#finally wrote a little something

[dracocheesecake]

A Week To Be A Dorcean

The eyasses crawled out of the open front door of their house and scurried across one of the bridges that spanned the expanse of the nest-shaped city. Halcyonus fishermen waved at them as the little balls of fluff dodged and weaved their way around their long backward-bending legs, and the occasional human stopped to watch them; young Dorceans were a rare sight, especially as they belonged to one of the only Dorceans in all of Lacus: the Dorcean they were on their way to see now.

Disturbed turnfins flew away as they ran onto another rope bridge, making it sway underneath them. They hopped off of this onto one of the lower levels of the city, then rushed down the pathway, again weaving their way past carts and the market people, spilled goods and coils of ropes. There was an archway leading into the main tower on which the city stood. They rushed down the spiral stairs, squeaking and chittering to each other excitedly, and then turned out another archway that led onto a wide pier leading between this city-tower and another. More fishermen were out with their turnfins and nets and fishing poles, bringing in fresh catches for the day; their father would be among them.

Not seeing him on the pier, they went down a set of stairs leading to another one, lower on the water and further out from the first. Boats were tied here, as well as crates full of goods and supplies for trading across the lake in Solas. The eyasses looked around, searching for a familiar shape. Dorcy squeaked and poked her sister, and then pointed towards the distant end of the pier, where, past a few stalls and piles of cargo, could be seen the familiar gray back with spots and stripes. Besteen let out a small cry of excitement, and the two began to barrel towards him.

As they approached, another surprise greeted them: their father moved a little, and they could see that he was talking to another Dorcean: his brother, their uncle Besteel. Both eyasses squeaked in excitement and increased their pace.

But as they came closer, weaving their way between massive piles of crates, they realized something was wrong. Besteen paused, then turned and looked at her sister. Dorcy tilted her head, and then she heard it too: muffled arguing. They crept closer, and the voices grew louder, and then they knew for certain that Uncle Besteel and their father were fighting again. They hid behind a pile of crates, peeking around the corner to watch and listen.

The brothers had clearly chosen this spot because it was somewhat private, with the large piles of crates concealing them from watchful eyes, and the crowded, busy sounds all around them helped to dull the conversation- an apparently heated one. Redimus had a large net between two of his talons, giving him an appearance of a giant spider as his other claws worked to weave and repair it. He was glaring at his brother, but he kept his voice somewhat low.

“I would sooner leave them with a hungry sand-sniper,” Redimus snapped.

Besteel scoffed. “Oh, please! They’re my nieces!”

“And they are my daughters.”

The twin eyasses glanced at each other worriedly. This was about them?

“And that means they are Dorceans.” Besteel spread a few of his arms. “Does this look like a place where they can grow right?”

“Yes,” Redimus said.

Besteel growled in frustration. He moved, and Redimus dropped his net and moved with him, and they were circling each other, hackles raised as if they were about to fight- not an uncommon occurrence, when they got together. Besteen and Dorcy made to retreat, but then they stopped. Besteel dropped the tension in his shoulders and spread some of his talons out, in a peaceful gesture.

“I’m just saying: leave them with me, and they’ll come back as real Dorceans.”

Dorcy and Besteen looked at each other again. Real Dorceans? Weren’t they already real Dorceans? And why did Uncle Besteel want to take them away to turn them into some?

Redimus sighed and dragged his net back towards himself. He sorted through its coils, searching for where he left off in its repairs. “We’ve been over this a hundred times. My answer remains the same.”

“Well, it needs to change. How old are they? Two? And have you taken them hunting at all?”

“There is no need. We have enough to eat.”

Besteel then turned and looked directly at his nieces. “He doesn’t give you any meat, does he?” He asked them accusatorially.

The sisters jumped at being addressed so suddenly.

“Yes!” Dorcy said, ���Papa gives us lots of fish.”

“Lots!” Besteen agreed. “He’s good at fishing.”

Besteel snorted. “Fish is hardly meat! I mean real meat- something you can hunt. Come on, what have you had that I haven’t sent you?”

“They’ve had turnfin,” Redimus said, “and jackknife, shellfish, thatchtail, munt-runner-”

“But have they hunted? Have either of them made their first kill yet?”

“Dorcy already made hers at three months old-”

“That was a fish!” Besteel groaned. “That hardly counts!”

He dragged a talon down his face in exasperation. “Gabu! It’s like you don’t want them to be Dorceans at all! Has my namesake even killed anything yet?”

Besteen ducked her head. She scratched at the planks under her with her little claws. “...I smushed a bug,” she offered, murmuring.

“Lots of bugs!” Dorcy supplied. “And you also help with gutting the spiderfish.”

Besteen perked up. “Oh, yeah!”

Besteel looked at them, clearly devastated. He shook his head, then shot a look of disgust at his brother. “You should be ashamed of yourself! You’re supposed to teach them about their heritage! Their family pride!”

“It should be their choice,” Redimus said, firmly.

Besteel snorted again. “It should! But it seems you’ve already decided for them. How are they supposed to choose what they want for themselves if you won’t even let them learn?”

“Learn what?” Dorcy peeped.

Redimus sighed. “What are you two even doing here?” He asked gently, ignoring the question, “Shouldn’t you be with your mother?”

“Mommy went back to sleep,” Besteen said. “So we came to see the fishies.”

Redimus gestured up with one of his free talons. “Alright. Go back up on the boardwalk. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Uncle Besteel-?”

“Is not staying to visit.” Besteel said. Redimus nodded.

The eyasses seemed disappointed, but turned and slowly crawled their way back to the “usual” spot on the higher boardwalk, looking down into the water below. They watched the other fishermen and the shoals of spiderfish that swirled under the waves; but that wasn’t what was on their minds.

“We’re real Dorceans, aren’t we?” Besteen asked her sister.

“Of course!” Dorcy said, “Uncle Besteel is being silly because he wants to make Papa mad. What else could we be?”

Besteen looked at her sister for a moment, and then down at her claws. She wiggled them, as if she wasn’t sure they were really what they appeared to be.

“...You don’t think…”

The sisters looked at each other for a moment in silence. Then they both started laughing.

“What else could we be?” Dorcy said again, nudging her sister in the shoulder. Besteen giggled and nudged her back.

“Maybe marticks. Or bayries. That’s what uncle Huxie calls us.”

“No, I don’t want to be a bayrie! I prefer a martick. Marticks are fierce, and can spit acid!”

“That sounds like it hurts, though.”

“No, or else they wouldn’t always be doing it. I bet it's fun! I want acid spit!”

“I want acid spit, too! And horns!”

“I want horns, too! And-”

The two eyasses went on chittering, while unbeknownst to them, they were being watched from below. Redimus looked up at his twins, finishing the repairs on his net. Besteel shook his head.

“Look at them. That’s sad.”

“There is nothing wrong with them,” Redimus said in a low growl: a warning.

Besteel scoffed. “You would think so. You’re…you. It’s not fair to them, for you to try to mold them into your image, just because you think you know best.”

“I’m not trying to mold them into my image,” Redimus said. “They can hunt if they choose to. I’m not stopping them. There just hasn't been any need.”

“What about for their honor? Have you thought of that? They’re going to grow older. What male will ever want to join their harems if they can’t court him with a trophy display? No tribe leader would allow a male from his tribe to join with a female without blood honor.”

“It’s too early to think of that.”

“It’s never too early to earn honor.”

“There are other ways to get it. Ways that don’t involve blood.”

Besteel crinkled his nose in disgust. “You would believe something like that. You’re barely a Dorcean at all.”

Redimus didn’t respond. He continued furiously fixing his net, his gaze on his work. Besteel watched him and scoffed, though in truth, he regretted his choice of words; he had said something similar once, and it had gotten them both into trouble they almost couldn't come back from; no, a shaming approach wasn’t working. He had to attack this argument at a different angle.

An idea came to him. He glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye. A smirk formed on his features.

“...I bet they would have more fun hunting with me than fishing with you,” Besteel sneered.

Redimus tensed. His hackles began to rise.

Besteel chuckled. “You know it’s true. That’s why you don’t want them to visit me. Because you know that they’ll enjoy living like true Dorceans rather than Halcyonuses, and won’t want to come back to fishing nets and turnfins.”

Redimus felt his teeth grinding. A competitive streak, a long-held grudge, began to rise in him, though he tried to suppress it; but that tone, that sneer, was bringing it back out. He shook his net, trying to untangle it.

