings.

They are currently seated café table outside to enjoy the sunshine of Florence after sightseeing the more obscure and magical sights. Yet their family was missing a member.

- Where has Morty gone off to? It has been fifteen minutes now. Tom refrains from rolling his eyes; it would be uncouth from a noble.

- You worry too much dear pater, he can take care of himself, he comforts his more delicate parental figure.

But if we’re lucky, he’ll never return and then it’ll be just the two of us dear mother pater, he thinks.

Their peaceful time is ends when vixen come running down the street screaming. Tom isn’t as well versed in Italian as he’s with Latin and French, but he does discern “Run” and “Nundu”… Wait, nundu? Harry almost chokes on his coffee, having understood everything.

- Who in their right mind would ride a nundu through a populated city? Who’s the absolute idiot-, he moves to take another sip and regrets it immediately when he hears a very familiar voice shout.

- Hi Harry! Look what I wound!

Both Harry and Tom turn to stare at the chaos happening before them. Lord Mortemus Deathly, Harry’s darling husband, his dearly beloved was riding a Merlin damned nundu like some wannabe cowboy while laughing his arse off. While being chased by the local law enforcements.

Harry spits his coffee out, nearly hitting Tom as he did.

- THAT’S MY IDIOT, he screams and proceeds to run after his wayward partner. Not before shouting back at Tom.

- Tom sweetie, just stay where you are and I’ll take care of this.

The boy sits there and after some debating turns to the dumbfounded waitress who had come to check up on them.

- I have no relation to these people, he states.

[saviltriide]

Hope you don't mind a deluge! LOL

3, 11, 24, ,45, 68, 92 please! 💜💜

Don't mind at all- love to see it!

3. First DW episode you ever saw?

I think it had to be 'Rose' all the way back in the early 2010s. I cannot remember the exact year, but I'd say it was at least ten years ago.

11. Who is your Doctor?

I feel like this is such a generic answer but I have to say 10. When I first saw his seasons way back when, I was absolutely floored by them. I remember his episodes the best and still rewatch them all the time. His regeneration into 11 still makes me super emotional too.

24. Best TARDIS team?

Shout out to my besties Charley and C'rizz fr fr 😤😤 I love those two and Eight so much <3

45. Favorite series opening?

Id have to say it's a tie between series 1-4 (9/10) and 8's from the Big Finish audios. The visuals for the vortex in 9s and 10s seasons was so neat and looked very- I don't have the words for it but it has a good feeling to me. With Eights, there's a kind of darkness to the theme that really fits with who he is as a character. Starts off very whimsical, but then becomes darker and darker as the series continues and you start to see why his theme sounds so dark in the first place. Same kinda thing with Nines and Tens. The music itself feels very dark and... Scary almost. Makes sense since we're coming back from a hiatus that had a war The Doctor is JUST coming back from.

I do also wanna say as an honorable mention that Elevens and Fourteen/Fifteens looks Very Nice too. Love a vortex interpretation thats all cloudy.

68. Do you read the comics/novels or listen to Big Finish?

Comics, not really, though I've read a couple here n there. I have a few books as well (most are just rewritten episodes) but not a ton. Big Finish on the other hand-

I have logged almost two full days worth of audios from the 8th Doctor alone, and have listened to one from both Ten and Four... Big Finish my beloved <3

92. Issue you'd like to see addressed in DW?

I'll be honest, I can't think of one at the moment, and the ones I would say, they brought up pretty recently. I've talked to a friend about disabled companions and how they should do that more/at all. Also I genuinely didn't think we needed to bring up The Doctors gender (or lack thereof), but here we are, and if it gets people mad about it then good. Stay mad. In other words:

[solifloris]

── # to you who shines the brightest (i'll give you everything). masterlist. a kieran × mc!reader series.

summary: the fact that remained was this: some things were simply never meant to be. the universe's design was absolute; it was dangerous to go against it. but what if in this universe, things were different? what if in this universe, there's a glimmer of a chance? what if in this universe... fate no longer mattered? “to me, you’re already a sin i can’t refuse; sweeter than evil.” so to you who shines the brightest, i'll give you everything. [inspired by "volcano" by han jisung]

general tags: canon-divergent, canon-typical violence, 2nd pov (primarily), female reader, slow burn, forbidden love, friends-with-benefits, friends-with-benefits to lovers, light/darkness dynamic, pining, yearning, unrequired-requited love, mentions of sacrifice, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, communication issues, eventual smut. smut tags will be indicated for every chapter with smut. "kieran: volcano" — tag for chapter updates, wips, thoughts, etc. in relation to the series.

status: in-progress. update schedule tba. please reply below to be added to the taglist!

AO3 LINK / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

this series contains sexual content, and is only for those 18+. if you are a minor, please do not interact. I BLOCK MINORS AND BLOGS WITHOUT ANY AGE INDICATOR.

prelude.

poetry, general intro, angst, mention of scars (general). wc: ~200.

chapter one.

canon-typical violence. references to world underneath anecdote. no warnings otherwise. wc:

chapter two.

suggestive (sexual tension). no warnings otherwise. wc:

chapter three.

chapter four.

chapter five.

chapter six.

chapter seven.

chapter eight.

chapter nine.

chapter ten.

chapter eleven.

chapter twelve.

chapter thirteen.

chapter fourteen.

chapter fifteen.

interlude.

— TBA

taglist: @.darlingdummycassandra @.milkandstarlight @.thoupenguinman @.valyvinny @.rafayelsheart @.jellyroom2 @.chemiru @.ywnzn @.pepprrmint @.angel-jupiter @.cordidy @.raiyuxa @.xai-mery @.radiantbrilliance @.oharasmommymilkers00 @.pikachuzhc @.venussakura @.love-and-deepstrays @.cloverlilies @.midiplier @.kreishin @.deusfoundry @.m2ichaelis @.keioxo

notes: welcome to absolute insanity, brought to you by yours truly!!!!!!!!!!!!!! if you know me, you also know that i am abso-fucking-lutely obsessed with the twins, and if you’ve read “Don’t Let Me Love You”, you also know that (a) i’m kieran-biased, and (b) i have wanted so badly for so long to dive into the intricacies of his character and motivations. SO just a few things about my beloved baby of a fic that i’ll yap about, and for you to keep in mind as we go along!:

(1) ; some very specific parts will be in 3rd-person omniscient (such as this prelude), but MOST chapters will be in 2nd pov, alternating between yours and kieran's pov!

(2) ; though it goes without saying, this is canon-divergence, especially in the sense that mc doesn't end up with amy of the main LI's. others aside from sylus may or may not appear, but no romantic relationships with them will be implied 🥰 this is kieran and mc's story!!

(3) ; this fic IS based on canon lore and canon setting, especially concerning mc and the twins, and as much as possible will be accurate in that sense. however, considering as we know very little canon sylus lore and even less about the twins, lore and timeline and such will be very loose! so please take it with a grain of salt! (again, the tag “canon-divergence” is there for a reason, after all~)

(4) ; this ill absolutely include my take on the possible dynamics between kieran and mc, modeled after the theme of love and deepspace as a game and an overarching “myth”. therefore, you'll be seeing chapters such that may hint towards a bigger picture!

im really excited to write this out, and equally excited to share with fellow luke and kieran truthers <3 i hope you’ll be along for the ride!

© solifloris. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[expectiations]

No. Please keep the "The Doctor, specifically Eleven—especially Eleven—never told River 'I love you'" statements far, far away from me. 😔 (Side-eyeing THORS yet again.)

He told her those words over and over, with such glee. I will die on this hill.

At first, he’d say it hesitantly—a mumble, barely able to meet her gaze. But then… oh, then. He saw how her eyes would light up (Eleven: "I think you mean 'go sparky,' human 🙄😒😑") every single time he said those three simple words. So, of course, he got curious—scientific about it, even. Tried to be sneaky. Tried to gauge her reactions each time he slipped those words into different moments. Charts and graphs may or may not have been involved. Considering he keeps an entire diary just for the two of them, I’d say it’s not entirely out of the question.

By the time we get to Let’s Kill Hitler, he’s comfortable—finally comfortable enough—with telling her those three special words. He knows who she is. (She’s a Pond! My beloved Ponds! 🥹✨) He told her, his burgeoning River, that he loved her. No hesitation, no stammering. He knew. He knew how to reach through all the conditioning the Silence had instilled in her. He knew that love—their love—was the driving force between them.

Just as it was River’s unwavering love that saved Ten a lifetime ago, it was Eleven’s boundless love that saved River in return. His love gave her the strength to break free, to defy the Silence, and to choose her own path forward—on her terms.

Nine gave up the hard-fought intimacy they shared for the future they would one day have. (And yes, he read her diary—studied it—to understand her better!) Thirteen, feeling a bit rusty after all this time, tells River "I love you" with that sappy grin of hers, blushing redder than a tomato. Naturally, River teases her for it—because who else could roast and love the Doctor in equal measure quite like River Song?

We've seen how Twelve's guard immediately dropped upon seeing River, becoming all goofy and silly. He would still be wrapped in his usual gruffness, but when he'd finally say it, the weight of his words would leave no room for doubt. "River... I love you," he’d say quietly, almost as if it hurt to admit it. Yet, his eyes would soften, and the vulnerability in his voice would speak volumes. It wouldn’t be a frequent declaration, but when it came, it would carry the full depth of his devotion—a love that transcends lifetimes, expressed in the quiet moments they shared between adventures.

Fourteen would tear up every time he said it, his voice thick with gratitude for the second chance to tell her, again and again. And Fifteen? Oh, he’d say it with that trademark irreverence: “My consort, love of my lives, I love you.” Seemingly flippant, perhaps, but his eyes would betray the depth of his emotion—a profound, soul-deep love. Another lifetime with River Song. Another chance to choose her, always.

Eight would say it softly, with the gentlest sincerity, his voice trembling just slightly. “I love you, River,” he’d murmur, as if the words were too precious to speak aloud. His love would shine through in the way he looked at her, in every touch, in the poetry he might whisper when no one else was listening. With Eight, love feels like something tangible—intimate and all-consuming.

Seven would be cryptic, saying it almost in passing, perhaps while tinkering with one of his intricate schemes. “Did you hear me, River? I said I love you—keep up now, there’s a universe to save!” It might seem like nonsense to anyone else, but River would know better. His love would manifest in the way he always ensured her safety, playing the long game to keep her in his orbit.

Ever the gentleman, Six would declare his love with dramatic flair, a hand over his hearts. “River Song, you are a marvel, a revelation, the absolute love of my lives.” He’d back up his words with grand gestures—eloquent speeches, flowers from a distant galaxy, and endless acts of chivalry. His love would be bold, unashamed, and utterly heartfelt.

Five's love would be earnest and boyish, almost desperate in its intensity. “River, travel with me. Please. I don’t think I could bear the stars without you.” He’d write her heartfelt letters, leave her small tokens of his affection, and look at her like she hung the constellations herself. For Five, loving River would feel like falling—beautiful, dizzying, and completely overwhelming.

Four's love would be quirky and effusive, expressed through warm smiles and tight hugs. “My dear River, have I mentioned today how much I adore you?” He’d tell her in the middle of an adventure, while sharing jelly babies, or as they watched the sunrise on some distant world. For Four, love is simple and constant—always present, like the scarf around his neck.

Three would be gallant and composed, expressing his love in the most refined and gentlemanly manner. “My dear River, I trust you know how deeply I care for you. I always will.” His love would come through in his unwavering loyalty, his protective nature, and the way he’d prioritize her well-being, even while trying to maintain his trademark dignity. It might seem reserved at times, but his actions would speak volumes.

Two’s love would be playful and mischievous, often disguised behind clever banter. “Oh, River, I suppose it’s only fair to tell you—I do love you, you know. But don’t let it go to your head!” He’d twirl her around mid-adventure, a twinkle in his eye, his affection bubbling over in spontaneous acts of joy. His love would be vibrant and full of life, as unpredictable as he is.

With his gruff exterior, the First Doctor might struggle to articulate his feelings, but when he does, it’s with profound sincerity. “River… you are quite extraordinary. I suppose I might even say that I love you.” It would be a rare moment of vulnerability, his voice soft but steady. His love would be shown in the way he watches over her, in the grudging respect he holds for her brilliance, and in the quiet, unspoken bond they share.

Anyways, Eleven is known for being physically affectionate with her. He wrote poems for her. He broke the rules of time for her. He is always on time for her despite being the regeneration infamously known for being tardy. There is no universe—no timeline—where you could convince me he never told her those three special words. Because no matter what, they always chose each other. That’s what makes them work so beautifully: despite their flaws, their mistakes, their unhealthy coping mechanisms—they. choose. each. other.

Why else would even their enemies declare, “This woman is the known consort of the Doctor”? That “she is the perfect bait”? That “when this woman is in danger, the Doctor will always come”? Whatever my issues with The Husbands of River Song and its Eleven-bashing undertones, as always with Moffat, the truth is in the details. Flemming’s words hint at countless unseen moments where the Doctor—cough Eleven cough—becomes everything his enemies fear: the Oncoming Storm, the Beast of Trenzalore, the Madman in a Box, the Time Lord Victorious, the Destroyer of Worlds, the Bringer of Darkness, the Shadow of the Valeyard. In those moments, he unleashes his full fury on anyone who dares to harm the woman he loves.

I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: River Song is the exception. She is always the exception.

River: Three words. Say them and I'm yours.

The Doctor: Three words.

River:

[mchlgayser]

Hey babe. If you takin' requests, please write a long one for jude bellingham where the reader is comforting him after loosing a league or sum like that. Thanks. ❤️

𓂃⭑ᜊ: BAD DAY ft jude bellingham

𓂃⭑ᜊ an: HELLO! Icl but I don't know whether I'm capable on writing long but I'll try my best just for you (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑). I hope you enjoy babes xx

𓂃⭑ᜊ content warning: none

The start of the match was going smoothly, they were leading with 2-0, everyone is beyond happy, you, friends, families, the players. Everyone is on cloud nine, they are winning, it was nearing the end so they are 99% sure they'll win but why? Why is the opposite team catching up with one penalty kick and one corner kick, why are there suddenly catching up and put an absolute end to their euphoria? The match ended with BVB losing by one goal, the other team are catching up in the last fifteen minute with three goals.

You saw it. Jude's crumbling, he's sorrow. This a not what he's expecting, definitely not this. He was beyond prepared for the match so he was certain he could win. But no. He lost.

You watch him, sharing his grief, your eyes welling up with tears, your nose flaring as your chest heaves up and down aggressively. You are sad as it was, you can't imagine how he must be feeling right now, devastated perhaps.

