#going up a dark dangerous mountain in the dead of night

[jadeazora]

I think Drayton is a charismatic guy and like how manipulative he is in trying to get the player to help fix the whole Kieran situation, but some of his lines make me wanna take Carmine's advice and give him that Sucker Punch 👊😠

[almostfoxglove]

SIT BACK, BABY

written for @joelmillerisapunk's #PPCUBodyWorshipChallenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Frankie Morales x f!Reader BODY PART: Thighs | WORD COUNT: 4.1k CW: Smut (m!oral), pwp, drinking (not during smut), sorta sub!Frankie.

SUMMARY: You've got a crush on your neighbor across the hall and finally get the chance to show him you care.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Your alarm clock reads 2:02 A.M. when you stir from a sweat-stained dream. 

Someone is breaking into your apartment.

Or sounds like they're trying to break in, at least. The awkward stabbing and metal scrape of disobedient picks and keys. A sudden fear cleaves through you, skull to stomach, and just like that you’re wide awake. Then you hear a familiar voice mutter, “Fucking please—”

And you sigh. You’re not in any danger.

Yellow light leaks into your apartment from the hall where you find your mountain of a neighbor slumped on his knees at your feet, one hand raised at the level of your lock, a silver key pinched between his forefinger and thumb.

He tilts his chin up, letting you glimpse beneath the brim of his navy ball cap the glassiness of his warm eyes, the flush of his cheeks. His lips part, bewildered or lost. The man looks hopelessly drunk. 

“Haanng on,” Frankie grins, squinting up at you. “You’re in my apartment?”

He drops his hand and his apartment key slips from his grasp onto the floor, unnoticed by him. You’ve lived across the hall from him for two years, steadfast in your belief that fucking anyone who lives in your building—or frankly, within a three block radius—is a hideous mistake. Has that made your hopeless crush on him any less… crushing?

Absolutely fucking not.

Now, seeing Frankie on his knees is doing something terrible to your brain. Giving it all sorts of ideas. You blame his jeans, the brawn of his thighs—how badly you’d like to sink your teeth into them surprises you.

“My apartment, actually,” you correct, lifting one finger to point over his shoulder, across the hall. Frankie turns and, sure enough, recognizes his apartment number gleaming on the door.

“Shit,” he says. You make a point of staring him dead in the eye even when you’d usually look away, just so you don’t look at his legs. The spread of his knees on the carpeted floor. 

Doe-eyed, Frankie blinks up at you—helpless as a pup—as need stirs in your stomach. The urge to hold him. To take care of him for a while.

“I’m a lil’ drunk,” he admits in a whisper, like it’s a secret, like you wouldn’t have known.

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You don’t say.”

He buries his face in his palms and groans quietly, embarrassed. “Hermosa,” he muffles, making your mouth go dry. When his hands drop, his gaze lands at your feet, rising slowly to your legs—he turns, you think, the color of a berry. Something that bursts red against your fingertips in summer.

“You’re not wearing pants,” Frankie says plainly, his eyebrows high on his head.

Shit.

You cross your arms over your chest as if that’ll hide your legs, bare beneath the t-shirt you sleep in. You can’t remember what underwear you have on, if it’s a cute pair or a laundry day pair, and pray quietly that he can’t glimpse them from where he’s sitting, though he probably can. What’s worse, though, is that you can tell Frankie’s not trying to peek. He’s looking you in the eye—respectful, it seems, even on the verge of a blackout.

“It’s the middle of the night,” you say, trying not to blush. “Y’woke me up.”

Poor, drunk Frankie’s face just folds. Devastated to have bothered you—he huffs softly, lets his eyes stutter closed, dark lashes shivering on his cheeks. It really isn’t fair, how cute he is like this. Grown, drunk men are idiots. Nuisances, at best. And yet here he is—this broad mass of a man, solid in his calm, easy way—managing to be both out of his mind and entirely endearing at the same time. It’s almost annoying, how not annoyed you are to be disturbed from a fit of slumber. You’re sort of glad.

“M’sorry,” Frankie mumbles, staring at the floor. He lifts one finger and with your breath held you watch it move slowly toward your foot until his fingertip meets your bare ankle. Softly, so softly. You hardly feel it, this small touch, his fragile apology. 

It’s like he’s trying to kill you. It’s like he knows you’ve had some stupid crush on him for two years.

“Come on,” you say, as you crouch down to retrieve his forgotten key, then his arm, warm and solid in your grasp. “Think you better get into bed.”

He giggles as he lurches to his feet, thankfully able to stand after you steady him and release the weight of his arm. Cheeks warm, you walk his key across the hall, unlock the door, and step aside for him to go in with a sweep of your hand.

“How embarrassed should I be tomorrow?” Frankie asks, coming to stand at your side to stare down the tunnel of darkness formed by his entryway.

You shrug. “Willing to bet you won’t remember this in the morning,” you say, smirk nagging at your lips as you nudge his key back into his hand.

At the contact, he turns, face shadowed by his hat and curls licking playfully beneath the brim, and though you expect him to laugh or smile there’s not a drop of humor in his expression—he looks, you think, disappointed. Like maybe he doesn’t want to forget. Squinting, you tilt your head in the direction of his apartment, but Frankie doesn’t move. He blinks drowsily at you, bottom lip pouting again.

This is probably the most you’ve ever spoken in one go.

The closest you’ve ever stood.

“Pope’s never gonna le’me live this down,” he mumbles.

You huff a short chuckle under your breath and set one hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, to urge him inside—clearly the man’s never going to go in on his own. 

“That one of your broad shouldered friends?” you tease.

Frankie only budges a step closer to the doorway, frowning as he rolls his shoulders, standing up a little straighter as if to make a point. “Yes,” he grumbles.

“Don’t worry, honey,” you tease, then drop your hand from his back. “You’re very broad, too.”

“I feel bad I woke you up,” Frankie says softly.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, and you feel it again—that impulse to hold him, make it better. Rub his shoulders or something, just to help him relax.

“It is,” Frankie mumbles sorrily.

“Did you mean to wake me up?”

He sighs. “No.”

“Were you trying to break in, or did you get mixed up?”

“Got mixed up,” he admits quietly.

You catch his gaze and offer him a small smile. “Then I forgive you,” you say. “No harm done, seriously. You’re not the worst person to find at my door.”

This seems to settle him, at least a little, because with one final, frowning huff Frankie surrenders his guilt and nods. “Okay,” he murmurs, and time stands briefly still as he moves toward you—leaning in to graze his lips against your cheek, his stubble brushing your skin. 

You stand, statued by your surprise, unable even to breathe.

“G’night, nena.”

“Goodnight,” you choke out, grateful that in his state he doesn’t seem to register your shock or the tremble in your voice. If he weren’t drunk, you’re pretty sure that would’ve snapped you. You’d have told him right now and right here that you’ll take care of him, help him unwind a little—that you’ve wanted to touch him for two years and it hasn’t gotten any easier, orbiting him without the guts to swing yourself closer to his gravity.

But he is drunk. Three quarters out of his mind, if you had to guess, based on the clumsy muddle of his footsteps as he at last sways into his apartment, shutting the door behind him. Leaving you breathless in the hallway, alone.

In the morning, you wake to a band of sunlight searing through your curtains. You’ve slept through your alarm all the way till ten, and lift your phone to find a text waiting on your lock screen, sent two hours ago.

Think I owe you an apology, neighbor.

Groggy, you frown at the string of digits you don’t recognize until the night comes back to you, piece by piece. Your heart stutters as you sit up in bed, letting your bedsheets pool in your lap as you type out a reply.

How did you get my number?

Also, you got up at 8am?? Are you even alive?

You get a reply only minutes later, while you’re brushing your teeth.

Told the building manager that I was getting your mail and wanted to return it. Little scary how few questions they asked.

You scoff, only to have your phone ding again immediately.

Sure hope I’m alive. I have a very thoughtful neighbor to thank for getting me home safe.

You spit into the sink, then rinse your mouth, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

Thoughtful, huh?

Pretty, too. Don’t know if I’ve mentioned that yet.

Still feel bad about last night. Let me make it up to you.

No more than six hours later, you’re pulled from whatever TV show’s been rotting your brain all afternoon by a steady knock on your front door. Your skin twinkles with nerves.

You’re fully clothed this time—showered too, thankfully—and when you open the door Frankie isn’t on his knees. He’s standing, curls squashed beneath his hat, t-shirt stretched across his chest, in black athletic shorts baring him below the knee, as he holds up two plastic bags that fill the hallway with a smell you know all too well: takeout from the Chinese place you love down the road. When your eyes round at the sight, Frankie grins, letting you glimpse the dimple that winks from his cheek. 

You see, too, his exhaustion. The navy shadows bruised beneath his glassy eyes. He may be alive, but it’s painfully obvious that he must, beneath that smile, be suffering a brutal hangover. And he’s bringing you food—too generous a gesture, you think, for such a small crime.

“Hoped you might like this place,” he says.

“You really didn’t have to—” you start to say, but Frankie shakes his head before squeezing past you in the doorway to come inside.

“Only fair,” he insists, and you shut the door while he toes out of his shoes, thoughtful enough not to drag dirt into your apartment as he breezes into your kitchen like he’s done this a hundred times before. Opening the bags, cracking each container, fishing through drawers until he finds your cutlery. Domestic and entirely alien: this man you’ve known for two years who’s never entered your space, making himself at home. Trying to serve you.

Dumbstruck, you watch him, unsure what to say and the longer you do, the more the ache of him seems to radiate. You swear you see him wince when a drawer slams too hard, when he looks up accidentally into the ceiling light. With one hand, you reach out and turn the dimmer switch to soften the lights over his head, and Frankie looks up from the styrofoam containers to catch your eye. 

The grin drops from his face. “Shit—is this too much? It’s too much, isn’t it?”

Frankie wipes his hands on his thighs as he rounds the kitchen island to stand before you, dark lashes batting worriedly over his freckled cheeks as he lowers his head to meet your eye. “If you want, I can just leave you with the food. Don't wanna be here if you don't want me to be.”

A soft scoff leaves your lips, the first breath of disbelief disguised as laughter. “Frankie,” you breathe, and his chest puffs at the way you say his name. “You look like you feel like shit. Your head must be killing you. And you brought me food.”

His jaw ticks, and you wonder if he’s been looking for an excuse to talk to you, too.

“No more fussing over me,” you say, lifting your hands slowly to rest on his shoulders. 

Frankie flinches but doesn’t pull away, his warm eyes flickering between yours like he’s trying to unpuzzle you. 

“Let me help,” you say.

“Hermosa,” he murmurs, sounding winded. Desperate. He shakes his head.

With a soft grin you slip your hands down his arms—firm and hot beneath your palms—to guide him toward your couch, warmed by a box of sunlight cast through the windows. Frankie sits with a gentle sigh, biceps tensing beneath your grasp, not yet sure what to make of you. You give his arms a light squeeze, flash him a grin you hope might ease his nerves, and sink to the carpet between his knees.

Frankie’s eyes go black.

The air simmers, woozy as the space above molten tarmac in the dead of summer. It’s a kind of spell, you think. His sharpened breath. Your hands slipping easily over his bare knees. And it’s obvious: the riot of guilt surging behind his lust-blown eyes, his instinct to politely turn you down as you rub his joints softly with your thumbs.

“Don’t have to,” you tell him, careful to hold his eye so he’ll see you mean them. “But I’d like to, if you want. Could take care of you for a while.”

Frankie lets out a ragged breath, and his eyes slam shut before he drops his head on the back of your couch. “Shit—are you—shit.” He grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes, groans quietly, and from the floor you watch the way his whole body shudders as he struggles for air.

“That a yes or a no, let’s eat Chinese food?” you ask softly, hands frozen on his knees until he answers. “Either is good.”

“Shit—yes, that’s a yes,” Frankie pants, still hiding behind his hands with his head tipped back.

You lift one hand from his knee to reach for him, curling your fingertips around his forearm, pulling it away from his eyes. “Mírame,” you say, and it’s possible Frankie comes undone right then and there—chest deflating, arms slumping limp into his lap, head lolling to look down at you in disbelief.

Lips parted, his tongue slips across his bottom lip, sending a thrill through your body and a sudden stutter to your heart. But this isn’t about you; it’s about him, so you squeeze your thighs together as Frankie shifts his hips on the couch and nods shakily.

Oh, this is dangerous. How he already looks ready to fall apart beneath your hands. You might never get enough of it.

Testing the waters, you slide your hands slowly up his thighs just far enough to brush your fingertips to the hem of his shorts, the roped muscles in his legs tensing beneath your caress. “If you want me to stop, just say, okay?”

Frankie shakes his head, licks his lip again, and your eyes follow the glide of his tongue. “Not gonna want you to stop,” he breathes, as his cheek dimples with the flash of a sheepish grin.

You hum softly, shuffle closer to the couch, encouraging him to spread his legs wider with a press of your hands. “Just sit back, baby,” you murmur.

So he does. Frankie grunts as you patiently knead the mesa of his thighs—the hills of muscle bound tight beneath golden skin, so hot to the touch—and lower your lips to lay a kiss on his knee, glancing up through your lashes to gauge his reaction.

He rewards you with a needy groan that goes straight to your cunt.

You smile against his skin, let your hands wander, thumbs digging into his thighs as you work loose their knotted web. Humming, your hands slipping beneath the black curtain of his shorts to stray higher as you work, you slide the flat of your tongue up his inner thigh and Frankie’s whole body trembles.

“Fuck—nena, shit,” he pants, just before one hand bolts out to cover the crown of your head, stilling your movements. 

You take your mouth off him and look up, basking in the abyss of his dark eyes and the red of his neck. “Want me to stop?” you ask.

Immediately, Frankie’s head shakes nonono as he gathers your hair in his fist, holding it back from your face. “Que cosa mas linda. So fuckin’ pretty.”

It’s easy, but you knew it would be, watching his body twitch and melt beneath your ministrations, the caress of your attentive hands. The wet suckle of your lips and tongue rising towards his hips. Slowly, you unwind him. Let him dissolve into your couch, always with some sweet nothing on his lips that could ruin you if you let it—mierda, feels so—so fucking good, perfect hands, holy shit, tan suave.

The taste of his skin is a balm in itself, heady, a little sweat-kissed, addictive. With his shorts shoved high on his hips, you latch at the supple flesh of his inner thigh and suck, drawing a tortured whimper from Frankie as he shivers, his chest rising faster with every breath.

“Shit—por favor, please,” he begs, as the hand in your hair gently scratches your scalp. It’s so gentle you almost believe he doesn’t know he’s doing it—that touching you like this, so tenderly, so ruinously, is to Frankie instinct alone.

“So sweet to me,” you murmur against his thigh, licking the pink mark you’ve left on his skin. “So strong, so warm. Just wanna take care of you, Frankie. Wanna make you feel good.”

“Hermosa,” he groans, desperate now, his cock twitching beneath the black of his shorts.

The square of sunlight glows over you both, warming you just as much as his body. Beyond the cracked window you can hear the chirp of birds finding their way to each other, the squeal of distant traffic, the churn of wind through the alley. All of it—all that raucous city noise that used to keep you up all night—feels tranquil now. A serene soundtrack whispering below the rasps of Frankie’s pleasure.

“Wanted to for a long time,” you tell him, before latching again at the top of his other thigh, marking satin skin with a matching brand. “Wanted to touch you so bad.”

He’s gasping now, lungs desperate for air like he’s been running, and his other hand grabs hold of your shoulder to pull you closer. “Would’a—” he wheezes, and lets his head drop back against the couch again like it’s too much to look right at you. “Would’ve let you if I’d—fuck—if I’d known.”

You hum against his leg, reach both hands high enough to dig your thumbs in the crevice of his hips, and Frankie jolts, hissing a strangled fuck before settling again, more liquid than before.

Higher, your mouth climbs, desperate for more of him. Electric with the feeling of his need, the way his hands keep you near to him—thumb sweet on your shoulder, fingertips drawing little circles on your scalp. It’s possible you’ve never liked pleasuring someone so much, and you’ve liked it before. But Frankie responds to your every movement and breath, every change in pressure or place, strung taut as a bow that’s fighting not to snap.

With a final glance up at Frankie, his head hung back to unveil the gold of his throat, the stubble scattered along his jaw, you nuzzle your nose gently against his crotch and feel his cock throb, hitting your cheek.

“Baby,” he whines, hand tightening in your hair.

“I’ve got you,” you coo, and draw your own out of his shorts to hook into the waistband. “Gonna take you out now, is that okay?”

“Fuck—yes—fucking yes it’s okay,” he begs, and the light sting of his hand pulling your hair tighter paints a smile on your face. 

Slowly, you peel down his shorts and find no boxers beneath them, only the heavy length of him which bobs up against his t-shirt, thick and swollen and aching. “No underwear? Frankie,” you tease, and he chuckles hoarsely as you cast his shorts aside.

“Laundry day,” he wheezes, and you click your tongue before scooting forward until your chest presses against the cushions, framed by his legs.

He’s beautiful like this, destroyed but in the good way—dragged out of his head for a while by your dutiful hands, your thumbs digging into the meat of his thighs. His cock leaking and twitching every time the warmth of your breath fans over his soft skin.

With one hand, you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, and the whimper that leaves Frankie’s lips in reply might be the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. You wet your tongue along his length, tasting the earth of him before wrapping your lips around his tip, trading off between suckling and licking.

The hand in your hair locks up suddenly, not moving your head but clamping down hard. You moan softly and he twitches on your tongue. Grows harder, somehow, when a moment ago you’d have thought it impossible.

“Ay,” he croaks. “Fuck—your fucking mouth, baby.”

Perhaps this is what emboldens you, makes you sloppy—just as needy as him. Drool slicking to his length as you bob, drinking in his every moan and babble. Your fist pumping what you can’t take, jaw aching around his girth. Frankie might come apart at the molecules, you think. Evanesce cell by cell, held in the heat of your mouth as you swallow around his length, forcing the head of his cock to the back of your throat.

When you gag, eyes watering, heart a hummingbird in your chest, he makes a desperate whine and his hand tenses on your shoulder. 

You’d stay here the rest of the night, if he’d let you, but he doesn’t.

Frankie thighs twitch, breaths coming faster now, shorter. Close. 

“Necesito sentirte,” he says as he squeezes your shoulder again. “Please—shit, gonna come if you don’t stop—fuck, nena, please let me feel you. Wanna feel you so fucking bad. Wanted you—fuckfuck—wanted you the day you moved in.”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you see his hat has tumbled off, leaving the crown of his head a mess of flattened down curls broken up by the occasional stray, and something about how he looks in this moment, fuckedout and gone and desperate, makes you want to stay right where you are. 

Still, you hollow your cheeks as you ease off him with a wet pop, one hand pumping his thick cock while the other rubs his muscled thigh. You shake your head, bottom lip bitten. “Next time,” you promise, with a smirk rich on your lips. Then you’re on him again, throat open and accepting as he teeters on the edge of falling apart. 

“Mmmph, shit—nena, so good, oh my god,” Frankie gasps, hands back in your hair to hold it out of your way. “Gonna make me—fuck, where do I—where do you—”

He doesn’t get the rest out; the moment you slip your hand beneath his balls and sink your lips to the base of his heavy length, taking him to the hilt, Frankie comes with a sudden cry. Warmth pumps down your aching throat as he pants, fingers tangled in your hair, and you swallow it all hungrily while you moan.

He whimpers when you lift off his spent cock to look up at him with a satisfied grin. If you thought he looked ruined before, you were wrong. This is what he looks like when you’ve wrecked him. 

“Come here,” he croaks, then with a grunt Frankie yanks you off the floor and onto his lap to envelope you in his arms. You settle on his thighs, try not to swoon at his strength, and when he kisses you it isn’t at all what you’re expecting—there’s no roar, no taking, not a drop of desperation left in him at all. No, Frankie kisses you wholly, gently, all lithe tongue and sweetness and gratitude, and the longer it goes on the more you both smile, struggling to kiss around laughter and teeth.

When he pulls back, his pupils are still blown but warm too, so warm. His face and beard gilded with late afternoon light. He strokes a thumb across your cheek, then bumps his nose against yours, and you sink against his chest to chase his mouth. Before you can, Frankie's arms lock around your waist; he throws you down onto the couch, pinning you beneath him with a smug little smile.

“This time I get to taste you, hermosa,” he promises, then seals it with a kiss.

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals <3

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@littlemisspascal @perotovar @goodwithcheese @joelalorian

[mcuamerica]

Stranded | Part Two

Featuring : (future) Azriel x Fem!Reader, Eris x Reader (platonic), Rhys x Sister!Reader

Summary: Amarantha is dead and you finally get to go home. Requested by @sidthedollface2 here.

Warnings: 18+ only, description of ruined wings and skin scarring, canon level violence, not proofread (i'll do it later), let me know if anything was forgotten...

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

Dividers from @saradika

Part One

You felt your magic return to you the day Amarantha died. It was such an ordinary day.

You were in your cabin, that Eris had found for you the moment your wings were burned. You couldn't return to the Night Court without putting yourself in danger of Amarantha finding you, so you stayed in Autumn.

You were cooking when it washed over you, feeling as if you could finally breath again. You tested your abilities, seeing how much you could do. You were able to engulf the entire room in darkness when you were satisfied it returned.

You lost hope 10 years prior, when one of the local villagers said that all of Amarantha's court was bound to Under the Mountain. That meant you wouldn't be getting anymore visits from Eris, and even in the 40 years before that, those were few and far between. You were lucky Autumn Court was on her "good" side, because she never looked too deep into the woods. From what Eris told you, Rhys had taken her to bed.

You knew Rhys, and you could guess that he did it to keep her eyes from turning towards the Night Court. Towards you. Or Velaris.

So, you lived your simple life. The cabin Eris gave you came with a horse, that you would take to and from the local village. You were able to maintain a garden. And the best thing about living in Autumn was you never had to brace a bad winter or a sweltering summer. You missed the seasons dearly, you missed Solstices and Starfalls. Most of all, you missed your family.

It still haunted you that Rhys was taking on the burden of the Night Court by himself. You wished you could be there with him.