In a moment the grudge was suppressed. “I’m not going to make a bet with you over my eyasses.” He said.

“It’s not a bet,” Besteel said, “it’s a fact. You know they’re going to have more fun in one week with me than in two years of life with you.”

“But will it be safe?”

“Of course. It’s the edge of the forest, near the lake, not too dangerous. We grew up in the worst part of the forest and turned out fine.”

Redimus looked at him skeptically. Besteel shrugged.

“...I turned out fine.”

Redimus looked at him even more skeptically. Besteel waved his claws at him.

“Bah! You know what I mean; the point is- I think you just don’t want them to see how much better hunting is than fishing.”

Redimus glared at him. “Do you really think that’s going to work on me?”

“I know it is. You know you're going to lose. As always.”

“I don't always lose. I can think of quite a few times-”

“But I was talking about now.”

There was a tense stillness between them for a moment. Redimus grit his teeth, considering. He would never make a bet involving his eyasses- no matter how much Besteel teased and taunted- no, that wasn't what irked him. It was his words.

“Decided for them”

“Mold them into your image”

“Real Dorceans”

Expectations. Redimus had no expectations for his daughters. He knew, first hand, what that would do to them. But was he really choosing for them? What if they enjoyed the traditional lifestyle?

The thoughts swirled in his mind, gnawing into a long-held sense of guilt. Finally he growled and threw his net down. He pushed past his brother, towards the ramp leading to the higher boardwalk. Besteel watched him, smirking.

Redimus found his daughters playing with a bird feather they had found. Besteen caught it, then blew on it, and then they went scrambling around trying to catch it again. They only stopped when they noticed their father watching them. The feather blew away.

“Pack anything you’ll need for a week,” Redimus said, “You two are going to go stay with my brother.”

The twins squeaked in excitement and rushed off back towards their home, no questions asked. Redimus felt his brother's presence behind him.

“Don't be self-satisfied yet,” he warned. “I'm not agreeing to this to get at you.”

Besteel chuckled. “I know. But I win, all the same.”

“No. You don’t.” Redimus turned to look at him. His mechanical eyepatch caught the light, shining directly into Besteel's eye, and Besteel covered them with a grunt.

When he recovered, Redimus drew his claws down gingerly through the gouges of the scars on his face. The scars over his missing eye.

“Nothing,” he said, “is to happen to them. I know they’re like me. Just ensure they don't make my mistakes.”

Besteel snorted and slapped one of Redimus’ shoulders. “I know they're not as stupid as you were, at least. They'll be fine. And if they aren't, I'll shape them up.”

“What does that mean?” Redimus snapped.

Besteel smirked at him, but if he was going to reply he couldn't; the twins came back, hopping around Besteel’s feet and chirping questions. Redimus scooped them up and carried them down, from the tower down the stairs and onto a boardwalk to the beach, where Besteel's glider was parked.

Besteel strapped them onto a passenger seat on his glider and their luggage (two small bags, so at least they knew how to pack light) was strapped to each of the wings. The twins put their flight goggles on, and Redimus leaned over the glider to nuzzle beaks with each of them.

“Be good,” he said to them, “and be careful. The forest isn't like the lake, and it's much more dangerous. Keep an eye on your uncle for me.”

“We will,” Dorcy said, squeezing one of Redimus’ claws. Besteen took longer to let go, only relenting after her father gave her another nuzzle.

Besteel snorted. “For the last time, they're going to be fine. Finish with your goodbyes and let's go.” He put his helmet on and started the engine.

The glider began to lift with a loud hum. Redimus stepped back, waving.

“Goodbye,” he said, “stay safe.”

“We will, papa! Goodbye!”

Redimus watched them fly away, until the glider disappeared over the treeline in the distance. He sighed and began the trek back to the pier where he had left his net. He picked it back up and began to finish his repairs; for a while, his mind was empty.

But now that the confrontation had passed, and his blood cooled, he realized exactly what he had done- and realized, even worse, he now had to tell their mother. He sighed, folded up the net, and headed for his home.

The house was dark, and grew more so as he neared the room at its center, winding his way down a circular hall. As he went, the temperature also dropped, so that soon he could see his own breath. The refrigeration unit Hailey had repurposed for them was working well- extremely well, to be producing this temperature in the middle of Summer.

The hall ended at an arched doorway, and he stood at the threshold.

Doshika was lying on the floor of Redimus’ room- their room, when she was present- and she took up most of it. She had most of her limbs tucked under her, save for her her main pair of arms. They were propping up her chin on talons neatly folded. She opened her eyes as he came in.

“You are sending our eyasses to live with Besteel for a week.” She said.

Redimus ducked his head. He fiddled with his talons. “...Ah. You know already.”

Doshika's dark eyelids lowered halfway. “Dorcy and Besteen told me as they were kissing me goodbye.”

Redimus looked down at the carpet, picking at a few frosted threads with his claws. He cleared his throat a few times.

“...I'm sorry,” he said, after a moment.

“I understand. Your brother knows exactly how to get under your hide. Besides, it may be good for them to explore the world a little, to get fresh air that doesn't smell of the lake.”

He looked up at her. “If you're worried about Besteel-”

“He knows what I will do to him,” Doshika said. Her talons tightened on her knuckles. The dark black sickle claws shone in the dim light of the globular lanterns above.

Redimus nodded. He looked at the carpet again, then shivered a little in the cold.

“Still, I wish I had been consulted before I lost a week with my daughters,” there was a pointed inflection that sharpened at the end of the sentence, like an icicle.

Redimus ducked his head in shame again.

“I know. I am sorry.”

“Yes,” Doshika agreed.

There was another silence. Redimus rubbed one of his legs with another one, trying to warm it. He glanced at her, then away again.

He began shuffling back. “...So, I'm guessing you don't want me to-”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Perhaps the only good thing about this is I finally get you to myself. By all means, come here.”

***

Besteel landed the glider on the edge of his campsite. He turned it off, then took off his helmet and gestured to the glade with one arm.

“Well, here it is,” he said, “the Wandering Forest, my campsite.”

His nieces looked around at all of the trees and plants, the moss-strewn ground, and the many things Besteel had in his camp: lanterns hung on hooks, hunting implements, snares and cages and a tent for the rain.

Dorcy sniffed the air. “Oooh,” she said, “it smells alive here- not like the lake, in a different way! Very…planty!”

“So many trees,” Besteen murmured, “not like the garden.”

Besteel chuckled. “The forest is no garden, that's for certain. This is only the edge of it.”

He unstrapped them and the two eyasses hopped down onto the moss, sniffing it and squishing it between their talons. Besteel took their bags and placed them in a small mossy hollow in the center of his camp. His nieces rushed over and began to unpack their things, neatly laying out two small bedrolls and a dingy, chewed-up stuffed waterbear each.

Besteel blinked at them. “You still have those?”

Besteen hugged hers. “Mm-hm!”

Besteel narrowed his eyes. “Why? You're too old for baby toys.”

“We are?” Dorcy held hers tighter to herself protectively.

“You should be. Why hasn’t your sire taken them from you yet?”

The twins held their toys closer, as if afraid Besteel would take them away from them that instant; but he just snorted and shook his head.

“That's sad. Oh, well. His problem.”

He shrugged and then began using his multiple talons to brush dirt off himself.

“First thing's first. You need to learn the basics. What do you know about hunting? Nothing?”

“We know a little,” Besteen said.

“Not enough, I bet,” Besteel scoffed. “He's never taken you hunting. That changes now. But the first things must come first. That means we work on camp basics: location, set up, tool handling, weapons. After that I'm going to teach you about tracking, and if your instincts kick in by then, maybe I'll take you to make your first kills. You're both way behind for your age.”

He smirked. “But of course, with Orbona’s best hunter as your teacher, you'll be taking trophies by the end of the week.”

Dorcy and Besteen glanced at each other. They hugged their stuffed waterbears even closer.

“Then we'll be ‘real’ Dorceans?” Dorcy peeped.

Besteel nodded. “After you make your first kill, yes.”

“...But..what are we now?”

Besteel didn’t respond for a moment. There came a few expressions across his face, subtle twitches around his eyes and in the lines near his beak; but then he smiled again.

“Eyasses,” he said.

“What about papa?” Besteen chirped.

Besteel paused. He clicked his beak.