You leave the stadium and marched to the locker room seeing the players coming out from the tunnel, you turn your head all around to find your beloved, he finally comes out, head down in shame.

You were practically running off to him and flew to his side, he was shocked but soon relaxed realizing that it was just you. 'Oh hey,' He huffs in pure disappointment 'Can't believe you came to watch just to saw how bad I fucked up' You attached yourself to him 'Aw come on, you guys did your best, you did your best. I am so proud of you Judy!' You said, palms to his cheeks and rubbing them over your thumbs. He leaned over your touch, and for a moment he forgot about the match 'We should go!' He said, hand in yours before he drags you inside the locker room so he can change.

After he was done, you both exited the place to his car 'I drive okay? You can rest if you want, you needed it anyway.' He was staring at you before he bops 'Alright, thanks.' He made his way to the passenger seat whilst you were in the driver's seat.

The drive home is quiet but not uncomfortably, it was a calming silence, both you nor he exchanged words but the presence is enough.

It was a fifteen minutes ride until you made to your apartment. Jude smile at you and left the car, haven't spoken since. You locked the car seeing him already treading inside. You get inside already hearing the shower running. You place your stuff to the table and walk to where he was.

Knocking on the door, you called out for him 'Jude can I come in?' The shower tap closed, he was silent but so were you. You are not trying to interrupt him but you wanted to help.

'Yes?' He was trying his best to stay calm but his voice betrayed him, it croaks at the end and you are sure he is crying, you twist the knob seeing him inside the tub. His head over your form 'Jude?' The silence in the room made it visible for you to hear his muffle sniffling.

You inched closer to him, crouching near the tub and hand over his shoulder, his body flinches at your cold sudden touch 'Look at me...' You assure, he was having a hard time and you aware.

Alas, he turn over, and you examined his stained-tear face, eyes red and almost protruding, 'Aw love!' You grab his face, one hand on his cheek and the other at the back of his neck caressing it soothingly 'Don't cry, don't feel bad. You gonna make me cry love,' You frown at him, wiping his tears that are welling up again, you take his half-wet frame to you, and head on your chest 'You know what, cry. Cry all you want, let it all out.' You reassured, he drape arms over your midsection, head burying on your stomach 'I was so ready! I wanted to win! I wanted to make you proud and I failed, terribly!' You pat his back multiple times in a comforting manner 'You still make me proud Jude, doesn't matter win or lose, I'm still proud because I know you put your bestest.'

You finally broke off the hug, eyes came into contact with his 'Now come, let's get you a bath!' You helped him put the shampoo and help him bathe though you know he probably didn't even need it. You get the small tower draping over his head and drying it clean 'There!' He looks up at you, hand over your forearm to bring you closer 'Kiss?' He voiced out, you let a small breathy chuckle and went to peck his lip 'I hope you feel better?' He hums getting up and getting a towel 'I'm gonna get your clothes ready right?' He nods watching you leave the bathroom.

You readied him a pair of black cotton shirts and short sweatpants, Jude came out asking for his clothes, you passed them to him and left the room to let him get ready. While he did that, you take the opportunity to prepare some stuff to ease his tension.

You got a facial mask along with the face roller and a few other stuff 'Babe what's the occasion?' He said wiping his eyes with his hand and a yawn following after 'Come, you can rest while I work on your face for you!' He had a confused face written all over him but still walk over you.

He laid down, you place a pillow over your lap and he laid n top of it. 'What are we doing love?' He questioned, eyes up to your face 'Just a facial, it'll help you relax!' You suggested, he hums adjusting his laying body position and closing his eyes, you first do some of the clay mask things, and spread it over his face, it was sandy and green too, you take two slices of cucumber and top it on his eyes 'The mask is making my face uncomfortable!' He admitted, electing a small giggle out of his mouth, you join him in 'You have to deal with it for the next fifteen minutes Judy!' You said it in a singsong technique which makes him snort 'Yeah, a nap doesn't sound so bad innit?' You peck his head massaging his scalp with your hands 'I know you still feel bad about the match, but I won't bother saying 'I understand how you feel' cus I don't. I am not as passionate as you about football but I do get that you've tried hard. You did your best, surpassing your limit with endless practice. I don't want you to feel so depressed about it, you got a long way in front of you. You can get sad when you think about it but I don't want those to cloud your mind all the time, alright?'

His hands that are crossed over his chest are now on both of your forearms, clutched onto it making you whine slightly 'It hurts!' He caressed it and smile through the mask 'Sorry love, just got... Nevermind. Come closer.' You did as he said gladly and smile 'Yes sir Bellingham?' His pearly whites show as he grins out you, he puckers his lip at you to kiss.

It was a while and the facial time finally comes to an end, Jude applied some moisturizer to his face just like you instructed while you watch through the mirror, just done charging your phone.

'It's cooling innit?' You turn around and jump on the bed, head on the pillow, head turning to look at him and smile lazily 'Are we sleeping now?' He bops, applying some more to his face with a satisfied sigh and you laugh 'You might as well pour the whole bottle to your face!' He scoff at your sarcastic remark but put the bottle on the nightstand table.

'Thanks, I guess?' He laid down facing you with one hand propping under his head 'What for?' You mirrored his actions to which he chortled at 'Today. You helped me a bunch, in a way you realize and in a way you don't, so I'm thanking you.' You cup one hand over his cheek, gently stroking it 'You don't have to thank me, it is my part to take care of you and be there for you on your bad days. I'm thankful to you for being the best boyfriend any person could ever ask for!' He scoots closer placing one hand over your hip 'Can I kiss you?' You melted, the way he's still asking for consent even after years of being together 'You know you can!' You joked, he chuckles inching his face closer to yours, capturing your lip for a lovely kiss, a kiss he poured every burden that is standing on his shoulders

A kiss that made him fall in love with you all over again.

[tearsof-scarlet]

One Way or Another (yandere!Dabi x f!Reader)

Pairing: Yandere!Dabi x f!Reader, Hawks x f!Reader

Synopsis: Being a doctor at the hero hospital is stressful enough. However, what happens when your beloved friend Hawks begins to take a liking to you? And what if he isn’t the only one who has his eye on you? An evil Dabi starts to fall for you immensely after one dark night. Nothing can hold him back from his urge to have you.

Part 1 / ?

Words: 3.5k

Warning: This story will eventually have mentions of stalking, violence, gore, language, and hard smut. Viewer’s discretion is advised.

________________________________________________________________

The sounds of birds tweeting filled your ears. Today your bed seemed just that more comfortable as the sunlight dripped though your curtains. The sound of the traffic in your city was at a minimum as you sighed into your pillow. Finally, a day off from work. This week had kicked your ass hard. Your job at the Hero hospital was a privilege and a burden. While you were one of a very small group who could treat and aid the top heroes, it was a very stressful job. The hours weren’t exactly nine to five and some nights you were heading home with your head low in complete exhaustion. However, you still loved your job. You had a great sense of pride knowing that you could give back to the heroes who protected you and everyone around you. 

But today is your day off.  You knew how to separate your job and your personal life.  You lay in bed thinking of what you planned to do with your free time.  Your kitchen could do with a cleaning, but the idea of sitting on the couch watching bad reality television sounded more appeasing to you. You smiled into your pillow, finally a day to relax and do absolutely nothing.

Then your phone buzzed.

You opened one eye to see your boss’ caller ID on your screen. You grabbed the phone from your nightstand and reluctantly answered. Before you could even say hello, the sound of your boss yelling over the phone broke the silence in your room.

"_______ get in here now we need you!"

 With your shoelaces undone and a piece of toast in your mouth, you dashed outside of your apartment with your work bag tossed on your back. Your boss informed you of a villain attack in the city centre which caused some heroes to be injured. Fire injuries were your specialty, so you were called immediately. Your legs were running to the train station, hoping not to miss the train to the hospital and having to wait another ten minutes for the next train.

While you were fixing your tie around your neck, your eyes caught sight of a small red object flying across in front of you. After a small moment of confusion, you heard the sound of wings flapping behind you and immediately knew who it was.

"Hey hey hey, didn’t know you were into running these days ______?"

You scoffed, swallowing the last bit of your toast as you dodged hitting into a random person in the street.

"Not now Hawks" You yelled up at him. "I’m running late."

Hawks. Number 2 Hero. You both met each other when he had only just graduated from this hero training. He survived a nasty attack from a villain, resulting in his feathers being pretty damaged. You were the one who took care of him and patched him up.  He was in the hospital for two days straight and most of that time was spent with you monitoring his health. His determination to become a top hero and his snarky charisma allow you two to immediately have a connection. After he was discharged, he still kept in contact with you and now he could consider you one of his closest friends. Till this day, he is forever grateful for you helping him, but these days teasing you seems more fun to him.

The man was now gliding alongside you, clearly mocking your lack of speed.

"Why am I not surprised?" He chuckled, eyeing you.

You sent him a stern glare. Unfortunately, you could not argue with him and run at the same time without losing your breath.

"You know, sweetheart, the train is about to leave in a minute, and unless you just gained a speed quirk, chances are you're not going to make it," he teased.

You held your tongue at his words. When you first told him you didn’t have a quirk, he thought you were joking and laughed in your face. Needless to say, you weren’t too happy about that. So whenever he sees the chance, he always enjoys pointing it out.

Hawks continued to fly beside you, now sighing and crossing his arms behind his head.

"Only if you knew someone who could get you to the hospital in time." He groaned.

He raised his eyebrow at you. You knew what he was trying to imply. Your stomach immediately started to do flips at the thought of it. You hated heights and Hawks knew this about you. But he also knows about how much your work matters to you.

You eyed your watch on your wrist, already you were ten minutes late. You glanced down to see Hawks’ red feathers tying your shoelaces. You finally stopped running and stood trying to catch your breath.  You ignored the rational thoughts in your head and returned back to glare at Hawks.

"I swear Hawks if you do anything funny." You sneered at him.

His face immediately lit up with glee and a smirk spread across his face.

"Trust me _____. It will be like floating on a cloud. " He reassured you by putting his hand on his heart.

"Just don’t throw up on me again." He hushed quickly. 

Before you even had time to swear at him, he whooshed behind you and lifted you up in his arms. You immediately let out a squeak in fear, earning a laugh from Hawks. Your hands gripped his neck and your body tensed up as you both started to rise to the sky. You both were now above the skyscrapers and the whole city seemed so small. It was truly breath taking and you wondered if Hawks ever just spent his days looking down at the city.  

You cast a quick glance down at the people who had turned into ants. Your stomach dropped and you turned your face into hawks’ chest for the rest of the journey to avoid throwing up.

"You can look up now doll."

You cranked your head to see if Hawks was telling the truth. You were relieved to see that his feet were touching the ground. He had landed on the hospital roof, a perfect spot.

"Nice landing" you jerked at him.

"You’re welcome Miss." He said, rolling his eyes.

You hopped out of his arms and stood attempting to fix yourself up before you entered the hospital. You could tell the wind messed up your hair quite a bit.

"You look fine ____."

Now you were the one to roll your eyes. Last time he said that you walked into your meeting with your lipstick smeared across your face.

"Shouldn’t you have been helping save your colleagues from that villain attack?"

"Had to make sure my _____ was safe first." Hawks was always skilled at avoiding questions he didn’t want to answer. You chalked it up to his media training.

You made your way to the door leading down to the hospital as soon as you felt you had put yourself together decently. Hawks' mouth dropped at your actions. He flew to block the door to prevent you from leaving.

"Nothing else you want to say?" He pestered at you. "No thank you, hawks or hawks; you are my hero; you are incredible?"

He really made a poor impression of you.

"Thank you, Hawks. Now shove it. " You snapped thinking of the time you are wasting with him up here. Your words, however, did not convince the young hero.

"How about takeaway and a movie at your place?" He questioned.

"Did you just invite yourself over to my place?" You sneered at him; your arms now crossed.

"Is it a deal?" He spoke. You were beginning to realise that there was no way hawks was going to let you though unless you said yes. You both haven’t done anything together in a while, you thought to yourself.

"Deal." You nodded.

Hawks’ feathers fluttered and he busted into a sing-song voice.

"Perfect! I’ll buy the food and you can pick the movie. Bye _____! " He yelled, tossing himself over the building as he flew away into the clouds.

Your mouth dropped at how he was able to make you agree to invite him over to your house within a minute. You sighed, rolling your eyes as you pushed the door open to enter the hospital.

As you entered your unit of the hospital, your boss was stood there waiting for you and your co-workers busily hurrying around.

"Look who finally decided to turn up."

You did your best not to glare at him.  You apologised profusely about being late to him and how it wouldn’t happen again.

"I heard she was seen with her boyfriend Hawks" A staff member piped up with a sneer.

You cringed at her words and her attempt to cause drama in front of your boss. Hawks is many things, but your boyfriend is definitely not one of them. 

"He is not my boyfriend. He was helping me to work. " You defended yourself. 

"I don’t want to hear anymore of the bird boy. Get working now _____. " Your boss yelled. 

You gave a low nod and immediately jumped into work, making your way over to your first patient.

 _______________________________________________________________

When you actually finished with the last patient, you had no idea what time it was. You gathered your belongings and exited the building, only to find the city engulfed in darkness. You sighed, your shoulders heavy from fatigue. The thought of a relaxing bath and a comfortable bed appealed to you. You checked your phone to find that the train station had closed long ago. Your eyes darted across the street for a taxi, but you had no luck. Walking it was, you thought.

You tried your best to stick to bright lit areas of the city. It was one of the disadvantages of being quirkless, you were practically defenceless. If a villain wanted to kill you, they would have no problem with doing it. That is why you prefer to work behind the scenes helping the heroes rather than being at the front of the violence.

Your walking stopped as you reached an alleyway. You debated or not if you should enter it. If you stuck to the bright areas, you wouldn’t reach your apartment for another fifteen minutes. However, if you went down this dark alleyway it would only take you five minutes. You stood listening for any noise to indicate if there was anyone down the dark path. After standing in silence, you made the decision to chance it. You took a breath and made your way down the narrow street.

All was well and you finally started to calm down as you walked. You thought of what leftovers you had in your fridge to eat when you heard the noise of glass breaking behind you. Your blood turned to ice as your body froze into place. When you looked to the source of the racket, a single drop of sweat ran down your brow.

A man with his head hanging low sat beside one of the big trash bins. You quickly realised the man wasn't all there when he didn't acknowledge you as you walked by. Your brain was screaming at you to keep walking. Your heart and morals, on the other hand, told you to check on the man's safety. You bit your lower lip, carefully weighing your options. Your morals came out on top.

