#great vessels in front

[polyacrylamidepensieve]

This is a heart on its side. See the great vessels coming off from the left? The apex of the heart is the bottom pointy bit on the right, that’s the part that usually points down and to the left in your chest. The top bit though… my brain is trying to parse this. I think the heart was opened one of the ways we usually open the heart during autopsy maybe, and the two halves are lying semi open and we’re seeing part of the other half in profile? Or maybe it’s a bit of lung someone didn’t remove properly.

It’s not horror at all tbh. Just a heart. I think it’s being seen from the back, too - I think that artery going from left to right on this picture might be the posterior descending artery.

Honestly I’m not even sure it’s a human heart. We sometimes learned on pig hearts in med school bc they’re not that different, and you can’t tell size clearly from this picture either

I bought this organ off Etsy I like to jab it with my screwdriver.

[g-k444]

POV it's your turn to host game night with all your boys so they come around to our place and you get the TV on whilst i get beers for all your friends before everyone gets between tipsy-drunk on their beverage

we start with drunk jenga where i lose and the best punishment that all your male friends can come up with in their drunken fervour is to each spank my ass once

my thighs are clenched tight around pussy which begins pulsing with ancticipation as I'm bent over onto your lap with my ass in the air, recieving a slap from each of your mates that gets more confident by member - the last on going as far as to lift my skirt and expose the thin lacy thong that doesn't cover much, as his hand leaves a red print over my delicate skin

then the next game is snakes and ladders - but instead of choosing to fall down the snake - it's decided that the men can get their cocks out, and I can take off an item of clothing for each time i land on a snake.

it feels almost suspicious how every dice roll seems to lead me to a snake - and how by the end of a short, fifteen minute game, the men end it early, just when i take off my skirt and wear nothing but my lacy bra and sheer panties...

and they move onto twister.

but in this version of twister, they decide that I am the subject - the only one to play... And someone spins for me for each turn, and then have a minute to fuck me in x position to try and make me cum.

I wanted to protest and look to you to tell them no, but the rowdy, drunken men put the mat out and had made the decision before i could protest - spinning the hand so that it was "left hand on red"

I got onto my knees to put my hand there - not wanting to bend over and leave my posterior vulnerable to the men that had no regard for how i felt about the crude game, yet as my knees hit the floor and hand attached onto the mat, I heard metal clinking for just a moment before there was a cock pressed into my behind, penetrating my hole and making a gasp exit my throat as someone pushed their cock into my pussy, slipping in all too easily and snapping their hips against mine rabidly

"so fucken wet, such a good pussy - you hearin' that?"

my cheeks were red with shame that despite my lack of want to be in this situation, my pussy was dripping with slick, wet with subconsious want to be fucked by all these men, in front of all these men.

"that's time. next spin... left foot on blue."

They each fucked me. one by one as i moved my body into different positions and had they come between my legs whilst i cried at the force they hammered themselves into me, simply using me as a vessel to chase their own pleasure.

i didn't cum, but they did - many of them did - shooting them cum into me and laughing as it dribbled back out of my pussy.

they guffawed and took great pleasure when i had to split my legs open from one side of the mat to the other and a fat glob of hot white cum spilled from my pussy and onto the mat, my cheeks burning red as i felt my pussy throbbing at how much i enjoyed the humiliation.

round after round - some chose to use fingers instead, not wanting to get their cocks leaked on my other men's seed - some used a vibrator instead, pressing the vibrating head against my clit and watching as my body shook with overstimulated pleasure, my pussy clenching and opening sporadically and making more cum gush from the creamy white hole, showing what a mess you'd made of my body

at the end of the night when the men zip their pants up and leave, you turn to me and ask whether we could host games night again sometime

despite how broken my body is and how tears stain my cheeks from how much i cried...

i cant help but nod that yes i want that to happen again.