“Hm? What about him?”

“He's a real Dorcean too.”

Again, Besteel fell into that strange silence, save his face wasn’t a rippling pool of emotions like the first time- this time he seemed more solemn. His beak clicked together again.

“...Are you hungry?- Of course you are, you're still growing. I have some real meat in my stores. You seem to like water bear,” he said in a slightly jesting tone, gesturing to the plushes they held onto.

He rose and headed for another area of his camp, opening a latch that covered a hole in the ground. He began sorting through containers that were in there, something that smelled to the girls like spices the fishermen used to preserve fish- and there were other things they had never smelled before. Bloody things. Tasty smelling things.

But he hadn't answered their question; Besteen and Dorcy were too old to be so easily distracted. They noticed how their uncle had avoided it. They looked at each other again, and only more questions began to form in their little minds- questions they would seek the answers to in the coming week, whether Besteel wanted it or not.

[zorosdimples]

YUUJI X READER X CHOSO

when choso approaches yuuji with an intimate confession and a plea for help, your best friend convinces you to give his big brother a hands-on demonstration.

mdni. reader has breasts + a vagina + is called “baby” once; otherwise referred to as they/them. this is just over 1k words. i may write additional parts, but i make no promises!

Why did I agree to this?

Your back is pressed to your best friend’s broad chest, his tawny skin hot against your own. Bent at the knee, your legs are spread far apart, feet planted on the white bedsheets. A whimper escapes your bitten lips—a soft, fluttery exhale—half-embarrassment, half-excitement.

Discarded somewhere on Yuuji’s bedroom floor is your bra. You’re simply clad in a pair of cotton panties, plain white, nondescript. You wouldn’t call the undergarment sexy, but the bulge straining at the small of your back begs to differ; it sends a thrill down your spine.

Choso kneels between your open legs primly, wide palms clammy as they rest atop his knees. His eyes are smoked amethysts, unreadable as they pointedly remain on his brother, never straying to your face or your mostly nude figure.

“Look, Cho,” Yuuji entreats as his calloused touch moves upward from your thighs to your breasts. You swallow the breath that hitches in your throat, chest shuddering as two thick fingers pinch each of your nipples. “Touch them riiiight here—feels good, huh baby?”

Baby. (You’d rather drop dead than admit it, but you’ve pleasured yourself countless times to this fantasy, the image of your best friend calling you every endearment beneath the horizon in his honey-sweet voice.)

Wading through a syrupy fog of tension and want, you nod in agreement. Choso swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he replaces Yuuji’s hands with his own, gaze darting to yours. His palms are larger than his younger brother’s, his ivory fingers cool and smooth as they circle your nipples.

Earnestly you suggest: “You can look at my tits, Cho.”

Yuuji chuckles at the way the older man’s cheeks ripen and bloom from your forwardness; his hands settle on your thighs, kneading the fat as he watches his brother shift his attention. Choso focuses on your chest, at the way your breasts ripple and bounce under his careful ministrations.

For the first time since he walked into the room, Choso speaks. “Is it okay if I…” he licks his lips as he trails off.

His voice is gentle and almost monotone; you’d be offended if you couldn’t see the flush that burns the tips of his ears and bleeds down to his strong chest. (The visible strain in his black boxer briefs puts your mind at ease, too.)

“Use your mouth,” you urge him with a kind smile.

It surprises you how quickly Choso dips down, the tip of his nose brushing the swell of your breast before he sticks his tongue out and paints a swirl that ends on your nipple. At first, just the peaked nub rests between his chapped lips. But he builds confidence—or curiosity gets the better of him—and you gasp as he sucks as much breast as he can fit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks. He repeats his movements on your other breast.

When he raises his head, he leans into you, stopping a hair’s breadth from your mouth, a silent plea for permission. “Now kiss me,” you murmur; Choso obliges.

It begins chastely: your lips slotting with his and guiding the pace. He jolts at the sensation when you first slide your tongue along the seam of his lips, although he catches on quickly, allowing you entry. While his hands initially rested awkwardly on the mattress, he now moves them upward, cradling your cheeks with reverence. His kisses are sloppy and unpracticed, but you both find yourselves growing heated as your fingertips map his torso, skating lower and lower until you can twirl his thick happy trail. You whimper when he shifts and accidentally grinds against you.

Yuuji interrupts your increasingly desperate make out. “Ready to see them, Cho?”

Choso pulls away, a string of spit snapping between your parting tongues. He watches as Yuuji thumbs the top of your underwear before sliding them beneath the fabric and stroking your plush hips.

“Before you remove these, you should feel our lovely guest through the fabric.” Yuuji’s breath curls against the shell of your ear; you can’t help the moan that slips out and hangs in the air. He rests his chin atop your shoulder, his next words making you clench: “I’ve got a feeling it’s soaked.”

Eyes the color of bruised plums meet yours. Three fingers brush against the top of your panties, trailing down over your clit, stopping right at your hole. “You’re so wet,” Choso states, rubbing the sodden fabric. “All of this is because of us?”

You shiver under Choso’s fervent stare. Yuuji presses a tender kiss to your shoulder as his hands move up to caress your hair. You swallow dryly; you don’t think you’ve ever been as turned on as you are right now, pinned between the brothers’ bodies and undivided attention.

“Yeah—mmm, yes,” you manage to get out.

Pleased by your response, Choso hums. He drags a fingernail up your underwear until he teases your clit, featherlight, coaxing a warble from you. Eventually, he makes his way back to the waistband. “Can I?”

You bite your lip. “Please, Cho.”

As though savoring the moment, Choso lays down on his stomach and peels the garment off, exhaling a shaky breath as your pubic hair emerges, then groaning when your entire cunt is bared. Yuuji slides a hand down your belly and peels back your vulva, desire webbing across your folds, highlighting your swollen clit.

“Oh fuck—that’s a pretty sight,” Yuuji mutters.

His brother either doesn’t hear him or ignores him entirely; Choso looks only to you. “I’m going to taste now, okay?”

“H-hold on,” Yuuji blurts out. You twist around to look at him. His amber irises blaze as he slips his middle finger down, shallowly massaging your wet hole. “I—” he pauses, “I wanna try, too.”

His eyes never leave yours as he raises the shining digit to his mouth and proceeds to greedily lap up your arousal. “Shit,” he hisses. You think you’re going to wither under the intensity of his flaming stare. But instead—he pulls you into a bruising kiss.

Before you can process the pressure of your best friend’s lips on your own, Choso licks a line from your hole to your clit, wrapping his thick arms around your thighs, and Yuuji swallows your squeal of surprise. All rational thought floats away with your impending bliss.

You still don’t know why exactly you agreed to this arrangement. But these two brothers are going to be the death of you—of that you’re certain.

[darby-rowe]

cw fem!reader, implied modern au, not proofread

“you’re pretty,”

the words came out of lucy gray’s mouth as smooth as butter, like the words were always meant to fit in between your lips. you shot your head up from tracing your name in the dirt underneath you to meet lucy gray’s gaze, her brown doe eyes staring at you sweetly. in the chill crispness of the dusk air, your cheeks still managed to heat up.

“what? cat caught’cha tongue?” lucy gray teased, resting her weight on her arm as she sat on her side. her long skirt splayed amongst the dirt and grass of the forest floor. “i said you’re pretty,”

you nodded, suppressing a goofy grin. “yeah,” you responded, your voice uncharacteristically small. “yeah, i heard you, lucy gray — i also think you’re pretty,”

“well, i already knew that, dumplin’,” she said, lightly ghosting her finger under your chin. her cold hands gave you goosebumps. “but what i’m sayin’ is that, i think you’re pretty. and perhaps i’d like to kiss you, if ya don’t mind,”

you fidgeted with your dirt-covered fingers as the same goofy grin from before threatened to make its appearance. you chewed on the insides of your cheeks before nodding. “you can kiss me, lucy gray,”

your chest began to flutter as lucy gray’s sweet face leaned in closer to yours, her eyes softly shutting closed as her lips touched upon your lips. you closed your eyes to savor the moment, to savor the taste of the sweet tea she indulged in earlier that evening. so sweet, sugary, soft.

you felt her cold hand hold your warm cheeks as her lips slotted with yours. you felt the entirety of your body warm up. you were only expecting one kiss, but here lucy gray was giving you multiple kisses. too many kisses to remember.

when lucy gray pulled away, it felt as if your breath had been sucked out with her. you opened your eyes to find her brown eyes sparkling at you, grinning lovingly at your slightly stunned expression.