"Sir?" you asked.

You were met with silence since the man did not respond. As you got closer, it became clear that the man was in pain. When you were within arm’s reach, you cautiously put your hand on the individual's neck to check for a pulse. Fortunately, it was at a consistent rate. You now knelt beside him. You tapped his shoulder lightly. Finally, the man let out a groan. You breathed a sigh of relief.

You gently pushed his head back, allowing you to see his face in the moonlight. You immediately noticed the faulty stitching and staples all around his face and body. The damaged deep purpled skin contrasted sharply with his pale skin. His eyelids hung low, but the brightness of the moon resulted in the stranger opening his eyes halfway. You were almost in shock at his bright blue eyes as they stared into yours.

"Am I dreaming?" He mumbled painfully.

You shook your head as you examined his body.

"What is the problem sir?" You questioned.

He sent a sly grin at you. Your concern was able to amuse the man. His finger weakly pointed at his opposite arm. One of the stitches on his arm had obviously ripped open and blood was steadily pouring out and onto the dirty ground.

You stared at the wound for a moment and considered if he needed to be taken to the hospital.

Almost as if he were reading your mind, he said, "No hospitals."

You chose not to question him and began to act on your feet. You removed your bag from your back and pulled out your first aid kit and some tools you used at work. You began to place a thread into your incision needle and prepared the medical stapler for use.

You could sense his apprehensiveness as he eyed your needle.

"Trust me sir, I’m a doctor." You explained to him.

"You'd better cut the sir crap; you're making me feel like an old man." He laughed lightly,

Feeling like you were getting somewhere with him, you continued the conversation. 

"Do you have a name?" You asked, hoping to distract him from the pain about to happen.

The man had a slight hesitation as his name fell from his mouth.

"Dabi."

You placed some hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball as you continued to talk to him.

"You have a lovely name, Dabi."

"I bet you say that to all your patients."

You smiled at his words and you placed the cotton on his wound. He immediately tensed up and hissed in pain as the alcohol did its job.

"I can promise you I don’t, Dabi." His name fell off your lips with such ease.

After you felt the wound was disinfected, you grabbed the needle and began to stitch his skin together. Dabi was now sat up straight admiring your concentration with the needle. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cared for him like this.

"Did you get caught up in that villain attack this morning? “You asked him.

Dabi's mouth turned into a smirk, "I guess you can say I was."

"I bet it was scary," you said.

Dabi raised his eyebrow at you. "Do I look like the sort of person who gets scared?"

You took your attention from his wound and looked at his unamused face. You giggled slightly at his expression.

"You can tell me. I promise I won’t tell anyone. " You teased him.

He chuckled at your humour. You really did do a good job at distracting him from the pain.

"Those villains are pieces of shit, aren’t they?" He said, hoping for your opinion.

As you took the stapler in your hand, you moved on to the staples of the wound.

"Hmm, I don’t know if I would say that." You mentioned focusing on placing the stapler in the right position on his skin.

"What? You side with the League of Villains? " Dabi pried at you, staring at you with interest.

"Not exactly." You explained, "I believe a lot of the villains didn’t exactly have a choice of which side they wanted to be on. Also, working with Heroes, you begin to see that quirks determine what society thinks of you. If you don’t have a quirk, then you must be useless. If you have a dangerous quirk, then you are destined to be a villain. I find it all very frustrating if I am honest. "

Dabi listened intently to your rambling. It was nice to see someone agree with some of his opinions. You were obviously very intelligent. As you continued to work on his arm, he made note of your face and its beauty.

As you had just finished the last staple, you asked him, "Did you patch your skin up yourself?"

"Yeah, I did. I prefer to do it my own way because the majority of my skin is brunt to a crisp.” He explained.

"You have a fire quirk?"

He nodded as your eyes moved across his body to look at his skin. Your eyes finally meet his face. Without even thinking, you reached your hand out to cup in check and brushed your thumb along the staples in his face.

Dabi let out a small gasp. It had been a while since someone had touched him. You finally realised what you did and immediately yanked your hand away from him and stood up, hoping he wouldn’t see you blush in embarrassment.

"I’m really sorry Dabi" you said, putting your face in your hand, "I’ve just never seen anyone with a fire quirk like this."

He smiled at your embarrassment.

"Don’t worry. There is no need to be sorry. I didn’t mind it. " He reassured you.

You sighed and reached a hand out to help him up off the ground.

As he towered over your frame, you suddenly realised how tall he was in comparison to you. As soon as you realised your work was done, you let his hand out of yours.

"Well Dabi" you said, "I guess I better be heading home."

"Thank you" was all he said.

While your arms hugged you around your stomach, his deep blue gaze on you made you feel even more insecure.

"Are you going to be okay?" You asked him.

A small smile was on his face.

"Don’t worry about me."

You nodded to let him know you understood.

"Then I better go." You said, turning away from him.

Before Dabi could open his mouth to say anything to you, a black car drove into the alleyway with a large honk of its horn.  The tinted window rolled down the slightest bit and a voice called out Dabi’s name.

"That’s my ride," Dabi explained.

He didn't want to abandon you in the dark, but he also knew that you getting into the car would be impossible.

"Well take care Dabi", You said your last words and turned the corner away from him and the car.

You knew that it wouldn’t have been a good idea if you stayed any longer. You did your duty and left without anything else occurring. You had visions of the man’s blue eyes and face. You could tell from his body and face he was probably conventionally attractive before his burn scars. You ignored the flutters you had in your stomach as you took the stairs up to your apartment floor.

After entering the code to your apartment, you quickly tossed your bag to the floor and threw your jacket off. You sighed with relief to finally be home alone. Peace and quiet was the thing you needed after your long day.

"Finally home sweetheart?"

When you saw the man behind you holding a plate of takeaway sushi, you shrieked and nearly fell to the floor in shock.

"Hawks you little-!"

________________________________________________________________

Dabi threw up his hands in frustration as he approached the LOV's hideout. He completely forgot to ask for your name. After you had taken care of his injuries, the very least he could do was ask for your name.

He sighed and sat on the grimy couch. His thoughts returned to the events of your and his meeting. He was still bewildered that you chose to help a random stranger in the dark. Dabi knew that if it hadn't been for you, he would have bled out until he passed out and died. His fingertips traced the stitching on his arm that you had done. It was noticeably better done than his own work.

"What are you smiling about?" Toga spoke up, breaking Dabi of his thoughts.

His face immediately dropped, and he muttered a nothing. Toga shrugged off his reply and reached for the TV remote. The sound of the TV made Dabi’s head throb, so he stood up and headed out of the room to find somewhere more peaceful to rest for the night.

"What was the situation like in the hospital tonight Doctor?" the interviewer asked.

"Well, I would personally like to thank the heroes who were able to transport the citizens and other heroes who were harmed in the attack to the hospital so quickly."

The sound of your voice echoing throughout the room made Dabi freeze in place. He turned around to face the TV and ordered Toga to turn up the volume.

Dabi barely heard your voice as he continued to stare in a trance at your lovely face.

"We would like to thank you and your unit for all your help today. We are all grateful. " The interview told you.

You nodded and smiled at the camera as you wished everyone well.

Your name suddenly appeared at the bottom of the screen.

"Doctor _____ ______"

Dabi's face lit up with a big grin, and he couldn't help but laugh. He figured it wouldn't be that difficult to find you after all.

[oneweekoneband]

her Nebraska (1982)

In July I flew to Massachusetts with a plague on, and I felt that it was wrong, but my mother had begged and I’d been out of work for months. Mornings there I ran in long, uneven ovals on the same roads I’d memorized in high school. There’s no sidewalks, but the few feet of dirt between the craggy pavement and the open mouths of the fields serve all right for a single body in motion. When a truck comes up close from behind, the ground shakes, and I step away bouncingly from the street toward thigh-high yellow weeds and grass, and keep going. I was slowly picking my way back in that dirt, sweat-slick from only a plodding couple of miles in peak summer heat, and sucking the wet cotton of my mask in between my teeth on every inhale, when Taylor Swift announced she was releasing a surprise album produced by the guy from The National. Not the guy from The National, like, the voice, but the guy from The National whose photo was circulated on Twitter earlier this year as some kind of antifa super soldier, which isn’t the case, but would’ve been rad. First, I stopped dead to send some outraged, misspelled text messages, and then I ran home faster than I’d moved in years.

Tall, blonde, patrician pop star Taylor Swift is to me something like a cross-between a wife and a boogeyman. Bound we’ve been since we were really children. Time and its changes haven’t rid me of her, and what’s worse is I have never quite been able to wish they would, though I claim as much all the time. Countless hours of my one wild and precious life have been spent on endlessly analyzing the minutiae of Taylor Swift’s music, the mind that made it, the real world events which influenced it. And though all the while I have known she is only a person, and that people, while each strange and lovely in their own ways, are, in the end, mostly dull, needful in just the regular manner, the fantasy is better, the sick dream of a megalomaniac songstress, curious, thrilling, probably evil, and I choose that. I don’t know Taylor Alison Swift, born to this world in, I presume, the usual way. But my Taylor Swift? I’m a renowned expert. I’ve always eaten up stories—movies, music, celebrity news, the one my grandfather tells about falling off his bike once in Ireland as a boy and his face “cracking open like an egg”—like a starved dog. I’m obsessive about my interests, but not inclined to intense fandom, and certainly not fandom in the mode of the stan. For one, I’m too self-absorbed. But caring intensely for a famous person is falling in love with a ghost, and that’s all right—I mean, what the hell? We’re here together just dying... Let’s enjoy—but is an affair best undertaken with the knowledge that everyone alive has their own complex interiority, as unruly as your own, and that you, a stranger, are not in any real way connected to the lawless, blurry middle of that celebrity, and will never be. It’s freeing and fun to know this. I mean, these people are basically in your employ. Glamorous dollhouse dwellers. Acknowledging that uncrossable distance allows for a different, healthier closeness of pure imagination. My feelings, then, can comfortably be at once both fiercely intense and entirely silly. I am a foremost scholar in the art of the Taylor Swift who exists in my head. The real person raised in Pennsylvania I don’t know at all. I have some conjectures on the matter, and, as with all my conjectures, every hackneyed theory, each picky little opinion, I’m sure they’re perfect, brilliant, just absolutely right, but that’s still all they are. Taylor Swift, figure of the cultural imagination, is the Jodie Comer to my Sandra Oh in Killing Eve, annoying and pretty in frills, taunting me endlessly and holding us trapped together in a dance of most enchanting death. But the real Taylor Swift has favorite bed sheets and a social security number and a British boyfriend, none of which I have any desire to know about, and if I saw her at a restaurant I’d politely avert my eyes before, yes, dive-bombing the group text. There’s nobody on Earth I’d stand in line to speak to, but then I’ve been speaking to a certain figment of Taylor Swift for nearly half my life.

I went to a Taylor Swift concert the night before I moved into college in 2009. My father’s work friend, firefighter by day, near professional gambler by night, got comped tickets to the Fearless Tour stop taking place at the nearby casino, and he let me have them as a reward, mainly, for happening to be seventeen. Live in-person and performed acoustically, “Fifteen” made me cry. A few years after that, in the thick, sticky part of my first post-college summer, I wrote approximately twenty-three million words about her in these very pages.  (”Pages”) At that point, Taylor’s most recent release was 2012’s Red, and the work I produced that long ago July about Taylor and her career, writing I was fairly pleased with at the time, feels now, besides just being extremely clearly written by a twenty-one year old, strange to me for the way it favors the sweet over the sour almost uniformly. There is a wholesome kind of ardor in that writing which maybe I’ve outgrown the ability to hold. Or maybe Taylor just proceeded to spend the next half a decade plus releasing one bad single after another, and it was taste—and trespasses against taste—and not some shift in my nature which altered the tenor of our bond. I have real love for my particular image, gleaned from public statements and published art, of smart, bizarre famous woman Taylor Swift, and I admire the bulk of her output very much. I’m just no longer so inclined to fawn. This is not to say I am here to offer a Taylor Swift hate screed. I couldn’t swing it, and, anyway, I’m not a pop feminist-for-hire circa 2010. But we’re older now. Things are different. At twenty-eight, twenty-nine this month—Taylor will, also this December, turn thirty-one—I regard Taylor Swift warily, like an ex with whom you have a tentative friendship, perpetually on the brink of falling one way or the other into hatred or delight, only to wobble back the opposite direction again at the slightest provocation, but still, despite best efforts, even, I regard her all the time. 

folklore was released at midnight on July 24th 2020, but I was at a cabin in rural Vermont without Internet or cell service. I drank Bud Light seltzers with my mother while watching the eerie pandemic return of Major League Baseball, and when I got into a strange bed there I stewed, knowing there were people out in the world all over who were hearing Taylor Swift songs I never had, and that this was a fundamental wrong, a disruption in the balance of the universe. I listened to it the next morning in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. 

And folklore is great. That’s the terrible thing. Slightly less great, maybe, than some people have insisted, tricked, I think, by just the pronounced shift in sound. But it’s great. A little gift I asked for a thousand times and was still surprised to get, like a wife who didn’t expect her henpecked husband to ever follow through and buy the paraffin wax hand bath as-see-on-TV. For years, I’ve been halfheartedly insisting that Taylor had a great album in her. I’d say it even, perhaps especially, while she stubbornly fed me gruel. Or worse, gruel with the occasional whiff of something better. With a ripe, little raspberry dropped into the slop. The bright, villainous thrill of “Getaway Car” made me believe Taylor, my Taylor, was in there somewhere under the lacquer of sequins and synth, which, while not objectionable by default, seemed a costume, and an ill-fitting one. The lived-in world of “Cornelia Street” made those old scars sting. That gay “Delicate” video. When she did “Call It What You Want” on SNL and played guitar while wearing an ugly sweater. If the abominable “ME!”, lead single off Lover, was the stick, 1989’s “Clean” was the carrot. I was Charlie Brown, and Taylor my Lucy, yanking the football back again and again. Over drinks I still yelled that Taylor Swift’s next album would be, “her Nebraska”, referring to my favorite Bruce Springsteen record, and learned to live with that egg on my face for good. I suppose I even came to like it. There was something inherently funny in taking up, like, “blind faith in the as of yet untapped greater artistic potential of massively wealthy and popular singer Taylor Swift” as my totally inane personal cause du jour, and eventually it was a bit, a gag I performed to be obstinate and didactic, but way down somewhere awful near my kidneys I meant it the whole while. And then she did it. A pandemic befell the world and amid a sea of human suffering Taylor Swift remembered she can write. She wrote, and with a massive, crucial assist from Aaron Dessner, whose music on this record is sometimes so beautiful it actually angers me, as the last thing I needed in already perilous times was to be made to try and marry my uniquely perverse emotional responses to beloved divorced dad band The National and fucking Taylor Swift,  she made an album which, if not her Nebraska, per se (I’ve come to realize that a major part of believing Taylor Swift will one day make an album I find as quietly devastating and gorgeous as Nebraska is knowing that no album will ever actually be Her Nebraska... That each will, rather, to me, be more and more evidence that it’s coming still, more proof that the limit is untouched, on and on ad infinitum, or at least until the seas take us into a place of salty peace.) is a shocking credit to all my hard-fought and deluded confidence. folklore is great. This fact has made me feel almost equally as disoriented from my understanding of the world as the time-melting COVID-19 lockdowns have, and it turned my Spotify year in review annual collective AI humiliation kink thing into a glaring indictment of my mental state, but still, I mean... It’s great.