[radawaycunt]

Veni, Vidi, Amavi

Also on AO3

Part I // Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.8k words

Summary: After your first encounter, you attend the next games to watch Lucius fight, and celebrate his victory with him after.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY MINORS DNI), canon naval battle with some canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood and death, reader is a courtesan (so SW), some angst, mutual pining, semi-exhibitionism (there are guards around), sort of audio voyeurism, unprotected p in v, aaaaand I think that's it but lmk if anything else!

---------------------

The roar of the crowd was near deafening as you made your way to the Emperor’s box behind Queen Lucilla, General Acacius, and Senator Gracchus. Hundreds of feet pounded in a war-like rhythm, all eager — or more like absolutely salivating — for a good spectacle. Snapping and jeering like rabid, bloodthirsty dogs.

You would never understand that insatiable, sadistic need to see another’s brutal destruction. Nobody ever thought they would watch somebody they loved be subjected to it, just strangers who weren’t really people in their eyes. But it was more common than most would like to admit, the sand forever stained not just with crimson, but also with the salt of mourning tears.

You hid your unease behind a cool, placid mask, smiling back at Senator Gracchus as he glanced at you over his shoulder. He had been curious when you had first requested to attend the games with him, but having just found out about Prince Lucius’ return and rising fame in the arena, he was amused at your antics. 

Your patron might be old, but he was no fool. Gladiators always caught the eyes of pretty, young girls like you, especially ones such as Lucius. It was really no wonder you’d want to see his glory for yourself, so he had conceded if only to indulge you.

And when he’d helped you off the litter that had carried you to the Colosseum, he had not been surprised to notice you were hiding a garland of myrtle inside your sleeve. A common enough offering to Venus, goddess of love. He made no mention of it, though, content to just watch how things played out. 

Once you’d arrived at the box, each of you knelt in front of the twin emperors and kissed their rings. Emperor Geta smiled down at you in that enigmatic, impish way of his, but his brother mostly ignored you. Not that you really minded escaping his notice, though. Better than his scorn or, worse, his interest.

“Let us begin,” Geta said, his excitement palpable as he rose to address the crowd. “We are all in for a real treat.”

You went to stand next to Queen Lucilla, sensing that her tension matched yours, even if she was perfectly poised and regal. She’d had many more years of experience hiding her true emotions, after all. You shared a small smile with her, both silently recognizing it as a moment of solidarity.

“Citizens of Rome!” Geta called out, his voice rising above the crowd. “Today, in honor of General Marcus Acacius' triumph in taking over Numidia, you will be witnessing no mere games!”

A heavy, metallic noise resounded throughout the arena as it seemed to shift, the ground underneath you shaking fiercely. But what you heard next made dread sink into your stomach like a heavy stone – rushing water. A flood’s worth of it. Soon enough, the arena was immersed and massive sharks were fed into it, menacingly circling about. At opposite sides, great iron gates groaned open to reveal two war vessels flying different colors – Roman and Barbarian.

And captaining one of them was a figure you recognized all too well, even at a great distance. You felt as if a fist were closing in around your throat, robbing you of breath. Instinctively, you stepped forward to try to get a better look, but Senator Gracchus put a hand on your back to stop you from going past the thrones. 

This seemed to anchor you back to the present, and you reminded yourself that the Lucius that you saw in the arena was not the tender one, but the fearsome warrior.

Let him live, you thought pleadingly, clutching the garland tighter. Oh, Gods, please let him live.

General Acacius waved at the crowd, muscles tensed even as he smiled, thanking them for the great honor. Emperor Caracalla, infected by the madness of bloodthirsty enthusiasm, jumped to his feet. 

“It is war!” he cried, smiling sadistically from ear to ear. “Real war!”

If it was even possible, the crowd roared louder, the cacophony railing against your eardrums. Queen Lucilla clenched her jaw, gripping the headrest of one of the thrones tightly. With a shaking hand, you accepted the wine Senator Gracchus offered you and clinked your glass against his.