And, the rest of your family was running Velaris. Without you. You had to wonder if Azriel and Mor ended up together, being trapped in the beautiful, romantic city all these years. You wouldn't if Azriel regretted leaving you that night. Or if he was happy you were gone.

One thing you couldn't get over, even after all these years, was that he left you. Sure, you could handle yourself, but he left you. His best friend. Even when you were young, you always wanted to be around Azriel. Once Cassian and Rhys stopped tormenting him, you were allowed to be around him. He was always the first one to show you techniques with his sword, or new flying maneuvers. But then Mor came alone, slept with Cassian, and that was it. Azriel had been pining after her since then. You weren't resentful of it until he left you the night everything went to shit. When you lost your magic and your ability to fly.

Even know, when the wind was raging in the forest, you teared up. You wish there was some way to be able to fly again. But you grew up in the Illyrian war camp with your mother and brother. You knew what destroyed tendons looked like. There was no hope. Even after Eris and his healers did everything they could to heal them as best as they could. The membrane was in tact, albeit thinner than normal, and you had full function of stretching them in and out. But, the proper strength to fly would never be resorted.

At least you had your magic back. And you waited for Eris to come find you, to placate his father enough that he had time to tell you what happened. You assumed, knowing the depletion of magic was tied to Amarantha, that she died. You really hoped that was the case. You could go home. You could see your brother. You could ignore Azriel for the rest of your life. It never even occurred to you that you could probably winnow back home. You hadn't been able to do it for a long time.

Instead of Eris bursting through the door that afternoon, it was shadows, followed by a heaving Azriel trying to catch his breath.

"(Y/N)!" Azriel exclaimed, bounding over to you. Before you had a chance to step away, he wrapped you in an embrace. One you couldn't help but melt into. You might be mad at him, but after 50 years of being apart, you were happy to see him.

You pulled away, seeing tears in Azriel's eyes as he looked you over. His eyes landed on your wings. "What did they do to you?" He asked, searching your eyes.

"After you left me that night, three of Beron's sentinels burned my wings." You said, taking a deep breath.

"I need to write a note, and then you can take me home. Is Rhys there yet?" You asked.

"I don't know, I've spent all day having my shadows look for you. I was hoping you made it to Winter... I didn't think you would still be here." He said, pausing as you started to write.

You wrote to Eris, letting him know that you would be going back to the Night Court. You also told him that you would support him if he ever needed anything. You tucked the note into an envelop and left it on the counter.

"Okay... can you winnow us?" You asked, holding out your hand.

He gazed over you again, unsaid words clear in his eyes. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). For everything. For leaving you. For not coming to get you-"

"Azriel.. please.. take me home. And then we can talk about it." You said.

He nodded, staring at you for a few moments before he took you hand and darkness enveloped you both.

Rhys was pissed.

He may have been happy to see his family, and to tell Mor and you about how he found his mate (even if she was with Tamlin), but the instant he saw your wings, he knew something was wrong. Before even asking the rest of his family what happened, he pulled you into a room alone.

After recapping what happened Under the Mountain, and more tearful hellos, he asked you to sit down. "Tell me what happened." He said.

You looked down, taking a deep breath. "That night that Amarantha took your magic, and you closed the borders to Velaris, I got stuck in Autumn. Azriel had left to go help Mor with something. I couldn't even winnow to the Night Court borders." You told him what happened with the sentinels, how Eris found you, and then watched as Rhys settled into the quiet deathly rage.

"He did this to you?" He asked, barely above a whisper.

"No," you quickly corrected. "Eris helped me." There were tears in your eyes now. "He- Let me just tell you how it started..."

Eris brought you to a cabin on the outskirts of the Autumn borders, close to a village but far enough that no one would look for you here. He had his best healers come to help heal you, but with their lack ox experience repairing wings, they couldn't completely heal them. You back even still had scarring on it from how hot the sentinels burned through them.

When Eris couldn't stay because Amarantha sent for all High Lords and their heirs, he had a healer stay with you. Until you were back to your normal health. And then, he offered to help you get to the Night Court. Said he would personally take you to the Moonstone Palace. But he warned you how cruel Amarantha already was, and how she was taking more and more people prisoner (to be part of her "court") Under the Mountain. You chose to stay in the cabin. If you couldn't go back to Velaris, you didn't want to go to the Night Court. Not when your brother was actively trying to get Amarantha to avoid it. The return of the Lady of the Night Court would surely set her eyes towards you. And Rhys would pay the price.

Eris would visit you as often as he could. Since Autumn was on Amarantha's good side, she let Eris and his brothers out more. When he was able to step away from the Forest House, he would visit you. Bring you more supplied, new clothes, sometimes even new furniture or paint to refresh the cabin. All the while, he kept you up to date on what was happened. One day, you asked why he was helping you.

"Because I can... and it was my family's sentinels that harmed you. You had no one else around. If you were to die out here, what would I tell you brother? It would have caused an even worse relationship between us. And I'm hoping to have his support when I overthrow my father. If we can tackle Amarantha first... and.. I'm hoping one day you can counsel your brother to help me as well." He explained.

"So you're helping me for your own gain?" You asked.

"I'm helping you because it's the right thing to do... and I've grown fond of this little escape." He answered.

That's how it was until three courts tried to rebel, and Amarantha barred anyone from leaving Under the Mountain. Even Eris. You wondered why he hadn't shown up when you went into the village to grab some more food, when you overheard the rumors.

"He truly helped you? He never hurt you?" Rhys asked.

You shook your head. "No, he never hurt me. He never tried anything. He... was kind. And caring. And I owe him my life." You said, looking up at Rhys.

He nodded, thinking for a moment. He paused his pacing and looking at you dead in the eyes. "Azriel left you?" He asked, seeming to recall what you first told him.

"...Yes." You said after hesitating.

"I'm going to kill him." He growled.

Your heart skipped a beat, knowing Rhys might just well kill Azriel for putting you in harms way.

"Wait- no. Please.. go easy on him." You said.

He paused, taking a deep breath. Darkness was pooling around his ankles. You could tell he was trying to reel it in. "I'm going to beat him to a pulp."

Better than killing him, you thought. You relaxed for a moment before Rhys rushed out from the door. You chased after him to see the first blow to Azriel's face. Then to his gut. Then to his legs to knock him on the floor. All while Rhys growled out in between each punch,"You. Left. My. Sister. In. Autumn?!"

Azriel didn't even fight back.

Part Three

A/N: Another tough one... I think this will have 1 or 2 more parts... which I probably won't get to writing until Sunday or Monday night (I know, i'm sorry!) Thank you all so much for your support!

Tagging: @feiwelinchen @circe143 @sidthedollface2 @crazylokonugget @i-am-infinite @thestartitaness @buttermilktea11 @tele86 @yearninglustfully @bunnyredgirl

Main Masterlist

[dredgesnails]

I love to imagine the magic mountain bases all actually existing completely separately from each other in completely different time periods (almost), despite being physically in the same location.

In the ancient world, pyramids are constructed at the base of a huge volcano to honor the dead and worship old gods. A wide path leads to an entrance into the volcano, far enough in that the heat gets dangerous. Inside, sacrifices are made to the gods, to their king, offerings given up for the benefit of them all. The king is kind and forgiving, loyal to his people, asking for little and giving as much as he can. The gods however, are cruel, and all civilisations must fall eventually. For this one it's after a great eruption, one that shakes the earth with all the fury of the gods, that the pyramids become abandoned, left alone for centuries to erode. Over time new life grows, and thick jungles begin to hide the pyramids from view, until eventually, they’ve become a part of the natural landscape. Venture far enough in, however, and you might find remnants of the ancient civilisation: old writing in a language no one knows anymore, praises given to their old king; the remnants of ancient weapons and armour; the shapes of people who once lived forever preserved in ash and pumice.

~

It's the start of the industrial revolution, and rumours start spreading of an eclectic man and his steamrail full of exotic animals from across the globe. He’s a travelling zoo, of sorts, appearing in the strangest of places (as long as there's a railway line, he'll be there), areas it logically shouldn't be able to reach. He’s got all sorts of animals, from dolphins and turtles to strange, mysterious beasts. Where does he keep them all when they're not on the train? Some say he doesn't exist. others insist he does, that he lives underneath a mountain no one dares to visit. It's an active volcano, they say, dangerous to go near. If anyone dared to explore they might stumble upon the largest, most diverse collection of animals they've ever seen, and, most bizarrely, a large steam locomotive that runs on its own railway track, seemingly on a loop through the volcano itself. The tunnel is so dark the train disappears into it entirely. a young exploration group decide to find out for themselves, years later, and at first they think there's nothing there, until one of them stumbles upon the obvious remnants of a railway line, no longer in use but not so old that it's started to break down. Maybe he did exist after all...

~

In the late 1800s, a small fishing community establishes itself by the mountain. Electricity is new, and with the new machines and motors available to them the community quickly grows into a small village. Something is wrong, though. The rocks embedded in the mountain appear to resemble a skull more and more by the day, water streaming from one eye socket as though it’s crying. Underground passages and tunnels are found by the new residents, all leading to strange chambers. There's something in the water. A young man, one of the first in the village, disappears for a month, and when he returns, he's changed. He insists the ocean speaks to him, to everyone through him. He fishes for hours, days, weeks on end. When his madness begins infecting others, most gain the sense to stay away from him, but not everyone does. There's something in the water.

By the mid 1920s, the small fishing village is still standing, although most of the residents from four decades ago have since left. A young woman, traveling alone in her tiny fishing boat, docks at the village in need of repairs. What was meant to be a one night stay turns into days, then weeks, then months, as she begins to notice strange happenings in the village. A local artist has locked himself in his house, gone mad from something he found in the ocean. A scientist is experimenting with strange materials, and sometimes at night strange noises come from her house. There's something in the water. An older man speaks in tongues, driven mad by the sea. There's something in the water. The young fisher sees him occasionally, staring through her, unseeing. She's begun dreaming of ancient monsters in the depths of the water below her, reaching their long arms out and crushing her and everyone else. When she looks into the sea she can't see anything. It’s just inky blackness.

(No one knows how the village gets destroyed. One day it's here, and the next it's turned to rubble, razed to the ground by forces beyond human perception. It appears no one survived, but strangely, there's no trace of the small fishing boat the young woman had arrived in, nor of her body, and if anyone stopped for long enough in the wrecked city they might hear mumbling at night from underground, the mad ramblings of a man who has seen too much.)

~

Magic mountain row thrives in the early 2000s. They’ve beaten the Y2K bug (it really wasn't that much of a problem, anyway), business is booming at all the independent stores, and the local economy is better than ever. It doesn’t matter that not many people want to live here because new tech keeps Big Ron busy, and Willie Jr is old enough to start working at his father's shop, preparing himself to take over the business. The safe storage containers are always a little open, but nothing ever really goes missing, because no new people means everyone knows everyone. A young boy visits his neighbours for the last time before he leaves with his family; his dad's got a better job somewhere far away and they have to leave now, and besides it’s safer not to live by a barely-dormant volcano (it’s not as cool, though). His new neighbourhood has a lot more kids his age, but he can't help but miss the eccentric nature of his old neighbours. He returns to his childhood home twenty years later to find it empty. Most of magic mountain row is empty now, actually. There are a few places still open: Big Ron refuses to close up shop because Willie Jr, who has taken over the business now that his father's passed, still needs his help from time to time. Anyone still living here is merely clinging to a past they remember so fondly they can't adapt for the future. They're happy, though. They’re happy to remain here until it's their time to go.

~

In the not-so-distant future, a dense city is formed on the mountain. It started out as a smaller town, with traditional architecture and shrines dotted around the place, but as technology advanced and society progressed it grew and evolved into towering skyscrapers, holographic billboards, a rail system that winds through buildings and above streets. Elements of the past still remain - lush gardens lined with cherry blossom trees, the old shrines and temples still standing, a mark of the city's history and longevity. The city stands the longest, weathers the strongest storms, grows and evolves and changes, but all must come to an end, eventually. A rumbling in the earth, a once-dormant volcano waking from its slumber. They have the tech to know it's coming, now, so they all flee before it can hit. Only one man stays behind. This is his city. This is his home. He built this entire place from the ground up, and he’s not going to leave it behind. He makes his way to one of the shrines. Praying to his goddess, he leaves her one final offering, and when the ash settles all trace of him is gone.

~

The apocalypse happens in a future beyond our reckoning. A city lies, abandoned by most, on top of the ruins of civilisations that came before. Once a lively hub of activity and tech and innovation, the city has become a ghost town, occupied only by the artificial intelligences that had driven humanity out. They wander aimlessly, mimicking the behaviours of the humans they used to watch and help, protecting the inner core of their city that keeps everything, including themselves, alive. The humans reside elsewhere, in a bunker resembling the old world, with more vegetation and life than the city had despite being hidden underground. The city’s architects reassure everyone that they’ll be able to return someday soon. The one who designed the robots, a man more cyber than human by this point, just needs to fix a few issues with their programming. He doesn’t want to destroy them but he might have to. His partner, who designed most of the city, will need to commence repairs before anyone can live in the city again. So they leave, vowing to fix the city so that everyone can return to society. No one knows they will never return.

[skeletonsloverockcandy]

Man, each year I get to it, I love the May 5th entry and what it means. I take something new from it each time. Like last year I noticed the sacrifices and efforts the Driver and the other passengers made to try and save Jonathan, a stranger to them, by showing up early, by giving him gifts, by blessing him, despite the danger that puts them in. Especially when Dracula, as the driver, points it out to the Driver of the first coach, what he was trying to do, and scares him by pointing out what he said (despite it being heard far out of normal earshot and over the sound of horses galloping).

This year though, I notice that, but I see some of the smaller details too. Like how the mountains are full of blooming fruit trees, and how we are so used to the “gothic” aesthetic we almost forget it’s Spring. How Jonathan takes notice and comfort in the view, despite the growing unease he feels because of the people around him. He is trying to distract himself from how scared he’s getting based on their warnings. Warding him from the Evil Eye.

"No, no," he said; "you must not walk here; the dogs are too fierce"; and then he added, with what he evidently meant for grim pleasantry—for he looked round to catch the approving smile of the rest—"and you may have enough of such matters before you go to sleep."

I also take notice of this from the driver, as it’s almost a morbid gallows humor that he clearly knows to expect the wolves, and knowing what happens later, I’m sure the people here have a horrible fear of them, knowing what Dracula can do…and what he does to that poor mother later.

There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the mountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had got into the thunderous one.

We also get here what might be our first indication that the Count can control the weather to an extent.

They were driven by a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us.

All I can imagine is Dracula in a fake beard now lol.

"You are early to-night, my friend." The man stammered in reply:—

"The English Herr was in a hurry," to which the stranger replied:—

"That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift."

But God, this must have been terrifying for the driver and the passengers. What would Dracula do to punish them for trying to escape him? Would he dare make an example in front of the Englishman right now, or would he grant them mercy to say nothing else as Jonathan is unsuspectingly led to his doom, so they think.

"Denn die Todten reiten schnell"— ("For the dead travel fast.")

The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with a gleaming smile.

It feels like they’re all in on some sick joke that they know the punchline to, but Jonathan doesn’t, so with the dramatic irony, it feels like we the readers are the same peasants, trying to do anything to save or warn Jonathan but it’s already too late.

I also notice how quickly Dracula tries to shift the power dynamic with Jonathan, and have him doubt his sanity so soon, and he’s not even in the castle yet.

He drives him in circles to try and disorient Jonathan and make him feel even more lost, also keeping him out for far later and making Jonathan question if he’s dreaming or if what he’s seeing is real. I’d also bet more than anything that wine he offer Jonathan on the coach that Jonathan didn’t end up taking was drugged. Because it’s far easier to disorient an unconscious passenger in the dark than it is to disorient a conscious passenger. But he still does a pretty darn good job.

Then there’s the blue flames, which Jonathan doesn’t know how to react to as they seem supernatural and he doesn’t know how to rationalize it yet, so he takes it as if he’s dreaming.

This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose the general superstition about midnight was increased by my recent experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.

Jonathan also has already felt the fear and nerves associated with the supernatural and superstition after what all of the townsfolk have told him, and later he tries to brush this off and rationalize again, try not to get too scared, but a part of him already realizes something is wrong.

Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road—a long, agonised wailing, as if from fear.

I also want to point this out, as it’s right before the wolves surround the coach, but it’s the second time a “dog” has been mentioned howling in the night, and with this evidence, I bet Dracula uses the wolves as a threat to keep the peasants and townsfolk in line, as he can’t munch down on everyone. But it shows how powerful he is and what a threat he poses. I wonder who the wolves kill in the night.

Also how Jonathan, as an Englishman where there were no more native wolves, can’t even imagine that’s what they were and thinks they are dogs.

And it makes sense now that earlier when Jonathan was getting out his good ol’ polyglot dictionary, how the two words mean the same thing.

"vrolok" and "vlkoslak"—both of which mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either were-wolf or vampire.

As Dracula, as we see later, can transform into a wolf himself, and so there is probably less distinction between the two in this culture than we have tried to establish in the modern day.

Once there appeared a strange optical effect: when he stood between me and the flame he did not obstruct it, for I could see its ghostly flicker all the same.

Ah, I wonder if this is an early indication that Dracula cannot be depicted through traditional means? Like how he can’t be seen in the mirror. Certain lights just, pass through him.

I shouted and beat the side of the calèche, hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from that side, so as to give him a chance of reaching the trap.

We also see Jonathan taking an active and proactive approach, in this manner trying to be helpful and aid his (what he assumes human) driver. With these sorts of actions already, I can see signs of the man who will pick up a shovel to try and do what needs to be done. Who takes a knife and vows action, not hesitating.

He is polite right now, he’s on business. He doesn’t know what’s coming. But regardless, that person is still in him, and he’s capable of taking great action and doing great things for the sake of survival and doing what he thinks is right.

And Dracula commanding the wolves to stop as the driver, and the cloud passing overhead, I feel is like a subtle display of power and threat to Jonathan. He’s still playing pretend, but when Jonathan does figure out he was the coach the whole time, and he plays coy, the Count knows Jonathan will remember this threat, and it feels that much more sinister.

Jonathan still questions and thinks he fell asleep, as he doesn’t see how he’d have missed the approach of the castle otherwise, but I think he was awake because it was dark, and the count was intentionally taking him a winding and confusing path under a lot of fear. Though if he did fall asleep, I’m that much more terrified about how Dracula was driving him about, now secure in the knowledge that Jonathan would be thoroughly isolated and lost.

And the thing that nearly gives Dracula away twice as the driver is the strength of his grip on Jonathan’s hand, also lacing a subtle threat.

through these frowning walls and dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could penetrate.

Well this is just scary knowing how trapped Jonathan becomes later, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear the outside world, and how the outside world might not be able to hear him, and how he’s already acknowledging that.

The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding upon me. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked?

He already is expressing doubts and fears, he isn’t ignorant of what situation he might be in, and it’s only later when he tries to rationalize with the count and is given the comforts manipulation of food and sleep, that he tries to dismiss these fears and take the Count at his word.

Was this a customary incident in the life of a solicitor's clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor—for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now a full-blown solicitor!

Okay, this is just really cute. Mina said You passed the Bar, you Deserve to call yourself a Solicitor Jonathan <3

Also explains a lot that Jonathan is a fresh faced baby lawyer who just passed the bar and needs this assignment. He’s probably hoping that after this pay day he can marry Mina and have enough for them to start making a life together. Also says a lot for Dracula’s strategy to him to get someone young, inexperienced, and unfamiliar with the area, who might be seen as “expendable” so that Jonathan’s sudden “disappearance” might go unremarked by those in charge (though Mina would notice).

I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt in the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the pinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be patient, and to wait the coming of the morning.

Again, those early signs of doubt and fear from Jonathan, showing his unease already at the situation. We did not deserve to be clowning on him so much when this book club first started. It’s not his fault he’s not genre aware 😔 I’m sorry Jonathan.

And when Drac does show up to open the door:

"Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!" He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone.

I wonder if he’s like that because he needs to be invited into places to be there, so if it’s almost like a supernatural hold of importance for him to offer the same thing. Almost like a subtle joke or curse with the knowledge that after Jonathan enters, he won’t be allowed to leave of his own will

holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold as ice—more like the hand of a dead than a living man.

I also like how all the clues are there, and since Jonathan has written them down and taken note of them, the expression on them must be some of the things he’s piercing together about his own fears as well that he’s afraid to voice aloud or in his journal, because if he voices his suspicions, they might become more real to him.

The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking

See? He knows what’s up, he’s just afraid to say it.

I also didn’t pick up that Jonathan’s room is octagonal for some reason. I wonder if there’s any reason for that or symbolism with the 8 sides?

Also the letter from Mr. Hawkin’s feels very ominous in retrospect knowing what’s coming and how Dracula will treat Jonathan:

"I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to come; but I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters."

I feel like Dracula knew to take advantage of that, and also this feels like him basically reading the menu for an ideal victim once his business is said and done, so I get shivers, brrrrr.

Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine; but seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse—broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal.

I also like that while Jonathan is describing Dracula, he notice his hands. And I am also struck with how little it is brought up that he has hair on his palms, and I can see the more wolf-like nature of this vampire mythology. I wonder if Bram Stoker intended for werewolves and vampires to be the same thing in his novel? They are certainly compared and have similar powers and weaknesses, so it’s possible I guess.

Also Dracula has corpse-breath lol. Nasty.

I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything; but as I listened I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves.

Ah ha! Also the first foreshadowing we get for the importance of dawn and dusk in the novel, as we know later how important timing becomes for our protagonists, so seeing its affects already make me smile at the recognition of the signs so early.

"Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he added:—

"Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter."

And ah, an iconic line. Though I just get second hand angry and uncomfortable at Dracula’s insistence that he’s a “hunter” 🤢. God I just hate him haha.

I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!

And literally Day 1 of being in the castle and Jonathan is already questioning his sanity and piecing things together he’s afraid to even voice in his journal. This is the second time in as many days he has already wished that those around him find this journal and laments should anything bad happen to him. It creates the impression of one who knows they’re walking into danger but must go on anyway.

But I love Jonathan so much, and I definitely really like the May 5th entry, and it does so much work to set up what happens later.