“well, c’mon now,” lucy gray grunted as she stood up to her feet, brushing away the dirt from her skirt before extending out a hand to help you. “i can see my momma’s porch light from here. pork chops must be done,”

with a smile, you met her hand and stood up to your feet as well.

and you two didn’t let go of each other’s hands until you walked inside lucy gray’s home.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[thewardenisonthecase]

Of Nightmares and Sleepless Nights

Lucanis Dellamorte x Grey Warden!Rook

Read on AO3

Summary: Lucanis was enjoying the quietness of the night, driking his coffee in the pantry when he hears an intruder in the kitchen.

A/N: so i recently finished the Veilguard and romanced Lucanis and I love him and decided to write something between him and my grey warden Rook. This is before they're in a relationship and there's a very small mention of his past.

word count: 1,258

The pantry was a strange source of comfort for the assassin. After spending a year in the Ossuary, one would think he’d prefer somewhere with more space, more freedom but Lucanis had chosen to stay in the pantry. It was small and quiet, a good place to be when the outside world became too much. 

After all, a year in isolation heightens the senses. 

There were other upsides to the pantry. If he fell asleep and Spite took over, he would be the farthest from most, especially from Rook, and so, less chances of someone getting harmed. Then there was the fact that he had easy access to food when he wanted to cook, and he could keep track of the storage. 

But the best reason for staying in the pantry is that, on nights like this, when it was quiet and Lucanis was on his second cup of coffee to drive away sleep, he could hear if an intruder entered the kitchen. In the months they had stayed in the Lighthouse, no one had braved the kitchen at this hour. 

He heard footsteps walking around, chairs being moved until the noise started to come his way. He stood near the entrance, with a dagger in hand. Years of training kicked in as the door slowly opened and he prepared himself to hit whoever has invaded the Lighthouse when he heard

“Maker’s balls Lucanis, it’s me.” 

Standing mere centimeters from the dagger’s blade was Rook. She took a step back as he sheathed the weapon. 

“Rook…” he said, embarrassed “what are you doing? It’s late.” 

“You’re not the only one who has trouble sleeping.” Looking past him, Rook motioned to the shelves of the pantry. “Do you know if there’s anything sweet in there?” 

He furrowed his brows, confused. “I…we ran out of chocolate last week.” 

“Damn it.” Rook sighed and began to turn to leave.

“I could brew you some coffee, if you want.” Lucanis offered. 

She looked at him, contemplating the offer, and saying “I’ll take it, but only if you keep me company.” 

Lucanis gave her a small nod and smile. “Of course.” 

Rook made her way to the table, sitting on one of the chairs close to the kitchen door as she waited. Once he was done, Lucanis handed her the coffee, sitting on the opposite chair and holding a cup of coffee of his own.

She blew the steam coming of it before drinking it. She sighed contentedly. “You make really good coffee.” 

“Thank you.” He drank from his cup. 

“How many have you had tonight?” 

“This would be my third.” 

“It’s probably not good for your health to be drinking this much coffee at night.” 

He smirked. “Probably. But I’m also sure attempting to raid the larder late at night is also not good for you.” 

Rook raised a brow “Touché.” She sank into the chair, making herself more comfortable. She only wore her pajamas, a sleeveless shirt and a short, and for the first time, Lucanis had noticed the various burn scars across her arms and legs, ones usually kept hidden underneath armor. On occasion, he had caught a glimpse of them on her forearm, but he never realized the extent of them. 

He wondered what was the story behind them, if she would share it if he asked but instead, he looked away, hoping she hadn’t noticed him looking. 

“You said you had trouble sleeping?” Lucanis asked. 

Rook nodded. “Nightmares, but I’m used to it.” 

“What were they about?” 

Rook looked at her coffee, biting her lip before looking at him “I’ve heard you and Davrin talking. How much do you know about what’s like being a warden?”

His brows furrowed, confused at the question. “Besides that you’re all going to slowly die of the taint, have a secretive order and are supposedly the only ones who can kill Archdemons, I know as much as everyone else. Why?” 

She sighed. “When you’re a Grey Warden, you are connected to the darkspawn because you’re all blighted, right? It’s how we’re able to sense them, because we’re a bit like them.” He nodded as she explained. “One of the side effects of that is that just like them, we also dream with the Archdemon.” 

Lucanis raised his brows. “I…I didn’t know.” 

“I guess most people don’t know.” She shook her head, looking at the fire. “It’s hard to explain if you don’t have them but you just…it’s like you’re a darkspawn, listening to their call. The Archdemon, it-it looks at you, like it’s staring into your soul, compelling it to them, knowing you’re not one of them. It’s…hard.”

“I’m sorry, Rook.” 

She shrugged. “It’s fine. You learn to deal with it. But with this whole blighted gods and two of them walking around…it gets more difficult to sleep.” 

“I see. At least, you have Davrin.” 

“Yeah…” she said, but there was a certain…sadness? or unease in the way she said that. “I don’t know if I’d want to talk to him about this though.” 

“Why not? He probably would understand it better than I do.”

“I know but he’s him and you’re…” she hesitated, and for a second, Lucanis swore he could see a blush on her face, though he believed it must be a trick of the light. 

“I’m what?”

“You.” She said and looked down. “Do you ever deal with this? Nightmares, I mean.” 

“One of the upsides of not sleeping is not getting nightmares.” He joked and she chuckled. “But sometimes, I do get the occasional bad dream.” 

“What are they about?” 

“Nowadays, the stuff done to me and Spite in the Ossuary. But other times…” he hesitated. His other nightmares consisted of his childhood. Of being starved and beaten into the assassin he was. Of past mistakes. Of losing the ones he loved.

Her voice brought him back to reality “You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to. Makers knows there’s things I’d rather forget that still haunt my dreams.” 

He looked at her, seeing a kindness in her eyes he hadn’t felt in a long time. Lucanis offered her a small smile. “Thank you, Rook.” 

“Always.” 

After that, the two continued to drink in silence. It was a welcoming silence, not one brought on by discomfort, and Lucanis couldn’t help but think of how nice this was. 

Once she was finished with her drink, Rook placed it on the table and yawned. “I think I’ll go back to my room now. Maybe the coffee will ensure no more bad dreams.” 

The two of them stood up and Lucanis chuckled, as he grabbed her empty cup. “You’re the only person I know who gets sleepy after drinking coffee.” 

“Well, you know how I am.” She said before making her way to the door. 

Before she left, her said “Rook, wait.” 

“Yes?” 

“If you ever have…trouble sleeping, I wouldn’t mind doing this again.” 

Rook smiled shyly, nodding. “I’ll know where to find you. Goodnight.” 

“Night.” He sighed, making his way to sink to wash her cup and Spite soon began talking. 

“Rook. Likes you.” 

“Rook likes everyone.” Lucanis tried to ignore Spite. 

“But with you. It’s different. I could smell it on her.” 

“Don’t talk about her like this.” He said harshly, but that only made Spite smirk. 

“You. Like her too. It’s why you offered to help.” 

“I…” Lucanis sighed, as the demon began to laugh and he poured himself another coffee. 

It would be a long night. 

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: Deep in the Bowels of Gluttony

I am forcing more CAVE WHUMP into your enclosure (with an added dash of inspiration from my favorite national park that I can never visit ✨)

Suggested Vibe: Duma’s Scourge from Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia (youtube)

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: a lot of gore. eating is involved in the goriness if you couldn’t tell. it is also very gross. Wow! Oh and there is a little bit of burning

By the time Erebus finished crying, his hand had grown back.

He hadn’t even realized it at first, too caught up with gut-wrenching sobs to be aware of anything else besides how much his head hurt, how hard it was to breathe, how terrified he was to be in this strange place all alone, how he might never make it back home, or even back to his cell, how hopeless he felt, how-how-And then he’d noticed the stump of his left hand, no longer ending in a jagged tear, little strings of skin dangling off of it, but a-it was growing, it had to be, those little white nubs poking out of the mass of muscle had to be the bones of his hand, bones that had definitely been…Before he knew it he was crying in earnest again, his body’s sudden strange capability to repair itself overshadowed by the trauma of the past hour, fear and exhaustion replacing awe and relief, because even if he could heal, it didn’t change the fact that he was stuck here, now saddled with the possibility that not even death could set him free.