The two vessels circled each other closely, quickly searching for any weaknesses and readying to strike. The Roman fleet was cocky, though, moving in without a shred of uncertainty. The Barbarian vessel narrowly missed their initial attack, but they came close enough that a few Roman fighters jumped onto their boat.

The loud clash of swords followed, a few bodies falling overboard, some still living. The waters bloomed crimson, the sharks going into a frenzy at the scent of blood. You spotted Lucius again in the chaos, driving his sword through the last invading Roman fighter and yelling out commands to his fellow gladiators. 

Both Emperors leaned over the edge of the balcony, shouting and jeering along with the rest of the Roman populace. General Acacius hovered near them, but he watched as somberly as the rest of you. The vessels came close again, but in a cunning move, Lucius made his rowers pull the oars at the last moment before impact. 

The oars of the Roman vessel tore into the side of the Barbarian one, tipping it sideways but effectively getting them both stuck together. Fighters from both sides clashed once more, desperation seeming to take place as both boats were threatening to capsize. 

Without noticing, you grasped Senator Gracchus’ arm as you waited for the outcome. He placed a hand over yours, watching just as raptly. Numbers dwindled quickly in favor of the Barbarian fighters, and you felt like you could almost sight in relief. But what happened next was so fast that you almost thought you’d imagined it.

Before anyone could actually be declared victor, an archer loosed an arrow that sailed towards the emperor’s box, landing between their thrones. Chaos ensued, the two of them crying in outrage and surprise. Immediately, General Acacius and the Praetorian guard moved to safely evacuate them. 

“Let’s go, all of you!” he commanded, voice booming.

Senator Gracchus ushered you and Queen Lucilla to follow as some guards encircled the three of you. You tried getting one last look at the arena but saw nothing more than the splintered masts of the vessels. Thankfully, Lucius was still alive, at least for the time being.

But just in case, you sent a prayer up to the Gods that nobody else noticed he was the one to shoot the arrow. 

—--------------

A small torch was your only source of illumination as you navigated through the streets of Rome to the prison where Lucius and his fellow gladiators were being kept. After relaying Lucius’ demand to see you, Queen Lucilla insisted on sending one of her guards with you. He marched at your side, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, ready for any possible assailants leaping forth from the dark. 

You hid your face under a hooded cloak and let your companion speak to the jail’s guard as you arrived at the iron gates. The jail was cavernous, damp, and cool, and oppressive in the darkness of night. You shuddered, unable to fathom being imprisoned in such a place, even for a day. Your heart ached for those who already were, ignorant of when – or if – they might be released.

He guided you to Lucius’ cell, opened the large, heavy padlock, and let you in. Both guards waited outside of the cell to give you some privacy, and you removed your hood so Lucius could see you. He stood up from his cot, a smile slowly breaking out on his handsome face.

You let him take you into his arms and kiss you, leaving you swaying on your feet. You pulled away just enough to look him over as if reassuring yourself he was alive and all in one piece. His smile didn’t falter under your assessment – in fact, it seemed like he was proud to have proved himself to you, keeping the promise he’d made at the bathhouse. 

“Today was… I don’t even have the words to describe it,” you said, hugging him close. “When I realized it would be no ordinary fight, I feared for you… I still do.”

He placed one of your palms on his chest, right over his heart. “You have nothing to fear. I’m here.”

You glanced over your shoulder to make sure the guards weren’t watching, then lowered your voice to a whisper.

“What you did at the end, it was beyond foolish,” you said, shaking your head slightly. “I made an offering to Fortuna for all the favor she bestowed on you today. I do not think anybody else realized, or else we would not be standing here.”

“Another reason to celebrate,” he said, not bothered in the slightest. “Perhaps it was even luckier that the arrow didn’t strike true.”

“You really meant to kill one of the Emperors?” 

He shook his head. “Not them. Acacius. But in reality, I wouldn’t have minded if either of them had fallen.”

“I suppose it was a good thing the rest of us were out of range,” you murmured, looking down.