[studioghostlegs]

❤ This summer, love is in the air! ❤

We are teaming up with eleven other talented indie otome developers to bring you the Mystery & Magic Otome Bundle on itch.io and Steam, a curated list of games celebrating magic, mystery, and romance.

Be sure to check out these spellbinding games (direct links and game summaries available below the cut):

Thorn for the Villain by Antares: Itch

"An office lady is reincarnated as Teresa von Ambrose, originally a spriteless extra character in the obscure otome game 'Eternal Blessing of the Stars,'  where most of the endings end up with Asmodia Kingdom in shambles one way or another. Armed with knowledge of the game's future, Teresa decides to intervene and erase the event that triggered the beginning of the original story."

Save the Villainess by @bestlaidplansproductions: Steam | Itch

"Some people have pets. You have a romance novel villainess. Guide your villainess through an animated visual novel with menacing manors, mysteries, (wo)men, and murder to see if you can Save the Villainess."

Lost in Limbo by @ravenstargames: Itch

"Torn away from your peaceful life and thrown into a world of danger and deceit, you are at the mercy of the Seven Sovereigns of Limbo, almighty gods that have sworn to be your protectors...as long as you prove yourself useful. As the consequences of a plan set in motion long ago start to unveil, will love be the key to your freedom, or the first chapter of your downfall?"

The Good People by @moiraimyths: Steam | Itch

"Play as a tenant farmer from mid-19th century Ireland, whose path becomes inexplicably entwined in fairy affairs after getting robbed by the roadside and lured into the mythic and war-torn world of Tír na nÓg: A once unified land, now divided into the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. Will you escape and return home with your stolen belongings? Or does fate have something else in mind?"

Alaris by @crescencestudio: Steam | Itch

"A global crisis that only continues to escalate. A dangerous run-in with a shadowy stranger. And a mysterious word that won't stop gnawing at you. How does everything tie together? And what role could you possibly play in all of this?  Enter a world of magic—of Fae and Dragon."

Sigh of the Abyss by Rascal Devworks: Steam | Itch

"You have been chained to a stranger, a boy foolish—or brave—enough to flee the gilded cage where magi are kept docile and pliant. The curse will kill you both unless you find a way to break it. Anyone else would already be dead, but not you—for you hear the ancient voice of the Abyss, and have been blessed—or cursed—with powers dark and terrible."

Obscura by @rottenraccoons: Steam | Itch

"There's a marketplace under the mountain where anything can be bought and sold. Visitors wear masks to become faceless strangers. It's home to the unscrupulous, the outcast, and the desperate. You're one of the desperate. Strangers with their own secrets and ambitions can show you ways through the market. They'll guide you to your goal, but don't trust them to have your best interests at heart."

Mask - Beyond Lies by Kakera: Itch

"As you are transported to another world, a masked person guides you through the day to the exit to go back to your world. But will it really be this easy ? Go through the story of each love interest and discover their secrets, and so much more. Each choices might make you discover the darkest secret of their world. Are you ready to do everything to go back to your own world ? Will you ever go back ?"

Snow White Ashes by @endys: Steam | Itch

"One winter night, you find a hunter in the woods: A man so warm and charming you feel as if you've known him all your life. But appearances can be deceiving.  You'd know that well, wouldn't you?"

The Silent Kingdom by @luckycatotome: Steam | Itch

"Place yourself in the role of Princess Erinys, whose kingdom has fallen under the yoke of a sorrowful curse. In order to save everything you have ever known and loved, you’ll have to stand against the entire world - and even defy the Goddess herself. How much weight will a withered kingdom burden your soul?"

Dual Chroma by @galengames: Steam | Itch

"You, a bright young scholar, have finally arrived at the Palace to fulfill your lifelong dream—to serve the Imperial Family as the newest advisor to the Second Prince. The future finally looks bright… until the vile creatures of centuries past return. Thrown into the epicenter of a new epic tale, you and Prince Keldrannon face impossible odds. As ancient forces long thought to be vanquished threaten to raze these peaceful lands, you must work together with the Prince to discover their origins and save the Empire. With each choice you make, the more it is revealed that history may not be what it seems. How deep does your connection to the Prince run?"

[throneofsmut]

Kinktober Day Twenty-Three : Hate Fucking Eris Vanserra x Female Reader

You don’t know why Rhys chose you to go meet with Eris. He told you it was because he trusted you, which meant a lot to you, but maybe it was because your fire rivaled Eris’s.

The Cauldron gave - more like you took from it - your fire, among other types of magic but you always favored the flames.

You were Feyre’s younger sister and you went to the Spring Court with her. Well to be honest you kind of forced Tamlin into letting you stay if Feyre was going to stay.

Nesta and Elain had each other. Feyre and you had each other, so if she was going so were you.

A month before Tamlin and Lucien had been forced to go under the mountain, Lucien told you about the curse but Feyre had already given too much. So had you, the both of you were the main providers for your family but she was your sister, so you’d give it all up for her.

One night Amarantha had send the attor to Spring and it had smelled Tamlin’s scent on you, from hugging Feyre before setting out for a ride with Lucien. It was too late but by the time he had tried to help you. The attor had knocked you unconscious and was flying you back under the mountain.

Months passed and you completed every trial set for you, which is where you met Rhys. Immediately seeing through the mask he wore, the mask of the dark prince, because it was the same one you wore to protect your family. To protect Feyre.

He tried to protect you when he could and help you when he could. Rhys was like the big brother you never had but always wanted. To him you were the little sister he had needed, he vowed to himself that he wouldn’t - could not - fail you like he failed his sister all those years ago.

When Amarantha’s last trial for you was to survive the Cauldron he fought back, but it wasn’t enough, you were shoved in. The water was so cold, it burned hotter than any fire. Lungs burning as you thrashed in its darkness. Your rage was all consuming, like its water, you were forced into the cauldron with nothing else to give. So you took from it.

You blazed brighter than any star, glowing, fire made flesh. So lost in a primal rage that you hadn’t even noticed your pointed ears and elongated limbs. The cauldron had made you High Fae. But when you saw your sister. Dead. You killed her. You killed Amarantha.

Rhys took you in after everything, he was your family. When the both of you got back to Velaris, his family had accepted you and took you in as well, making you part of the inner circle. Yet Rhys and you had a bond that they could never understand, under the mountain all you had was each other. In a way you were his closest, most trusted friend, his confidant.

Which made sense as to why he trusted you to meet with Eris Vanserra, even if you couldn’t stand the male, nor he, you.

He was glaring at you, as soon as you had winnowed into the agreed meeting place in the forest.

“Stop glaring, sweet cheeks. I know you’re obsessed with me.” You teased, a smirk on your lips.

Within a blink of an eye, his flames were wrapped around your neck. Tight enough to frighten and warm enough that you knew they would burn if he willed it so, but you had nothing left to lose. “Watch. It.” He snarled.

“Is that really all you got ?”

You felt the flames around your neck heat slightly, before your magic was reacting to them. Wrapping around his neck so tight and warm enough to make his skin red, making his flames wink out completely. After a couple heartbeats and him glaring at you, you rein in your flames.

“I’m gonna kill you.” Eris growled, soothing the skin around his neck with his large hand.

“Is that a promise ?” You taunted, mouth curving into a smile.

“I can’t stand you.”

Giving him a wicked grin, “Then kneel.”

Something flickered in his gaze at your words. Then he spoke, his voice dangerously sensual, “I can’t tell whether I want to make you bleed or moan.”

You raised a brow at his confession. Tilting your head slightly, “Take your pick, lordling.”

Keeping his eyes on yours as he stalked forward. Gaze falling to your lips before claiming them in a bruising kiss. Eris’s hands fist into your hair, roughly, his tongue swiping at your bottom lip for entry. You met him stroke for stroke. Both of you fighting for dominance, then he's pulling away winnowing the both of you somewhere else.

Chest still heaving as you take in your surroundings, “Where are we ?”

You can feel his burning gaze on the back of your head as he rasps out, “My home away from home.” Then he’s pressing his body against yours, growling into your ear, “I still fucking hate you.”

“Shut up and fuck me Eris.” You retort, to which Eris wraps one of his hands around your neck, choking you slightly. The other roughly squeezes your breast, eliciting a moan out of you.

Then he’s bending you over the kitchen counter. And fuck you, he does.

Eris buries himself in your soaked cunt in one thrust. You cry out at the stretch, he doesn’t give you the time to adjust to his size before he pulls almost all the way out and slamming back into you.

All you can hear is skin slapping skin as he fucks you hard and rough. Your hips slam against the counter again and again, hard enough to bruise. His hands dig into your hips harshly, holding onto them and thrusting faster. “F-fuck Er-ris !” You cry out.

“Fuck- Fucking knew,” he growls in your ear, “that your tight little cunt would squeeze like this. Milking me.” Then he’s moving his hands to clasp both of your arms, pulling them behind you to use as leverage to fuck you even harder. He leans back slightly and the sound that leaves you doesn’t even sound like you.

You can feel every single inch of him at this angle, every time he shoves into you he hits that sweet spot inside you. Tears escape your eyes at the pleasure, staining the counter, as your voice cracks “Oh Eris!”

“You like that, little flame ?” He chuckles darkly, biting into your shoulder, drawing blood. You scream, a mistake that has him still his hips, “I need words, little flame.”

“Fuck you.” You snarl in between pants as he rolls his hips into yours, making you feel all of him. Every fucking inch. Then he’s drawing back and slamming back into you, you can hear the smirk in his voice as he sneers, “You already are.”

The ways he’s gripping your arms while he drives his hips into yours, fast and rough has the both of you feeling the coil within you tightening. Eris is taking you the way you want him to and the way that he wants to. He’s all grunts, snarls and moans as does.

The heat in your belly coils even tighter and it spurs you on. Bucking your hips against his, meeting him thrust for thrust as his hips begin to stutter. Then the both of you are crying out in pleasure as he cums inside of you and you on his cock.

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

[sillygoofyqueer]

PART TWO!!! PART ONE HERE!

When Wei Yi found a dead pangolin at the edges of the crop farm, he wasn't surprised - it was just another monster leaving a marker, a warning for him to relay to his parents - but he was surprised to find the urgent, tiny squeaking nearby. He was ready to run, so ready to sprint back home at the first sign of a monster luring him away, but he found...he found a nest.

Little babies in the nest, clambering over one another to stare at the strange creature looming over them. They had no survival instinct. Wei Yi could look after them. He would have company on the dark nights of fear and danger. Their mama was dead - he had to look after them. The little babies seemed to be uncaring of the change, wriggling around his collar and curling up in his pockets, allowing him to run home, so excited to show his parents that he would finally not be alone, he could be useful!-

The village had been torn to shreds.

A silent beast no doubt, Wei Yi would have noticed otherwise. His parents' corpses laid before him mutilated and bitten into. He can't remember much of what happened next. Crying (quietly, so the monster wouldn't find him). Bleeding (he tripped trying to drag his parents' corpses away from the path so the monster didn't hurt them anymore. Their blood was on his hands as well now). Running (sticking to the light, monsters didn't really like light, not sure where to go or hide but running, running, running). Blaming himself (he should have warned them about the sign, the monster, that was his duty, that was all he had to be useful and helpful and now his parents were dead and it was his fault-). Soothing the babies in his grasp (he was used to being hungry, but why would they be? They had always had food, their mama had given it to them, but he didn't know what they ate, but he had learned, he learned to keep them safe even if he hadn't been able to help his parents). Where was he to go? Nobody would help a boy from the cursed village, the others always told him that he was going to die there, wasting away, scared of everything and he was - he was so scared of every strange sound or random movement in the trees that seemed to surround the path as he ran and ran and ran. Despite how often the other villagers cursed out the cultivators, wishing for nothing but pain and shame upon them for not helping their village in desperate need of assistance, his parents always told him that they didn't know, that they would help him if he asked for it. He didn't know how long he ran, only stopping when the hunger made him too dizzy or the exhaustion made him unable to move, but he found his way to a noisy town, filled with life and laughter and excitement but he was scared, so so scared; surely the monsters would be drawn to their life and joy, this was dangerous, so so dangerous- There was strange noises and strange people and strange everything, how was he supposed to notice the monsters if there was so much going on? He couldn't breathe properly he had to hide and stay safe so he hid. He darted into a small space and hid there. People passed him, and because he was hidden and safe he could listen to their words and learn that children were going to Cang Qiong Mountain. He didn't care about that, he was focused on the peaks in the distance, marking where he had to go and beg for assistance. Why were there children already there? Were they also asking for help? Why was he being ushered up to....DIG HOLES??!?! If. If it would help him get an audience with cultivators...he carefully hid the pangolins in his pockets and in his robes so that the babies would stay safe while he dug, and dug, staring with a single-minded focus. Hunger only spurred him on, reminding him that he had to tell the cultivators about the monster- He was being spoken to, but he didn't really know what was going on, so he let himself be helped up and taken away from his hole - he quite liked his hole, he was going to miss it. It was very deep and circular (attention to detail was important when looking out for monsters) and he wished he could keep digging. A nice man looked down at him, wrapped in elegant orange robes, orange like warm fire, with a warm smile, warm like fire and safety, monsters didn't like fire so he let himself be picked up and held. The man saw the pangolins peeking out from beneath Wei Yi's robes. The man just laughed, a great booming laugh that was warm and bright and safe and oh. This man would keep the monsters away.

[smutty-ki113r]

🏜Ticci Toby🏜 || Roundtale rival

NSFW||~ One shot x afab gn!reader, includes- Wild West Toby, mentions of violence, use of a gun, minors—dni (3.5)

Inspired by: Lindsey Stirling

It was a pretty slow day at the saloon, you rested your head on your palm, watching the batwing doors swing open and close like a pendulum. It was just the regulars at this hour, taking lethargic swings of their whiskeys and eyeing your corset-like work attire; which is why your attention drew to the cautious creak of the door, and the tall dark and handsome man you wanted to take a drink out of.

Suddenly your mouth went dry, you almost forgot to get up and serve the customer. Seeing as he sat himself down at a table already, you walked over to him, a bit nervously. He radiated mystery, and perhaps a twinge of danger even. “Afternoon” you introduced, “can I get your order?”

He didn’t look up, and you couldn’t see his face because of that worn out cowboy hat he had angled down. You might have not seen his eyes, but you certainly felt his gaze crawl up your legs and settle at your hips. He didn’t speak for a moment, which gave you one to admire him.

Him and those typical cowboy boots that had spurs, him and that leathery trench coat that almost touched the floor when he sat, him and that chestnut brown hair that came out from the rim of the hat, him and the smell of hickory and gunpowder, and a bit of whiskey.

The suspense made you hold your breath until he responded, “bottle of scotch please mx, and a shot of whiskey”, he said, his voice throaty but light, almost as if he were teasing. He grinned under his bandana, shifting so you could hear the clink of his rounds of ammunition going around his waist.

“I’ll get that right out for you sir” you gulped, going behind the counter to pour up his drink. Coming to him with his order and asking “is there anything else I could get you?”.

Having to suffer the slow pulse in between your legs while he gave your neck a discreetly lustful glance and under his breath muttered, “what I want… I don’t know if you could handle”.

It caught you off guard, but you certainly heard it. In a moment of impulse you responded, “try me”.

He chuckled and looked up at you for the first time, “I might have to take you up on that sometime then” he said huskily, “it’s a date”. You had to hold back the stupid grin on your face as you walked back behind the counter. Catching the occasional glances he threw your way as he filled his flask with the scotch and downed the burning shot of whiskey.

Leaving a few silver dollars on the table and whipping his trench coat out the door. You wondered if you would ever see the stranger again, he certainly wasn’t from around here but you hoped he would stay a while.

That night you went to bed thinking of him and his burning taste, of the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he drunk that shot and the way he walked so confidently with those boots. Almost forgetting about the next days errands, going to the tailor and the bank after work.

You almost jumped and clicked your heels in joy for payday, heading over to the bank down the street to collect your money. The mountains looked so pretty in between the purple and orange sunset hues, a couple tumbleweeds rolling by, but you weren’t paying attention to how empty the town seemed.

Giving a passing glance to the wanted posters outside of the wooden building, seeing ruffled brown hair and a scowl and the caption “Tobias Rogers: wanted dead or alive” and not even registering it. ‘The man in the picture looked kind of handsome through’ you thought to yourself as you entered.

Getting in line to withdraw some pocket money, humming quietly and trying to make the people at the register go faster. Your body flinching at the sound of a gunshot being fired through the roof. A scream rang out and chaos ensured, but another bullet told everyone to be quiet, well- that and a muffled voice from one of the bandits robbing the bank.

There were three total, your eyes darting nervously between the first two, both masked with white and red bandanas. You felt a familiar shiver run down your spine at the pistol being pointed at your back, it made you arch and freeze. Your lip trembling as you moved forward like the man instructed.

His husky voice muffled as he said “you, move along”, you couldn’t see him, just followed his instructions silently for fear of your life. He led you to the back, to the gold and silver pieces.

Pushing slightly so you could turn and do as he said, but the moment you met his eyes your jaw dropped. There was no way you couldn’t recognize that gaze, and by the looks of it, you surprised him as well. Now he was smiling, fully grinning under his black bandana, which he lowered just for you.

Getting real close to your ear so you could feel his hot breath, “let’s see if you were bluffing about being able to handle it hm?” Toby whispered.

Excitement made its way up your abdomen, a jolt shooting through your core at the way he spoke to you, at his teasing tone and that pretty boy smile, even with the scar on his cheek.

A pistol still pointed at your stomach, telling you to keep going till you were both alone in the most sacred room in that bank. Boxes holding gold pieces and other valuables. His eyes lit up at the prize he was about secure. He shoved you a bag and motioned for you to start filling them to the brim.

You felt his eyes shift from the silver to your ass as you bent down to start collecting the pieces. Your heavy breath and the chink of coins were about the only things you could hear, adrenaline pumped through your veins as you actively helped a vigilante rob the bank.

Thinking back to that wanted poster things just started to come together, this was the guy everybody talked about, the infamous criminal who would steal and then redistribute his wealth to the needy all across the west. You thought he might be nice, but just because he seemed to make a positive impact in his community, didn’t mean he wasn’t ruthless.

As much of a liking he had taken to you, he still got impatient. Bending down to your face and instructing “faster”.

You looked up at him with teary eyes, “I’m going as fast as I can” you whined. He gulped at the sight of you down on your hands and knees like that, it was like a dream come true, and he was supposed to let that opportunity pass up?

His calloused hand reached to your chin, tracing your jaw with his thumb. “I guess you’ll just have to compensate some other way then pretty”. You were stunned, but you didn’t want to resist. This was what you wanted and more, but you were shaking with nervousness.

Getting up and swatting his hand away, “you wish pretty” you retorted. His eyes widened in surprise of your retaliation. “You can’t just prance in here and demand whatever you want from me”

He cocked his head to the side at you shaking your finger in his face, but his lips were upturned in a coy smile. “Oh?”, he noted your trembling demeanor and held your index finger with his own. “Calling the shots now are we?” He asked. “I didn’t know you had it in you”

You retreated, and with each step you took back, he took one forward. He towered, being pretty tall with a dominating composure. Toby sighed, waving a hand dismissively, “I didn’t mean to impose” he played smartly, “just under a lot of stress, the bank and all, ya know”

He spoke as if you were an old lover, a hand now resting on your cheek softly. “And I’m sure you’ll help me out, won’t you?” He threw you a pair of puppy dog eyes, but he was so handsome it made you melt, your thoughts made mush as you nodded mindlessly.

“I just know you’d be a good partner in crime” he breathed, his face now inches from yours. He neared and your shaking ceased, now it was just desire that remained. “You’ll behave for me right?”

You shook your head eagerly, forgetting what the fuck you were arguing about a minute ago. “We can get these bags filled fast” he whispered, his breath trickling on your top lip. “I’ll be quick” he almost panted. Your eyes drawn to his lips, to those beautiful lips that you wanted to taste so badly.

“Mhm” you nodded, so close that he was just teasing you at this point. “Fast” you repeated, “we’ll be quick”, you inhaled. “please-”. You had to beg, because he was having a blast taunting you. He didn’t hesitate to close the distance between you two, pushing gently so you would sit on the open boxes of metallic coins and he could bring your legs to wrap around his.

His lips tasted like honey and barbecue, and you savored him like he was your last meal. There was no time to think about how messed up it was, because the only thing on your mind was him, and how delicious he was.

You furrowed your brows and moaned into the kiss, pleased that he was meeting you with just as much, if not more passion than you. His hand snaking it’s way to your hips to squeeze them.

Toby was impatient, you were like a sweet apple pie and he wanted to bite into every inch. He laid you out over the spilled golden coins and went straight for your neck, leaving marks all around. Recklessly making a mess amongst the treasure because right here right now, you were the biggest prize.

You panted and held the back of his neck, his beating heart so loud against your chest that you could feel his pulse. Helpless noises falling from your lips when he wasn’t kissing them.

He was insatiable, his body pressed to yours, bulge rubbing itself on your cunt shamelessly. Toby didn’t give a fuck, he just needed you, and he was going to get what he wanted.

To feel him press against that sensitive spot so perfectly made you wet with desire, bucking your hips up because you were so desperate to feel him inside you, to satisfy that craving he awoke.

“I can’t fucking get enough of you” he panted, biting your neck gently, just to get a little taste, he groaned against your skin as he felt the tender bit of flesh in between his teeth.

Your eyes lidded as you caught a glimpse of him above you, manhandling your body like he owned it. His own gaze landing on your open chest and how your tits were almost spilling out of that corset.

His hands were quick to pull them out and kiss them needily, he wanted to devour every bit. Those beautiful nipples that he popped in his mouth, swirling them around with his tongue. Those tempting lips he kissed over and over again. That gorgeous neck he just couldn’t get enough of.

He spread apart your legs and kissed his way down your chest and your hips till he reached your cunt, pulling off your panties quickly and watching the show you reacted when he slid his fingers up and down your slit.

“My my, wet already are we?” He asked, edging just the tip of a finger in to feel the dripping slick. You blushed, not even shying away because you were just so needy for him. Throbbing at the epicenter of his touch, just from the heated gaze he put on your body.