If there was one good thing about this world, it was the fact that he was more alone than he’d ever been, and no one knocked on the door to interrupt his crying, no one commented on the redness of his eyes or asked him if he was okay too soon after he’d started to calm down. He caught his breath slowly, peacefully, washing the tears off his face using the fresh water from one of the pools near the sea, scrubbing the dried blood from his perfectly healed arm, revealing a ring of scar tissue around his wrist. The thought that neither of these hands were the ones he was born with almost sent him into another spiral, but he shook his head and put it out of his mind. That was enough for today. 

Today…Frowning, he looked up at the sky. Its blackness hadn’t changed in the slightest since he’d arrived here, and something told him it wouldn’t anytime soon. Even back in the windowless cell, he’d had meals and Neteri’s visits to help him keep track of the passage of time, but now there was just…nothing. It was all down to whatever cycle of waking and sleeping he fell into, and given how tired he was now, he was ready to get that started. 

Walking back to his pack, left at the base of the cliffs, he noticed his leg was no longer in pain, either. Once he arrived, he pulled the knife out and used it to slice the stitches still woven through his flesh, wincing a bit as he pulled the thread out. The holes left behind healed quickly enough that he could ignore them and busy himself finding a good place to lay his bedroll for the…night? For now. 

He ended up settling down along the cliffside, too afraid to lie out in the open despite how quiet it was here, and it wasn’t long before his exhausted body gave in to sleep.

When Erebus woke up, the sky was the same empty black as before, and it was impossible to tell how long he’d slept for, but he felt rested enough despite the circumstances. So now he was just supposed to…wander until he found something? He considered flying to get a better idea of what was around, but he decided it would be better to save his strength for the next fight. Since crossing the sea was out of the question, he headed back into the rocky maze he’d first arrived in. Eventually, he found himself at the entrance to a cave, a gaping hole in the side of the mountain rising even higher than the cliffs around him.

If the demons were tied to elements like their counterparts, the dragons, then whatever one was tied to the element of earth was definitely in that cave. His instincts screamed at him not to go into the dark, cramped space where his wings likely would be more of a hindrance than a help, but if he was going to get out of this place, then he’d have to go in eventually. So best to get it over with while he was here.

Erebus had never been inside of a cave, but he’d heard about how beautiful they could be, and…how dangerous. But he’d be okay. He could heal, for some reason. He’d be fine. He could handle this. He had to.

Burying his doubts, Erebus headed inside the cave, almost immediately tripping over a small, rounded protrusion of stone. They littered the ground, and the ceiling, too, their lengths varying. He’d have to take care to avoid them, then. 

Soon enough, though, the ground began to slope downwards, and the dim gray light streaming in from the cave’s entrance began to fade, not enough for even his new eyes to see with. It wasn’t long before he was stumbling along in the dark, unsure how much progress he was making, or if he was even headed in the right direction. He could be a couple steps away from a dead end, for all he knew. Or even a cl-At that moment, Erebus’s boot caught on a rock, his desperate grasps for something to catch himself on meeting empty air, and now he was falling, spinning, bouncing off the uneven stone, everything was slippery enough to slide out of his grasp but hard enough to break his bones, faster and faster until-

Cold. Deep cold, water, he was underwater, he had to get to the surface, had to find it in this spinning dark void, no way to tell which way is up, which way is death, swimming flailing reaching-his hand broke the surface, and he worked his way up desperately, his sodden clothes and heavy sword making it difficult, but he made it, he breathed, he coughed, he dragged himself out and laid on the bumpy stone next to the water’s edge, panting as his body throbbed and stung with a hundred cuts and bruises. Of course he hurt himself before even finding the demon. Of course. If only he had some way to know if he was even going in the right direction, but no, he was just supposed to stumble around in the dark.

One of his horns hurt, and upon poking at it gently, he found that the tip had broken off, exposing the tender flesh inside. Not like they served any purpose, besides telling him where…wait. What he wanted most was to get out of here and go home. To get out of here, he’d have to fight all the demons. Starting with the one hidden somewhere in this cave. So, by that logic, what he wanted most was to find the demon in these caves. He closed his eyes, not that it changed anything, and drilled that thought into his head. He needed to find that demon. Wanted to. Had to.

Erebus couldn’t help but smile as his horns started to tingle ever-so-slightly. 

It took some time to get used to navigating the cave based on the feeling in his horns. The changes in sensation were rather subtle, so it was difficult to tell immediately after changing course if he was heading the right way. It would have been much easier if he could take a direct path, but the twists and turns of the cave forced him to switch directions constantly, sometimes leading him to dead ends or passages he was too large to squeeze through. Progress was slow, but he was making progress, he was, the tingling was stronger now, his scrapes and bruises from his fall earlier had healed, and his clothes were beginning to dry, despite the cave air being rather cool.

Well, now that he thought about it, the air had grown warmer than when he’d first entered. He’d been so freezing from his wet clothes that he hadn’t realized it until now, but it was definitely getting warmer. That had to be a good thing, right? It wasn’t getting any lighter, unfortunately, so he was still stuck feeling his way along through the darkness, nothing but the tingling sensation in his horns to guide him, but at least he wasn’t shivering as much anymore.

It was getting warmer and warmer, hot now, and humid, the stickiness of the air reminding him of summers back home. Were caves supposed to be this hot? He’d been grateful for the warmth at first, but now he was sweating profusely, the thick, moist air making it somewhat difficult to breathe as he clambered up slopes and squeezed through small gaps, the feeling in his horns growing so intense he was starting to get a headache, made even worse by the slightly rotten smell that was starting to permeate the air.

Erebus stopped at the edge of some sort of drop-off. It was impossible to tell how far down it went, only that it was longer than his arm. He’d been scared of this, of having to fly while blind. Out of breath, he sat to rest for a moment, letting the slight breeze cool him off a tiny bit, wishing it didn’t smell so rancid.

Wait…breeze?

The air was moving, pulsing past him in a hot wave, and then a cooler gust in the opposite direction. It was rhythmic, over and over, back and forth, in and…in and out. 

Breathing. It was breathing.

If-if Erebus could feel its breathing, and the intense heat from its body, its stench, then it must be close, just off that ledge maybe, after all this time wandering around in the dark he’d finally found the next demon. With renewed energy, he stood and drew his sword. He’d have to approach this carefully, making sure he didn’t fly straight into the wall instead of hitting his target. After waving his hand over his head and not feeling anything above him, Erebus carefully took flight. It was difficult to move so slowly in the air, especially as he started to head down, but he didn’t want to risk falling who knows how far and landing on who knows what. 

Feeling his feet catch on something, he tried to land, but the ground beneath was slippery and almost gave way beneath him, causing him to fall for the second time today. Thankfully, he landed on something soft, though it was weirdly wet and sort of slimy, like…Erebus cried out and scurried back, but everything he touched was the same, squishy and warm and smooth and…and…It was flesh. All around him. He-he’d somehow flown into the demon’s mouth, he must have, its breath was rushing by him with even more force now, the nauseating scent of rot all around him. He had to get out. He just had to fly up. He could do this. He’d be fine. 

But…where was his sword?

He’d dropped it in his panic, like an idiot, and now he needed to find it. He wouldn’t stand a chance against the demons without it, and then he’d never be able to go home, never see another person again, he couldn’t accept that, he had to calm down, had to focus. He wanted that sword more than anything. It was his way out.

His stomach sank when his horns told him his sword was below him.

There wasn’t any choice but to fall further into the belly of the beast in order to kill it.

He took his time lowering himself, but it was more difficult than before. The heat was making his head throb, not to mention the toll all this flying was taking on him. Being unable to glide was putting a lot more strain on his wings than he’d realized, and though he couldn’t quite feel it through the sheen of sweat covering his face, he tasted the blood dripping out of his nose. By the time the buzzing in his horns peaked and his hand wrapped around the cool hilt of the sword, the world was starting to spin, and he all but collapsed next to the blade, which had buried itself partway in the fleshy ground. 