“I would never harm you,” he said gravely, grasping your chin and making you look him in the eye. “Never.”

You were nearly floored by the sincerity in his gaze, but even more so by the passion you found there, as well. It went beyond lust, even. Nobody had ever looked at you in such a way. You leaned forward and kissed him gently, letting him know that you trusted him.

“I know, Lucius,” you said.

“Then, let us not concern ourselves with anything, or anyone, else for now,” he said. “Tomorrow, the sun will rise and Rome will still be Rome. In the meantime, there is only us.”

The echo of his words at the bathhouse made you smile softly. A part of you wanted to ask more questions about his wanting to kill Acacius, but there was a slight edge of finality to his tone. Regardless, it wasn’t like you wanted to waste what little time you had together lecturing him. 

You reached up to undo your cloak, intently holding his gaze, and let it fall on his cot. “Claim your prize, then, fierce warrior. I am all yours.”

With a glance outside, he extinguished the torch in his cell and closed the distance between you. His lips melded against yours desperately, tongue slipping into your mouth. With ease, he lifted you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.

He sat on the cot so you could straddle him, his hands wandering down your back and settling on your ass, giving it an appreciative squeeze. He groaned into your mouth, his chest rumbling against yours. He pulled your dress over your head as best as he could, leaving you in your thin shift. 

His hands traced the curves of your hips and waist, like a sculptor working clay into a masterpiece. He cupped your breasts, your nipples poking through the fabric, and you leaned back to give him access. He managed to pull the shift down to your midsection, revealing your chest. He trailed open-mouthed kisses on your sternum, moving lower. 

His tongue teasingly flicked one of your nipples, making you suck a breath through your teeth. He lavished them both with attention, the graze of his teeth and the pinch of his fingers igniting a fire within you. You continued trying to be as quiet as possible, even if he made it extremely difficult.

You reached between your bodies to palm his growing erection over his tunic. His hips bucked upward, seeking more of your touch. One of his hands cupped the back of your neck, leaning your forehead against his.

“How does it feel,” he rasped. “To be the only one who can disarm me so completely?”

You felt a heady, triumphant rush, nipping at his bottom lip. “I’ll keep the secret for you.”

He chuckled, surrendering to another fervent, dizzying kiss from you. You hiked up your shift as he lifted you slightly so he could free his cock from beneath his tunic. You spat on your hand and reached down to spread it on the sensitive head, moving to grip the base so you could line it up with the entrance of your cunt. You sank down slowly, your face so close to his you seemed to share breath. 

“Just like that,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips tightly. “I needed this more than you know…”

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, letting out a breathy moan, head tipping back in ecstasy. 

You felt like you were filled to the brim by him, clouding all your other senses. He slid in and out of you easily, your arousal dripping down his length and pooling on his sac. His mouth was on your chest again, your fingers weaving through his hair. 

“Oh, Lucius…” You sighed dreamily. 

He pulsed at the sound of his name on your lips. In order to prolong the pleasure for both of you, he rolled you onto your back on the cot, keeping himself sheathed inside of you. He pushed your legs back, driving your knees past your elbows, his weight pinning you down. 

His thrusts were deep and hard, but not fast, intent on letting you feel him in his entirety. Your face contorted with pleasure, the intensity of it all nearly too much for you to bear. He groaned your name with the intensity of a supplicant. His sac tightened as he felt you squeeze around him, knowing he wouldn’t last too long no matter how much he tried. 

“Say my name again,” he said, eyes blazing. “Say who you belong to.”

“Lucius,” you panted deliriously, tears gathering on your lashes. “Ah, Lucius!”

His thrusts picked up the pace, frenzied, the sound of flesh slapping together unmistakable. You cupped his face in your hands as you felt yourself coming apart under him, trembling. A cry threatened to escape you, but he covered your mouth with one hand, muffling it. 

He shushed you gently, but his breathing became ragged as he reached oblivion himself. You felt warmth flooding your cunt, his last thrusts shallow, fucking his spend deeper inside you and making sure no drop was wasted. He uncovered your mouth and kissed you as if in apology, both of you dazed and content.