“Fuck I’m gonna feel so good inside this cunt” he panted, slipping his fingers in and groaning at just how tight you were, lowering his face to where you could only see the tuffs of his beautiful dark hair coming out from the sides of his hat. He met your eyes for a second, “but first I want to try what I’m buying”

His tongue met your clit softly, but the contact sent a wave of vibration throughout your whole body. He lapped at your juices like a starved man, plunging a finger in and curling it to hit that sweet spot you liked so much. His nose gently pressed against you as he devoured you.

You were coming undone faster than you would have liked, but he was just too addicting, too sweet and saccharine, and waiting felt like a sin. “Oh- Jesus” you whimpered, “don’t stop-“ you pleaded.

It was pure bliss, being treated like an all you can eat buffet, relentless lapping at your pearl; and even though it felt like you were high on ecstasy, it seemed like he was enjoying this more than you. From those noises of delight it was almost as if he was the one who was being pleasured.

He was going so fast, your head was fuzzy and all you could do was whimper and moan. “Fuck- I’m close!” You warned, your head falling back because all you could do was hold on and wait for that wave to hit. At the mention of your approaching orgasm he grinned against your skin and decided to make it extra difficult for you.

Toby latched onto your clit, sucking and groaning at the taste. Having him suck on your most sensitive area sent you into a shock of electricity, cumming so fast you could do nothing but squeal and hold onto the sides of the crate you were laying on. Your legs shaking and wrapping around his head, knocking his cowboy hat off.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve seen all day” he groaned “and I’ve been out riding in the dessert at noon” he joked, kissing your inner thighs. And you had to pry him off because he didn’t want to go. Fuck he would probably spend all day down there if you let him. Now that he had a taste- he wasn’t going to let you off the hook so easily.

“Oh hey now, I was having fun down there” he teased, “but we can have fun doing something else instead…” Your entire body was still vibrating, and he was so hard you thought he might tear a hole in those pants.

“Yes” you said without a second thought, “I need you”. The ends of his lips turned up in a smug smile.

“I have no objections with that then gorgeous” he said, moving in on your neck once again. Placing his hat on your head, watching you accommodate to it strangely, but nothing was more attractive than you wearing his daily piece, with your legs spread, ready to take him.

“You’re so good for me” he whispered, pulling his cock out and giving it a few strokes. “Such a good, pretty little thing for such a bad guy” he bullied, groaning against your ear as he slid his tip against your wet lips. “Not like you had much of a choice, the moment I saw you I knew I had to have you”

“I am a theif after all, I take what I want” your mouth opened in silent squeal when he found your hole and bottomed out. His eyes meeting yours with a burning passion as he got a feel for you, “you feel so fucking amazing” he panted.

Rolling his hips back and snapping them against yours, his head rolling back as he started stroking into you. Your wet cunt squelching in response to his cock filling you up deliciously. He was the biggest you had ever seen, ever taken, and he reached places that would be wrong to mention.

His thrusting was so rough it made the coins overflowing in the crate fall off and chink down to the growing pile on the floor. The jingling sounds of the metal, the creak of the wooden surface and the string of wanton noises were the only things you could hear, but you couldn’t focus on anything other than the man who was fucking you.

It was the most pleasurable feeling you had ever experienced, his girth stretching you out like that, balls slapping against your ass. “Can you feel me inside you?” He asked in a trance of joy.

You gasped every time he bottomed out, crying out “yes!” and lacing your fingers with his as he stroked your walls.

His hands sliding down to your hips to pull you back on him and use you like a toy for his pleasure. It was like a dream to him, and he could think of nothing but the way you squeezed his cock like a vice. He threw his head back and kept pounding, you looked up to see the sight, he was like a god.

Sweat dripped delicately from the tips of his chestnut hair, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down from swallowing saliva cause fuck you were making him salivate. The taste of your pussy still on his lips, the essence of raw flesh on his tongue.

“Fuck I can feel you wrapped around me god, nothing’s ever felt so good” he groaned, pulling out and flipping you over. He wanted to grab a handful of your ass while he pressed into you.

You molted into the new position, giggling at his hand kneading your ass and holding onto your hips. He was so deep inside you, taking you from the back so he could watch your ass bounce every time he thrusted.

Behind you, you could hear his deep exhales every time he filled you completely, his shameless moans at your wetness. Your cheeks tinted at the sounds of clapping, he was so carried away, and you were too the moment his hand reached over to play with your clit.

“Your pussy is gonna milk me” he exhaled, you pulsed at his lewd words. He just had this way about him, maybe the way he moved and handled you so expertly, or his boyish charm that won you over in 2 seconds flat- that had this power over you and your body.


With every little touch and press of his fingers you reacted, arching your back into him. Your face falling because it was just too much to take, he was so big and so gratifying it made you dizzy.

“You’re doing so good sugar” he praised, turning your head so he could see you and kiss your gorgeous lips while he pounded into your pussy. “Just a little longer and I’ll let you cum alright?”

You nodded into his lips, bouncing back eagerly so he would give you what you so craved. “I know how badly you want it babe” he teased, his fingers digging into you so hard they left marks. You sat there, taking his fat cock just like he wanted, each stroke coaxing you to that climax.

His thrusts got faster, deeper, making you see stars as he panted and rambled out praises to you. “So so good for me” he said, his voice coarse. “Jesus” was the last thing he muttered before he pressed his body to yours and spilled inside your hole.

You felt him fill you up and his teasing was still going, not wanting to cum before he said so. It was a relief when he finally said “do it, cum on my fingers”, just the rough tone of command was enough to send you over the edge for the second time. You squealed and throbbed through your orgasm, rolling your eyes back and thankful for him holding you up because you needed it.

Turning back to face him and get dressed, he didn’t even bother taking the hat back. He gave you a joyful smile and told you “it looks better on you”. Holding the bags of money open once again and finishing up the original job.

He put the bags in your hands and walked out with you in a headlock, “sorry in advance for this sugar”, he pressed that silver pistol up to your head and made you walk out with the money. “Nobody move or this one bites the dust” he warned the people.

Motioning for his associates in crime to cover him as he led you outside and made you get on his horse. You watched in awe as he pulled off a sort of flawless bank heist, his friends right behind him as you rode away into the sunset.

He put the pistol away and took charge on the horse, ignoring the questioning glances from his partners and shrugging. “Don’t blame me for taking the pretty things, you said rob the bank and take the valuables” he huffed, sending you a knowing grin and a wink, “and thats just what I did”

[lifblogs]

We're a Family

Week 10 Prompt: Hugs Alt. Prompt: "Just when were you planning on telling us that?" @summer-of-bad-batch Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 3004 Summary: Crosshair tries to find closure over Tech's death. Author's Note: I can't take all the credit for this fic since one of the main ideas for it comes from @fea-warriorheart, specifically involving grieving and Tech's recordings. READ ON AO3

The darkness of the Marauder weighed on Omega, and it had drawn her from sleep to waking leaving her thinking she was in a cell again. But then she recognized the lights that were still on, recognized her family’s soft sounds as they slept. Restlessness took her as it usually did this time of the night, and she knew tossing and turning was useless.

Suddenly she had the sense that someone was watching her, and she thought she caught a glint of familiar brown eyes in the dark.

“Crosshair, are you awake?” Omega whispered.

“No. Are you?”

Omega covered her mouth to hold in her giggle.

It quickly subsided as she saw shifting in the dark, Crosshair getting out of his rack. He came over to hers, and she sat up.

“I need to talk to you,” he said. He tilted his head towards the cockpit, and the entrance to the ship. “Outside.”

Omega nodded, and got out from under her blanket, following him into the balmy night air.

He leaned against the ship once they were outside, and it looked like he had acquired a toothpick.

Omega crossed her arms as she waited for him to speak, an almost-cool wind caressing her and playing with her hair. Still, it remained a warmer night on Pabu than usual.

“I… I need to see where it happened,” Crosshair said, rough whisper of a voice almost too quiet for Omega to hear. He wasn’t looking at her. “I need to see where… where he… where…”

Omega caught on, and her chest filled with terror and hurt and shock and loss, and—

She dragged in a ragged breath, turning from Crosshair. She covered her face with a hand, the other fisting in her pajamas.

“It’s too dangerous,” Omega eventually said. “That’s what Hunter would say.”

“I don’t… I can’t move on,” Crosshair admitted. “To me he just… disappeared. He was never dead to me. I was in that mountain, thinking he was alive, because I told him to run and hide. And then in all that… darkness… I find out my brother’s been dead for weeks, and now for months. But he never died to me, do you understand that, Omega? He’s not dead for me. I keep expecting to see him, keep expecting to have someone else there annoying the kark out of me. And he’s not there.”

Omega came forward, and took his hand, not sure who she was doing it for.

“So much happened so quickly,” she said. “I’m not sure I’ve been able to move on either.”

“Then let’s do it. Let’s go to Eriadu. Please, I need to see. I need to know.”

Omega shook her head, pulling at his hand insistently. “You do not want to see that. I did, and now my dreams keep picturing it, keep showing me how high the fall was, and it hurts. It hurts because I wonder if he was afraid, if he wished he could say goodbye, if there was something he had badly wanted to do and had to let go of. And did it hurt, when he—”

Crosshair pulled her close then, arms wrapping around her, and her sobs were muffled against him.

“I’m… I’m sorry I brought it up,” he said.

“No. You had to. Someone has to.”

She curled her fingers in his tunic, trying to breathe rather than sob.

Eventually she pulled back, wiping at her face.

“Let’s do it,” she said.

“What?”

“Let’s go to Eriadu.”

“Are you sure we should be meeting up with a pirate?” Crosshair asked.

Omega was grinning, almost bouncing with excitement. The sun shone, agreeing with her cheery mood.

“She’s not just a pirate. She’s my friend. And she was Tech’s friend.”

At his name Crosshair stopped speaking, letting Omega drag him to the meeting place by the caves on the beach. Batcher bounded ahead of them, barking in delight, and chasing birds that dropped to the sand to scavenge and perhaps enjoy a delicious meal.

They were near the caves when Batcher bounded towards someone, a half-eaten fish in her mouth.

Crosshair put on his best skeptical look, not a fan of Omega being friends with a pirate, and headed over.

Omega rushed ahead of him, and hugged Phee just as she was accepting the “present” from Batcher.

Crosshair dragged his feet, partially to observe. The thin, dark-skinned woman seemed genuine in her excitement at seeing Batcher and Omega, her smiles reaching her mirthful brown eyes.

“Phee, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Omega said as he stepped over to them. She came back over, holding onto his right arm. “This is Crosshair.”

“You’re Phee?” he asked, knowing he probably sounded judgemental or disinterested. Either would do.

Omega whacked his side. “Don’t be rude.”

He gave her a tired look, and she threw her hands up in defeat.

Then she turned to Phee, grinning, “Sorry about him.”

Phee deposited Batcher’s present on the ground when the panting lurca hound wasn’t looking.

“No worries. I expected… this.” She gestured at him.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Tech told me all about your sparkling personality.”

Crosshair almost huffed a laugh at that, but then grief hit him so hard he could barely breathe. Tech was gone for all of them. He stepped back slightly.

“So why are we meeting here?” she asked, looking around. “And what exactly are we discussing? You weren’t very forthcoming, Omega.”

“Sorry, uh… about that—”

“We want to go to Eriadu,” Crosshair stated, not having time for cold feet, or worry at how certain words struck him deep. “I need to see where he died.”

Phee sighed, and sat on the rocks. She picked up a shell and tossed it into the blue waves.

“No, you don’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t need to see that,” Phee said. “I went, and… it broke my heart.”

Crosshair didn’t want to admit to his pain, but it was dragging at him, urging him. This wasn’t real! Tech wasn’t dead! He couldn’t be. He just couldn’t be. How was he dead? The last time Crosshair had seen him had been that platform on Kamino, and it just wasn’t fair. Why Tech? Why someone so brilliant, and brave? Perhaps those were the reasons for it, for a sacrifice that felt empty and hollow, like the hole in Crosshair’s chest, in his life. His emotions couldn’t comprehend that he was really gone. He couldn’t be.

He came forward, raising his voice, hardening it, “I need to see. I need to know. He’s not even dead to me. For all I know he could come walking down to us right now. I never saw him die, and he died while I was…” His hand shook, and he grasped it. “It’s just. Not. Real. Not to me. That's why I need to go.”

Phee pulled Omega close, wrapping a hand about her wrist, and something stung Crosshair in the chest, and it sizzled with electricity.

Jealousy? Protectiveness?

She let her go after rubbing her back in a consoling manner, and Omega reached out to Crosshair. He almost backed away, right foot lifting, toes digging in the sand, but then he held his ground.

The sun seemed to burn, the brightness too much. For a moment Crosshair didn’t completely understand where he was, what he was feeling, what was happening.

Focus.

He pretended he was aiming at a target, finding it with his eye. In his distress he picked the hilt of Phee’s sword, saw it glinting in the light, watched as it moved as she shifted and breathed.

He felt too exposed down here, and he looked up. Maybe Omega would say he was being paranoid if they weren’t in anyone else’s company. But he felt watched, felt like someone’s prey. Maybe he was. Maybe the coming pain was stalking him.

Seeing Eriadu would hurt. He knew that. Of course he knew that. It would be like seeing Mayday’s helmet. But he had to do it. He just had to.

“You don’t have to go back there,” Crosshair eventually said to Phee. “We just need to borrow your ship.”

She crossed her legs and leaned back on her hands. “Uh huh. So what makes you think I’d let you have my ship for free?”

Crosshair paused. “Omega said—”

Omega wilted under Phee’s suddenly tough gaze.

“Sorry?” she offered. “I didn’t know who else we could go to.”

“Why not Hunter?” Phee asked. “I’m sure he’d listen to the both of you, want to hear you out.”

Crosshair shook his head. “He’s done with that. He was there, he doesn’t know what… what it’s been like.”

“Then why don’t you tell him?”

Crosshair crossed his arms. “You know, I wasn’t expecting to be told to work on my communication skills from a pirate.”

“Trying to insult me, sniper?”

He sighed, looking around.

He thought he spotted something, a glint of sun against armor, but it passed behind a rock.

Crosshair changed how he was standing, Phee on one side, the direction they had come from on the other.

“Are you sure no one else knows we were meeting here?” Crosshair asked Omega.

“It’s just us.”

Batcher came over, offering Omega a stick, which she threw for her. Batcher bounded away down the beach, racing along beside the waves.

“So, are we getting your ship for a trip to Eriadu, or not?”

Phee stood. “Hmm. Not.”

“Good girl.”

Crosshair turned, seeing Batcher had given Hunter the stick. What was he doing here?

Crosshair faced him, and Hunter crossed his arms, Batcher nipping and tugging at the stick he still held. “Eriadu, huh?” he asked. “Just when were you planning on telling us that?”

“I wasn’t,” Crosshair said.

“So you were just going to leave, let me, and Wrecker, think you were missing?” Hunter asked. “And Omega, you know better than this. The Empire is—”

“Searching for me, I know.” She kicked the sand, refusing to look at Hunter. 

Guilt pulled at Crosshair, and he stepped forward. “Look, it’s my fault,” he said. “It was my idea.”

“Oh, I know it was because it’s stupid.”

“How did you even know we were here?” Crosshair asked.

Phee came over now, Hunter nodding to her. Phee took Omega’s wrist again, showing the comm she’d secretly activated earlier. Omega, a bit sullen, pulled out of her grip, switching her comm off.

“We’re not your enemies,” Hunter said.

“Then get out of my way,” Crosshair hissed.

“Why?” Hunter eventually asked, dropping the stick, Batcher pawing at it, giving a slight whine.

“What?”

“Why do you want to go?”

“Hunter, don’t be mad at him,” Omega pleaded. “He just wanted to know. He wanted closure about… about Tech. He never got that. He wasn’t there.”

Hunter’s stance relaxed, but wasn’t fully pulled down by grief.

“I think I can give you closure,” he admitted. “Come on.” And then he nodded at Phee. “Thanks for alerting me.”

“Anytime. Omega, stay out of trouble.”

“As if you stay out of trouble.”

“I only get into the fun kind of trouble.”

Crosshair noticed Batcher wasn’t following as they headed back up the beach, and he whistled for her.

He petted her smooth head as he walked, wondering what Hunter thought could possibly give him closure from a loss so tragic it felt like he’d had vital organs cut out of him, and with each breath he was bleeding out.

By the time he was back at the Marauder he was panting a little, and definitely sweating. Sometimes Crosshair wasn’t sure if he could get used to Pabu, but it was better than going on missions.

Hunter directed him to one of the seats before the ship’s central computers.

“Sit.”

He did, raising an eyebrow, which was interrogatory enough for Hunter.

He sat next to him, and Crosshair realized he wasn’t that upset by his nearness.

Hunter pulled up files, fingers not moving as fast as Tech’s would have.

“I pulled the data from the recorder on Tech’s goggles, put all the files into the computer. Wrecker and I have been sorting and organizing them, but there’s so much. We’re not even close to finished. But um, here…”

Hunter pulled up a recording, and Crosshair was stunned to see his younger self. All of them were younger.

“Tech, what are you doing?” cadet Wrecker asked.

The view shifted slightly, like Tech was adjusting the recorder.

“I’m recording us.”

“Erm, why?” Wrecker asked.

Crosshair was in the back, chewing on a toothpick, a habit he had only recently picked up at that time.

“It’s fun!”

Crosshair flicked his toothpick at him, and Tech laughed.

Crosshair found himself laughing a little too.

Hunter opened another file.

Tech was flying, and Crosshair saw a beach and a jungle through the viewport. Then he heard, “Why is Omega hanging off the side of the ship?”

“It is an unscheduled study break.”

Omega laughed at that, and she came in between Crosshair and Hunter. She leaned against Crosshair. He laughed too.

“Were you really hanging off the side of the ship?” he asked.

“It wasn’t like it was my fault,” Omega said. “There were giant crabs.”

“Yes, that explains everything,” he said, tone flat and deadpan.

Oh, there was so much he had missed.

He leaned into her, even as it had him leaning closer to Hunter.

Another file was brought up.

Crosshair was surprised to see himself with his light gray hair, and almost wanted Hunter to change it, but he decided to stay strong.

The cockpit of the Marauder was dark. Crosshair sat next to the pilot’s seat, trying to keep a wound on his arm from bleeding.

“Are you all right?”

Tech’s voice, asking him if he was okay, caring about him.

Crosshair put an elbow on the console, leaning in, and resting his face in his hand. He didn’t know if it was to hide his tears, or if he was just too shocked.

“Didn’t I tell you if you asked me again I’d use your goggles for target practice?”

Crosshair, Hunter, and Omega all gave weak laughs at that that could have been half-sobs, laughter awash with tears.

“Yes, and I know you’re lying.”

Crosshair put his foot down from where it had been resting on the chair, tightened the bandage on his arm like it was some kind of sign of strength, and leaned in. “You want to bet?”

“No, because last time I bet against you you completely cleaned me out.”

Blood seeped from the bandage, trickling down Crosshair’s arm.

Crosshair almost grinned at hearing Tech’s weary, annoyed sigh at him.

He pushed Crosshair back, and started helping him with his arm.

As he pressed gauze to it, hard, Tech said, “When will you learn that we care about you?”

“What’s there to care about?”

Crosshair felt those words deep in his bones, especially now. He was scarred, unable to fire a blaster with precision.

He was nothing now.

Just a tortured remnant of the man he had been in this recording.

Tech placed his other hand on Crosshair, a soothing gesture.

“Plenty,” he answered.

And somehow he thought maybe someday he could believe him.

Crosshair was crying silently as Hunter found another file. “Oh, this one is good,” he commented, all choked up.

Crosshair heard a little sob from Omega, and he started rubbing her back.

The view showed a cave with a pool before them, a waterfall plashing into it like a hidden song. The cave glowed blue, lighting up the water, the droplets glistening like jewels. It was so beautiful it broke Crosshair’s heart.

“Everything is changing, and you don’t even care,” Omega accused.

Crosshair glanced at her, and she was holding onto Hunter too, burying her head against his arm. He stroked her hair. Seeing that, it made things feel more normal than they had in a long time. Contentment made a home in the hole in his chest, even as it left room for plenty more, for a yawning darkness that still pulsed inside him like a dark poison.

“It is a fundamental part of life,” Tech answered.

“Echo left. Why doesn’t that bother you?”

“I am aware that you miss him, but we have to adapt and move on. That is what soldiers do.”

“We’re more than that. We’re a family. Aren’t we?”

Tech paused. “Well, uh, yes. Yes, of course we are.”

We are, Crosshair found himself mouthing.

And here his family was, missing this wonderful man, no longer whole anymore, but different, changed.

“Then why don’t you act like it?”

Tech sighed. “Echo chose a different path, as did Crosshair.”

Shame colored his cheeks, but he kept watching, needing to hear Tech’s words from this moment.

“I have to respect their decision. Even though it can be difficult to understand, we must carry on.”

Somehow it felt like Tech was speaking to him, telling him of his own loss.

“I may process moments and thoughts differently”—(he sure did)—”but it does not mean that I feel any less than you.”

Screaming and coughing filled the cavern as Wrecker and Hunter fell from the waterfall.

Crosshair couldn’t stop laughing, including when Tech said, “See? That wasn’t so bad.” Knowing him, it was pretty bad.

“No, no, we’re watching another one,” Hunter said, as Crosshair laughed at seeing them soaked and angry.

Crosshair put his hand on Hunter’s, and he could barely see from the tears in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Crosshair choked out. “I… I’ve seen… what I needed to see.”

He cried then, and Hunter and Omega pulled him into a hug, crying with him. Maybe it took a few moments, or more than that, but Crosshair tentatively held them like they held him.

We’re a family. Aren’t we?

Tech was gone. No more words to be spoken or flying to be done, but he lived in his recordings, lived in them, lived in their hearts, and in the bond they had with each other.

Yes, of course we are.