In talking about folklore a bit this week, there are a number of specific topics I intend to cover—what a thrill it is to hear Taylor say “fuck”; Taylor’s terrifying birth chart; the astoundingly perfect bridge of “the last great american dynasty”; “because my ass is located at the back of my body”; the bit in last year’s “Lover” where deranged WASP Taylor Swift implies that to “leave the Christmas lights up til January” is some signifier of being a love-struck bohemian, when actually everyone who doesn’t employ domestic staff to take their lights down does this; how reputation is the best of the Taylor Swift records released in the latter half of the 2010s, actually, and the people who can’t see that are cowards—but intend mostly to let the muse move me where she will. Against the advice of my better angels, she—that tie-in marketing eldritch terror—always does.

[softluci]

omg, hey, how r u, hi, so nice to see u; welcome to my 3AM (now 6AM bc miss hellsite deleted everything) ramblings (which i will try to make as close to the original as possible); this one’s gonna be a Doozy

now that ap testing is over and i have more time to care about literally everything else, i realize that i . i am So Bad at taking care of myself. like, so bad. and i actually realized this months ago but i didn't have this account months ago and i didn't think of this months ago so—

((i was debating whether or not to limit this to gen z but i know it isn't just us who do this; or maybe that’s wishful thinking and it Is just us, but idk, man,, i feel like millennials be doing this too))

sometimes, a lot of the time i just . don't eat . and i don't have a bad or difficult relationship to food or an eating disorder or anything like that, i just Don't Do It because i either legitimately forgot or i didn't feel hungry even if i hadn't eaten for a significant period of time (6-18hrs, we'll say, because i do lose track). like,, when quarantine started, i was in my room, door Locked, for 15 to 19 hours a day + i wouldn't leave unless i had to use the bathroom or shower. i only started eating and leaving my room more because my mom had to ask me to. oh, and this should be obvious, but i don't sit and eat dinner with my family either.

additionally, and this is Much More Frequent, i don't sleep. i know i don't sleep because i slept for nine hours today and woke up dazed and confused. when we had school, i would either sleep for 1-6 hours or just not at all. and then i'd go to school and not pack anything to eat :p. i actually think the longest i've gone without sleep is a full day. and i don’t have insomnia or anything like that, i just be Staying Up

so, with those things in mind, i've been wondering, like,, like how the boys would react to an m/c like that, you know?

like, okay, first of all,, there's No Way mammon is gonna let mc sit alone in their room all day. his emotional support human?? alone without him??? unacceptable. it just isn't happening. he would Literally break mc's door down if they tried to keep him out, unless they, for some reason, really, really, really needed to be alone, and even then it is a Tossup. and then not sleeping or eating? hello, what do you think this is? he would accommodate them for a little while by bringing them food and making sure they slept but after a while he would literally drag them out of their room because there is no way. there is No Way he’s letting them turn into levi. not on his watch 

an mc like this would give luci an ulcer. a literal ulcer. why are you a human and playing with the limits of your body?? who are you, do you think you’re made of metal? do you realize you have classes to attend and that you’re surrounded by demons literally All The Time? you cannot be caught lacking (i.e. feeling faint or fatigued because you haven’t eaten in seventeen hours or slept in a day). he would bring food to your room so he could make sure you ate, but when it came to sleeping? get ready to literally be dragged/carried out of your room and into his because he has work to do and he needs to keep an eye on you because Clearly you cannot be trusted to take care of yourself. he would probably go as far as to stop doing work and go to bed so you have nothing to hold against him. can’t sleep at a regular time because of your nonexistent sleep schedule? that’s okay because, beloved, He Is Putting You To Sleep. how he does so is up to you; and if you try to play like you’re Fine?? 

“mc, it’s seven pm, when was the last time you ate?” “five.” “am or pm?” “...” “well, when was the last time you slept?” “i haven’t.” “MC.” 

you haven’t slept in just over a day? baby, levi’s record is three. he would be absolutely terrible for an m/c like this; he would enable them So Hard. maybe he would bring them food (and that’s Snacks, not actual food), and Maybe he would tell them to go to sleep once or twice, but Other Than That? he can’t take care of himself for Shit either, sorry you had to hear it from me, leviastans <3

asmo,, you are worrying this man Sick. you haven’t eaten in fifteen hours? are you on a diet? no? you Forgot To Eat? how many hours of sleep have you gotten? one? you Think? oh, Maybe it was two? ah, yes, mc, because that is So Much Better. seriously, though, if you won’t eat, fine, but if there’s one thing you’re doing, it’s sleeping. you can’t sleep at a decent time because you have no concept of a sleeping schedule? sweetie. beloved. he is putting you to sleep, be it through relaxing self care or something else, darling, you are knocking out. and when you wake up, he’ll have a full course meal ready and he will literally feed it to you himself.

what’s that? you haven’t eaten since Yesterday and it’s three in the afternoon? oh,, you sweet summer child, beel is heartbroken. keep insisting that you aren’t hungry while you can barely stand and his eyes will fill with tears. you don’t wanna leave your room? fine, but that is the only thing keeping him from throwing you over his shoulder and going to the kitchen. he would literally bring you as much food as he could carry and only eat a little bit on the way back to your room. can’t sleep? not a problem, wait there while he gets belphie to charm your pillow. do Not worry, teddy bear beel always has your back MUAH

speaking of belphie,, tell that man you haven’t slept in a day and he’s stopping what he’s doing, dragging you to the nearest cushioned surface, and laying down with you; you’ll be out in No Time. and once you’re up?? he’s dragging you to the kitchen and you’re eating any and everything he puts in front of you, and he’s not leaving you alone until you’re functioning like a human and not a gremlin, or so help him, you’ll die a second time. 

you’re like, op,, y did u put satan last?? i couldn’t think of anything for him until now, i Swear i love him, okay, Anyway, you haven’t eaten in almost a day? do all humans do that? no?? why can you Barely Stand??? do you need to be carried to the kitchen? he is so confused as to why you just Haven’t Eaten when that is a basic function that humans need to complete or else they literally die; now wait in your room while he brings you something to eat. you can’t sleep?? do Not worry, that man will curl up with you and read to you until you’re Knocked Out, which won’t take long because he has a calming presence and a soothing voice, sweetheart, u r in good hands

ok it’s 7AM and i’m contemplating doing the undateables,, should i do the undateables? i’m gonna do the undateables. 

oh my god,, if luke finds out that you haven’t eaten in, eighteen hours and you haven’t slept in like twenty,, the way you’re gonna have to put in Work to convince him that you did those things of your own volition and the demons you live with aren’t starving or overworking you and No they aren’t forcing you to lie about anything. after you’ve done that, he is seeing to it that you eat something right away; it does not matter where you are, you are a human and you’re feeling Faint around literal demons, are you Dumb? are you Dumb of Ass?? come with him immediately before you hurt yourself or get hurt, he is feeding you and then you’re sleeping in his room and he’s Not taking no for an answer; don’t even think about telling him no, he’ll cry at you. 

you cannot tell me simeon is not the doting/fussing type, okay, and he is appalled. Appalled. what did you just say. the reason why you don’t look so good is because you’ve been up since Yesterday and you haven’t eaten since then either? why? what do you mean you forgot to eat; what kind of human Forgets To Eat? oh, you didn’t forget? you just didn’t feel like getting up? you’re gonna give him an ulcer. if he doesn’t do anything else, he is getting you something to eat, you literally just activated every older sibling/parental instinct he has from luke being an angel. he will literally take you to the closest place with food, sit you down, and buy you whatever you want, and if you say you don’t want anything, he’ll buy you one of everything and give the leftovers to beel, do Not test him. and when you’re done eating, you’re taking a nap. where? anywhere. no one will disturb you so long as he’s there, you’ll sleep perfectly fine <33

dia is half horrified and half intrigued. you haven’t slept in how long? are humans supposed to do that?? NO??? like,, part of him wants to see how long you can last without sleep or food just to see the limits of the average human and part of him wants to feed you and make sure you sleep immediately. he would have to fight every urge to do the former, but once he did, you are eating everything he finds and you are sleeping for however long his Humans 101 manual says you should sleep for. 

i am so thoroughly convinced that solomon literally would not care at all you have No Idea- 

like,,, i just feel like he’d ask you if you were alright because you looked a little off and you’d tell him you hadn’t slept or eaten in a while and he’d first look at you like you were literally out of your mind and then depending on where you were, Maybe keep you company (read: make sure nothing happens to you) while you take a nap, or Maybe buy you food, or take you to the house or purgatory hall (whichever’s closer) because he wouldn’t leave you alone,, surrounded by demons, ever; let alone in your current state. ok wow maybe he does care what a sweetie

barbatos would literally. he would keep his ^_^ cool facade, but on the inside he would be Screaming. full throttle internal screaming that has been going on for centuries just got several notches louder because you can’t take care of yourself, i hope ure happy. you haven’t slept since yesterday? one notch. you didn’t eat breakfast or lunch? another notch. you feel faint? oH WOW REALLY??? I FUCKING WONDER WHY another notch. come with him. please come with him before he blows a fuse for the first time in 400 years because you think you’re an exception to the rules of being a human. he’s feeding you and putting you to sleep whether you think you’re fine or not; don’t argue with him, he already takes care of his immortal boss who is the equivalent of an excited child on most days or a troublesome teenager on others and he Does Not Lose Arguments. 

ok it’s almost 11am goodnight now <3

[fanficflaneuse]

Life in Black - The Pilot

Index 

Episode 1: The Pilot 

A/N: GIF is not mine, I found it on Giphy. I hope you like this experiment. It is a mixture of narration and scriptwriting. 

Words: 2341 

Summary: Bellatrix decides she wants to live with her younger sister and her brother-in-law. 

Opening Sequence 

Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy sat in front of each other. Just like every morning, they took breakfast in the porch, overlooking the gardens. Narcissa insisted it reminded her of her homeland and Lucius knew better than to challenge her. He indulged her instead. He read The Daily Prophet as she drank her tea.

Narcissa was in the middle of a story about the preparations for the Paris Wizarding Fashion Week, when they were shaken by a loud bang from the house. The couple ran inside, wands out and faces full of concern. The elves ran frantically to the living room. As they approached, Narcissa relaxed and Lucius tensed even more.

“Bella!” said Narcissa, approaching her eldest sister and giving her a hug. Lucius took a deep breath, bracing himself up for whatever was coming; Bellatrix and him were barely on speaking terms.

“About time you came to greet me, sister” she answered.

“We weren’t expecting you,” mentioned Lucius.

“Do you hear something, Cissy?” said Bellatrix, pretending her brother-in-law wasn’t in the room.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. “What are you doing here, Bella? I thought you and Rodolphus had moved back to Paris?”

“Don’t even mention him to me. We’re getting a divorce,” she said casually, not a hint of sorrow or melancholy in her voice.

Both Lucius and Narcissa eyed her warily. “I am so sorry, sister,” said Narcissa after a moment of awkward silence.

“Oh, don’t be. It was doomed from the beginning.”

“That’s what happens when you marry for convenience,” Narcissa said, shaking her head at the memory of Bellatrix’s rushed, loveless marriage.

“If the other option was to end with a slob like your husband, then no thank you.”

“Excuse you?” he said, outraged.

(NARCISSA MALFOY) TALKING HEAD.

(Narcissa sits on a very elegant armchair. The room is full of paintings and photographs staring at her. In the back of the room, above a marble chimney, there’s a very big portrait in which Lucius and Narcissa stand on either side of a teenager. He resembles Lucius and smiles awkwardly.)

“My sister...she’s truly something. I can’t really put it into words,” she says, politely smiling at the camera.  

(Lucius comes into focus. He’s sitting on another armchair).

“She’s crazy,” he adds, deadly serious. Narcissa frowned at him.

(Bellatrix comes into focus, half sitting on Narcissa’s chair arm).

“Excuse you?” she exclaims, mimicking his previous outburst.

[Back to scene]

Lucius and Bella bickered for a while. Even the elves stuffed their ears with cotton balls so they didn’t have to hear them. Narcissa grew bored a few minutes into their petty drama; it was always the same with them. This time, though, the fact that Bellatrix had decided to move in with them without even asking made their usual passive aggressiveness less passive and more aggressive.

After Lucius stormed off and Bellatrix chose to establish herself in the closest room to theirs, Narcissa decided to call the big guns (also known as her sister Andromeda). She knew her sisters didn’t have a good relationship, but she was also sure she couldn’t deal Bella full time on her own.

(BELLATRIX LESTRANGE) TALKING HEAD.

(Bellatrix sits cross-legged on a champagne coloured divan. It’s placed in front of a big window that oversees the Malfoy gardens. As she talks, a flock of albino peacocks runs in the background).

“My relationship with Andromeda? Oh, it’s nonexistence. Since she married that mudbl- oh right, everyone’s offended by everything nowadays. So, the pc term is muggleborn, right? Well, ever since she married that muggleborn and had a half blood spawn of the devil I decided I just have one sister. She also married an absolute tosser, but at least he brought a pure last name to the table.”

[Back to scene]

Andromeda appeared a few hours later, ready to see her sister for the first time since she got engaged. The two estranged sisters bared a very close resemblance. They were both tall women with curly hair, big, blue eyes, long eyelashes, thin lips and sharp jaw. Anyhow, as they sat by either side of Narcissa, she thought there couldn’t be in the world two more different people. Andromeda’s soft, brown curls in a fancy updo complemented her face and made her look younger. Her eyes were full of kindness and patience. Their older sister, on the other hand, had a thick, raven hair, which looked as though she had hardly combed it. It made her come across as a patient of St. Mungo’s fourth floor.