He rolled over to lie very closely at your side, the cot barely big enough for the two of you. His strong arms enveloped you once more, making you feel safe perhaps for the first time in your life. There were still a few hours before sunrise – before Rome and everything else that came along with it became real again – so you could languish with him for a little while longer.

The last thing you wanted was to untangle yourself from him, anyway, instead nuzzling closer. Your fingers softly traced patterns on his forearm as you pondered what this might mean for the two of you.

“Do you… really intend to stake your claim on me?” You asked tentatively. “Outside of this?”

You deliberately avoided any specific labels, not foolish enough to presume anything. Things were still precarious and new, but you already felt bonded to him in a way you couldn’t truly explain, and a part of you had to believe he felt the same way.

“Of course,” he said, but seemed hesitant to say more.

You shifted onto your belly to look at him, his fingers now tracing up and down your spine lazily. 

“Are you certain?”

He nodded, sighing deeply. You’d already known there was a lot weighing on him that he did not speak about, and while you didn’t want to add to his burden, you needed to know this. If only to save yourself some pain.

“There are a great many things at stake right now, including my freedom,” he said, looking up at the ceiling pensively. “Much of what I still have to do is dangerous, and only the Gods know the outcome of it all. I intend to do everything in my power to protect you, in the meantime, and I cannot allow you to become a part of what must happen. I cannot risk losing you.”

You weighed his words for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “You are lucky, patience is a virtue I possess in great quantities.”

He looked back at you and kissed the tip of your nose affectionately. 

“I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep,” he said, lacing his fingers through yours. “And I can promise you that as soon as I walk a free man, the first one I will run to is you.”

-------

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ honesty is a virtue

type of post: short fic characters: lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, a little suggestive, actually a lot suggestive, this is based off a stupid joke I made, reader is older than nrc students etc

It had started as a joke.

IT WAS A JOKE!!!

How could you have known? You had had your suspicions, but it's not like anyone tells you these things.

You meant it as a JOKE!

"Yeah, well, I fucked your dad,"

Sebek looked absolutely horrified, as if you had just told him his pet puppy died. Silver was stuck in place, pale, staring at you. Malleus chuckled.

You look between the three, confused. "Relax, guys, I was kidding,"

Sebek's horror immediately twists into rage, his whole face going red. "HAVE YOU NO DECENCY? TO JOKE ABOUT SUCH VULGAR THINGS!!!"

"Sebek, it's alright," Malleus interrupts, smirking. Weird. Usually, he's the one who doesn't get your jokes. "They didn't know."

"Didn't know?" you ask. "Didn't know what?"

Malleus chuckles, and pats your head like one would a puppy, or a small child. "Some things are better left unsaid, child of man. You should know better than to make such comments around the younger students, though,"

"...Oh, right," you mutter. "Oops."

Sebek still looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel.

"...It's fine, I'm not offended. I was just... surprised, that's all," Silver says, the color slowly returning to his face.

You still can't seem to figure out what it is. You'd made crude jokes in front of them before, they're not that young, Lilia has said much worse, and you'd only been messing with them. Besides, you don't even know their dad.

Or so you thought.

"Knock knock~" a familiar, cheery voice calls out for you, opening your door.

You look up from your phone, trying to distract yourself from your earlier embarrassment.

"Oh... hey, Lilia,"

"Busy?" he asks, letting himself in, anyway.

"Uh... no. Not really. Is everything okay?"

The fae smiles, the tips of his fangs visible between his lips. He's got that look on him again.

"Malleus told me you caused quite the commotion, earlier,"

Oh, great. Now him, too? You're never gonna live this down. You sigh.

"I..." you hesitate. You really don't want to be scolded again, and you've heard that Lilia can be quite scary when he's mad.

"...We were all just... having a silly little argument, nothing serious, and I made a bad joke, I guess."