[edenmemes]

asoiaf: clash of kings starters

❝ people often claim to hunger for truth,   but seldom like the taste when it's served up. ❞ ❝ the brightest flame casts the darkest shadow. ❞ ❝ lawless men are everywhere in this dark time. men with cold steel and colder hearts. ❞ ❝ there's no shame in fear, my father told me, what matters is how we face it. ❞ ❝ he who hurries through life hurries to his grave. ❞ ❝ if half an onion is black with rot, it is a rotten onion. a man is good or he is evil. ❞ ❝ some men are like swords, made for fighting. hang them up and they go to rust. ❞ ❝ sometimes i feel as though you are the best friend i have and sometimes i feel you are my worst enemy. ❞ ❝ i want to weep. i want to be comforted. i’m so tired of being strong. ❞ ❝ crowns do strange things to the heads beneath them. ❞ ❝ i see a deep sadness written upon your face. could it be the sadness of a lost dream? ❞ ❝ this is not you, not your way. you were always just, always hard yet never cruel. ❞ ❝ if you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look him in the face and hear his last words. ❞ ❝ how i have yearned for the sound of your sweet voice. ❞ ❝ i do not like being lied to. leave me out of your next deception. ❞ ❝ i will hurt you for this. i don't know how yet, but give me time. a day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid. ❞ ❝ there are no men like me. there’s only me. ❞ ❝ i will not claim to bear you any great love, no, but i cannot hate you either. ❞ ❝ the only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy. ❞ ❝ there is a sweet innocence about you. ❞ ❝ mercy. that’s a bloody trap. too much and they call you weak, too little and you’re monstrous. ❞ ❝ it is better to be seen as cruel than foolish. ❞ ❝ i’ve waited for you, oh, so many times. now you must wait for me. ❞ ❝ no one has ever died of restlessness, but rashness is another matter. ❞ ❝ i’m not a child, to be soothed with empty promises. ❞ ❝ only blood can wash out blood. ❞ ❝ don’t ever touch me, or i’ll kill you. ❞ ❝ we have leagues to go, and dangers to face. you will need your strength. ❞ ❝ i cannot sleep at night for thinking of your beauty. ❞ ❝ so many vows...they make you swear and swear. defend the king. obey the king. keep his secrets. do his bidding. your life for his. but obey your father. love your sister. protect the innocent. defend the weak. obey the laws. it’s too much. no matter what you do, you’re forsaking one vow or the other. ❞ ❝ somehow i have a feeling i am not going to like what you’re about to say. ❞ ❝ kings have no friends. only subjects and enemies. ❞ ❝ you must be still, you are grievously hurt. you will do yourself great injury. ❞ ❝ your heart is noble, but learn a lesson here. we cannot set the world to rights. ❞ ❝ i mean to be a king, and not of a broken kingdom. ❞ ❝ when i make threats, you’ll know it. ❞ ❝ do you want me dead? is that it? the truth now. ❞ ❝ this time i have to find my own way, and it is hard. so hard. ❞ ❝ i am afraid, but i must be brave. ❞ ❝ it grieves me that it must come to this. ❞ ❝ the kingdom bleeds, and no one lifts a sword to defend it. ❞ ❝ we shall see who is laughing when all of this is done. ❞ ❝ the unseen enemy is always the most fearsome. ❞ ❝ would you like one? you’ve never tasted anything so sweet, i promise you.❞ ❝ i knew a man once who told me i smiled at the wrong things. ❞ ❝ i would be glad to leave this city, if truth be told. ❞ ❝ there is an empty place within me where my heart was once. ❞ ❝ men like that...too honest to live, too noble to shit. ❞ ❝ if truth be told, i’ve never liked you. ❞ ❝ song and laughter have become suspicious strangers to me. ❞ ❝ only a fool humbles himself when the world is so full of men eager to do that job for him. ❞ ❝ the storms come and go, the waves crash overhead, the big fish eat the little fish, and i keep on paddling. ❞ ❝ mountains rise and fall, rivers change their courses, stars fall from the sky, and great cities sink beneath the sea. even gods die, we think. everything changes. ❞ ❝ i will not be mocked to my face, do you hear me? i will not! ❞ ❝ most sellswords would betray anyone for enough gold. ❞ ❝ tell me that none of this troubles you...and i’ll name you a liar. ❞ ❝ was there ever a war where only one side bled? ❞ ❝ great wrongs have been done you, but the past is dust. the future may yet be won. ❞ ❝ i am growing strangely fond of you.   i may kill you yet, but i think i’d feel sad about it. ❞ ❝ ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow. ❞ ❝ courage and folly are cousins, or so i’ve heard. ❞ ❝ a curious way of fighting. it looks suspiciously like hiding. ❞ ❝ whatever enemy waits out here will not find us so easy to deal with. ❞ ❝ love is poison. a sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same. ❞ ❝ schemes are like fruit, they require a certain ripening. ❞ ❝ i can smell the fear on you. ❞ ❝ when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. ❞ ❝ no royal is ever late. those who arrive before them have come early, that’s all. ❞ ❝ power resides where men believe it resides. no more and no less. ❞ ❝ you would not force me to reveal all my little secrets, would you? ❞ ❝ sorcery is the sauce fools spoon over failure to hide the flavor of their own incompetence. ❞ ❝ there are ghosts everywhere. we carry them with us wherever we go. ❞ ❝ you stop feeling, you stop thinking, you stop being you, there is only the fight, the foe, this man and then the next and the next and the next. ❞ ❝ terrible times breed terrible things. ❞ ❝ i do not beg. of anyone. mind you remember that. ❞ ❝ betray me, and you’ll wish you hadn’t. ❞ ❝ i do not require your understanding. only your service. ❞ ❝ would that bones could talk. this fellow could tell us much. how he died. ❞ ❝ the wide world is full of people wanting help. would that some could find the courage to help themselves. ❞ ❝ a frightened man is a beaten man. ❞ ❝ the ones who look the most suspicious are likely innocent. it's the ones who look innocent i need to beware. ❞ ❝ it is peaceful here, but for how long? ❞ ❝ the man who kills his own blood is cursed forever in the sights of gods and men. ❞ ❝ a sweet dream. now put it aside, i beg you. it can never be. ❞ ❝ you’re as bad an omen as any raven. ❞ ❝ this is no game, so don’t play the child with me. ❞ ❝ my life is a poor thing, but it is yours. ❞ ❝ they will not love me, you say? when have they ever loved me? how can i lose something i have never owned? ❞ ❝ they're all afraid of me. no one will hurt you again, or i'd kill them. ❞ ❝ i had begun to fear for you. did you meet with trouble? ❞ ❝ i grow ever more admiring of you. ❞ ❝ i’d sooner hold a wine goblet than a battle-axe. ❞ ❝ a lord never lets sentiment get in the way of ambition. ❞ ❝ if you have something to say, say it. ❞ ❝ how can i do my duty if i do not know where it lies?❞ ❝ don’t look at me, not...not like this...not you. ❞ ❝ i’ve broken laws, but i’ve never felt evil until tonight. ❞ ❝ are you here to serve me? or to vex me with arguments? ❞ ❝ men do not love me. they follow me because they fear me. ❞ ❝ why would people run off and leave their homes and everything? what could scare them so much? ❞ ❝ fear cuts deeper than swords. ❞ ❝ let us not get into the habit of names. names are dangerous. ❞ ❝ i do not relish being played for a fool. ❞ ❝ you have said nothing that requires forgiveness. ❞ ❝ perhaps you are wiser than i knew. ❞ ❝ a good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad act the good. each should have its own reward. ❞ ❝ you set us a battle we cannot hope to win. ❞ ❝ learn to use your ears more and your mouth less. ❞ ❝ sleep a bit. when you wake, all this will seem a bad dream. ❞ ❝ why should men fight and die for you? ❞ ❝ fuck your questions. you’ll choke on them before you get any answers from me. ❞ ❝ i am certain of nothing in this fickle and treacherous world. ❞ ❝ a good lord comforts and protects the weak and helpless. ❞ ❝ is a secret still a secret if everyone knows it? ❞ ❝ look around you. they’re all liars here...and every one better than you. ❞ ❝ i have a role to play, and you must do the same. ❞ ❝ sadly, no victory is without cost. ❞ ❝ this is evil, unthinkable...please, listen to me. ❞ ❝ is that what troubles you, that some fool call you cowardly? ❞ ❝ you must forgive me if i have spoken to you harshly in the past. ❞ ❝ a sweet offer...yet sweets can be poisoned. ❞ ❝ how beautiful you look tonight. ❞ ❝ the day is won, and yet you do not smile. the living should smile, for the dead cannot. ❞ ❝ the time for talk is done. now we see who is stronger. ❞ ❝ i am no stranger to nightmares. ❞ ❝ so much villainy; it sings a sad song for our age. did honour die with our fathers? ❞ ❝ some men are born to be killed. ❞ ❝ come if you like, but if you can’t keep up, don’t think that i’ll nurse you along. ❞ ❝ i will kill him. i swear it. i swear it. ❞ ❝ this is madness, but sooner madness than defeat. defeat is death and shame. ❞ ❝ does it give you joy to scare people? ❞ ❝ when i require your counsel i shall ask for it. ❞ ❝ will you put away your blade? ❞ ❝ need an escort? the talk is, the streets are dangerous. ❞ ❝ it is ill to keep a lady waiting. ❞ ❝ kneeling won’t save you now. stand up. ❞ ❝ you’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you? why? ❞ ❝ do you think i wish to be here? ❞ ❝ don’t you know how i have cared for you, lived for you, loved you despite all? ❞ ❝ see, there is nothing to fear. ❞ ❝ you have a cheerful way of grieving. ❞ ❝ a dream, that’s all it was. it meant nothing. ❞ ❝ a dog doesn’t need courage to chase off rats. ❞ ❝ the gods give with one hand and take with the other. ❞ ❝ only a man like you would be proud of such an act. ❞ ❝ i cannot answer for the gods. ❞ ❝ it’s swords i need, not blessings. ❞ ❝ you look very lovely today. ❞ ❝ they said you were dead. ❞ ❝ all sorts of people are calling themselves kings these days. ❞ ❝ you need me, whether you care to admit it or no. ❞ ❝ be quiet and kiss me. ❞

[iifoundjoy]

phantom headcanons

i will be adding some pictures in for reference, including some monsters from horror movies! just a quick notice :) ALSO slight nudity (attack on titan titans) okay so we all know about the normal phantom's we have right now and the weird centipede one. i was thinking about this for a while and im currently struggling to input it into another fic but i was thinking, what if there are different species of phantoms? and obviously each phantom species would reside in a different part/habitat, you know? Like for example... -rivers/lakes/ponds - phantoms would be slimmer, maybe longer? could possibly have some sort of webbed spines, perhaps like a spinosaurus, or maybe even a structure similar to that of a spinosaurus as well? you know, minus the long head. they'd probably have webbed talons and have excellent night vision or might even be blind since it very well could be dark as shit down there.

-forests/tall hills/mountains - the phantoms residing here i was thinking could fly? instead of long or tall, they'd be sort of like birds of those flying monsters from 'the silence'. i wanted to keep the blind aspect and excellent hearing. they're kind of like bats i would assume, hanging around in the trees and eating dead things possibly (im not sure if phantoms eat, i doubt it.) but just to add into the horror we're going to say that they do. they're pretty dangerous, seeing as they can fly around and have sharp teeth and a whip thing tail that very well could cut into you. but i think as long as you're quiet and don't attract much noise to yourself, you would be okay.

-forests/plains/flatlands - i imagine these are the phantoms that we have to date right now that hunted the kids down from the start. i do have some personal headcanons for these phantoms as well! i imagined them to have excellent hearing, don't ask me why. and i also think theyd have kind of shitty eyesight, don't ask me why either. i also think they would range heavily in heights and body types as well. think of attack on titan maybe? since they are in towns, i think they might just be the "shadows" of real people in town. so that includes children, athletes, short people, tall people, etc. so i think we'd have more diversity in that prospect as well. no big changes though!

i lied. this is future joy. i also thought that maybe the phantoms we've dealth with most of the story might have abnormal ones as well? again, think attack on titan. maybe these abnormals can speak or communicate in their own language, can even understand them like they did with ashlyn? or maybe some kinds are infectious, that can possibly speed up the process of turning you into one of them? and similarly, phantoms that when they hurt/scratch/bite you, the wound, instead of healing speedily like they usually do, never heals? instead starts to rot, turn black and the skin around it begins to ooze and drip, much like the skin and form the phantoms hold onto until they are in the light or wounded.

then finally, for now, we obviously have those centipede phantoms. -forests/caves/rocky features - they first appeared in the forest but it also as well as when the terrain began to morph into rocky pillars and everything. i saw someone say that this creature was formed by hundreds of phantoms morphing together into one giant monster and i personally love that idea! i personally think this phantom would either have really bad eyesight seeing as there's so many bodies morphed together and the skin might bubble/pool up kind of like a pugs and effect their vision, or they'd build up all that eyesight and max it out having some op vision instead- no in between. but either way, i lean more toward the blinder part and having to rely on hearing as well. and obviously, this type of phantom is fast, but i also imagined they'd have a hard time making quick, agile turns seeing as their body is just so big.

i write a lot and i just love making horror more horrific 😭plus i feel like it ups the stakes and the shadow realm just a teeny bit, especially with having to figure out how many different kinds there are and how they all function. im also trying to think of a kind that relies more heavily on smell, more animalistic instead of humanoid in body as well. PLS EXCUSE ANY TYPOS THIS WAS IN A RUSH HAHA

[kedsandtubesocks]

In The Dead of Night

pairing: Creature!Cowboy Din Djarin x F!Reader

prompts: “I will keep hurting, I will keep killing, anything to protect you” + “it’s just a little blood”

wc: ~8k

tags & warnings: 18 + only MDNI, supernatural western AU, monster loving, biting with aphrodisiac like effects, wound licking and blood consumption, magic healing, allusion to fem!oral receiving, gore and violence, possessive + protective!Din, loosely established relationship getting firmly established (if I missed anything please let me know)

a/n: written for the haunted hoedown, I want to thank @inklore & @psychedelic-ink for taking the time to create and host such a boo-tiful event! I saw ‘haunted hoedown’ and of course my mind went straight to spooky cowboys lol my deepest thanks and love go to @skeletoncowboys & @perotovar for being the best root tootin’ cowpokes ever, thanks for reading!

Legends whispered of demons living up in the mountains. Untouched by the sprawl of the town, the myths of creatures lurking in the shadows seemed born simply as ghost stories to tell around crackling campfires. 

“Heard there’s a portal to hell up there,” one of the midwives had told you. “And the things that crawl out from the mountains are sent from the devil himself.”

Those legends though were forming into a tangible blistering darkness growing on the edge of the desert. The weight of it now circles the town like a vulture.

Shrill shrieks recently began howling in the night, haunting the town. Unlike the cries of coyotes or even a skittish wild boar, the bestial distorted screeches instead seize a primal fear within the heart of the town. The echoes linger in the wind and simmer a slight unrest.

Then a few shops, along with the bank, began to get ransacked late in the night.

And recently, as of two nights ago, one of the innkeepers heading home for the evening went missing. 

As you sit in the cantina, the bustling discussion brewing in the bar of course focuses only on the creatures rumored to be living in the hills.  

The cantina owner, a gruff older gentleman, tells you he even saw one once. 

“It flew fast overhead. Had wings that reminded me of a bat, but I couldn’t see shit ‘cause of how dark it was. But I know what I saw.”

“All these stories are all just talk! Mindless ghost stories!” Mayor Karga laughs. “There’s nothing out past those points except unforgivable terrain and some terrifying rattlesnakes. Nothing supernatural.”

The wilderness held many forms of life. From the wild creatures to the shadows within the mesquite trees, the secrets held among the desert’s stretching landscape are endless. 

“I don’t know mayor,” the bartender sighs. “We all hear that sound, and whatever makes it…it ain’t human.”

“It’s probably just an injured mountain lion.” Karga argues and you hope it brings some comfort in his rationality. 

“There’s no way a mountain lion did the damage we saw in the shops.” Another patron rebuttals hard and unconvinced at Karga’s logic. 

The grumbles and paranoid brewing among the bar refuse to settle. 

“Look,” Karga sighs. “I’ll have my best man go up there and take a look around. I’m sure he’ll be able to find the source of whatever’s been making this ruckus.”

Karga moves to the corner of the saloon. He then happily claps the shoulders of a man sitting among the shadows of the bar. 

The quiet bounty hunter.

You hadn’t realized his presence and at the sight of him your heart jumps rapidly as if a jackrabbit made a home in it.

The bounty hunter had arrived many months ago. 

The black bandana he wore constantly covered his face. He now almost looked like a shadowy creature from the hills. The cowboy is just as dangerous as whatever lurked among the mountain range and is just as quiet.

In the dimly lit cantina, the bandana, along with his hat, casts an even thicker shadow over his face almost obscuring his eyes.

He simply nods at Karga. 

Fear immediately claws at you, sinking its talons into your soul. You stiffen in your seat at the bar.

“See! It’s settled then!” Karga announces warmly and it does calm the tense room down. 

“Poor bastard,” the saloon owner says under his breath. 

You find no words, only an aching panic quickly gnawing at your ribs. Your body rises up on your own. You settle your tab, grab your shawl and quietly make your way to head back to your cabin. 

But before leaving, you can’t help but turn to curiously stare at the bounty hunter. For being such an intimidating force of a man, he sits unassertive against the shadow of the wall. He’s barely touched his drink and doesn’t move to talk to anyone else.

Even after agreeing to investigate, to make his way to the treacherous mountains, one seems to pay him any attention. 

Then his face turns up to you.

Under the shadow of his hat, deep eyes pulled straight from the blessed soil stare at you with an unwavering attention.

A tension settles over your skin. 

Someone calls out your name, breaking your trance. 

“You’re not walking back alone, are ya?” The saloon’s owner asks with genuine worry. Even a somber silence casts its shadow over his older face.

“I’ll be fine.” You reassure him with a soft nod. 

You can’t help but find your gaze flickering back to the cowboy.

He stares at you now with wide eyes.

Before him or any else can act, Mayor Karga slides into a chair opposite the bounty hunter immediately drawing his attention. Your attention now moves down to the satchel slung across the cowboy.

The dusty cream colored bag suddenly wiggles. Out from its pocket a tiny clawed hand faintly pops out.

Before any more terror dizzying worry can poison your mind you spin on your heels and head out of the saloon. You feel eyes clawing at the back of your head your entire walk back to the cabin. 

You expect the sound of cowboy boots to follow you out. Except only the still silence of the night greets you. 

Thankfully no mysterious shriek comes among the evening air, just the crunch of your boots on the gravel. 

As you turn in for the night you give one last glance out the window. There at the edge of the town, where civilization bleeds dry into the wilderness, the large mountain ranges loom with their ever watchful gaze.

If something else lurks within them…

You shove the thought aside as you take a seat on the chair in the dining room. Angrily yanking your quilt up, you close your eyes. 

Then, soft gentle claws scratch at your face.

Your eyes flutter open fast. 

Crawling up your body and staring with the widest marble like eyes, a green strange eared creature chirps the sweetest noise. 

“Hello there,” you coo back.

The baby yawns and it crinkles up his adorable wrinkled face. Moving to rest flat against you, he sighs sleepily, comforted. His presence melts you.

Out of instinct you draw him close. Settling your hands against his tiny body, you wrap him under the quilt.

“Kid, thought I told you not to go and wake her-”

“It’s fine.” You sharply cut off the deep voice calling out in the cabin. 

A sigh comes. When you glance over to the open dining room area, the cowboy already begins to disarm himself, laying his various weapons into the chest that sits snuggled in the corner by the wooden extended table he built for you. 

“You shouldn’t have walked back here alone.” He mutters with a hardened edge.

“You were busy.” You briskly reply, rubbing your hand on the baby’s back. 

“Could’ve waited.”

“Didn’t want to.” You fire back just as hard and frustrated. 

He knew you couldn’t. No one in the town knows about you and them. For their safety, and yours, this existence remains a tight barbed wired secret. 

Your eyes are drawn to the cowboy’s beautiful sturdy back and you glare fierce daggers into it.

“I can feel you staring.” He mutters.

“Good.” You mutter back low, hard. 

A heavier sigh trickles into the cabin and the bounty hunter turns to face you. Removing his hat and drawing his bandana down, you are greeted by the most beautiful man this wilderness could ever bless you with. He stares at you with those same eyes that silently spoke to you at the cantina.

“I know you’re upset…”

That is an understatement.

“Din…” you sigh now as an ache wide as a canyon rips across your chest. “You can’t go. You don’t even know what else is out there.”

“That’s why I have to go. I have to see and make sure.” Your cowboy replies back with patience woven in his voice.

You’re more upset than he is and you angrily blink back tears over that truth. 

The wilderness is an unforgiving vastness, capable of swallowing up anything it chooses. 

The thought of that scares you more than any mysterious noise or being slinking around your town.

Suddenly a warm calloused hand trails up your cheek. Even after all this time the action sparks a warm current up your spine. When you blink out of your thoughts Din stares down at you with a molten ink gaze begging for you to fall into him, to trust him.

He is considered just as mysterious and dangerous as the wilderness from which he emerged. Just in the same manner that the desert is a cautious beauty, so is Din.

A nose as sharp and defined as a canyon’s peak, cloud soft plush lips, a scruffy beard and mustache that tickle your face, he seems crafted from a dream. 

Din’s thumb runs over your cheek.

Staring up at him, you soak in the sight of this myth of a man. Din sighs and leans down to rest his forehead against yours. 

“You know I'm the only one who can go…”

You know he’s right and it’s why you are terrified.

Closing your eyes you lean into his hand.

“Just come back.” You whisper already hearing tears leak into your voice.

“Always do.” Din’s thick reply doesn’t help your aching heart.

As if on cue Grogu yawns, so heartwarming and sweet as he wiggles to get more comfortable in your arms. You and Din glance at the baby sleeping so peacefully against you. 

“We should follow this little tadpole’s lead and get some rest too,” you mutter. 

Din mutters a hum of an agreement. The three of you move to settle into the bedroom and sink into the warm quilts.

You don’t realize how exhausted you are until your eyes wearily flutter open as strong arms wrap around you from behind.

Din’s all encompassing warmth becomes a beautiful dream lulling you to sleep against his solid frame. His scent, the faintest hint of gunpowder mixing with the rosemary soap you gifted him, settles a peace within you. 

The faintest pressure of his lips kisses your head, a soft good night.

In the morning, you realize it was also a goodbye.

Because when you wake up, your bed greets you cold, and Din is nowhere to be found.