The sisters sipped tea stiffly and avoided eye contact. Narcissa decided that the feud needed to end, for her own mental wellbeing.

“Andy, Bella is now living with us here,” she said.

“What?” Andromeda now looked at her older sister, trying to the decipher the mask of indifference Bellatrix had always worn.

“Go ahead, laugh all you want,” said Bellatrix, a sardonic smile on her face.

Andromeda was left speechless for a few seconds. Narcissa could see her sister’s mind working and tried to amend Bella’s words.

“She meant -”

“Do you really think I’m so heartless, Bellatrix?”

“Well, you did change your beloved family for a dick,” she shot.

(NARCISSA MALFOY) TALKING HEAD

“I really can’t blame Andy.”

She has a knowing smile as she says this.

(Lucius comes into focus).

He smirks and nods.

[Back to scene]

“Well, Bella, at least I was transparent with my intentions. What were yours exactly? Have a pure and most noble last name and a bit on the side? We’ve all heard about that one, even Cissy, even if she pretends not to.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Andromeda.”

“Tom Riddle. Does it ring a bell? Toujours pur and all that crap only to end your marriage for a fling with none other than an ex - convict,” she spat.

“You’ll drown in your self righteousness, dear. How bored you must be with that husband of yours and all our stupid social norms.”

“You’re talking to me about social norms? You burned my face out of the family’s tapestry when I got engaged to Ted.”

“It was just a game and Cissy fixed it.”

“Just a game? For whom? An arsonist?”

“Your insufferable! Always thinking you’re the better sister, the prettier sister, the perfect sister.”

“I am the prettier sister,” said Narcissa flatly; she had already grown bored of Bella bickering with everyone.

“I never said that!”

“You thought about it! I know you did. You think I’m unbalanced. You think I should be in an insane asylum or something, but I’ll tell you what, I’m smarter than you are. Wait till I fix my hair and climb out of the pit of desperation I’m in and I’ll even be prettier than you are.”

“It’s not a competition, Bella,” reminded Narcissa, “although if it was none of you would stand a chance against me.”

As always, the older sisters ignored the youngest one and concentrated on outsmarting one another. A loud bang came from the other end of the room. Narcissa, cigarette in one hand and lighter in the other, turned her head to see her cousin, Sirius and his husband, Remus. She shot them an almost pleading look as they took seats by her side as Andy and Bella had long since discarded their place.

“Cissa, toss me the light,” he said, lying back on the couch.

“No, no, darling. This is bad for your health,” she answered as she put the cigarette between her lips.  

Sirius raised a brow. “You taught me how to smoke,” he remarked.

As she refused again and he was about to give her some new argument, Remus put his hand on his spouse’s thigh. “Remember your new year’s resolutions,” he said in a sing-song voice.

Sirius groaned.

“What brings you two here. It’s been a while,” said Narcissa.

“Andy told us you invited her and we wanted to make sure Bellatrix didn’t rip her head off,” shrugged Remus.

(ANDROMEDA TONKS) TALKING HEAD

(Andromeda sits on a grey, L shaped couch. Her living room is small and cozy. It looks exceptionally clean. She’s surrounded by plants. Behind her, there’s a big shelf full of frayed books).

“Rip my head off? What, because I’m the only one of the Blacks who wouldn’t be diagnosed as a loony then I’d let Bella walk all over me? No, sir. I showed them right then and there I could also roast someone.”

She looks pleased with herself, but her smile falters a few seconds later.

“Is roast a real term? Did I used it correctly?”

[Back to scene]

Lucius had also joined the others in the drawing room. He cheered on Andromeda every time she said something particularly witty to Bellatrix.

“You go, ‘Meda!” he said after she remarked how everyone breathed a little more peacefully after she moved out.

Andromeda looked at him straight in the eye. “I know you’re my brother in law, but we’re not there yet, honey.”

“I hate her,” he said pointing at Bellatrix, “isn’t that enough?”

The three sisters looked at him, eyebrows elegantly raised.

“Whatever you say now will determine your faith, Lucius,” taunted Sirius.

“I’m also married to her,” Lucius continued, this time pointing at Narcissa, “so you should consider yourself lucky she didn’t run off and have a baby with a convicted felon.”

Remus snorted obnoxiously.

(NARCISSA MALFOY) TALKING HEAD

“I couldn’t smoke while I was pregnant with Draco. Hardest nine months of my life,” she says with a grimace, “it was all worth it, though. I’m living the dream. I mean, who doesn’t want to be in charge of a fifteen years old boy who only babbles about one of his classmates?”

She doesn’t look very convinced.

[Back to scene]

Sirius had joined in the roasting now. Bellatrix had mentioned something about her not being invited to his wedding with Remus. He, in turn, spilling the family tea all over the living room’s floor.

“I never really cared that you were a twi-”

“Tais toi!” screeched Narcissa, not wanting her sister to literally taunt their cousin once again for his sexual orientation. Bella knew exactly who else in the family she was mocking and Narcissa was having absolutely none of that.

DISSOLVE TO: the whole family sitting like scolded kids. Narcissa furiously pacing in front of them.

“This ends here!” she announced, “I’m tired of the Blacks being the absolute worst family in the history of families.”

“What is she saying?” Remus whispered to Sirius while Narcissa kept rambling.

“Shhh,” Sirius mumbled back, “I can barely understand. Somehow her accent keeps getting thicker and thicker.”

“Sirius,” she said. Her cousin perked up at the mention of his name. “When was the last time you saw Nymphadora?”

“Uhh, yesterday?”

“What?!” she exclaimed, “so you see each other regularly?”

“We go to work together.”

“You work?” she asked, even more surprised than before.

“I own a bar,” he shrugged, not surprised that his cousin didn’t know of his whereabouts.

“Of course you do,” interjected Bellatrix, “and what does dearest Nymphadora do?”

“She’s an auror,” Andromeda answered, not allowing any biting remark to come from her sister’s malicious lips.

Narcissa looked at Andromeda curiously. She tried her best to be close with both her sisters and yet somehow she didn’t know know Nymphadora was an auror. In her mind, for some reason, her metamorphmagus niece was still in Hogwarts.  

“She sees Lucius at the Ministry all the time. Just last week she told me they chatted on the elevator,” said Sirius.  

Narcissa shot his husband an accusing look.

“I’ve seen her a couple of times, but I never thought she worked there. I just assumed she roamed the building for...reasons.”

Andy facepalmed as Bella cackled.

“Alright, well those days are over.”

“What days?” asked Remus, afraid to know the answer.

“The days of us not knowing what each other are up to. Auntie Walburga died three years ago,” she said. Andromeda patted Sirius’ back when he frowned at the mention of his satirical mother. “She was the last one of our parents’ generation. It is our chance to start anew, to accept each other. So, it’s decided. We’re having dinner tonight.”

The rest of the family joined in a collective whine, but accepted. Everyone knew better than to mess with Narcissa once she was set on something.

A few hours later, the elves placed all sorts of delicacies at the table. Draco was granted permission to apparate from the school back home, arriving as the rest of the family took their sits. He frowned as he sat by his aunt Bella’s side, who only talked about how he looked like his good for nothing father. He sent a pitiful look at his cousin Nymphadora, who smiled amusedly at him as she tried to start a conversation with Regulus. Sirius and Ted were already talking like old friends and Remus and Lucius shared a laugh at Professor Snape’s expense. Andromeda looked satisfied. Narcissa, at the head of the table, eyed her family proudly.

“Levitate the potatoes my way, please Nymphadora?” said Draco. He wasn’t particularly close with his cousin, but he knew she hated the name.

“Don’t. Call. Me. Nymphadora!” she said as she pushed the potatoes a bit too harshly towards him. Her changed from purple to a shade of red.

“I like you already,” said Bella.

“That’s a very bad sign,” muttered Remus.

(LUCIUS MALFOY) TALKING HEAD.

(Lucius sits on the same elegant armchair as before. He has his legs crossed and the attitude of a dandy).

“Life is full of changes. Some big, some small. I learned a long time ago you can fight it or try to make the best of it. And that's all a lot easier if you've got people who love you to help you face whatever life throws at you,” he says, an affectionate smile on his face.

He then frowns worriedly. “I just hope my house doesn’t become the designated place of gathering. My peacocks couldn’t take it.”

Roll Credits 

[kewltie]

Bitesize BKDK #1

One.

"If you want to save our people, you will not settle anything less but the king's heart and Nasue," his mother says. "Gain his favor and this entire continent will kneel before you. Izuku, my child, you may be chained but you're not broken. Become the thing they're afraid of. "

Two.

"Tell me, my lord, did you bring me to foreign land to be your husband or your enemy?" Izuku asks with a steely calmness that doesn't match the erratic pace of his heart. "Because I cannot be both."

Three.

"I know what your people say about me," Izuku says, hands wringing in front of him but his voice is steady. "A moneygrubbing whore from Easterly, but I didn't wed the king to become the Imperial High Consort. I became the High Consort, so I can wed your king and I would do it all over again."

Four.

Midoriya Izuku was born fight a losing war. Omega, quirkless, and markless, the most unfortunate bastard in the world they'd deemed. A captive of his own genetics lottery, Izuku bears his burden like it's a trial by fire and out he steps from the flames, reforged and sharpened.

Five.

"Some battles aren't won on the field but in the bedroom. So seduce him if you must, sleep with him if you desire, and love him if you dare, but the moment you give your heart over to him you have already lost us the war."

Six.

Izuku doesn't love him. Not for his cruelty or the futility of his dream—to unite this shattered continent under one.

"Come with me," Bakugou demands, "and I'll spare your kingdom."

No, Izuku doesn't love him, but he will wed him and bring this unruly man down to his knees.

Seven.

Izuku's head is full of terrible things, but when the collar is snap into place and he falls to his knees before Katsuki it all goes quiet. The fear, doubt, and anxiety are vanquished. He finds his peace, a temporary relief from his restless mind under Katsuki's firm guiding hand.

Eight.

"—your latest hit single, 'the capital of me is you'," the interviewer says. "You said before that you don't do love songs, so care to explain that?"

"It's not a love song," Katsuki grunts out, a little peeve, but he looks at the camera dead on and adds, "It's an apology."

Nine.

Izuku pulled an old sword out of a stone, got declared the Hero, sent off to kill the evil dragon, and then, somehow, got soulbonded to said evil dragon instead.

"Um, do we have to, uh, consummate our marriage?" he squeaks out as Katsuki blows a fume of smoke from his snout.

Ten.

"Even when we're kids, I knew you were special. You were a star burning through the sky, Kacchan, and I'd idolized you but I didn't love you then." He shakes his head. "I had to wait for you to grow into the best version of yourself before I could see that possibility in you."

Eleven.

"Wait for me, beloved," Nine says.

Heavily pregnant and his brats tucked close to him, Izuku smiles coldly at the handcuffed villain—his husband, mate, and the father of his children. "No, this ends here."

In that moment Katsuki's shitty heart skips a beat and he thinks, fuck.

Twelve.

"Ah, is this that your other dad?" Goda-sensei asks curiously.

"Sperm donor," Kasumi corrects.

Without missing a single beat, Bakugou says, "She's the result of my teenage indiscretion."

Suddenly, her teacher adopts a worry expression like she's actually concern for them.

Thirteen.

"Your hand is cold," he whines. "Stop holding it then."

"No." Izuku grins.

Katsuki scowls, then he leans down and demands a kiss as retribution.

Just behind them, they hear someone says, "Doesn't that couple look like Zero and Deku?"

Fourteen.

"Kacchan?" Izuku asks, even though the answer is written all over the older man's scarred face—in his familiar red eyes and blond hair, and the way he looks at Izuku with a longing so deep it’s like an open wound.

He's staring into Katsuki's future right now and it's devastating.

Fifteen.

A series of flowers encircled a dagger in its embrace is decorated on Izuku's inner thigh. It's identical to his own down to hilt of the blade, but it's faded and discolored like someone had tried to scrub it off.

Katsuki stares at him in horror as Izuku smiles crookedly at him.

Sixteen.

"I'd chosen you all from an elite list of candidates for this important mission: Papa's heart. It won't be easy but love is war," Kasumi says, scrutinizing each suitor.

Hiroto oozes nervous energy, Todoroki is serenely calm, and all the while Bakugou looks absolutely murderous.

Seventeen.

"One more," Katsuki demands as their feet slow a stop with the music and he tightens his grip on Izuku's waist.

"It wouldn't be proper," he insists. "You know, I'm—"

A shadow falls over them. "Please let go of my betrothed, Lord Bakugou," Shouto says with steel in his voice.

Eighteen.

His forehead is pressed against the bark of the tree and somber figure hunched over, body shaking with the slightest of tremor.

"Your Highness?" Kouta calls out.

Consort Izuku's back unbends, shoulders straightens, and he turns around — eyes dry and a smile carefully placed.

Nineteen.

They’d tortured his name right out of him. Scrubbed his memories. Remade him into their image. They'd took everything till he had nothing; he is nothing, but when he close his eyes there’s a ghost of a boy with a pair of haunting green eyes and he is his. That they can't take.

Twenty.

"Scare?"

Izuku shakes his head. "You won't kill me."

Katsuki sneers as he lifts the sword to Izuku’s neck. "Yea, pray tell."

“You need me to keep the rest of the Alkene at bay and because," he sucks in a deep breath and smiles through the pain, "—and because you love me."

[ambersky0319]

Sanders Sides Masterpost

Links to all the sanders sides fanfictions that I’ve posted here!

These are in order by ships(although stories with multiple chapters will be at the top)

Also, as a side note, some stories I couldn’t find because I was an idiot who didn’t tag them with my tags, or they’re just not showing up when I try to find them. So! Apologies about that! If you find any that aren’t here, please let me know so I can add them! ^^

Notice: I’m no longer in the Sanders Sides fandom, and I have no intention of ever returning to the fandom. However! I decided to post all my fics on AO3 so if you would rather read there without having to go through a bunch of links (like me when I want to look back at my old work), I’m slowly working my way through all these fics and uploading them. You can access the series with all the fics here! 