"Which waaaas?"

At least he doesn't seem upset, you think. If anything, he seems amused. Which isn't great, either.

You sigh again. "...I joked, in a jokey manner, in a joking conversation, that I had... done certain things with their father,"

"And is that true?"

"What?" you scoff, almost in disbelief. Is he really turning this into a lecture about lying? He never lectures you. "Obviously not! I was joking! People make those kinds of jokes all the time!"

"Ah, but how careless of you. Poor Sebek almost fainted," Lilia says, taking a seat on your bed next to you. He really is turning this into a lecture...

"Hm. But would you like it to be true?"

Pause.

Huh?

Even when he's scolding, he finds a way to surprise you. And yet... what if he's not scolding at all...?

You give him a weird look. "Meaning what?"

Lilia giggles, and you catch a glimmer in his eye. He's teasing. Not lecturing. Teasing. What is he...

"Remember how I told you that I'm much older than I look?"

Oh.

Oh, no.

Your stomach drops. Everyone's horrified looks, Malleus' amusement, Lilia's teasing, suddenly make sense.

"No,"

"Yes," Lilia lowers his eyes, getting closer. "I must say, I'm flattered. But it was rather cruel of you to lie to my boys. I'm simply suggesting we... make that lie a truth."

You stare at him, unflinching. Perhaps you'd always thought he was a little cute, perhaps you're just thinking it now. What you're sure of, though, is that you could hold this over everyone's heads forever. He knows it, too.

Finally, you nod.

Lilia sets a hand on your knee and leans a little closer. "Good. Honesty is a virtue, after all,"

[galactic-magick]

Cosmic Love: Viktor/Machine Herald x Reader

Summary: You try to resist your corrupted lover, but you ache too much for his touch that you can’t refuse any longer.

Words: 1.0k

Warnings: SMUT, overstimulation, no pronouns but reader has afab anatomy

Author's Notes: As promised, here is the galaxy quaking, star bursting, 5th dimensional, cosmic anomaly Viktor smut. Takes place between when Jayce tries to kill him and when he goes through the full Machine Herald transformation. Hope you enjoy.

-

He’s been calling to you.

You’ve been ignoring the echoes, ignoring the voices of those he controls. You told him you want no part of it, that you won’t stand by his side if he continues down this cultist path. But even still, he finds ways to continue begging you, sending his followers your way and speaking through them. He pleads for you to join him, to experience the higher awareness and power he has gained. But you must stay strong.

After several months, the cult followers completely lose their humanity, becoming lifeless white and gold husks akin to an army of mannequins. They all look the same, retaining no glimmer of individuality, only the great Machine Herald’s voice to be heard.

As expected, one of them attempts to gain your loyalty back once again, breaking into your house and talking as a mechanized version of the man you once loved.

“I give you one last chance to join me,” it says. “I want you by my side, my love.”

“Viktor...what you’re doing is wrong. You know I can’t do that.”

The form he possesses steps closer to you, metal fingers brushing your cheek. You shiver, but you don’t turn away. You’ve yearned for his touch again for so long, that even this form of him makes you question your answer. His fingers are placed so meticulously, gliding down your neck, your breasts, your hips. It’s so easy to imagine it’s Viktor’s face you’re gazing upon, covering up the blank slate that’s actually in front of you.

“If you won’t join me…” his voice rings clear in your ears. “Allow me to have you one last time.”

You squirm, begging every damn desire in your body to say “no” while the machine’s fingers drop ever closer to the space between your legs.

But you won’t say “no.” You want this as badly as he does, even if it means casting your better judgment aside.

“Please.” you moan.

He takes action at your consent instantly, picking you up like you weigh nothing and dropping you on the bed.

“Soon, love, I will show you all I’ve discovered,” his voice gives you chills while the white figure pulls off your pants and underwear. “But I must start with what you already know, mm?”