The day passes by in a slow pace that sticks to your bones in a brewing terror. You try to hold grace and a steady strength, to be an unbothered mesquite against the wind.

Especially when you have a sweet little creature to watch over.

You stay at the cabin with Grogu and see the opportunity to work on the various chores you have neglected. You do some weeding, check on the fence, and watch Grogu happily chase after butterflies that flutter around your garden. It all manages to settle the brewing storm trapped in your chest, if only for a moment. 

Thinking of Din facing whatever terrors haunt the town rapidly consumes you as your mind conjures up the worst scenarios. Din might be a force of a man possibly formed of smoke and shadow, still out of your grasp. Yet you want to keep him close and safe. 

Little claws tugging at your leg suddenly snap you out of your thoughts.

Blinking down in surprise, Grogu glanced up at you with worried eyes. His head tilts in confusion. You effortlessly scoop him up into your arms.

“I’m sorry little tadpole,” you poke his nose and earn a shimmering giggle from the baby. “Just got lost in thought. Let’s head in for dinner, yeah?”

His excited squeak brightens your cloudy worry like a sunlight ray.

With the baby happily fed, his eyes fighting to stay awake. So you tuck him into your bed and return to cleaning up for the night.

As you close up the cabinets, wings fluttering dangerously around the cabin dance through the night air and you freeze. 

Something solid collides with a hard thud onto the ground outside. A distorted croak of a noise follows.

The noise sounds close, right outside your door and you hastily move to head outside. 

The lights from inside of your cabin along with the lantern on the front porch illuminate the midnight sky. Against the darkness, a looming silhouette slowly drags itself closer towards the cabin. It stops and curls over with hunched shoulders. The shape reminds you of a cornered animal hiding within itself from the light. 

Then a distorted creak of your name whispers out soft as if it could be snagged on the desert’s foliage.

You sob Din’s name out into the midnight wilderness. 

You rush out to him, relieved. Panic however rushes in like a broken damn when you reach him.

His body pitches forward and in a scramble you manage to steady him.

In this form he towers over you with an intimidating height. Yet this mythical monster, this tender creature, allows you to steady him into the cabin as best as you can.

After managing to sit him on the floor beside the table, the sigh of him now has you paralyzed in terror.

A gash runs against the top of Din’s head with blood trickling softly down his face. Rips and scratches can be seen on his wings even with them folded against his back. Various wounds run across his chest and his claws have blood already drying on them.

Rushing to the cabinets, you grab as many supplies as you can and spill them onto the table. You reach for the salve first to treat the wound on his head. 

“What happened?!” Your hands shake as you scoop out the healing salve. 

“I’m….fine.” In this form his voice creaks and sounds distorted, as if it holds the weight of all the secrets in the mountains. However, his breaths come out labored, thick, gurgled and fear pulses with a deadly toxin through your body.

His pitch black eyes wearily glaze over as he stares at you.

You have never seen him this injured and seriously wounded.

Fighting the tears becomes harder as you rub the medicine onto the gash against his head. You need to tend to his chest wounds next but it’s hard to focus with questions and dread filling your body.

A worried little noise shatters your anxious thoughts. You rapidly turn around. Grogu, wide away, waddles towards you and Din with worried wide wet eyes. 

“Little love,” you say tenderly cautious. “It’s alright I’m helping your papa-“

“Wait…let the kid come.” Din interjects. 

Grogu scurries closer until you simply pick him up and bring him to his father.

Din then begins speaking in clicks and chitters, gurgle-like noises only him and Grogu seem to understand. You feel out of place yet completely absorbed watching Grogu so endearingly try to grab at his father.

“Let me take the kid.” Din coughs out.

“Din.” You cautiously press.

“It’ll be alright.” He reassures with a dangerous wheeze that does not reassure your rapidly terrorized heart. But you hand him Grogu who stares at Din with glistening teary eyes.

You keep yourself busy by moving to place wraps and more salve onto Din’s wings.

Father and son exchange more click like chirps. You move to tend to his chest wounds. Then the scratches softly melt away, like magic.

You gasp and almost drop everything in your hands.

“S’all right honey.” Din calls to you low and eased. Your eyes whip up to him. Grogu’s hands are against Din’s chest and his eyes are so adorably focused. The realization settles in quickly. Your little tadpole is doing this.

The baby has healing abilities, like a legend out of a children’s bedtime story. Then again, to the town and to many others, these two creatures in your cabin would be mistaken as demons who crawled out of a nightmare. But to you they are precious, your most dearest boys. 

“You two can heal?” You mutter out still stunned.

“In a way, yes.” Din replies still hoarse.

The chest wounds are all the baby can heal before his eyes flutter hazy and exhaustion takes over. Both you and Din rapidly move to steady his little body as he falls asleep from exhaustion.

“Let me take him.” 

Din allows you to tuck the baby back into the quilts of your bed.

Your name floats out from Din a hoarse whisper. Hot tears bubble in your eyes as you return to your creature’s side. 

“What happened?” You ask again this time hoping for an answer.

Din gives it to you. 

He discovered what has been terrorizing the town.

“A group of bandits.” Din explains wearily. “They ambushed me but managed to get a few of them.”

If they were bandits, then what creatures were making those sounds at night? 

The truth, you realize, sits right here on your wooden cabin floors.

“The bandits are like you.” You mutter out.

Din nods solemn, serious and your heart plummets straight into your stomach. 

“What are they doing here?” You whisper low as if someone miles away could catch this conversation.

“Migrated here. Their kind jump from town to town, taking all they can and then leave.”

Your mind thinks of a plague of locus, deadly and all consuming. 

“And the innkeeper?” You wearily ask.

Din shakes his head, a somber answer that needs no further explanation. Your throat closes tight.

These creatures, these bandits, would not stop or be satisfied until they get their fill.

Suddenly a soft face nuzzles into the hollow of your neck. A rumbling vibration runs up your skin and through your entire body. He’s purring. You’ve heard this sound before but this, this feels like his attempt to soothe you.

You gently wrap your arms around his large monstrous form as much as you can. Din burrows his face more against your neck as if he hopes to dig past your skin.

“Din careful, you’re injured.” The words leave you a scared, worried sob.

“I know just..need to be close to you.” His purring becomes louder, a stronger attempt to comfort you. 

“I’ll keep you and the kid safe.” Din mutters in his gravel filled voice.

One of his clawed hands curls against you gently to draw you closer.

“No one will hurt you.” He vows and it rings with a conviction unwavering and hauntingly somber.

“But you got hurt.” You cough through tears thinking of his blood drying on your hand. 

“Doesn’t matter. I will keep hurting, I will keep killing. Anything to protect you.”

His voice in this form seeps with danger, a venomous animalistic tone that should be a warning. But hearing those words, realizing the blood you wiped from his claws was not his…

A wave of slick dizzying heat licks up your body down to your core. 

He is your protector, your shadowy creature consecrated from legends. And you love him. 

Din inhales against your skin as if he smells this shift in your body. Maybe he possibly has because your cowboy begins to kiss your neck tenderly. 

Fangs, dangerous sharpened fangs, lie behind those lips. Yet he kisses with a gentleness trying to cover every inch of skin you will give him.

“Din, you’re injured.” you remind him again and your bounty hunter exhales shakily.

“There’s...a way you can help heal me.” His voice now shrinks back, soft and hesitant. 

“Wait.” Your thoughts clarify with a rapid sharpness. “There is?”

You would give him anything to save him, to help him.

Din draws his head up from the warmth of your neck and you find an ache missing his presence.

In any form, human or not, your cowboy is a beautiful sight. His completely consumed coal eyes avert from your watch. A bashful earnestly flickers over his ghastly features and an ache rises in you to soothe him.

Leaning forward you kiss his rough cheek with all the affection you can.

“Whatever you need,” you reassure your monster. “I’m yours Din.” 

His body moves rapidly. His large form curls against you,  a towering shadow. Din dives his face back to your neck as he starts to burrow his nose against your skin.

Suddenly his tongue draws out and begins to lick at you. It’s long, and you remember how snakelike it was when you first saw it. Your eyes close as you wonder if this is his attempt at soothing you once more.

Then he bites into the base of your neck and your eyes snap open wide.

Instinctively, like an animal caught in a trap, your body lurches forward. Pain sharply runs up your neck and warm liquid trickles onto your skin. 

Then, Din begins to suck.

He starts to suck and drink from your blood.

Your heart hammers a thunderous drumming in your ears. You have never done this with him. You’ve been intimate with your cowboy before and never shy away from his more createrous form. 

But… the secret cavern of your hearts, not even wanting to face this truth yourself, a part of you wondered with a dangerous temptation what it would be like to be intimate with Din in this form. 

Your mind tries to steady itself on this new frontier you are about to explore. Suddenly a sharp wave of arousal washes over you so fast your eyes roll back. 

Your body goes slack in Din’s large arms while a blissful moan escapes you. 

“Shh…” Din mutters a low gurgle against your skin. “Not too loud.”

You can’t wake the babe asleep in the other room and this is the last solid thought you hold onto. 

Because your mind quickly melts as if a desert mirage has blurred your reality. A heated fever burns across your skin. So much slick pools between your legs that you feel it dripping. Now your body thrashes with the pleasure of wanting to get closer to Din as much as you can. You press your lips tight to stay silent. 

Din’s sharp fangs nip at your skin. He rapidly alternates between drinking your blood and licking at the wound.

Your mouth waters in a way you didn’t think pleasure could draw this reaction out of you. Soaked in this lust, you feel intoxicated and you don’t seem to be the only one.

Din rapidly laps at your blood and hums an animalistic noise that rages through your entire body.

“Taste so good.” Your cowboy slurs barely focused himself. “Knew you’d taste s’good.”

Pleasure builders faster and faster now. Your legs twitch trying to relieve the aching arousal but you don’t want this to stop. It’s delicious, pure pleasure, one that melts the skin off your bones and transcends you into a sacredness you can’t describe. Because this tastes sacred in both a delicious and dangerous way. 

“Din.” You quietly moan his name out and he clutches onto you harder as you feel his own body beginning to grin against you.

Din sucks harder, fervently, and doubles the dizzying heat surging through you. 

You’re getting close. The way your mind teeters between consciousness and bliss it feels like you are tiptoeing on the edge of a cavern’s abyss and will fall in at any moment.

Suddenly Din pulls away from your neck. The cold air prickles against your skin and a chill crawls up your body.

“Wha-” you slur your question. But before you can ask, the sight of Din steals your breath and thoughts. 

His shoulders heave heavy and rise with rapid breathing. His obsidian eyes gleam wild and raw, almost possessive as he stares down at your body. His fangs, his beautifully monstrous maw is soaked with blood, your blood. 

Before you can process this sight, your bounty hunter acts with the speed of a rattlesnake striking. His claws tear apart your night gown undergarments with a sounding rip.

You feel a surprise squeak die in the back of your throat.

This creature of a cowboy flings himself down between your legs with a feral franticness, a being possessed. 

Then that long tongue of his takes a smooth swipe up your soaked folds. Your body shakes, falling into the abyss. Your eyes roll back as numbing black out pleasure swallows you whole.

The shop thankfully has been quiet all day. The shop owner, Annalise, and her husband left for the nearby town to visit family. So they told you. But you knew it was fear, the same fear driving out more and more of the town.  

An eerie emptiness has settled among the shops as if ghosts themselves have moved into their vacancy. The town slowly rots away into a bone like shell of itself. Even the dread has begun leaking into you.

As you currently repair a skirt, the gentle silence that once comforted you itches your skin with an edge of unease .

The day is almost over. That comfort alone keeps you sturdy among the waves of worry. 

A small thud of something falling comes. Then a little giggle follows.

Amusement tugs at your lips. Setting your work down you go investigate the scene of the crime.

There off to the side, Grogu sits happily tangled up in various colors of yarn. He must have pulled them down trying to climb up on the shelves here behind the counter. 

Grogu with his angelic black eyes blinks up at you with red yarn hanging off his strange ears. He giggles again so playfully as he beams up at you. The baby begins babbling, holding up more of the yarn to show you his handiwork. 

“Yes I see you.” You tease back.

Kneeling down to sit on the floor with him, you start gently untangling this adorable mess. 

“You’re always just going to be my little trouble maker, aren’t you?” You fondly say mainly to yourself. Yet Grogu chirps a noise sounding like an agreement.

He came into your life this exact same way.

With a sneaky entrance and a giggle, you had first found this strange little creature in your garden. From that moment seeing his wide midnight eyes blink up at you with herbs in his mouth, your life has never been the same. But it has been blown into a beautiful new direction with such ease you never want to change. 

“Definitely grateful Annalise isn’t here now.” You tell Grogu as he wiggles his arms watching your move and shift the yarn. “She wouldn’t appreciate you messing with her very meticulous and organized yarn arrangement.”

Of course she wouldn’t have appreciated seeing this strange sweet babe of a creature. It’s why whoever kept the baby had him hidden in bags or under cloaks.

Having him here with you at the tailor shop, sitting so freely on the floor, you understand walks a fine dangerous line, even with the vacant town. 

But you wanted to keep your sweet little tadpole close to you more than ever.  

“I’m also grateful your papa is getting some rest.” A distant wistful tone floats into your voice. 

“Mweh.” Grogu replies back in his strange bell-like voice.

Since he arrived home from the bandits ambush three days ago, Din has slept under the blankets of your bed. 

His continuous slumber reminds you vaguely of bears that rest in their caves during the winter. You wonder if the same goes for Din. After such a difficult fight, sleep and rest provide an ultimate form of healing. 

When you first peeked under the blankets to check on Din, you found him resting peacefully and fully human. Now with a soft kiss goodbye to your cowboy every morning, you let him sleep and heal.

Grogu, as mischievous as he is, still is his father’s son. He begins helping you with the yarn by carrying as much as he can in his little arms. You warmly thank him and Grogu beams proudly as he continues wiggling out of the tangles.

The door to the shop creaks open.

Sundown approaches fast. Who could be coming in at this late in the day?

“Stay here and don’t move.” You softly tell Grogu with a pat to his head. You rise to greet the customers.

Instead you discover newcomers, strangers you do not know, and it’s a group of them. 

Their leader, a man with sharp eyes saunters towards your counter.  A deadly shift circulates in the air the way it does when a viper is spotted slithering across the sands.

“Why ‘ello there lovely.” The stranger coos with a disgusting seductive undertone that has you frowning.

Bandits, these have to be the bandits Din spoke of.

“Can I help you?” You ask sharp.

The leader’s lips twitch playful.

“Name’s Vane,” he introduces himself. “Didn’t think I’d find someone as lovely as you here.”

You stay quiet, staring hard. 

“You know, it’s polite manners to introduce yourself.” The bandit named Vane offers coyly almost teasingly. His comrades snicker and you again stay silent.

You’ve seen your share of bandits that have rode into town. But these men infesting your tailor shop are not like the others. That thought alone infects you with a petrifying venom.

“What do you want? There’s nothing here you all could possibly need.” You argue steady and calm..

“See, that’s where ya wrong lovely.” Vane purrs with a gleam in his eyes. He takes deep sniffs once and twice. 

His face melts into a deeper pleased smile. 

“There’s something very important here.”

Something inside of you screams to scoop the baby into your arms and flee. Din gifted you a beautiful dagger months ago. You know it’s not much but threatening a weapon might be your next option.

“Aw,” one of the bandits frowns at you. “What’s the sad face for, pretty?”

“I need you all to leave.” Gathering all your strength you try standing your ground even. 

They laugh wild cackles that put the crows to shame and your stomach twists sick with a tangible dread. 

“Fellas, why don’t you do as the lady says and leave.”

Mayor Karga’s voice floats into the shop, a sturdy safeline. The bandits all turn in surprise at the new intruder who stares at them hard and determined.

“Ah, Mayor Karga! Good to see ya!” The bandit named Vane greets him.

“Why don’t we have our reunion somewhere else.” Karga urges firm.

Then his eyes turn to you with golden reassurance and he nods.

“Why don’t you head on home for the night?”

All you can do is nod back. Falling to the floor, you scramble and gather Grogu into your satchel. Of course the baby, just like his father, thankfully stays close to you.

“It’s alright,” you softly comfort him as you kiss the top of his fuzzy sweet head. “We’ll be home soon.”

You rise up and find the bandits have disappeared. So caught up in your panic and trying to reassure Grogu you didn't even hear or notice their exit. 

For some reason, their absence terrifies you more. 

When you step outside the town is bathed in dusk’s glow. Someone calls out your name.

There a few steps away Mayor Karga grins at you.

“I apologize for that encounter earlier. Might I escort you home? I’d like to make sure you make it back safe.”

You’re grateful for your town’s mayor. A steadfast calm and sturdy soul whose company you gladly accept.

“Where did the bandits go?” You cautiously ask.

“How did you know they were bandits?” Karga now curiously asks you.

“A good guess,” you sleepily reply back. “Haven’t seen them around town before.”

Thankfully the answer appeases Karga enough as he sighs.

“I know the town believes it’s some type of… monster living in the mountains that’s been disrupting the town. But I have no doubt it’s really those bandits.”

A heaviness shit in your chest as you wish you could agree that both possibilities are true. 

“Now ain’t that just rude? Accusing us of somethin’ you have no proof of.”

Vane’s shrill voice slices through the ghost town and it steals the air from your lungs.

When you and Karga turn around the bandit already holds his pistol drawn with a coy eased expression.

“Just at least let the shop keeper go. This is between us.” Karga snaps fiercely as his hand rests now on his own gun.

“Actually, that pretty ‘lil thing is more interesting than you Mister Mayor.” Vane’s smile oozes with disgusting glee.

Boots crunch on the path in front of you and when you whip back forward, more bandits have arrived circling you and the Mayor like a pack of coyotes ready to strike.

“I’ll draw their fire, you run. Run as fast as you can.” Karga whispers low panicked. 

The loud bang of a shot pierces the early evening.

You almost jump out of your skin hearing the gun go off. But one of the bandits drops flat onto the gravel path. 

An unearthly hollowness snaps the air tight. Everyone, including yourself, rapidly tries to find the new gunslinger.

Another gunshot comes. 

Another bandit collapses dead.

“Come out ‘ere!” One of the bandits roars. “Show yourself ya fucking coward!”

Materializing from the shadows himself, Din simply struts out from between the cover of two buildings. His rifle is drawn.

He’s here. Your cowboy, your bounty hunter, is awake and he’s here.

Din has never looked as striking and beautiful as he does now. A force of pure steeled power and precision he stands broad, intimidating. His black bandana hides his face. But from under the cover of his hat his eyes glare blazing furious fires. 

“Your fight is with me.” Din snarls to Vane, fierce yet deadly composed.

“You damn BASTARD!” Vane barks back. 

The gun fight erupts in a blink and flurry of bullets. A terrified scream escapes you before you can even stop it. But with chaos and terror swirling all around, you summon all the courage you have left.

You draw the satchel housing Grogu close to your chest and you run for cover.

Bullets fly in screeching fury and your heart rages fast within its cage in your chest. You want to help Din. But you need to protect the baby.

A voice sounding so close to Din’s screams, urges, inside of you to run. 

So you flee as fast as you can from the town. You imagine wings sprout from your feet and carry you to your safe harbor in the wilderness. The bullets firing grows distant. Your cabin begins peeking over the horizon against the watercolor sunset bleeding into the early night sky.

Safety beckons you. It is right there just at your grasp.

A monsterous screech suddenly shatters the peace around your cabin.

The flapping of wings, furious and loud swoop in the wind and, out of instinct, you lean down away from the sky and cover Grogu. 

Then it happens in a fast collapse. 

Something sharp slices across your shoulder. Pain shoots through your body fast and unforgiving. You scream, faltering in your steps. Grogu cries out in a concerned sob but you hold him tighter refusing to let whatever took a swipe at you get the baby. 

A loud thud lands. When you glance up, a creature rises before you. 

His appearance vaguely reminded you of Din. Except this creature with a sharp beak and covered in scales is thinner in size compared to your cowboy. 

“Thought you could hide from me, did ya?” The distorted voice of Vane seethes at you.

His shoulders and wings hunch in a terrifying tension suggesting he can strike at any moment. However, crimson drips down his side and colors the dirt path. He’s injured. 

“But it’s hard to hide when y’er damn bastard mate’s smell is all over ya!” Vane hisses through gritted jagged rotting teeth.

Grogu wiggles in your arms almost in a determined fidget. But you stay frozen before the bandit, a jackrabbit staring down its hunter.  

In this life, in this harsh wilderness you exist within, you have faced danger in their various forms. You think of the first time you encountered Din this way. When you first saw him, a creature from the dark shadows, it reminded you of how small and human you are.

Except now, you wonder if this is pure terror you face.

“M’gonna rippin’ you and that babe apart.” Vane grins with a rotting smile. 

Like a released spring, the bandit flings himself towards you.

A blur of a force collides fast into Vane before the bandit can even reach you.

In his creature state Din slams Vane violently down into the dirt. He howls at the bandit, his fanged jaws open wide in a frightening threat. 

This fight, just like the shoot out that broke out, erupts in a blink. 

However, unlike the gunfight, your eyes fall under a spell and cannot look away.

The sight of these two creatures doesn’t seem possible. Yet, the snarling slash of teeth, the rapid movements, it all seems more real and raw more than anything you have ever seen. 

Larger and healthier in his form, Din wrestles Vane down with a smooth ease. Sharpened claws swipe at the other with the intent to kill. The two brawl hard picking up dust and dirt in the evening sky.

Suddenly, Din shifts. In that moment he grasps Vane in his arms and towers over the bandit. Then Din digs his talons into Vane. With the same effort you have seen Din take when he peels oranges, he rips off one of Vane’s wings. 

The action is visceral, unholy and Vane screams in absolute agony rattling your bones.

But you have never been more mesmerized by your cowboy. 

Like a hawk that’s captured its prey, Din gathers Vane, along with the ripped appendage, into his grasp and takes flight.

Vane’s screeches, gurgled and violent. Din roars back a bellow you think shakes the mountains to their base.

The monstrous sounds echo into the air. Yet they grow further and further away. You even try to follow Din’s flight in the air. But, the shade of the sunset has faded from its tangerine warmth into a fully stretched out faint blue bleeding into midnight. The edges of the deep dark sky swallows any sign of Din. 