Corrupted(On hold/discontinued): Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | 

You’re Something Else(On hold/discontinued): Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | 

Sinking Fate(On hold/discontinued): Chapter One | Chapter Two | 

-

Prinxiety: Rainy Day | Dearest | Torn | 

Roceit: Wondrous Stars | Snake Charmer | Quality Time | The Prince’s Dance | I Promise | “I Love You...” | I’ll Protect You | Something Beautiful | My Sweet | Starlit Sky | Movie Night | Rough Day | Apologies | 

Intrulogical: Somewhere Only We Know | Secret Love | A Writer’s Pride | You're Absolutely Fascinating | It's You | Out of Hand | Out of Hand pt. 2 | Sea of Love | Hidden Love | Runaway | A Day Worth Remembering | My Galaxy | Looking At You | Cuddles and Crofters | Popping a Question | Void | One Week Left | My Moonstone | “Oblivious” and Obvious | Hold Me Closer | Beloveds and Bears | Bad Things | 

Dukeceit: Stay, please? | Sugar | 

Logicality: The Boy I've Loved for Years | 

Logince: Monochromatic | Overtime | Gift of the Heart | Blush Boy * | Tasty Love | Into the Night | Best Thing They Could Hope For | More Confidence, More Risk | Dreams | 

Analogical: My Star | 

Loceit: In a Daze | Faulty Logic | 

Dukexiety: Fallin’ In Love With My Best Friend | Dear Remus, | Glowing After Midnight | 

Anxceit: A Safe Space - Please be sure to read the warnings! | A Safe Space Part Two | 

Intruloceit: Safe | “The Incident” | Washed Away | Right Term | Stitches | 

Anaroceit: Red Ribbons | 

Loginceit: We’re Never Gonna Be Apart | 

LAMP/DLAMP: Nothing Better | Ladies, Lords, and Nonbinary Royalty | 

Prinxceitmas: Tis the Season | 

Creativitwins: I’m Here | Remember | No Harm In A Little Change | Taking A Tumble | Warning Dismissed | 

Multiship: Doubts and Proposals | It Does Hurt | This Love | Revenge Is Bittersweet | Testing Some Theories | Life and Death | 

No Ships/Platonic Ships: Lost | The Naps | Forgiveness | The One With the Nightmare | Corruption | A Change of Heart | My Little Darklings | Stars Falling | Always There | Veracity | Best Friend | The Cuddle-bug Twins | Birthday Wishes | The Monsters in Our Heads | Priorities | You Have Us | Forgetting One Minor Thing | Six Married Murderers | Trainwreck | Cute and Helpless | Broken Princes | Burnout | 

Asks: Intrulogical | Logicality | Loceit | Dukeceit | Remile | Logince | Analogical | Creativisleep / Rosleep | Logince | Royality | Prinxiety | Logicality | Logince | No ship! | Prinxiety | No ship! | No ship! | LAMP | No ship! | Logince | Platonic Moxiety | Analogical | CreativiSleep | Loceit | Platonic CreativiSleep | Intrulogical | Desleep | Moduke | Loceit | No ship | Logince | Remile | Dukeceit | Moxiety | Prinxiety | Logince | Dukeceit | Intrulogical | Roceit | Dukeceit | Logince | Moduke | Moceit  | Moxiety | Intrulogical | No Ship | No Ship | Logicality | Moduke | No Ship | Loceit | Logicality | Romile/Princani | Intrulogical | Loceit | Platonic Anxceit | Dukexiety | Intrulogical | No Ship | Prinxieceit | Loceit | Rem^2 | Anaroceit | Loceit | Dukeceit | One-Sided Moceit | Prinxiety | Platonic Logince | Desleep/Sleepceit | One-Sided Moceit | Pre-Roceit | Creativitwins? Dukeceit? Maybe?? | Pre-Intrulogical | No Ship? | Remus-Centric Angst | Roceit | Creativisleep | Intrulogical | Intruloceit | Anaroceit | Intruloceit / One-Sided Logince | Intrulogical | Loceit / Pre-Loceit | Intruloceit of some kind | No Ship | Loceit | No Ship | Intruloceit | Dukexiety | Logince | Anaroceit | Anaroceit | No Ship | Intrulogical | Dukeceit | Creativitwins | Dukexiety | No Ship | Ships @ Beginning | Logicality | Intrulogical | Creativitwins | Creativitwins | (this part discontinued, prompts are included in above sections now) |

[thedevilsruby]

Business, Torture and Pleasure (Clierra multi chapter fic)

Sierra is a Team Rocket Leader who has it all: A great job with amazing pay, a nice apartment and the envy of Team Rocket Grunts. The downside? She must submit to her lustful boss Giovanni to keep it all. Will she find love in her coleader Cliff or will it fall apart at Giovanni’s hands?

Warning: This fic will contain sexual abuse, sexual assault, physical abuse and gaslighting. You have been warned.

(Chapter One) (Chapter Two) (Chapter Three) (Chapter Four) (Chapter Five) (Chapter Six) (Chapter Seven: You are here)  (Chapter Eight) (Chapter Nine) (Chapter Ten) (Chapter Eleven) (Chapter Twelve) (Chapter Thirteen) (Chapter Fourteen) (Chapter Fifteen) (Chapter Sixteen)

Chapter Seven: Temporary Freedom

No, she hasn’t talked to Cliff since that day. Don’t ask.

Did it kill her inside? It felt like a white hot knife in her heart.

Was it worth it to protect one of her (former) friends? Absolutely.

And now she had to cut Arlo out of her life too. The poor squirt didn’t do anything wrong, but she needed to keep him safe too. She typed away at her computer, hoping work would help her cope.

“I’m watching you.”

She froze. Even when she was alone, she heard him in her head. “Go away.” She muttered.

“I’m watching you. I’m watching you. I’m watching you.”

“I said go away!” She said a little more loudly and firmly.

“ I’m watching you. I’m watching you. I’m watching you.  I’m watching you. I’m watching you. I’m watching you.”

“I SAID STOP!” She screamed desperately, shoving a binder pull of papers off her desk.

His derisive laugh filled her head. “Pick that up, you clumsy no good whore.”

Sierra took deep breaths as she tried to ignore it. She picked the papers up and put the back as she saw them. She rubbed her temples. “I need a vacation.” She sighed to herself.

But he would never approve it, so long as she ‘serviced’ him, he would need her around.

“I hate him.” She snarled to herself, punching her desk.

She jumped as her phone rang. Her heart dropped as she saw his name at the top. Regardless, she picked it up.

“Yes, boss?”

“Come to my office, I have news.”

~

“You’re going on a month long business trip?” Sierra asked in disbelief as she watched Giovanni pack his briefcase.

“That’s right, something urgent came up and they require me to be there in person. You’re in charge while I’m gone.”

Sierra bit her lip. No being tortured for a month? No secret ‘meetings’ for a month? She could talk to anyone she desired while he was gone? 

Her heart and mind went giddy at the prospect, though she hid it well.

“I’ll...do my best.” She hesitated.

“I know it’s a huge responsibility but I believe in you. Don’t let me down.”

“Yes sir.”

With a nod for his beloved Persian to follow him, he left. Once she saw him go down the elevator and into the limo, she let out the hugest grin and the most uncharacteristic squeal of delight.

“It’s only for awhile, but I’m finally free!” she giggled almost like a maniac. But she didn’t care, he was gone! He couldn’t force her to do those disgusting things!  No more being spied on! No more tingles up her back when she knew his eyes were on her!

She could talk to the Grunts, she could talk to Cassidy and whathisname, Botch? Biffy? Whatever, she could talk to them as she pleased! 

She could even talk to-

Cliff and Arlo.

Cliff.

Her laughter slowly went down as she bit her lip. How could she ever face him again after throwing his apology back in his face? 

Did he hate her?

“Only one way to find out.” She muttered, deciding to talk to him when she could. Even if it scared her to death.

[alkhale]

Nascent A/B/O AU (Ko-fi request)

hi i’d love an a/b/o au for nascent i’m absolutely in love with these characters and would love to see them in this universe pls pls pls

Once, Damian Wayne had cared about the topic of second genders.

Back when he did not just consider himself simply a son of his father. Back when being heir apparent and young emperor of the League of Shadows was his title, his life, and his purpose. Back when Damian was proud to have the blood of al Ghul running through his veins, when he was groomed from birth to grave to be the greatest assassin, the greatest leader, and eventual conqueror of this world and the next over. Back when the scent of blood was comfort and the easy grip of metal between his fingertips was the same as holding a fork, raising a gun to someone’s temple or slicing through bone and flesh like cutting weeds.

The idea of second genders was just a small addition to that grand scheme.

His mother was an alpha. His father was an alpha. His grandfather as well. Strong blood ran through their veins, dominant blood that was groomed and inherently bred to conquer and control. Alphas stood at the top of the hierarchy and living up to inherit this gene seemed only second nature on his quest toward the top. His mother had taught it to him, simple.

“Omegas are at the bottom,” Talia said. “They are weak and must be protected by nature. They are of little threat to you aside from the power their own instincts may have over you. You will train to combat this. To be above your natural instincts so as not to fall prey to an omega’s whims. Their best purpose is for breeding, but you must not cast them aside. Any threat is available in any shadow,  no matter how weak.”

Betas were the general population. The normal. Insignificant. Betas could try and fight but odds were they would never hold a candle to danger in his life. Other alphas, however, were his greatest concern. People genetically on level with his own status, but not level with his skill, his grit, his everything. He would make sure of that.

Damian attended his lessons, understood the properties, trained to hone in his own pheromones and senses, remained rigorous against the omegas his mother would bring into the temple to train him how to combat their own advances, remain calm and lucid even under the most powerful scents.

Damian presented young—at nine compared to the usual ten to twelve. His mother did not praise him, simply nodded, satisfied. Being born an alpha was the least he should be able to do. She’d kill him otherwise.

Second genders were simply a small addition to his life, they were nothing in the bigger picture, just as always.

And then his life changed.

“Justice, not vengeance.”

His life with his father changed him. His life with them changed him. These long, age-old beliefs of second genders were not...erased, but Damian learned to adapt and tweak the small bits his mother had instilled into him with an iron grip. Betas were still subpar, he still stood at the top of the food chain, and omegas were minute concerns.

Grayson was the only exception. Drake lived up perfectly to the beta ideal of not enough compared to his own skills. Grayson, however, had come across to him as nothing but pure alpha material and had still revealed himself to be nothing more than a humble beta. He was the anomaly, and he made Damian rethink his own earlier thoughts on what it meant to be a beta, to be anything in this world.

“Why weren’t you born an alpha?”

Grayson smiled, bright blue eyes shining.

“Does it matter?”

Todd was the only one of his predecessors to have presented as an alpha, but he was a dark, complicated stain and unwinding thread in the history of Robins that still brought a quiet look to his father’s face, and Damian usually preferred not to have much to do with him. Given the nature of that half-dead idiot, Alfred had said he was never one to care much about being an alpha or otherwise.

En route to becoming a hero, not quite washing the blood from his hands, never anything as easy as that, but on his way to trying to never have blood on his hands again—Damian was confronted with a force far more dangerous than anything he had ever faced before.

“Hiya! You’ve got pretty eyes—wanna play the piano with me?”

Pandora Jayes, stupid, strange, bright-eyed and horribly… cheerful, ten-years old, sweet smelling (he figured it was the nature of her home, a bakery) always… smiling, that strange, strange girl, and currently unpresented.

Pandora Jayes, after trial and error, after time, time, and time, after being with him, slipping her tiny fingers into cracks no one else should have fit into, politely leaving her shoes outside his chest before slipping into his heart—Pandora Jayes, his precious, precious friend.

In all their time together, she never asked what his second gender was. 

Soft blue eyes, like frost, thin slabs of rounded ice that always looked so warm. They blinked at him, curious. A warm sweater hugged her shoulders, mottled brown hair pulled away from her face into a small braid that curled over her neck. Her beaming smile, even when he wasn’t doing a damn thing.

“Well, that stuff’s not even important,” Pandora sniffed the air experimentally. “You’re a big strong alpha, sure. But who cares about that?”

Her stupid grin.

“You’re Dam.”

Not Damian, conqueror of worlds. Not Wayne. Not Robin. Not alpha. Not anyone else.

Just him.

Throughout their years together, Pandora’s unpresented state worked as a strange sort of time bomb for his nerves. Yes, with Pandora, Damian had begun to wrap his head around a different notion of second genders, one he’d never quite considered before—a lack of thinking about them. And yes, he did not care about what Pandora would present as, he would find… favorable thoughts of her regardless. He was Dam, she was Pandora.

Mine. A quiet, rippling growl in the far, far, abyss of his chest. It pressed against his throat sometimes, threatening to intoxicate the air. My Pandora. My beloved.

Damian Wayne had been trained in his youth to be able to press and control his pheromones better than anything else. He knew how to use his scent, heavy and powerful to his advantage and he knew when to tamper it down onto a tight lid.

...sure, on the occasion, the rare occasion, when sweet-smelling, soft, warm Pandora beside him… happened to spur a scenting or two, then by all means. Pandora did not mind, so there was no problem if he was rolling his fingers against the barely noticeable scent glands on her wrists. Pandora didn’t seem to mind or notice otherwise unless that stupid Mary happened to complain about how Pandora reeked of him. That was perfectly fine, in his opinion. Pandora was his. She should smell like him.

Pandora’s scent didn’t stick long. He could barely catch it on his clothes or against his skin, sniffing in vain and ignoring a faintly bemused Alfred. Because she hadn’t presented, it had little power or effect.

 Damian would often find himself pressing his face into the crook of her neck, waiting there, wondering as Pandora babbled on and on beside him.

At fifteen years old, Pandora had yet to present.

It wasn’t particularly uncommon, but it wasn’t normal either. Most presented by twelve, but the latest account of presenting occurred somewhere at eighteen. He could not quite imagine what it would be like to wait three more years to know the turn Pandora’s scent would take, the way her body might shift, the small turn of those eyes and the way—

Lucy Jayes was a beta. He did not know what Pandora’s father was but she said she thought alpha. Odds were Pandora herself would present as a beta. It only made sense.

And yet…

There was something to Pandora’s scent that always tugged at his senses, pressed hard at his throat and flooded his chest. A promise in her scent. A promise he wanted to see fulfilled. Damian Wayne was a man with many secrets and while he bared many openly to Pandora the same way she bared her heart so kindly to him—so good, so good, just the way it should be, that’s it—there were some… occasional musings Damian found himself considering.

Yes, he would love Pandora no matter what. Yes, no matter how she presented, she would remain by his side, that would never ever change. Never. Never. Never. A fiercer voice growled, snarling and fangs bared to the world.

But there were moments. Slim, small moment where Damian allowed himself to wonder, eyes drifting to the smooth skin of Pandora’s neck. About a Pandora with a certain scent. A Pandora with the ability to meet his own a way only two bodies could. A Pandora whose neck would allow his fangs to sink in, to forge and uphold the promise he wanted to exist. A Pandora who—

Was an omega.