You nod and close your eyes, sighing heavily as two fingers tease your clit and slowly enter you. He curls them, pulsing them in and out, his thumb circling your nerves. He does it exactly like he used to, having memorized your body in such detail that he can unravel you through this other vessel. The touches are so like him, you almost forget he’s not really here with you.

You lose yourself to him like clockwork, humming as the machine’s hands crawl up to your face.

“Shall I show you what I see now, dear?”

His fingertips glow against your forehead, and you feel a shock through your system. You suddenly feel weightless, like your cognizance is no longer tied to a physical form. You see beautiful stars and nebula surrounding you, the city you came from now looking so small.

Then you see Viktor, ethereal with his hair aglow. His face is just as it used to be, his body free of worldly constraints. He takes your face in his hands again, something electric pulsing through them.

“You must understand, love,” he says. “This is my destiny. But I would hate to have to accomplish it alone.”

He caresses your form, every stroke and squeeze feeling like another orgasm. Whatever higher being or dimension your consciousness is in now, it’s too much for your physical body to process back home. It isn’t painful, per se, but it is incredibly overstimulating—eliciting more intimate sounds from your mouth.

Your fingers grasp onto his iridescent locks, screaming in ecstasy as Viktor continues to give you sensations you never thought possible. He makes love to you among the stars, your mind filling with the visions of an astral plane and glorious evolution beyond your comprehension. He wordlessly shares his dreams and desires with you and for you—a life of healing, immortality, and ascension. Stars burst around you, and your physical body has likely gone numb, with your current form not far behind.

“Viktor...it’s too much,” you cry out.

The sensations slow down, fading out of your body as you regain your ability to think again.

“This place does have quite the effect on the mind,” Viktor explains, pulling you close to him. “The longer you stay, the less overwhelming it becomes.”

“What is it doing to me?” you ask breathlessly, falling nearly limp in his arms.

“The feeble human psyche cannot grasp the transformation that must take place, and the body suffers from such extremes,” he kisses you softly, “If you are to join me, you must find me, and together we will complete the process.”

You stare into his heavenly eyes, your thumbs tracing his cheekbones, “How do I find you?”

“The Noxian has been keeping my physical body alive. You must go to her.”

“Viktor…” you exhale, his face leaning into your palm and kissing it. “I want to stay with you. I do. I just...all of this is so far beyond what I can understand…”

“I know, darling. I know,” he reassures you, running a hand over your hair, now golden just like his.

“Something just feels so wrong,” you admit. “I don’t want us to do things we’ll regret.”

He shakes his head, “Trust me, love. This is our destiny.”

Ignoring the shrieks of your conscience, you wrap your form around him, inhaling his lips desperately as you both plunge through layers of galaxies. Every nerve in your body is blaring with pleasure, chasing the high you had moments ago. It’s addictive—the sensations experienced as a cosmic power—and you realize now how Viktor could get so consumed by it. Your bodies aren’t limited to any constraints, intertwined and becoming one in every way. You feel him everywhere, his mind and matter melded with yours.

Indescribable pleasure washes over both of you in constant, unstopping waves. You feel his every thought, the need to speak quickly diminishing.

But you still yearn to hear his voice.

“Viktor?”

“Yes, darling?” his hands never leave you, again pulling you into his magnetic essence.

“I’m going to come find you.”

A smirk pulls at his lips, his voice going low.

“I look forward to it.”

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 7

Previous parts may be found here.

Johnny finds a new purpose. CW: domestic violence.

-

((A video begins, shaky. It focuses on you, sitting at the dining table in your old apartment, your head in your hands. Tears have dripped onto the wood in front of you. As the camera approaches, you give a great sniff and lean back in your seat, tearful eyes meeting the lens. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice warbling. 

“Filming in case you get violent,” your boyfriend says. He turns the camera around to front facing, showing where he sports a swollen lower lip, tugging it outward to show where his teeth had cut into soft flesh. “See what you did to me? Now can we talk like two civil adults or are you going to hit me again?” 