Erebus didn’t know if he had the energy to stand. The heat and all of that careful flying had sapped all of his strength, leaving him sprawled on the hot, soft flesh of the demon’s insides. Was this it? Was he just stuck here until he fell further and ended up digested? The healing he had for some reason was slow, probably too slow to keep up with stomach acid. He breathed in deeply as the slightly cooler air coming in rushed past him, trying to calm himself down. The demon’s breaths were deep and long, so they were difficult for Erebus to match perfectly, but he tried anyway, the less rancid-smelling air coming in making him feel a little better somehow. But why would…memories of dust, Neteri’s forehead against his, the puff of her breath against his cheeks. Sharing breath. He was sharing breath with this huge demon, gaining a little of its life force as he did so. 

Once he felt well enough to stand, he did so, holding onto his sword for support. He could do this. After bracing himself as best as he could, he started to pull, wincing at the awful squelching sound the blade made as it slid out of the flesh it was buried in. It came out with a sickening pop, squirting what Erebus could only assume was blood all over him. Some of it even landed in his mouth, and it…it tasted good. Really good, like a rich, meaty stew. 

His empty stomach started to growl.

This was a demon. Not a person.

He hadn’t eaten in over a day.

No one would ever know.

He needed energy.

Hands shaking, he pulled out his knife.

Just a little bit. 

It was warm, wet, chewy, almost rubbery, the texture making him gag slightly, but he didn’t care, not when it tasted this good, buttery and savory, little hints of spice dancing through it, shifting from one flavor to another, and he was powerless to stop, grabbing more and slicing it off, shoving it in his mouth before he’d even finished chewing the last bite, his hands and face slick with that delicious blood, the perfect sauce to go with his meat, the fingers on his right hand had grown claws at some point, and now he was tearing away at the walls with his hand, ripping chunks off with his teeth, continuing to slice and shred long after he’d eaten his fill, even as the ground below started to shake, a guttural roar drowning out the sounds of flesh tearing and blood dripping, the force of it sending Erebus to the ground, snapping him out of whatever trance he’d been in.

What…what had he just done?

How could he be sure there wasn’t anyone else out there in the blackness? 

He could feel the ghosts of his parents watching him, watching their son turn into the monster he looked like. 

He had to get out of here. 

The walls shifted and pulsed as the demon’s breath sped up, roars and moans sounding out so loudly around him it made his head hurt. Its mouth might be closed now, trapping him inside. He’d have to find another way. Or just…make his own.

A large section of one of the walls had already been ravaged, cut and torn away during his frenzied eating, so he resumed work on it, slicing away chunks with his sword now, tossing them to the side instead of bringing them to his mouth. Progress was faster when he could focus, but it was almost impossible to tell how far he’d come, how much he’d carved away, how close he was to breaking through the skin. He came across a more rubbery section and ended up having to almost saw away at it, blood spurting all over him as he went, as if he wasn’t already covered in it. How whole body felt so sticky and sweaty and gross, and all he could think about was washing off somehow after he got out of here.

Blood was flowing out steadily now, coming out with more and more force, and soon enough it was all Erebus could do to hold onto his sword, his anchor buried in the fleshy wall, praying he wouldn’t get swept away by the jet of hot, sticky, delicious-smelling blood. H-he must’ve cut into a major blood vessel. Those shot blood out like crazy, from what he remembered. Maybe this would be enough to kill the demon? Then he’d just be…trapped inside its corpse. For now, it was still very much alive, its roars and moans starting to get louder, more desperate.

All of a sudden, the ground beneath him lurched, and Erebus’s sword slipped out of the cut it was in, sending him tumbling backwards, the river of blood sweeping him away before he could try to stand up, stab the floor, do anything to save himself, but he had to, he couldn’t fall any further down, couldn’t lose the tunnel he’d carved out in this sweltering blackness, couldn’t sink into the sea of blood and digestive acid that was likely waiting for him below, he had to stop somehow, the sword was too long, his wings couldn’t generate lift, nothing to do but desperately scratch at the slippery ground below, dig his claws in, deeper, deeper, deeper, hold on, arm trembling with the effort, he couldn’t afford to let go, to fall, the blood was coming with less force now, the tremors not as frequent, just a little bit longer until…

The great beast fell silent, fell still, its blood merely trickling by now, dripping in imitation of the water in the cave surrounding it. 

Erebus dragged himself to his feet, coughing up blood. He’d tried to keep his mouth closed during the whole ordeal, but some had still made its way in. Was the demon actually dead? It was hard to tell for sure, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He had to get out of here regardless, and any other escape route besides his tunnel was out of the question. Nothing to do but resume work, then, and hope he could get out of here soon.

Time crawled by as Erebus hacked away at the wall, and just when he was starting to think he wasn’t headed towards the surface of this thing’s body, his sword met with a different sort of resistance than before. It wasn’t like the blood vessel, more stretchy and tough, but he was pretty sure he was able to poke through, and soon enough he’d made a gap large enough for him to squeeze through. He didn’t realize how hot it’d been in there until he was sitting outside it, the cave air unbelievably refreshing after being swallowed up by that rancid heat. 

After feeling around a bit, Erebus decided he must be on the demon’s back or something. The slope down was pretty steep, enough that he wasn’t sure he could walk down effectively in the dark. His wings were still exhausted from flying earlier, so…scooting down very carefully it was. For the first time today, he was able to move downwards at a reasonable pace, not having to be careful of random rocks jutting out of the floor or ceiling. He was starting to get a bit excited to leave these caves and be able to see again. The water in the sloth demon’s domain would be perfect for washing all of this blood off of him, and there were few things he loved more than feeling clean. Already, he was starting to realize everything he’d taken for granted in his previous captivity.

He’d taken light for granted, too, and the moment he saw it, the moment he could see at all, he teared up a bit, but that might have just been because it was bright. Navigating the rest of the way down the demon’s body was much easier now that he could see, and it wasn’t long before he was back on solid ground, nearly running towards the cave exit. Finally. 

The dark, starless sky was a welcome sight, almost as beautiful to him as the small pools of water a little ways away. He was lucky this exit dumped him out closer to the water than the entrance he’d originally gone through had been. Curious, Erebus looked down at himself, and couldn’t help but wince in disgust. He was covered from head to toe in blood, most of it dried to a brownish-red, cracking a bit around his joints, little pieces of the demon’s flesh caked on here and there. His hair was sticky and matted with it, and the coppery, still tempting tang of it was all he could smell and taste. He’d never been so revoltingly filthy, and he was secretly glad no one was here to see it. 

It was a quick walk to the nearest pool of water, and while it looked a bit different than the other little pools from before, he paid it no mind. Water was water. He fell to his knees in front of it and stuck his hands in, ready to-HOT! Erebus pulled his hands out of the fiery water, screaming as they burned so intensely he could feel it in his very bones. All he could do was lie on his side and wait for them to heal, tears streaming from his eyes as he wailed. None of the water in the sloth demon’s domain had even been warm, so why was it nearly boiling all of a sudden? Unless he wasn’t…

“You really wanted to make a good first impression on me, didn’t you, intruder?”

Blinking away tears, Erebus looked in the direction of the familiar voice, his blood running cold when he saw who had spoken.

It was Shiori.

Next→

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump

@mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump

@unicornscotty @thebewilderer @kixngiggles @itallstartedwithharry @inky-whump

@redstainedsocks @lonesome--hunter @his-unspoken-words @susiequaz12 @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog

@whumpasaurus101 @patheticlittleguy @jadeocean46910 @whumpinggrounds @pumpkin-spice-whump

@suspicious-whumping-egg @befuddled-calico-whump @whump-in-the-closet​ @pumpkinsncoffee​ @aryox

[crossbackpoke-check]

it’s all the rest of what i want with you

connor dewar/brandon duhaime :: 8k

Summary:

“Brandon,” Connor says with a sigh. “There’s no baby in there.”

“Not yet,” Brandon says. Connor feels his stomach twist, almost like what he would imagine a baby kicking to feel like.

in these trying times of dewvorce, may i offer you 8k of pwp inspired by @stillfertile’s wonderful art which i had. several breakdowns about 🫶 anyway please enjoy!!!

[shywhumpauthor]

A Whumpee who is so overworked, physically and mentally, that everything hurts. It hurts to walk, it hurts to move, it hurts to think. They are so damn tired they feel like they could drop. They’re working physically over fourteen hours a day, spending at least another five dealing with logistics like paperwork and conferences. It feels they are going to die if they have to take another goddamn step.