Damian Wayne no longer believed omegas were to be protected. They were not spineless, crawling beings. They were people, one in the same, he was wrong to have ever thought otherwise. And while he knew better than to live into stereotypes and prejudice, he couldn’t help but imagine, that soft Pandora, a Pandora as an omega would fit so… so right.

“I’ll just be a beta,” Pandora said, licking her lips as they shared another cone of ice cream. He watched the action in slow fascination. “No biggie. Presenting as an omega isn’t bad, but it’s too much work.”

No. A quiet, low growl in his chest. You’ll be perfect.

“Whatever you are,” Damian said, raising his voice above the growl. “You will be perfect.”

Pandora flushed, looking stupidly pleased with herself as she mumbled incoherencies at him. Damian took the moment to scent her again. She spoiled him and he refused to let her stop.

He meant it, he really did. No matter what, nothing would change the way he felt. He just… could dream, couldn’t he?

Pandora suddenly stiffened beside him. Damian paused, catching the shift in her language in a second. He raised his head from her neck, watching her face, pulling away to guage her expression. What had happened? Did she see something? “Pandora?”

“I just,” Pandora stopped. She touched her forehead, touched her neck. Sweat was beginning to gather along her brow and something was starting to stir, slow and heavy in the pit of Damian’s stomach. He gripped the bench tighter, inhaled the air, something sharp and sweet. His eyes went wide. “Yikes. I don’t feel so hot, Dam. I think—”

“Presenting?” Damian said, cutting quick.

Pandora froze, looking at him with wide eyes. “Is… you think so?”

I know so. His heart thrummed to life, steady against his chest. Damian quickly stood, dumping the cone into the trash and grabbing his coat. Pandora’s scent was growing thicker, heavier, sweeter. That low voice in his chest was beginning to growl, harder, louder.

Pandora’s eyes were round with disbelief. She was panting now, soft, quick little breaths. She kept smelling the air, rubbing her wrists, looking uncertainly at him. She rubbed her jaw. She’s not comfortable. It’s happening too fast.

I don’t want anyone else to see.

The park was practically empty. A couple sat a few benches away. Damian’s inner voice barked out a rough order.

No one else but me.

“Quickly,” Damian swallowed, hard. Calm yourself. Calm. She needs you more than anyone else right now. Get her home. Move from there. Think later, plan later. Now is just for her. Damian reached for Pandora’s wrist. “You shouldn’t be out and about—”

Slap!

For a brief second, Damian’s world came to a screeching, abrupt halt.

Pandora’s hand trembled in the air for a second, fingers shaking before they curled quickly into a tight fist. Her eyes were wide, staring at him in disbelief, one of her hands now cupped over her mouth, over her nose. Her eyes watered and—

Damian blinked, unable to process his hand hovering in the air, slapped aside and—

The scent hit him, heavy and—

Damian slapped a hand over his own nose on reflex. It came, raw and sharp, like fresh cut ginger and pure vanilla extract. But it cut into the air, sweet and forceful. There was power to it, pulsing and stinging his nose in a way he was only familiar with—

“Oh,” Pandora gasped, both her hands over her mouth, hiding what must be her now prominent fangs. “Oh. Oh, my… damn.”

It was uncharacteristic of Pandora to curse in such a manner.

What on earth?

Tentatively, unable to mistake the smell, Damian sniffed the air. He looked at Pandora as though she’d decked him across the face and told him she was running off to the League of Shadows.

Two raw, wild balls of energy pressed hard into each other. Their scents battled in a way only two similar scents could do. The low, threatening growl in his chest and the way Pandora had nearly lashed out at him.

Pandora gaped, jaw dropping and Damian almost, almost did the same.

Pandora Jayes, fifteen, his beloved, precious friend—

Had presented as an alpha.

“Scheisse,” Damian said.

- scheisse means shit in german, damian just defaulted to any random language because he’s .-. rn and pandora is :0

(I HAD A LOT OF FUN WITH THIS, THIS WAS THE TWIST I ALWAYS WANTED TO TAKE I HOPE THAT’S OKAY)

[mass-dreams]

i wrote a thing?? it’s uhhhh almost three thousand words so you can read it on AO3 if you want. this is my first time properly sharing my writing, so i’m nervous, and i know i have a ton of room to improve. constructive criticism is always appreciated, but please don’t be rude!! in the very relatable words of our beloved alistair theirin, “i bruise easily.” (metaphorically so, this time)

_______________________________________________________

Thalia was used to feeling unwanted.  

The moment the fire had left her fingertips, the life she had always known shattered. She had expected that, really. But she hadn’t expected the disgust in her father’s eyes when her magic became known. She hadn’t expected her mother to cower in fear of her nine-year-old daughter. 

Even as her younger brother’s arms wrapped around her waist, the ache in her chest only became more painful. The lump in her throat grew. The tears in her eyes spilled over.

Her family was safe. Her little brother was safe. That should be all that mattered. 

Yet she knew they didn’t feel safe. Not anymore. Not with her. 

Her own family didn’t want her. 

She was cast aside, struck from the Trevelyan records as much as public knowledge would allow. 

“We can’t have a mage, of all things, tainting our house’s reputation,” Bann Trevelyan had said. 

When the Templars arrived, Thalia felt almost relieved to finally leave her home.

Although, it wasn’t really her home anymore, was it? 

With each step taken away from the Trevelyan estate, she could feel the invisible cord connecting her to the place become tighter and tighter until it was pulled taut. Until it snapped. 

It felt like the broken pieces of the life she had just destroyed were cutting into her- nothing but sharp edges, draining everything. 

Life in the Ostwick Circle felt almost like a dream to Thalia. Then, she was too young to know the horrors mages often faced. She only knew that she was finally learning how to properly control her magic. That there was a library filled with books waiting for her. 

She was homesick for a while. There were many nights she fell asleep with tears soaking her pillow, mourning the life she had once had. The brothers she had had to leave behind. The parents whose love she had thought unconditional until she found the exception. Until she realized she was the exception. 

Thalia paid little attention to the other apprentices, though not maliciously, or even intentionally. She was so wrapped up in learning everything she possibly could, that making friends was far from her mind.

The others misinterpreted her distance.

In their minds, she was being snobbish, and conceited, and thought she was better than them because she was nobility. 

For years, Thalia was an outcast without even knowing it.

It wasn’t until her teenage years that she realized just how anti-social she had been. She was always polite and kind in the interactions she had with her peers, even though they were few and far between. 

She made a point to actually attempt to make a friend.

That was when she finally noticed the whispers, and the pointing, and the laughs. When she tried to start a conversation with one of her fellow mages, they would sneer, and hastily end the exchange.

Thalia knew when she was unwanted. 

Years later, everything had changed. The Circles were no more. There was a giant hole in the sky. And the key to the world’s salvation was on Thalia’s left hand, glowing a bright, sickly green. 

The mage walked out of the Chantry, inhaling a deep breath of the fresh, crisp air she had been deprived of for fifteen years. She strolled leisurely towards the gates of Haven, taking in the sights of people bustling about in the snow.

She stepped outside of the village, her attention quickly drawn to golden hair and a deep scowl. 

Maker, Thalia would never understand how the commander managed to look endearing while literally glaring at reports. 

She was aware of the fact that he used to be a Templar, and she was also much more knowledgeable of what many mages unfairly faced throughout Thedas. Cullen had seemed wary of her at first. The man had seemed to warm up to her, though, after she had aided the refugees in the Hinterlands and used her healing abilities to help the soldiers. 

Ever since she had first met Cullen on the battlefield, he had invaded her thoughts, taking up much more space in her mind than was appropriate. Foolish, she knows, to think of a man she met only a short time ago so often. 

He was the commander though, and her the Herald of Andraste (or so many believed). She ought to get to know him better, considering the amount of time the two would be spending together for Maker-only-knows how long. At least until they sorted out this whole “end of the world” business. 

However, as Thalia gathered up the courage to speak to the man (and rehearsed the entire conversation in her head), the stares and whispers caught her attention. 

“The ‘Herald of Andraste’- a mage! Can you believe it?”

“I heard she’s supposed to be nobility, but was kicked out of her own damn family!”

“Does she even speak? I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say a word.” 

“That’s probably because no one wants to get close enough to hold a conversation!” 

Thalia turned on her heel and hastily retreated back into the village, back into her cabin.

Perhaps not everything had changed. 

Skyhold felt like a new beginning. 

It seemed as though Thalia had proven herself when she risked her life during the destruction of Haven.

In all honesty, she had been absolutely terrified. Like, shit-your-pants terrified. 

She never, in a million years, would have thought that she would have to face down an ancient dark magister and his pet archdemon. 

She was familiar with the prospect of risking herself to save others, though. She had experience in that area. The lives of those hundreds of villagers was worth far more than her own. If it took her death for them to live another day, then so be it. 

The whispers and stares had lost their malice. Now it was mostly wonder, and even worship that filled the expressions of those she passed by. 

It also felt like the beginning of something with her commander.

In the courtyard, he had promised to never let anything like Haven happen again. The poor man took the deaths of those lost as his own personal failure.

He had also said that he was glad she made it out. Specifically her. While the words themselves could be chalked up to his unwillingness to lose the Anchor or just another life in general, the expression on his face, and his awkwardness after the words left his mouth made Thalia think differently. 

Then came his struggle with lyrium. 

Thalia’s heart hurt to think of Cullen in pain- to think of everything he had had to experience in his past and the effect it had on him. 

His strength through everything, and his ability to persevere only made her affection and respect for him grow stronger.

She had assured him that he was doing the right thing. That he could make it through. 

Afterwards, when she had found him on the battlements, she couldn’t help but watch as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in.

He seemed… at peace, if only for a moment. As if he had been able to lay down a burden he had been carrying on his shoulders for so long. 

Each time Thalia thought she couldn’t possibly feel anymore for this man than she already did, he managed to prove her wrong.

Their chess game in Skyhold’s gardens only reinforced the small inkling in Thalia’s head of what if…? 

What if her feelings weren’t unrequited? What if Cullen reciprocated? 

“We should spend more time together,” Thalia risked saying.

“I would like that,” Cullen replied, his face seeming to light up at the idea.

Unable to form any other words, Thalia simply said, “Me too.”

His eyes were gentle, and a small smile graced his lips as the words left his mouth, “You said that.” 

Thalia’s face burnt as he brought their attention back to chess. Her embarrassment was worth it to see him smile, though. Maker, what she would do to make him smile. 

Not soon after that, the two began to have near nightly chess games, even going as far to have supper in Cullen’s office while they played.

It evolved into a routine for them. Eventually the chess board would lay forgotten- the pair too wrapped up in conversation and each other to pay attention to it. 

The illusion Thalia had built for herself crumbled sooner than she had expected. 

Of course, it was on a night when she was feeling particularly brave- particularly reckless. 

At the war table meeting that morning, she had caught the commander staring at her. While Josephine was rambling about a very important noble visitor (Thalia couldn’t even remember who it was, now), she had glanced at the man (which she absolutely did not do every twenty seconds, thank you very much) and found his eyes already on her. 

He quickly looked away, a blush coloring his cheeks. 

She turned back to Josie, with a large smile that she couldn’t seem to hide, and attempted to force herself to pay attention to the words coming out of the woman’s mouth, but ultimately failed.

Later that day, the two had even found time to have lunch together.

Or, well, Thalia had arrived at his office with a report that could absolutely not be handled by anyone else (it may have had something to do with trebuchets, though Thalia didn’t know for sure, as she had barely glanced at it before snatching it from the messenger while they were distracted delivering the inquisitor's own reports), and demanded Cullen eat something after he had denied having breakfast, and initially refused to eat lunch, as well. 

Although, he had given in rather easily to Thalia after she had offered to stay and eat with him. 

Ultimately, these events motivated the inquisitor to do something she never would have expected from herself- confess. 

That night, she had resolved to return to Cullen’s office after they had supper, when most of Skyhold’s inhabitants would be either asleep or shit-faced drunk at the Herald’s Rest. 

She donned her favorite outfit- a long, flowy dress with transparent sleeves that lacked a shoulder, colored a light blue which Josie had said matched her eyes, and Thalia couldn’t remember the last time she had worn a dress. Not robes, but an actual dress. She pulled her long black hair over her shoulders, and took a deep breath as she descended the stairs into the main hall.

With each step the butterflies in her stomach became more intense, but at that moment Thalia had no doubt in her actions or what the result of them would be.

As she pushed open the door leading onto the walkway to Cullen’s office, she couldn’t help but smile. 

To think that all it would take to move their relationship forward- to something they both wanted, she was sure- was just a little bit of courage.

She almost laughed. She probably would have, if her eyes hadn’t caught the figure leaving Cullen’s office through the door facing the tavern. 

It was an elven woman, dressed in the inquisition’s scout armor- Thalia could tell by the shape of the silhouette. 

The woman seemed to be… readjusting her clothes, and fixing her hair. 

But why would she be delivering something to the commander so late at night? And why would she be so disheveled just from-

Oh.

Oh.

The smile dropped from the inquisitor’s face as the realization hit her. 

Of course Cullen didn’t actually want me, she thought. It was ridiculous to even entertain the idea. He probably only dealt with you because you’re basically his boss.

The thought made her heart ache, and her eyes fill with tears.

Throughout her entire life, no one had wanted her.

Why would this be any different?

Why would he be any different?

How could she have believed that this strong, kind, selfless man could possibly have feelings for her- a mage disowned by her own family, with nothing but herself to offer him? 

Foolish, really. 

The ache in her chest only grew stronger as she made her way back to her quarters.

Thalia knew when she was unwanted. 

She was used to it by now. 

Thalia allowed herself only that night to mourn what she thought had been. Only one night to let the tears fall freely. There was still a world to save, after all. 

Attempts to avoid the commander entirely were futile, considering their positions. 

Though she had stopped her evening visits to his office, entirely convinced their friendship had been one-sided and in her head because why would he want to spend time with her that he could be spending with his lover? 

When she caught him watching her, she chalked it up to be him double-checking her- making sure she was doing everything right because obviously, as the Herald of Andraste, she couldn’t make a single mistake. His small, almost shy smiles that always made her melt, were never meant to affect her in the way they did. When he went to check on her in her quarters after she was buried underneath a mountain of paperwork, making sure she ate, it was concern for their leader, not for her. 

She had mistaken his tolerance for acceptance- for desire, even for the possibility of what could eventually be love. 

But of course he would be with someone else. Of course, Thalia wouldn’t be enough because she had never even been kissed, for fuck’s sake. If no one else had wanted her in that way, why would he?

Soon, though, Cullen seemed… different. The circles under his eyes became darker as the days went by. His hand went to his temple- an attempt to ease a headache, Thalia knew- more often than ever before. The candle illuminating his office windows seemed to burn even longer into the night. 