Then silence falls.

Staring at the mountains against the sky’s tapestry you hope to catch even a glimpse of Din or of any movement. 

Grogu cries a worried chirp in your arms and it breaks your gaze.

You need to get him inside, see if he has any injuries. 

With the door open to listen for Din, to hope and pray he comes back, you take Grogu out of the satchel and begin checking him over. Babbling in his own clicks and chirps, Grogu fidgets with a worried frown on his sweet wrinkly face. His little clawed hand reaches out to you with a stubborn stretch. 

“Hold still, little tadpole.” You breathlessly plead with him. A heaviness slowly creeps into your legs as if anchors have been tied around them.

The rush of boots run across your patio. When you whip your attention to the open doorway, Din rapidly is hurrying inside.

In his human state, his clothes are torn from the fight and blood already dries all over him.

Those wonderful eyes of his stare wide and petrified. 

In fast steps Din rushes to your side.

“Are you alright?!” You croak out trying to breathe through the dizzying relief of seeing your bounty hunter home and alive. 

“Your shoulder!” Din snaps. “You should be resting!”

In the whirlwind of adrenaline and panic you had forgotten about your shoulder. At his comment, you fully become aware of the stinging wound and the blood soaking your blouse to your body.

“It’s just a little blood and doesn’t feel deep. I’m alright.” You mutter reassuring Din who already begins inspecting your shoulder.

Exhaustion and the rush of this day, of this week, however causes your legs to buckle. Hastily Din’s sturdy hands catch you while you want to hiss at your body for betraying you. 

“What did I say? You need to rest.” He growls.

You can’t fight him anymore, not when he guides you with tender sturdy hands to rest. 

Your mind begins to feel thick and heavy, like you are trekking through a mud pit. You float in and out of your thoughts. 

“I apologize for this.” Din’s sudden voice comes softly beside you and then a rip follows.

He tore your blouse to reach the wound. 

A soft pad of a fabric begins to clean your wound and you hiss at the jolt of pain.

“I know,” Din soothes. “It’ll be over soon.”

All you can do is nod.

You can’t make sense of how much time has passed or how long you’ve even been sitting on the chair. It feels as if years have been crammed into this short day, as if lifetimes have been stitched into this past week.

Out of your haze, you think of the baby and ask where he is. 

“Asleep. Took me a bit to get him to bed. Knew he was fighting me to stay up and make sure we were alright.”

Your lips twitch with deep love for that small creature you now hold in your heart as your own.

“He’s stubborn like his papa.” You mutter back with a hint of amusement.

Din however stays quiet. 

A heaviness as thick as a thunderstorm hangs in the hush of your cabin.

Focusing out of your hazy thoughts, you worry Din is injured and refusing to tell you. When you are about to ask, Din speaks first by calling out your name. 

“I am sorry… for putting you in danger.” A hoarse emotion has struck its barbs into your bounty hunter. 

“For frightening you.” Din continues, his voice growing distant and you worried might get caught on the fence outside the cabin. 

“And…for being a monster.” His voice cracks, shattering your heart within its wake.

You blink through tears to where Din sits beside you.

“The things I did, what you saw...” His eyes refuse to meet yours. 

Torment furrows his brows and an ancient ache hardens over his handsome features. For being someone who faced bloodshed and pain, who existed in a split life so feared by many, his heart is so tender and golden. 

“You could never frighten me.” You whisper tear soaked.

So you bare your heart before him.

He’s protected you, cared for you, showed you a tenderness you believed would never find you. 

You think of those who love the mountains, love the beauty and the terror carved into the peaks. You will love Din the same until the very last of your days.

You will love his pain, his claws and his golden heart. 

Even at hearing your heart being spilled before him, Din shakes his head adamantly stubborn.

“Do you remember when you came and checked on me before that big storm came?” You begin. 

Back then, you were convinced this hardened bounty hunter with his hard glare hated you. Yet he showed up with a blanket full of supplies. Even after much urging on your part, him and the baby stayed in your cabin to pass the storm. 

Din finally glances at you with his rich earth eyes and he nods.

“That was when I knew I wanted to be yours.” You earnestly tell him. 

Even knowing what he was, after seeing the core of who Din is, a gentle, protective and honorable man - you wanted so badly to be his. 

“Will you let yourself be mine? Can I love you the way you love me?” This love rips apart your voice, cracks you raw and open.

Din leans forward and kisses you. The smell of dust and his sweat overwhelm your senses. The kiss is hasty, more desperate than anything as his lips continue to seek yours. You already want to mold yourself to him. Yet as fast as he kissed you, Din draws back to simply lay his face against yours. He softly rubs his lovely nose to yours.

“I am yours. Will always be yours.” The thick whisper of his voice holds the depth and implications of a thousand lifetimes.

You press back against him wondering if the two you will simply mold into one.

But when you shift ever slightly a sharp stab of pain runs across your shoulder and you flinch in pain. Din of course doesn’t miss this. 

He cautiously says your name, but you reassure him again you’re fine.

“No.” He firmly cuts you off. “You’re not.”

You sigh knowing there is no hope in fighting your cowboy.

“I…there’s a way I can heal you.” He cautiously explains. 

You think of how you helped heal Din. Even through the pain and exhaustion of the day, a simmering curiosity bubbles within you.

You stare deeply into his earthen eyes. “I trust you.”

His eyes widen for a fracture of a moment before he nods ever so reverently at your words. With tender delicate hands he maneuvers your face to expose your sounder. It keeps your attention forward.

Din’s hair tickles your skin as does his soft heated breath. Suddenly his tongue licks a gentle swipe across the wound.

Every inch of you tightens as well as collapses all at once. You dare not move, and wonder if you are even breathing.

His tongue licks through the blood, across the scratch and you find no pain comes from the contact. He’s delicate, almost kitten-like. Slowly emerging like an early morning fog, a tranquil haze falls over you in a soothing like manner.

It’s beautiful, tender and blissfully intoxicating having him tend to you like this. You start wondering if maybe some part of you will arrive at a realization of horror. Yet you find no terror, or disgust within yourself. Only adoration and gratitude fill your body. Dreamily, your hand even begins to run through Din’s soft hair. His tongue swipes and swipes with reverent warmth lulling you.

All too soon suddenly Din kisses your shoulder, your bare fully healed shoulder.

That snaps you wide awake and you scramble turning towards Din. He sleepily stares at you with a peaceful gleam. A soft crimson faintly colors his plush lips and you understand it’s your blood. The image of him in his creature form flutters back to your mind. Your blood coated his mouth then too. 

No fear rose at the sight even then and it does not rise now. You instead move your hand to stroke his cheek.

Din’s eyes shut blissfully as he melts at your touch. 

“How…how is it possible?” You have to ask. 

“It only works with a select few.” Din explains quietly. “Just with those we love, who we see as our own.”

It’s why Grogu was able to heal him. And it made sense why the baby seemed so stubborn earlier about reaching out to you. It’s why you could heal Din. You even realize it’s why there is no wound from where he bit you days ago. 

Love heals - a beautiful remedy and truth old as the wilderness itself. That soft understanding greets you just as kind as the morning breeze.  

You lean forward to embrace Din. Quick as ever he draws you into his arms first. Safe and solid your cowboy’s warmth, you thank him.

You thank him for healing you and for so much more.

The legends of the mountains spoke of indescribable horrors that crawled among their caverns. However out of the wilderness, out from those shadows, Din was brought to you.

And for that, you will always be eternally grateful 

Your cabin was your own personal ghost town before you found a mysterious creature adorably rummaging around your garden. Now Din and his son fill every space of your life with love. Your days are warm, even in the shadows. Even with the terror and fear, you consecrate yourself to this life, burrow your roots into it. 

Yes, your cabin is now filled with monsters, creatures reminding you of the secrets that the wilderness shadows of the wilderness. They are indeed ghost stories brought to life. 

But they are yours. You will house their secrets, become the desert itself and make your heart a wild fortress for Din and the baby to find refuge, to find peace.

And you will lovingly welcome them home with your arms stretched open wide and vast as the mountain range. 

[azzysmate]

Back From the Dead - Part 3

Azriel x RhysSister Fanfic

Summary: Rhaen, sister of Rhysand, was supposedly dead for centuries, but what if she wasn’t? What if she was only trapped by something no one ever dreamed of being so dangerous? And what will happen when she appears at the border of the Spring Court and human lands barely alive?

1st Person POV - Rhaen

It’s been a particularly harsh day for everyone here today. We’ve been walking nonstop through the entirety of the sun being up. I’m not sure what crawled up Malik’s ass, but apparently ripping my Night Court ring right off of my hand wasn’t satisfactory enough to fill his cruelty quota for the week. He had to wear us all down as a punishment for my sharp tongue. I’m not sure what he expected when he propositioned me to warm his bed this evening, seeing as though he’s been holding me captive for last two hundred years, but with a quick bat of my eyelashes and sweet smile, I lured him into my proximity only to give his balls a firm crushing, making him tumble over and a few of his men to not so subtly bite back their laughter. And then I proceeded to tell him good luck finding anyone to make that feel any better.

We were instructed to walk up and down the mountain until our feet bled, even the humans, and although I’m sure they were all doing so in their heads, none of the others even had the energy to curse me for being so irresponsible.

Settling into the shared cave after a well-earned dip in the stream was the only thing I wanted.

Until the softest little voice calls out to me, “Rhaen?”

I smile in spite of my exhaustion, “What is it, my little flower? Come out of the dark and talk to me. You know you don’t have to hide from me.”

Within a second, she emerges from the shadows with a downtrodden expression. She had both hands hidden behind her tiny body, and it’s clear by the sheen on her cheeks that she’s been crying.

“Dahlia,” I rasp out as I hastily sit up, “What happened?”

Her whole face pinches together in a sob, and she throws her arms around my neck saying, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” I sooth, “It’s okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I stole something.”

When I pull back to get a better look at her, I tuck a stray hair behind her pointed ear. She doesn’t open her eyes, but she begins to bring her arms back.

“I stole this…” She holds her hands up in front of me, and I try to make out what it is.

It shimmers a bit in what little moonlight shines in the cavernous space. It’s metallic, I realize, but it’s coated in something wet that I can’t really see. I reach for it, but Dahlia snatches it back quickly.

“No!” she yells, tears flowing faster sown her face, “Don’t touch it, you can’t! It will hurt you, Rhaen.”

“Hurt me?” I repeat, my brows wrinkling together, “Dahlia… Are you hurt?”

Big, green eyes look to mine in worry, so round, so reflective with the wetness gathered there, and the closer I look, the more they appear bloodshot.

“Tell me,” I demand desperately, and I grip her upper arms, shaking her lightly, “Dahlia, tell me what happened.”

She sniffles a bit, but she explains, “The mean man took your pretty ring, so I snuck into his tent and took something that looked pretty from him.”

No… No, no, no.

I pull her hands toward me and stand, dragging her outside, so I can properly look at what she holds.

My heart drops into my stomach like a rock when I take in the sight before me. Not only is she holding an arrowhead that is surely laced with faebane, but her hands are completely raw, sliced open painfully.

The glaze I noticed before, it was her blood.

“Come with me, quickly,” I take hold of her wrist as gently as possible and lead her down the side of the mountainous terrain in a rush.

Once we reach the base, I start screaming out for the treacherous men holding us captive. I’m still moving amongst them when the leader lifts the opening of his shelter, weapon already drawn.

“Hey!” he screams, pointing his sword at me, “Hold there!”

“You have to help her!” I shout back, holding up Dahlia’s hand.

His eyes widen at her injury, maybe what one could even consider a concerned wince if they hadn’t been trapped by Captain Dickhead for centuries. But not me. That look that passed through his dark features was not worry or the slightest bit of care. It was disgust at the bleeding little fae girl before him.

“What’s going on out here?” Sam appears from her tent.

She’s the only female anywhere near our camps that isn’t being forced to be here. She is what they refer to as a nurse to these evil men, the human equivalent of a healer. No magic, only what she calls medicine, but if anyone can help Dahlia, it’s her.

“Please,” I beg her, “You have to help her, Sam, she’s just a kid. She’s innocent, she doesn’t deserve to die…”

Sam draws nearer to us and takes the hand of Dahlia’s that I don’t keep hold on to examine her.

The shiny piece of weaponry glints at her, and she says, “Where did you get that arrowhead, child?”

Her sweet, pain-filled face looks to me before she looks back and answers, “I found it near the stream.”

“Bullshit,” Malik mutters from behind me, snatching the point-tipped metal from her and taking a closer look, “This is one of ours.”

“Malik,” Sam hisses at him, straightening out her stance, “Where would she have found our weapons?”

His seething gaze finds mine. “Where did the girl get this? And don’t you dare spout off some lie about how you were the one to retrieve it. If that were true, you’d be in the same shape as her.”

I stare down at Dahlia again. Her condition is worsening by the second. She’s getting paler, she’s shaking in a cold-sweat, and I know she doesn’t have much longer.

My eyes shut tightly, and my voice shutters, “Sam… Please help her.”

“I-” she begins to reply, but Malik cuts her off.

“She’s not who you should beg, Princess,” his voice full of amusement. I want to throw up at the condescending use of my title.

But I suck it up. For my little flower.

My eyes flash to his in an instant, and I stand to face him. “Let her save her. Please, I beg of you, Malik.”

“Tell me where she got this.”

“She told you, she found it down by the water-”

A crack sounds through the air, and I’m suddenly spinning. At first, it doesn’t register that it came from the contact of him slapping me across my cheek, but I gasp at the sting as it settles in. It’s the only thing I allow to come out of my gritted teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my pained whimpers.

“Rhaen!” Dahlia cries out, kneeling by my side.

Of course, I didn’t notice that I had landed on the ground either. The force of his hit sent me tumbling. However, it wasn’t out of his own strength, any bit of that he possessed as a human could never hurt me. It was that cursed ring on his middle finger, wherever it came from, and it had been the thing keeping me and the other fae from overpowering them all this time, so it was no surprise that it could hurt me physically like this. I was used to it by now.

I spit out some of the blood filling the side of my mouth and look up to Dahlia dizzily. “It’s okay…”

“Stop it!” she wails, “I took it, okay? I stole it from your tent after you went to water your horse this morning…”

“No…” I croak out, “She’s innocent, Malik, please.”

Slowly, he walks to the spot across from her looking over me, bending at his knees to hover there. “Seems your little friend is thief, Princess. To me, her punishment for touching what doesn’t belong to her is fitting.”

“Sam…” I choke on more blood and spit again, and her weary gaze bounces between the three of us.

“I’m sorry, Rhaen,” she speaks, genuinely sorrowful, “I don’t have a cure for faebane. I’m only here to help the men.”

“I have a cure of sorts,” Malik says cheerfully, “Won’t keep her from dying, I’m afraid, but it will surely put her out of her misery.”

“Don’t!” I scramble to my feet, but I’m too late.

With one swift movement, Malik flicks his arm out above me, making contact with Dahlia, a thick, squishing noise resounds in result.

“NO!” I roar, “Dahlia!”

Her body lands on the dirt in front of me with a thump at the same time her head does, but it rolls away, severed from the rest of her. It’s looking directly at me though, mouth and eyes wide open. Full of fear as they stare at me, just as they did in the cave.

Hands shaking, I reach for her head and bring it back to where it should be attached to her neck. I smooth her hair back, force her jaw shut, and then I run my fingers along her eyelids to close them as well.

I swallow before I finally stand, a numbness washing over me as I do. Then I let the hatred take root in my core, peering back at Malik. His figure is blurred by my tears and tinged with a shade of violet. The quicker I breathe, the more vivid the color grows.

For the first time in two hundred years, I see the fear in his face that I’ve been craving, and I bask in it.

I let out a blood curdling screech and hold my palms up towards him before a loud crash pulls me out of my nightmare. Immediately, my surroundings change into comforting items. The colors of home, soft, plush pillows around my head, twinkling starlight coming through the open curtains. I force myself to cling to the dark comforter cocooning me to ground my mind back into the present.

Someone groans from across the room, and I shoot up to my feet to find the intruder.

Azriel lies crumbled up against the wall next to broken vase, and I gasp.

“Shit,” I breathe out, racing towards him and bending down in front of him, “Are you okay?”

He rubs the back of his head with a barely noticeable wince as he meets my terrified gaze. Slowly, he blinks, trying to shake off the blow, and then he pushes off the drywall to reveal a crack behind him. I groan miserably at it.

“I can’t say this is the first time you’ve ever kicked my ass,” he tries to lighten the mood, “You’ve done worse damage in the past though, so I’ll live.”

“I did this?” I ask incredulously.

He nods once, eyes softening up a bit. “I think you were having a bad dream. It’s alright though, Princess, just got the wind knocked out of me. Like I said, I’ve taken harder hits from you.”

“I’m so sorry…” the apology flies out despite his insisting.

“Don’t be. I’ll be fine. As for the decor…”

His gaze falls to the shattered ceramic at the floor, and his shadows make quick work of sweeping it into a pile further away from us.

“You don’t have to do that, let me,” I protest and start to stand.

“Rhaen,” he grabs my wrist to stop me, “It’s okay. Let them do it, so you don’t accidentally cut your hands.”

I flinch at his choice of words, visions of Dahlia’s bloodied palms still fresh in my mind.

“Hey,” he whispers, focusing on me intently while brushing my dark curtain of hair away from my face and pressing the tips of his fingers to my cheek, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I back out of his touch, and that’s when I fully register his appearance. “Um… why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

His lean but defined chest is on full display, giving me a completely unveiled view of his ribbed abdomen and tongue tempting nipples.

It’s strange to me, how much he’s changed and yet stayed the same. He’s filled out his adolescent attractiveness and turned into a full on mouthwatering male. All man. But when he looks at me like he is right now, I still see that scared little boy my brother asked our Mother to take in all those years ago…

His lips twitch in the most subtle hint of amusement. Which might as well be considered an over dramatic belly laugh in Az’s case.

“I’ll let you change the subject, Princess,” he says, “This time anyway. You should know that you’re still terrible at it though.”

He lays his hands on the floor, and all the muscles in his torso tense and ripple under his ink and scar covered skin, making me dizzy for a moment.

All man, indeed.

Once he’s standing, he reaches out to help me. I take it as he talks again.

“You were screaming in your sleep,” he tells me softly, like he was worried I’d have a breakdown if he’d said it any firmer, “I came straight in here from my room. I don’t wear a shirt to bed.”

“Oh…” I reply lamely, trying and failing not to picture him shirtless in his quarters now, “I’m sorry.”

He guides me to sit on the bed in front of him and glowers down at me. “Don’t ever apologize for that.”

“I only mean that to say I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I know, and whatever you saw was out of your control; therefore, you shouldn’t apologize for it. Simple as that, Princess.”

He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt my head back, signaling to meet his eyes. I don’t fight it. In fact, I delight in the unease at my dismay. It almost makes his whiskey hued irises seem brighter.

“Alright,” I concede, “but that means you also shouldn’t apologize for whatever happened between you and Elain.”

His hand drops, and he closes his eyes on a sigh. “Perhaps you have gotten better at evading conversations.”

He moves to sit next to me as I continue, “Seriously, Az, I don’t know why you looked so tortured at dinner. You don’t owe me any answers if you don’t want to tell me. I don’t think any less of you, so long as you learned from it and moved on.”

“It wasn’t what you’re thinking,” he breathes out, “It was more like… a convenient inconvenience.” I squint up at him, confused. “I latched onto the idea of having three sisters be mated to three brothers. I enjoyed Elain’s company, she didn’t want to be around Lucien, and you know it isn’t easy for me to find someone I actually want to be around. While I won’t say there weren’t any inappropriate moments, nothing physical ever went on between us.”

My heart clenches. “I remember how hard it used to be for you to be comfortable with someone, but part of me was hoping that had changed without me…” We both turn our heads away from each other, and instead of dwelling on the time we spent apart, I let the relief of his confession seep in. “So it was more of a flirtation than a true affair?”

I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. “Yes. I regret it, too. I tried to force something to be there that wasn’t meant to be, and she did the same. Now, Lucien and I, we have a… tumultuous peace agreement.”

I nod as well. Unsure of what else I could say.

On the one hand, I won’t be dishonest by saying I’m not pleased, but I can’t tell him that. I’ve been home for all of a day, and I clearly have my own shit to work through. Adding irrational jealousy or any kind of romance would be catastrophic to my mental state.

Although, that line has always been blurred when it came to Azriel and I. It’s never been how it is with me and Rhys or even me and Cassian. There was a silent hope inside of me growing up that it would become more, but I knew he would never overlook the fact that I was his “brother’s” little sister. I’ve always believed that to be why he’s different around me because he’d never have to worry about our relationship being more than a safety net. And I will never turn away from what bits and pieces he’s willing to dole out to me.

After all, his face was the one I pictured every night while I drifted to sleep at the camps. His barely visible emotions, ones only I could decipher most days. His beautiful face and watchful eyes. His playful shadows that opposed his stoicism in my presence. His strong hands that he would never see as anything but weakness after what his brothers did to them. Those thoughts held me together all this time. Azriel kept me from breaking. My best friend. My something more.

My knight in shadow armor.

“Rhaen?” his voice pulls me out of my thoughts, “Do you want to tell me what scared you so badly that you threw me across your bedroom?”

I let out a humorlessly laugh. “Do I want to? No. The important question is, are you going to let it go because I obviously don’t want to?”

He let’s out a puff of air similarly to how I just did. “For now, Princess,” he relents, “But eventually, you’re going to need to talk about it with someone. It doesn’t have to be me. It just needs to happen before you lose control of your power and blow down the mountains.” He’s silent for a moment, letting the seriousness of his statement sink in before adding a joke to take the edge off, “They’ve been holding on by a thread ever since Rhys and Cassian found their mates.”

Real laughter pours out of me with a groan, “Gross, Az! Did not need to hear about my brothers’ frenzies, thank you very much.”

A low rumble echoes in his chest. “Well, it’s true.”

I shift backwards on my bed, still laughing lightly. I settle back under the covers again, and when I ask him to stay, he doesn’t hesitate to pull up the armchair on the other side of the room and relax in it by my side.