And then give them so much shit they have to do, completely unavoidable they genuinely can’t not do it, so the few moments of rest they actually have are completely consumed with thinking about how they only have twenty more minutes before they need to get back to work, they can’t sleep now because that’ll only make things so much worse when they have to wake up in fifteen minutes, they really should be laying down with their last ten minutes of break but hell they should also put together something to eat, and crap there’s not even five minutes left why bother to lie down they just have to get up.

Bonus points if it’s some kind of hero Whumpee and they know that they have to do this all day every day and their only reprieve will be their scheduled weekend off in a month and a half.

[juliafied]

Do not give into despair, its seeds Will not grow sunflowers from your pockets, only shades That grow longer with each day that draws near harsh midwinter. It will not warm the frozen jagged mud Under tank belts. Do not give into despair, its might Will not light stove nor bulb nor furnace In my grandmother’s house. It will not quiet the nightly sirens or still Her shaking hands. I am across an ocean and there, despair Hunts me with every word I read, With each day that passes with no change To dashed lines on striped and coloured maps. At night, I lay with eyes wide open, and By my door, I hear despair’s lonely breaths Mingling with mine. Yet, I still breathe.

[reiverreturns]

[fic] Halcyon Days

Fandom: Top Gun Maverick

Characters: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd/Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw, Background Dagger Squad

Rating: Mature

.

He could be making this all up. She wouldn’t know. But Bob’s face brightens in a way she’s never seen before, he talks for longer than he did the whole first two weeks after they’d met. His shoulders are loose, his expression easy. He knows more about the sky than she ever will and, well. Isn’t that something.

After the mission, Bob and Phoenix take a road trip.

(sequel to Quiet Promises)

[puhpandas]

tony and vanessas relationship can be something so special

[scoops-aboy86]

what are your thoughts on Steve with a big new belly that he hasn't quite gotten used to yet ..... keeps bumping into things etc

My thoughts on this are very positive. He's just been eating and eating and eating, and how come nobody told him just how big he's getting because of it?

There's this puzzled look that always crosses his face when, for example, he goes to walk alongside someone and bumps into them, or accidentally crowds them of the sidewalk or something. (Or, in the case of his ruder kids, shoved tolerantly back towards his side of the whatever.)

Eddie is weak for this puzzled look. Also gets to see it whenever Steve bumps into furniture, and the one time he was in the Beemer when Steve had to inch his seat back a notch so he wasn't wedged in behind the steering wheel it was all the metalhead could do not to launch himself at the guy. He just. Looks. So. SOFT. And it's becoming a problem, Eddie is clenching his jaw way too much to contain his cuteness agression, he's starting to get tension headaches.

Which Steve notices, of course, and hands-on-hips orders Eddie into the kitchen so he can make him some soup, because obviously he's coming down with something, Steve hasn't seen him this zoned out since the last time he caught a cold.

I can't even decide which kitchen, if it's the Harrington house or the Munson trailer or some as yet unseen government apology bribe of a house for the Munsons. But either it's small and Steve keeps running up against everything, making Eddie want to whine into his hands that are covering his burning face, or it's been a while since he's cooked rather than ordering out so he keeps seriously misjudging distances from memory. Just, like, that and the fact that his shirt is riding up under the apron he's wearing, sorely tested by all the "taste testing" he's doing...

By the time Eddie is served a bowl of homemade chicken noodle soup he's already been fed probably a full serving of pasta and Steve has had at least twice that. Same again with bits of chicken, and pieces of carrot or whatever because Steve wanted to make sure they would be exactly as firm or soft as Eddie liked them.

"Soft enough?" Steve asks, and gets that look again when Eddie promptly chokes on his soup and starts hacking up a lung. "Shit, you're not choking, are you?" And, like, he knows first aid, so he starts getting into the position to do the Heimlich maneuver, which means his belly is now pressed against Eddie's back, and—

Long story short, once Eddie gets the coughing under control he turns and basically throws himself at Steve, and their first kiss tastes of chicken noodle soup, and later Eddie is sooooo embarrassed about coming while rubbing himself against Steve's belly before he can think to get out of his jeans. Steve has no complaints though, because Eddie's way of "making it up to him" (Steve thought it was hot, but he can stand to play dumb about it for now and see where it gets him) involves blowing him against the fridge, getting him a bowl of soup while they recover, and then blowing him again on the kitchen floor.

And that's how they start dating, and how Eddie develops a very specific Pavlovian reaction to chicken noodle soup.

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @tangerinesteve @chersteddie2

[oksanas-sun]

"Oksana," Eve whispers, gently stroking the blonde's cheek, "wake up, baby."

Oksana's eyes flutter lightly, and she murmurs, curling herself back into the pillows.

"Oksana, honey, the easter bunny was here."

Abruptly her eyes open and she's wide awake, sitting up in the bed. Her eyes twinkle with excitement. "Really?"

Eve nods and, knowing Oksana has difficulty containing herself when excited like this, offers , "If you want, you can go look what he hid for you now and get dressed and brush your teeth afterwards."

Oksana beams, wildly nodding her head, immediately scrambling to get out of the tangled sheets. Eve chuckles softly, seeing the enthusiasm of her little girl. She holds out her hand for Oksana to take, already holding a small empty easter basket in the other to put the hidden treasures in and leads the blonde out into the garden.

It's a sunny day, perfect for an easter egg hunt, and warm enough that it doesn't matter the girl is still in her pajamas.

Oksana looks at Eve uncertainly. The older woman smiles, partly with reassurance and partly with sadness.

Despite how excited Oksana was, she was also unsure of what a real easter morning actually meant. Her mama would've never put in the effort of hiding eggs or candy or toys around the garden to make her and her brother happy. She did vaguely remember her dad trying to do it for them once. But mama had found out. Oksana didn't know what had happened after but she and Pyotr had been ordered to stay in their rooms for almost the entire day. There had been shouting, though she'd tried to cover her ears to block it out. In the evening, her dad had come in to say goodnight. He'd told her to close her eyes and open her hands. Then he'd dropped a few small chocolate eggs into her palms, winked at her and told her to hide them from mama. They'd been her little treasure, and she'd been so careful about eating them. She'd kept the foiled wrappers afterwards, as a means to remember. After the disappearance of her dad, they'd been one of the few things that made him feel close. Until one day, she forgot to hide them and mama found them and threw them away. Little Oksana had searched through the garbage cans for them, arms deep in trash. Tatiana had the spectacle unbeknownst to her for almost 30 minutes. Only to finally tell her she wouldn't find them because she'd burned them. Maybe, Oksana thought, that's why she had that affinity for setting things on fire. She burned her sins like Tatiana had burned the connection to her father.

"Oksana?" Eve says, the slight pressure between her tone indicating she'd tried to reach her a few times. Oksana blinks, confused. She'd zoned out, momentarily trapped in her memory. But Eve's warm voice and gentle touch ground her, anchoring her back in the present.

"Are you okay, baby?" Even though, Oksana’s not always very good at recognizing emotion, she knows the one behind her mommy's words. Worry. She doesn't want to worry her mommy. This was supposed to be a happy day, wasn't it?

Oksana nods weakly, " 'kay, mommy. Just no... no know how..."

She shrugs and points to the garden, looking at Eve helplessly. Her mommy smiles, that kind smile that always makes her feel small and at ease.

"Do you want mommy to help, honey, hm?"

Oksana blushes. Eve can read her so easily. She nods sheepishly and grips Eve's hand tightly. The older woman guides her through the garden, giving subtle hints at where something might be hidden. She never once lets go, even crouches down with her and scoots around on her knees when the little girl crawls around in the dirt, looking for a possible hiding place. It's what Oksana loves about her mommy. Recognizing when what she needs more than anything is just to know she's close, always there to depend on.

It's why Oksana's confidence grows with every found egg and small toy that lands in the little basket, filling it up nicely.

"I think you found everything the easter bunny left for you. Good job, baby!" Eve praises, making Oksana giggle happily. She takes the basket from Eve as they make their way back to the door, admiring her treasure. "Or well, actually, I know there's one last thing."

Oksana looks at her mommy with wide eyes, the silent question written on her face. Eve smiles, and tugs at her hand, leading her to the living room. She doesn’t have to search, the thing Eve referred to is presented on the coffee table already. Oksana lets out an excited squeal and lets go of her mommy's hand to rush to the table, immediately kneeling down. It's a plush bunny. Except it's not just one - it's a big one holding a small one in its arm.

"Mommy and baby!" Oksana exclaims in a high pitched voice, making Eve laugh.