Eventually, concern for the man overpowered Thalia’s own shattered heart. If he didn’t want her there, then he could tell her so. 

She went to his office at an ungodly hour in the morning, when she couldn’t sleep, and neither could he, it seemed.

Thalia knocked softly on Cullen’s door, and stepped into his office after hearing his quiet, gruff, “Come in.”

“Inquisitor!” he startled, abruptly standing up from behind his desk. “I thought… I thought you stopped coming.” His voice seemed small, and weak when the words left his mouth. 

“Yes, well… I saw you had found someone else to spend your time with. I didn’t wish to impose,” Thalia replied, though with no malice, and not accusatory- she was just stating an observation. She ignored the confused furrow in his brow as she attempted to barrel on and get to the point- his well being, which was much more important. He didn’t allow her to do that, though, and stopped her before she could say anything else.

“Who… ? What are you talking about? I assure you, no one has taken your place. My eyes are only on you,” Cullen said, as if it was the most casual thing in the world, as if it wouldn’t make Thalia’s heart beat a thousand times faster because does he mean what I think he means? 

His words seemed to catch up to him, as his signature, adorable blush appeared on his cheeks and his hand came up to rub the back of his neck. “Maker’s breath. That is… I mean…”

“What about the scout I saw leave your office? It was really late, and she seemed… a bit disheveled,” Thalia replied, deciding to put him out of his misery, and seek the answer she really needed if he truly did mean what he said.

The furrow between the commander’s brows reappeared, his lips set into a small pout as he tried to recall the scout she was asking about. 

“Are you talking about… Maker, I didn’t know it looked like that. She had ran all the way here from the stables with an urgent message from the Hinterlands, then promptly tripped when she walked through my doorway.” 

Thalia almost giggled, but didn’t when she realized it sounded like something that she, herself, would do, and that this meant her commander had no lover and might actually feel the same way about her. 

However, “Oh…” was all that managed to leave her mouth.

The pair stood there in awkward silence, until-

“Did you really mean-”

“I really meant-”

They spoke at the same time, then met each other’s eyes as their faces burnt red, and smiles graced their lips.

“I did,” Cullen said softly, as he stepped out from behind his desk and stopped right in front of Thalia. “Do you…?”

“I do.” The words were breathy- she practically whispered them- but how was she supposed to form a coherent thought when he was so close and his eyes kept looking at her lips and Maker, he’s going to kiss me.

Their lips met, with one of Cullen’s hands on her cheek and his other on her waist. It was clumsy, and Thalia knew she was doing it wrong, but Maker, this is perfect. 

When he made to pull away, Thalia pouted and reached up to pull him back to her. 

He smiled against her mouth and let her. 

Thalia already knew she would never be able to get enough of the man. 

She knew, now, that she was wanted. 

[darklydeliciousdesires]

From the Ashes - Chapter Thirty One.

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Chapter Thirty One

In the chaos that swirled, knowing that he would likely die in this battle without ever seeing his beloved again, Geralt fought on savagely. If death was to take him, he wouldn’t make such a task easy at all. 

He split a man’s head with his sword, swinging it into the neck of another, using his powers to send four of them flying backwards before taking the head of a Vulc, seeing the army continuing to pour in over the horizon and knowing in his heart, no one would survive this.  

There were thousands and thousands of them, an impregnatable wall of men coming from the Nilfgaardian Empire, a swarm, a sea of dark, Vulc running with them, death approaching. Geralt knew this was it, this was the end. Just then though, from the air, he heard a noise that hadn’t been heard in over fifty years, a roar that made the ground shake and the enemy stop in their tracks. He heard him.  

“What the absolute fuck was that?” Jaskier shouted, swinging his sword into an oncoming man and disembowelling him.  

“That, my friend, was Nilhir the Black.” Geralt replied, looking to the sky to see the great, black dragon gaining on the battlefield, another to his side. They’d done it. She’d done it. At knowing this, pride swelled within him like never before for his brave little sprite.  

The screech above was utterly deafening as the gargantuan black beast suddenly descended, Geralt kicking one man in the chest and turning to take the head of another before he snatched a shield off the ground.  

“Jaskier!” he yelled, grabbing his friend and holding the shield over them both as he ducked down…

Holding onto his spines tightly, her burned hands bleeding, Arelle closed her eyes to the wind battering against her face, praying to the seven goddesses she didn’t fall to her death from Nilhir’s back. Her entire body screamed in pain as she felt him descend, but the taste of victory flooded her. If Daida and Florie could distract and hold Mardryk for long enough so that he couldn’t bring down the dragons, they would win.  

She could see the clear line of the gargantuan force that was their enemy, hoping that the northern army had the sense to get out of the way as they descended again. “Now, little sprite?” she heard Nilhir ask her as the ground was suddenly very close.  

“Now. Burn them!” She screamed, the great beast opening his mouth, drawing back a mighty breath and decimating the enemy with an inferno the likes of which she could hardly believe was real…

The heat of Nilhir’s fire hitting the top of the shield could be felt even through his armour as Geralt held it aloft, only emerging when he heard the swoosh of the dragon’s wings signalling his ascent again. Emerging from under their cover, he swung the pointed end of the shield into the neck of a Vulc who was running at them on fire, the northern army generals calling for everyone to fall back.  

Backward they moved, killing anything still living and attempting to come after them, this time being able to see the incredible sight that was Nilhir once again descending sharply from the air to cremate the enemy, men screaming, Vulc roaring.  

The second dragon who Davrin rode, a blue female Geralt recognised to be Astorak, descended and breathed her fire at the furthest point of the formation, the dragons working together to burn them from the outside in, making it impossible for the men and Vulc in the inner formations to escape. This was it, the battle would be theirs as long as Daida and Florie could fulfil their duty…

Watching his army burn, Mardryk turned his attentions to the skies, summoning the spell to burn the dragons alive with their own fire before suddenly two forces hit him, rendering him completely distracted. There in front and behind him stood Daida and Florie, appearing from portals and hitting him with their magic, the luminous bolts surging from their hands.  

All they had to do was hold him, but by the seven goddesses, they’d never felt anything like his resistance. Daida screamed with effort as she felt him fighting back against her, Florie feeling her arms beginning to shake as she looked up and saw Nilhir swoop down and blast the remaining Nilfgaardian army with his fire, Arelle just about visible on his back.  

“Hold on, Daida! Hold on!” Florie shouted, witnessing Daida’s nose beginning to stream with blood. The evil wizard knew the blonde mage held the greater power, so sent more energy to fight against her, hitting Daida in the chest as she tried with all her might to fight it. Being hit like that with magic so dark, she knew though. He had the upper hand.

“You children shall not beat me! Your magic is not strong enough!” Mardryk roared, sending extra of his power to Daida again, knowing she was weaker now. Florie increased her surge all she could, starting to cry as she saw her friend, her sister mage weakening, her eyes now streaming blood.  

“We might not be, but our army is! It’s over, Mardryk! Look at your forces, they burn on the ground!” Florie screamed at him, trying to make him turn his attentions from Daida.

“Never!” It didn’t work, he was deliberately weakening her, knowing she would fall first. The mage held on for all she could, reduced down to her knees now as she battled him, but it was no good. She was too weak and he too strong, Mardryk’s power taking her life as she collapsed down, leaving Florie screaming her name as her precious life flickered to nothing. It was up to her now.  

“You weren’t strong enough with your dead friend. What makes you think you can take me alone, little mage? You are weak! You are nothing!” he taunted her with, Florie feeling the heat of the flames as yet another jet of fire hit the ground, the screech of the dragons above ear splitting.  

“She isn’t alone.” Geralt told him, appearing from the side of the hill and swinging his sword to cleanly take Mardryk’s head, the evil wizard’s body slumping over as Florie collapsed to the floor. With one blow, it was over. The months of war, the suffering, the terror, it was now ended efficiently and quickly.  

Geralt had wanted to see if the mages could have dealt with him by themselves, never wanting to undermine their power. After witnessing Daida fall though, he knew Florie was in grave danger. Undermining her or not, he wasn’t going to let her fight him alone, moving through the fire under the shield to get to Mardryk’s vantage point. He knew the last thing the evil wizard would expect was a sneak attack from the side.  

“You did it, you, you killed him!” Florie gasped, attempting to get up. She was too weak, her strength zapped.

“You weakened him for me, Florie,” he told her, reaching to lift her to her feet. They stood on the hill and watched, fire and blood all around them, the dragons beginning to slowly ascend to landing now the enemy was completely quashed. “He’d have killed me in one on one combat. Even as a witcher, I couldn’t have fought him the way you did.”  

“You ended him though, ultimately. Everyone shall know this too,” she spoke, squeezing his arm to enforce her statement. The last thing she expected was for him to shake his head.

“No. I do not want it to become common knowledge that I killed him. I’m not the kind of man who could deal with that kind of accolade easily, more specifically the attention it would bring me. I reject such. You killed him, Florie, you were the one to end Mardryk.” She nodded dumbly, Geralt smiling and surprising her greatly by leaning down and kissing her cheek, whispering his thanks of her agreement.

He then moved aside as he saw Jaskier running for the hill, his friend covered the ground impressively to get to Florie, picking her up and swinging her around in his arms, telling her how wonderful and brave she was. Geralt smiled, sensing something had developed between them which he’d not noticed, walking over to where the mighty black dragon had landed to reunite with his love.  

He caught her in his arms, kissing her with relief as he felt her legs lock around him, stroking her face. She was alive, she had survived the impossible, a feat which he did not expect her to. What he felt as he held and kissed her was beyond anything he’d experienced before. Their time wasn’t over.  

“I’m sorry that I shouted at you. I needed to try though, just to see. We would have...” That was as far as she got before Geralt silenced her with the kind of kiss that knocked the wind right out of her.  

“I know, we would have lost either way had your plan not have worked. It did though, it did. You...you are wonderful...and brilliant...and brave...and a true warrior...and the love of my life,” he spoke, his statements punctuated by further kisses.  

“I love you so much,” she told him, stroking his face.  

“I love you too, tiny beauty,” he replied, setting her down. It was then that she cast her eyes around, her face falling as it inevitably would when she saw Daida, lifeless on the ground.

“No! No, no, no!” she sobbed hysterically, gasping as she ran to her, throwing herself down and stroking her cheeks. “Daida, wake up! Please, you can’t die now. Not now we’ve beaten him!” she cried, willing her to open her eyes. It was not to be though, grief hitting her in the chest as she cradled her head and wept.  

Florie moved to her side in an instant, putting her arm around her and holding onto one of Daida’s lifeless hands, the women both crying as they held one another, wishing it wasn’t so. War came with casualties and loss, this they of course understood. It didn’t mean losing their friend hurt them any less though.  

Geralt and Jaskier gave them their time to mourn their friend before approaching, offering them comfort through their sadness. It was just as Geralt turned her away and took hold of her hands to examine her buns that the ground shaking beneath them alerted to Nilhir approaching.  

“Arelle, here. Take them. For your burns,” he told her, nearing his head to her and blinking tears from his bright yellow eyes. Dragon tears, it was widely known, healed all wounds, but were only bestowed upon those the dragon in question held in the highest esteem.  

“What an incredible honour, to receive his tears. He must think very highly of you,” Geralt commented, watching as she bathed her hands in them as they rolled off his scales, her burns beginning to slowly heal over and fade. Everywhere she was burned, she rubbed the tears, the pain subsiding almost immediately.

“Tell your witcher he is correct,” Nilhir then said, Arelle relaying his words. The dragon then lifted his head and looked out upon the destruction, everything that remained from the war. The good might have won, but it was at a terrible expense. “I imagine perhaps only a few thousand of the northern army still stand. It is a great pity.”  

Continuing to talk, Arelle listened to him intently as they both stood and viewed what remained, the dragon lamenting the loss but offering encouraging words.

“What did he say?” Geralt asked, standing with them as they watched the fires continuing to burn below.  

“He said that from the ashes, we will be cleansed of our burdens and begin our lives anew. The losses we’ve faced served their purpose and we should honour our brave dead as we say goodbye, but it will never be goodbye from him and the rest of the dragons. Our alliance is forged in fire and triumph, as it surely will forever be,” she explained, before turning back to Nilhir.

“Thank you, my friend,” she told him, Nilhir leaning his mighty head down close to her and softly nuzzling her cheek. His humongous size was even more apparent next to her tininess.  

“You are welcome, Arelle. I in turn thank you for making me see how important it was to be on the same side once more, to this time end the enemies whom separated us in the first place,” he told her, Arelle gently stroking his scaly muzzle.  

She felt so honoured, that the gargantuan, tempestuous beast had allowed her to ride him into battle, to burn their enemies, to finally triumph in a war which had cost them so very much. “You will heal.” He then told her, looking between Daida’s body and her.

“I know. So many people have lost so much more. I still wish I hadn’t lost her though.” Nilhir told her he understood the pain of such loss before their talk turned to how they would commemorate their dead. The dragon suggested pyres, which seemed to be the easiest way to say goodbye to so many. A burial wouldn’t be possible.  

The dragons assisted in gathering each body and felling enough trees to make one giant pyre, Geralt gently lifting Daida into his arms and placing her down upon it once it was finished. A lump formed in her throat as she witnessed him stroke the mage’s pearly blonde hair affectionately, his hand then coming to grip Arelle’s shoulder as she leaned to kiss her head.  

“I love you. Your sacrifice shall never be forgotten. You shall never be forgotten.” She told her, stroking her blood-stained cheek as tears cascaded from her eyes.  

They moved back and stood at a safe distance, Nilhir using his fire to light the enormous pyre as they all watched their friends, kin and comrades burn, Arelle feeling Geralt’s arms wrap around her from behind as she watched the flames.

They all stayed, the last two thousand warriors, until the pyres were but embers before heading back to make camp for the night. After bathing, Arelle was content to do nothing more than curl up next to Geralt, stroking his nakedness as she lay there, not sure how to feel.  

“Feeling conflict is natural in a situation where multiple emotions are at play. We’ve defeated our enemy and are now free to return home, but it was at such a price. So many lives lost, beautiful Daida especially. I was fond of her; she will be missed.” Hearing him speak so kindly of her friend touched Arelle to tears, sniffing heavily as she wiped her eyes and kissed him.

She couldn’t help but lay there and cry herself to sleep in his arms, like he said, there was so many emotions swirling around within her and she had no clue how to process them. At that moment, they came out in the form of tears, Arelle feeling very fortunate she at least had Geralt right there next to her to dry them as they fell.