I know he’ll be gone when I wake up, exactly like when we were young, but at least I know he’ll be here to chase away any lingering terror in my system. I’ll be able to sleep soundly for the first time in two centuries with his addictive and calming scent flooding my senses in its place.

So!! That was a doozy, and it took me a while to get it out. I’m so sorry! I live in Texas, so hurricane Beryl was not kind to me. Not to mention, my birthday was on Thursday, and it was pretty much put on hold because we didn’t have any kind of power at home or work. So, I finally made time to come to a Barnes and Noble nearby and chill in the cafe for a few hours!!! Thank you guys for being so patient. Hopefully everything will get fixed soon, and I’ll be able to get out more updates.

Again, you guys rock, and I love you so much!! Comment below to be added to the tag list! 🤍

@projectcampbell @acourtofsmutandstarlight @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @anainkandpaper @evergreenlark @bobbyisbored

[cetaitlaverite]

Anything to Anywhere

Masters of the Air - John Egan x OC

masterlist is hereeee <3

20. All Come Up Roses

Christmas was coming and it was coming fast. The Moon Squadron pilots got their first gift a week early when the Nazi war machine coughed up and spit out Guy, the 161 Squadron pilot who had been stranded in occupied France in November when his plane had crash landed.

Squadron Leader William Lockhart - call sign Guy most uncreatively because it was his middle name and because he’d been with the Moon Squadron since the beginning, before there had been such an emphasis on creative nicknames - had stumbled back to Tempsford with bags under his eyes, a slump to his shoulders, and shaking hands in the early hours of the morning. After undergoing a hefty debriefing, getting as much food as he could safely fit inside him into his system, and passing out asleep for the rest of the day, his first request had been to go to the pub.

So, that evening, a week in advance of Christmas, everyone who wasn’t out flying tonight sat gathered around him in their usual corner of the pub, a vibrant fire roaring in the fireplace and their hands all wrapped around pints of beer. They sat bundled in scarves and gloves and hats over their uniforms all the same - this was a biting winter, which Guy knew all too well after spending a month in hiding in France.

“Fucking freezing out there,” he was saying, already on his third beer. He met the eyes of all the gathered pilots one by one, everyone hanging onto his every word as he revealed to them the reality of their worst fears. “Plane was like an icebox. And I was going dead deep into France as well. By the time I was flying over Lyon my hands were already like icicles on the yoke.”

Stella shivered just imagining it, slipping her fingers further into her gloves. Her last flight had been cold, too, and she only ever had to go to the northernmost parts of France. She couldn’t imagine how cold it must have been up there, flying that far inland.

“I get to the flare path and I’m thinking, result, nearly finished now. But, as it happens, the agent who was supposed to be in charge of my landing was drunk. He had laid the flare path over a goddamn ditch.”

Everyone around the table hissed. Some even physically recoiled. That had to have been a bumpy landing and a half.

“Right,” Guy agreed with the audience’s reaction. “Hardly any moonlight at all so everything else is pitch dark. I don’t notice until the plane’s already down that the path is a ditch, and by then it’s too late to climb again.” He shook his head ruefully. “The landing broke the undercarriage. We had to burn the plane so the Nazis don’t work out what we’re using to ferry Joes so far inland. I spent the night with the Resistance, then right before sunrise the next morning the Joe and I started to make our way across France. Got access to a radio in British-held Gibraltar and that’s where we got picked up.”

Stella’s eyes were wide as she watched him, even after he’d finished talking. He sat back in his chair, gulping down the rest of his beer, looking so casual after all he’d seen and done. She was baffled.

“You went all the way to Gibraltar?” Goose asked, the first to break the shocked silence which had fallen.

“Yep,” Guy confirmed. “British territory.”

“Why didn’t you try to get the Resistance to contact us and get picked up?” Donny asked.

Guy shook his head. “Too dangerous. My Joe had already been found out, that’s why she had to come with me to Gibraltar instead of just lying low. It was safer to trek across France and Spain than to try to hide in one place.”

Stella’s eyes were still wide. “How did you cross the Pyrenees?” she asked.

“They have a whole Resistance operation going over there,” he explained simply. “That’s how a lot of downed airmen get back here from the mainland. There are a couple of French Resistance ops who run it, picking people up and taking them across, with a couple of civvies who live in the mountains who provide shelter overnight.” He shook his head, setting down his empty glass but staring into the depths of it. There was something haunted in his eyes, in spite of his air of joviality. “It’s fucking mental, what they do. Living like that, with the Nazis breathing down their necks all day every day, and they’re still putting themselves on the line to help the likes of us when we go down. Slip of a girl and an older woman who took me and my Joe across and they didn’t complain at all, said they do the trip multiple times a month so they’re used to it. And you’re fucking frozen, walking for days on end, dehydrated and starving and it’s all uneven terrain and the first few days are uphill. And if they got caught they’d be dead in an instant and they owe us fucking nothing but they do it anyway, and all they ask in return is that we win the war.” He shook his head again, whistling lowly. “We’d better win this fucking war, if not for us then for them.”

Stella’s heart was racing. It was so easy to forget the reality of what they were doing, ferrying spies and Resistance supplies in and out of occupied territories. When they went down they were as good as spies themselves.

She couldn’t help but think back to the conversation she’d had with Lucky, Donny, and Houds when they’d first found out Guy had gone down, how Donny and Houds had insisted he would have been better off giving himself up as a POW but how they’d have no such luck as women. If she ever got stranded in France then she would have to try to do what he did, trek across the country and then across the Pyrenees, try to make it all the way to the bottom of Spain, to Gibraltar.

It seemed inconceivable, impossible, that anyone could be capable of that, and yet they clearly were.

The things this war was making people do. If nothing else, it was forcing people to test what they were made of.

“Anyway,” Guy went on, “naturally, I’m being fucking demoted because of the silly Frog bastard who couldn’t stay sober long enough to light my flare path properly. Back flying for 138.” He scoffed a laugh. “Haven’t flown for them since before 161 even existed, but since I know the route the Resistance are using to get people across the Pyrenees and because I know their faces Mouse is worried about the risk I’d pose if I went down again.”

Goose instantly sat forward in his seat. His eyes were glinting. “So someone’s getting promoted,” he deduced.

Guy shot him a sly grin. “Not you.”

Immediately, Goose slumped back in his seat and flung his head back, groaning and whining and complaining loudly about the unfairness of it all.

Guy just went on grinning. “One of our ladies is getting the call up, in fact.”

All four women - Stella, Lucky, Donny, and Houds - sat bolt upright in their chairs. They looked between each other, wide-eyed and flush-cheeked, all both equally desperate for it to be them and terrified that it was.

Stella was the first to break, sitting back in her chair with a quiet, self-conscious laugh. She was the newest pilot here, there was no way it was going to be her. Donny had been here the longest. She deserved it the most.

“Bambi,” Guy said next.

Stella sat up again, eyebrows furrowed. “Yes?”

Guy rolled his eyes, heaving a laugh. “No, it’s you. You’re getting the call up.” He leaned across the table and held out his hand to her, inviting a handshake. “Congratulations. You’re gonna love 161.”

Stella’s heart gave an almighty lurch before tumbling down into her feet. Shaking her head dumbly, her mouth opened and closed as she willed words to the forefront of her mouth and yet couldn’t seem to find them. “What?” she finally managed to croak after a while of flailing.

Eventually, Lucky reached down for her wrist and wrenched it up, then placed Stella’s hand in Guy’s outstretched one for her.

Stella shook his hand but she was still bewildered, blinking hard and shaking her head. “What?” she said again.

Once he’d released her hand, Guy reclined back in his seat and tipped the brim of an imaginary hat at her. “Mouse said he told you when you joined that he wanted you for 161.”

“He told all of us that,” Donny objected.

Guy shrugged. “Well, with Bambi he meant it. He’s been hard at work since she first got here trying to get the paperwork to go through, apparently, and he’s been sending her out on double the missions of anyone else to test her. Apparently, Bambi, you passed, because everything’s come up roses. You’re 161 Squadron’s newest pilot. You’re getting the official nod tomorrow.”

No one said anything for a moment. Stella was too stunned to speak. But then, from the opposite end of the table, Houds let out a bitter laugh and slumped down in her seat. “That’s fucking mental on Mouse’s part.”

“You’ve got to be mental to run this circus,” Daisy pointed out.

Lucky leaned over and planted a loud, smacking kiss on Stella’s cheek. “Congratulations, Babs,” she whispered. “I’m so excited for you.” She wrapped her arms around Stella’s waist and squeezed, then peered up into her face and asked, “Are you happy?”

Glancing down at her, Stella offered an unsteady smile. She didn’t want to let on that she was frightened because there were three other women here, Lucky among them, who would have killed to be in her position. So instead she said, “Thrilled,” and tucked her arm around Lucky’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze in turn, because she could have been jealous and resentful, could have protested about how Stella had only been here for two months and was already being promoted, but instead she was supportive. Stella wasn’t sure how else to thank her.

The atmosphere in Hut 6 that night was frosty. Donny and Houds were not especially happy that they had been passed over for the promotion when they had been there for two years, in Donny’s case, and a year and a half in Houds’. Donny offered a tight smile to Stella when she passed her on her way to the showers but couldn’t quite meet her eyes. Houds wouldn’t even look at her.

Lucky was still firmly on her side, at least, and Stella found great comfort in that.

The next morning, Stella was summoned to Mouse’s office early, right after breakfast.

“Bambi,” he greeted as he opened the door for her without her having to knock. “Congratulations on your promotion.”

Stella laughed softly under her breath as he stepped aside and allowed her in, taking a seat in one of the armchairs opposite his desk while he shut the door behind her. “Thank you for giving it to me, sir.”

Mouse was smiling at her when he finally came to sit behind his desk. He leaned his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together, resting his chin atop them. “I hope it didn’t give you any trouble with the other lovely ladies of Hut 6.”

Stella smiled ruefully, setting her eyes on the patterns in the wood of his desk. She shrugged one shoulder as she replied, “They’re a bit put out, understandably, but I’m trying not to take it personally.” Her smile turned fond momentarily. “Lucky, though, is pleased for me. I think they all are, secretly, they’re just disappointed it wasn’t them.”

Mouse hummed thoughtfully, lowering his hands and settling back into his chair. “Understandable,” he acknowledged. “But only one space opened up in 161 and I’ve been getting you ready ever since you started. You’ve done the most blind drops of all of you and you have the most flying experience, both with the ATA and in civilian life. You’re reliable and efficient and you hold up well under pressure. You were the obvious choice, you understand.”

Stella couldn’t help but object. “But I’ve been here for the shortest amount of time,” she pointed out.

“Yes,” Mouse conceded. “But I’ve been priming you for the call up ever since you started. Women being allowed to land in occupied territory was little more than a pipe dream when the others started here so I didn’t ready them the way I’ve readied you. Last minute flights and flying in the pitch dark, precarious drop locations and bad weather, flying over AA guns and sending you out without practising the course first were all ways to get you ready. I didn’t have the luxury of doing the same for them. They aren’t ready the way you’re ready.”

“That’s not their fault,” Stella reasoned.

Mouse smiled. “No. It’s mine. But you were the obvious choice and I won’t apologise for making it.”

Stella stared him down for a moment, this man who had made her new friends resent her, even if only a little bit, but she couldn’t argue with his reasoning. And, as much as her new position frightened her, she couldn’t help but be thrilled by it, too. How long had she been dreaming of flying combat? And now she was getting as close to it as a woman was ever likely to get - in this war, at least.

John would have believed she could do it, whatever her misgivings. He would have been proud and excited and there would have been no doubts in his mind that she was ready. And if he would have believed in her, she had to believe in her, too.

“I’m grateful for the promotion,” Stella relented at length. “Really. Thank you. I just - the other girls, I hope you’ll consider them when another position opens up. They’re all excellent pilots, and you may know from my ATA file that I’m not known to praise pilots I don’t think are worth their weight in gold.”

Mouse cracked a smile at this. “I did notice some notes that you don’t tend to play well with others, yes,” he confessed. “Can’t say I’ve paid witness to it much here.”

Stella shrugged. She had no explanation for this that she was at liberty to give. Really, though, she knew it was John who had made her play nice, who had softened her, who had made her more willing to get to know people and more willing to let people get to know her, too. She had had friends in the ATA but they had been surface level. John had been the first person she’d truly let in. And he’d been a safe place for her, had never shied away from her ugly parts; he’d primed her for the acceptance she’d found here. She just wished he could have seen it.

“So,” Mouse said, clapping his hands suddenly. He had an excellent talent, Stella thought, for knowing when to leave things alone. “Have you ever flown a Lysander before?”

Stella grinned, sitting up straighter. “No, sir. It’s a liaison plane. I ferried combat planes for the ATA, fighters and bombers.”

Mouse grinned right back at her. “Today, you’ll fly your first Lizzie. Just across England, to get a feel for it. A bit of a joyride, if you will.”

Stella laughed. The thought made her giddy.

“When you land in occupied territory, you’ll be landing in fields. They’re chosen by Resistance operatives who sometimes have no aviation knowledge at all, so sometimes they’re tiny or waterlogged or muddy or anything else that may make landing and taking off difficult. We’ll have you training for that. Today you’ll practise a short take off and a short landing, tomorrow we’ll work on mud and ice.”

Stella nodded along, wondering whether she should be taking notes.

“We’ll teach you to land in haphazard flare paths and how to communicate in morse code with the Resistance ops on the ground. We’ll also teach you how to stake out a flare path with pocket torches or bicycle lamps, because you’ll have to teach this to the Joes you ferry before they go out. Many of them will be on their first deployment with the rate we’re losing spies these days, and they’ll need to know how to light your flare path in case something happens to their Resistance operative in the event they require an extraction.”

“Or the Resistance operative is drunk,” Stella added, remembering Guy’s story.

Mouse laughed, short and surprised, but he recovered quickly. “Yes, or in case they’re drunk.” He snorted to himself once more before going on, “The long and the short of it is: as you approach the flare path, an agent on the ground will flash you an agreed-upon letter in morse code and you will acknowledge the signal by flashing back a different, also pre-agreed-upon, letter. Then the rest of the lights on the flare path will be illuminated, allowing you to come in for the landing.”

Stella hummed to indicate she was following. She should definitely have brought a notebook with her.

“After you land and turn your Lizzie around, your load has to be changed in under three minutes. Whether this is simply you dropping off a spy and some equipment or whether you’re taking something or someone back with you, it’s a mighty quick turnaround.” He smiled warmly at her. “We’ll prepare you for this, too, of course.”

“Right,” Stella agreed. She wondered if she’d gone pale.

“A BBC broadcast will inform the agents and Resistance on the ground when you’re coming. Highly codified, naturally, but you needn’t worry too much about this. Many of the pilots like to amuse themselves with noting them down is all. And, as you know, 161 pilots don’t take off and land here. You’ll be taken to a much smaller airfield a hundred miles south of here, our forward base, named Tangmere, in advance of your flight. Taking off from there allows you to fly deeper into occupied territory, into the south of France or Belgium or the Netherlands, sometimes deeper into Europe, even, than there. But it’s very nice over there. Our pilots are especially fond of Tangmere. Much like here, breakfast is served at all hours of the night, and there’s a lovely cottage there where you’ll stay overnight. Everyone gets their own bedroom.”

Stella cracked a smile at this. She hadn’t had her own bedroom since she was a teenager.

“But that’s quite enough information for now,” Mouse decided, clapping his hands together with finality before laying them on the desk. “You have a lesson scheduled in flare paths, morse code, and general Resistance communication an hour from now. After that we’ll discuss your joyride. Do you have any questions?”

She had only one but she wasn’t sure whether to ask it. She didn’t want to tempt fate, nor did she want to make Mouse doubt her courage.

But he sat there smiling quite amiably at her, eyebrows raised expectantly, and she knew this would be her only opportunity.

“What happens if my plane goes down?” she asked at last. “Or if I can’t take off again? What happens if I get stuck over there?”

Mouse considered her questions carefully, tilting his head to one side and setting his eyes on the clock on the wall behind her, tapping his fingers briefly on the desk.

“You’ll hide with the Resistance,” he replied at last. “And when you don’t return we’ll work to get into contact with someone on the ground to make sure we get you back. Either that or it’s the Pyrenees, as Guy informed you, I’m sure.”

Stella nodded. Her stomach was all tied up in knots.

Mouse nodded back. He smiled warmly one last time. “But, as I’m sure you’re aware, being stranded in occupied territory means one thing for a man. It is something entirely different for a woman. So,” he said, tapping his desk with finality, “my very best advice would be: don’t.”

[running-with-the-feels]

I'm reviving the pokemon au

Kuai Liang is the current ice type gym leader with a: Regice, Frosslass, Glaceon, Sneasel, Lapras, and Aurorus

The Regice was originally his mother's and the Froslass was one he caught while stranded on the top of a mountain during a blizzard, whom he privately believes to be his dead sister, Lian, and has named accordingly, as she died on that same mountain and it is believed that Froslass are born from the souls of women who die in the snow. Lian the Froslass saved his life by fighting off the pokemon who wanted to kill him and guiding him back down the mountain.

Frost is training under Kuai Liang and acts as a kind of mini-boss to challengers with a team of: Alolan Vulpix, Sneasel, Frosmoth, Cubchoo, Glalie and Cloyster

Her Sneasel, named Crimson, was a gift to her by Kuai Liang when he found her outside his gym one night, having run away from home. It was her first pokemon and still obviously her favorite, though she denies it to anyone who asks.

Bi-Han used to be the ice type gym leader, but after an accident that left his pokemon team dead, he abandoned the gym and vanished for years. When he resurfaced, he was the dark type gym leader with a team of: Weavile, Mandibuzz, Absol, Zorua, Umbreon, and Murkrow

The Absol, named Snow, was the first pokemon he caught after the incident and he maintains to this day that Snow caught him, not the other way around. He was originally never going to train pokemon again, but Snow pushed him

Hanzo is the dragon type gym leader with a: Dragapult, Drampa, Vibrava, Kommo-o, Noivern, and Dragonair

He is a descendant of the Draconid people and is one of the few who still maintains their traditions to this day, teaching anyone who wants to learn if they agree to join his gym as trainers.

Takeda acts as Hanzo's mini-boss, with a: Goomy, Gible, Deino, Bagon, Axew, and Applin

Kenshi left him in Hanzo's care when he was asked to join the Elite four by Raiden, fearing that the league was no place to raise a child and since Suchin had been a Draconid too and a member of Hanzo's gym, it was a way for Takeda to stay connect to her, even after her passing

The Fire Type gym leader is Liu Kang: Blaziken, Cinderace, Infernape, Armarouge, Hisuian Arcanine, and Talonflame

He was originally asked by Raiden to be the champion, but declined as he felt that such a position should be earned and not granted, instead working his way up to be leader of the gym.

Raiden is the electric type gym leader and runs the league with a team of: Morpeko, Elekid, Alolan Raichu, Magneton, Jolteon and Ampharos

He refounded the league after it had fallen out of use as he wanted trainers to be prepared for the dangers to come

Mileena is the Fairy type gym leader with a team of: Mawile, Mimikyu, Grimmsnarl, Granbull, Hattterene, and Sylveon

Sick of living in her sister, Kitana's shadow, Mileena founded her own gym and became one of the strongest trainers out there, with many trainers complaining that her gym is the hardest to beat. The sylveon evolved from an Eevee Kitana had caught her when they were kids (before The Incident where they fell out) and as Sylveons evolve into that form due to how much they love their trainer, the Sylveon is her favorite as it is proof that she can be loved

Jax and Sonya are the Joint fighting type trainers with Jax's team being: Hawlucha, Gallade, Sawk, Lucario, Hitmonlee, Machamp. and Sonya's being: Throh, Hitmonchan, Sneasler, Toxicroak, Primape, and Poliwrath

Sonya originally wanted to be the water type gym leader but as there were already 8 gyms, she instead joined Jax at his, working her way up to be his co-leader and training all their underlings to be even stronger

Jacqui is their miniboss with a team of: Breloom, Conkledurr, Scrafty, Heracross, Crabominable, and Falinks

She doesn't want to be a fighting type gym leader or trainer though, she would much prefer to be a normal trainer doing her gym challenge but Jax is overprotective and won't let her go until she's "Strong enough" Despite the fact that he has gone three months without a battle bc she kept defeating every trainer to challenge them

Kitana is the flying type gym leader with: Skarmory, Sensu Form Oricorio, Swanna, Aerodactyl, Swellow, and a blue Minior

She inherited the gym from her mother and is doing her best to uphold the late leader's legacy although some of the things she is discovering about Sindel are unsettling

Jade acts as one of Kitana's trainers, fighting with a Tropius and a Tropius only, though she is still hard to beat

Of the Elite Four we have:

Nightwolf, the rock type, who has three Lycanorocs, one of each form, a Terrakion, Rhydon, and Regirock

Kung Lao, who is determined to be the next champion and uses steel type: Bisharp, Aegislash, Aggron, Metagross, Bronzong and Tinkaton

Kenshi, psychic type: Reuniclus, Oranguru, Hypno, Alakazam, Delphox, and Espeon

And Jade, the grass type: Tropius, Rillaboom, Venusaur, Torterra, Meganium, and Serperior

The current champion:

Cassie Cage, with a team of: Hitmontop, Beedrill, Golurk, Cyclizar, Toxtricity, and Gyarados

Rain is trying to create his own gym, water type, but as it is unofficial nobody counts his badge as meaningful though many trainers do fight his gym just to prove they can.

His team is: Milotic, Relicanth, Kingdra, Lumineon, Vaporeon, and Slowking

Johnny runs a pokemon rescue/pokemon nursery and was once a famous pokemon trainer and actor though he has since settled down. He doesn't have a full team anymore, just a Cinccino from his movie days and a Sableye that keeps breaking into his house to eat his jewelry

Shao Khan runs Team Hammer (I couldn't think of a better name) and seeks to turn the league into his own personal army by becoming champion and disposing of any gym leaders who won't fall in line. Shang Tsung, Skarlet, and Kano + Kano's black dragon goons all work for him and cause havoc wherever they can

lemme know if y'all want more of this AU, bc I can do more, also, feel free to add on or use this idea as you please