"Yes, yes it is a mommy and her baby. Just like you and me."

Oksana smiles sheepishly and nods, stroking the soft fur of the two plushies. Eve comes to settle down next to her. For a moment, she just watches her little girl interact with the new toy. Then she can’t help but ask, "Oksana, baby, do you know what easter means?"

Oksana stops in her tracks, pursing her lips in thought. She knows that the information is in her head somewhere - she learned it during her time at church once. But that's from Villanelle's memories and too far away for a small girl like her to reach. So she shakes her head.

"Well, it's said that it's the time Jesus came back to life. Whether someone actually believes that is true or not is up to them. You know I'm not christian, so I never really cared about that part. Something I always liked about easter though," Eve explains, "is that it's a symbol for miracles. A reminder that they exist. And I know for a fact that they exist."

"Why, m'mmy?" Oksana asks, tilting her head. Eve's heart melts at how adorable she looks. She reaches out to brush a blonde strand of hair out of the girl's face, her hand lingers cupped around her cheek. Her thumb gently strokes the soft skin beneath it.

"Because I have my very own little miracle sitting right here next to me."

[littlemonarch]

█▓▒░ BUSTED ░▒▓█

[lucrezianoin]

I am aliveeee

[whispers-of-masser]

Dragon's Tongue

✧ Nebarra x human!LDB, ft. Xelzaz & Khash ✧ Fluff, minor angst; 1300+ words ♫ "You And I (Stripped)" - PVRIS ✒ Something short n sweet today, I'm feeling soft

Nebarra was loath to admit it to himself, and he'd die before ever saying it aloud, but the Rift really was beautiful. Nothing compared to Alinor, to be sure, but... all the gold reminded him of home. And when he passed by a small, isolated farm, he could almost see himself on its porch, see his brother leaning against the door.

The illusions were younger, happier versions of themselves. So much more innocent, faces bright with naivety, eyes shining with plans for the future.

And then he'd gone to war.

He'd lost... so much of himself, in the deserts of Hammerfell. They had scorched and burned him inside and out, slowly bleeding him dry with every comrade he saw fall. And all that, for what? For all the Altmer's supposed superiority, the campaign had failed on all fronts – Hammerfell's walls and people defied them, and Cyrodiil remained in power, weakened but still unbroken.

How could the Thalmor still strut about, arrogant to Aetherius and back, when they had failed so miserably? How could they look at the faces of the families whose children and lovers they'd sent to die and only tell them they'd "served their purpose"?

Nebarra couldn't.

He couldn't face them at all. Not even through pen and paper, leagues away from ever having to look them in the eyes, ever having to see the pain and loss in their gaze.

Where the Thalmor were heartless, he was a coward.

And he didn't know which was worse.

~~~

Night fell, and you called the group to halt, to make camp until dawn. Nebarra set up the tent as you argued with Xelzaz, trying to convince him that no, he shouldn't summon a flame atronach and then kill it for its fire salts, no matter how good it would make dinner taste. Khash merely looked on, muching on some clover she'd picked up somewhere.

At last though, you got Xelzaz to relent, though he asked you to gather some herbs in exchange, listing off the plants he wanted you to find.

"Ah... and take Nebarra with you."

The elf froze. Turned slowly towards the lizard. Demanded, "What? Why?"

"Two eyes are better than one," he shrugged, "and that much safer, as well. We don't know what's out there, and I'm pretty sure we passed a necromantic altar on our way here."

At that, you groaned, head rolling back like a teenager who'd just been told to do their chores. "Gods, not another one. Why do we always seem to run into those?"

"Luck of the Dragonborn? Anyway, off with you now – I have to get set up. Let's see, in whose pack did I leave my cooking pot...? Khash! Come help me with this!"

And just like that he walked off, leaving you and Nebarra alone by the campfire. A chuckle escaped you, and he glanced over to see you shaking your head. "I'm surprised he didn't tell us to hold hands, too, so we don't lose each other in the dark."

"Yeah, I'm not holding your hand," Nebarra snarked. And it was true. Absolutely true. Totally, one-hundred percent true.

"Oh wow, Nebs, that one almost hurt." Your soft laugh seemed to echo in his ears, his mind. "Come on, let's go – I don't suppose you heard any of the plants he wants?"

Blue and yellow mountain flowers, to restore and fortify. Purple for rejuvenation, and to give to Khash. Scaly pholiota for fiber and strengthening. Wild gourds and dragon's togue for flavour.

He snorted from behind his helm. "That would require paying attention to him."

"Should have known," you sighed. "Alright, listen up before I forget: blue, yellow, and purple mountain flowers, scaly pholiota, and dragon's tongue. And be careful with the purple mountain flowers, they're gifts for Khash. Oh, he also wants some wild gourds. Got it?"

"...Yeah, yeah. Let's just get going."

He definitely hadn't feigned ignorance just to hear your voice some more. Definitely not.

~~~

"Ah, back at last! Perfect," Xelzaz said, stirring something in a pot over the fire. "Now I can get the real meal started."

"Then what's this?" Nebarra demanded as Xelzaz handed him a bowl, in exchange for the plants the Altmer carried. Even through his gauntlets he could feel its warmth, and a rich, savory scent drifted up through the slits of his helmet.

"Something amazing, from the smell," you sighed, and Nebarra didn't have to look to know you were drooling.

"Just a little sometime to hold you over," the Argonian demurred, handing you a bowl as well. "Thought I'd experiment with some of the flora I've gathered thus far."

That gave Nebarra pause. "Wait – experiment? That's settled, I'm not eating this."

"If you don't want it–"

Your words were drowned out by Khash's eager shout of, "I'll eat it! I'll take your bowl!" She rushed over to him, red eyes trained on the food.

"Khash, you had your share," Xelzaz chided. "Any more and you won't have room for the rest of dinner."

"Yes, I will! I have room for anything you make."

"She's got a point," you laughed, and Nebarra slowly, wordlessly handed her the bowl.

"I'll go keep watch," he grumbled, turning away.

"Oh, don't be like that! Nebarra!" When he didn't respond, you sighed, calling after him, "Alright, go sulk! I'll make sure Xelzaz doesn't poison your share, though you kind of deserve it!"

His back still towards you, Nebarra raised his hand in a rude gesture, and your laughter rang through the night.

Some thirty minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching; he didn't need to turn to know it was you. Your tread was distinct from the others, weighted with determination and confidence, whereas Xelzaz's was soft and steady, and Khash's light and hesitant.

"Here. Eat." Despite the short words, your tone was gentle, and Nebarra looked over to see you holding a plate out towards him, laden with a slab of meat and wild berries to the side. "It's delicious, and unpoisoned."

"How would you know?" he sniffed, catching a whiff of the food in the process. It... did smell amazing. "Did you try it?"

"I did, actually. Stole some of your steak when Xelzaz wasn't looking. And since I'm still standing here pestering you, I guess that means it's clean."

Nebarra paused, eyes training on your face. Half of it was wreathed in shadow, only the gleam of your eyes visible; the other half was illuminated by the campfire, revealing the soft smile you wore.

You... had a nice smile.

And before he could stop himself, he mumbled, "You're not... pestering me."

Surprise flickered in your gaze – surprise, and something else. Something he told himself he didn't recognise, refused to recognise.

After a moment, you said softly, "That's... good to hear, then. Because I have something else for you, too." Reaching down with your free hand, you pulled something from your belt and held it out before him. "I saved one, 'cause it reminded me of you."

Nebarra stared. There, held gently between your fingers, was a dragon's tongue flower, petals open wide and colours vibrant in full bloom. "This... reminded you of me?"

"It's gold. Just like you."

"...You really do have trouble with your eyesight, don't you? These are orange."

"Eh, close enough." You shrugged, the smile never leaving your face.

Slowly, Nebarra reached out and, ignoring the plate of food, took the flower carefully, delicately from your grasp, cradling it in his palm. "...Am I supposed to say thank you?"

"You just did." As he raised a brow from the shadows of his helm, you set the plate on a nearby rock and tapped the gauntlet that held the flower. "You accepted it."

He couldn't deny it. "Think you got me all figured out then, huh?"

Something in your smile shifted, your gaze flickering. "No. Not yet, anyways. But... I think I'd like to." And with that, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him alone in the dark, stunned.

And that night, as he sat in the shadows of the campfire, he stared at the flower for a long, long time.