“Get the camera out of my face,” you grit out through your teeth.

The camera comes closer. “You’re getting worked up. I can tell. Try taking some deep breaths.” 

“I said get it out of my face!” you shout. 

“There’s no talking to you when you’re like this. Why don’t you just hit me again? I know you want to,” he says. 

The camera comes closer, closer, close enough to tap teasingly against your temple. The video goes chaotic as the phone is knocked from his hands to the floor, clattering loudly against the tile. Socked feet come into the frame and the phone is picked up, turned back on you. Your head is in your hands again, but no more tears are falling on the table. 

He gives a quiet laugh—but that can be edited out.

The video ends.))

-

Johnny finds a new pastime: planning murder. 

He paces the walkable space in the apartment. The sound must drive the people below them crazy: tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump, but there are never any complaints. If there were, Simon would handle them with all the grace he had left (which is to say none). When Johnny refuses to leave the apartment, he dresses warm because Simon keeps the AC up: long pants he can pull up himself (buttoning jeans is on his List of things to relearn), soft long-sleeved shirts. They put a safety pin through the sleeve without any arm to fill it because Johnny hates for it to be flapping in the breeze when he really gets walking. Like he is now. 

“The camera’s a problem,” he says, accent rough. It’s the first time he’s spoken to Simon all morning. The two are still on the outs with each other—that is to say that Johnny is giving him the coldest shoulder, refusing his help for as many tasks as possible, and scowling darkly whenever he can’t. 

Johnny points to the corner of the room at Simon’s blank expression. “One camera, northeastern end of the hallway. There’s another in the elevator, but it only faces inward. I’m no’ worried about it.” 

Simon realizes belatedly what Johnny is getting at. 

“Drop it, Johnny.” 

“I’m just saying.” 

“Say less. Or nothing.” 

Johnny mutters something foul under his breath that Simon pretends not to have heard. He pretends that he is an empty vessel, no heart left to hurt. Before Johnny, he’d nearly believed that to be true. Now he just wishes it were. 

After a lengthy silence that Johnny spends staring at the wall which separates his apartment from yours, he asks: “Do yeh think the cameras work or they’re only there fer show?” 

Simon lets out all his breath through his nose and refuses to dignify that with a response. He wants to leave. He wants to disappear downstairs for a cigarette, for something to do with his hands and something to calm his jittering nerves. While he used to fear that Johnny would kill himself if left alone, Simon has a new fear: that Johnny will kill someone else if he is left alone. How fucking fucked up can things get before Simon’s vessel breaks? 

He opens a text to you, debates with himself and loses. Thirty minutes? he asks.

To Johnny, he’s ashamed to say that he says: “You’re due for your pills.” 

“Aye. Then give them to me.” 

He dishes out two of the little green ovals, the one that usually knock Johnny flat on his arse for three or four hours at a time. Simon isn’t sure if you’ll answer his text, but he plans to try to rest either way, even if he has to pin Johnny’s body to the bed with his own to do it with any sort of peace. 

To Simon’s relief, you message back just as Johnny’s eyes are drooping. His gait becomes affected by the drugs in his system, ataxic and stumbling, and when Simon goes and takes the crutch from him, tucks Johnny’s arm over his shoulder, the smaller man lets him. 

“Still angry at you,” mutters Johnny as Simon lays him down in bed and covers him with a blanket. He looks relaxed the way only Oxy can make him, limbs heavy with cotton. His eyes close almost right away, soft snores filling the air, but Simon sits on the side of the bed for several more minutes just watching him. Missing him—missing the old him. The one with two arms. Hating himself for feeling that way. 

“I’m begging you Johnny,” he whispers to the quiet snoring man, his mouth barely moving. “I’m begging you to leave this idea alone. Because if you’re committed to it, then I’m going to have to help you. Because I can’t let them take you somewhere ever again where I can’t follow you. Don’t make me a killer again. Please.”

There’s a quiet knock at the door. Simon thumbs at his eyes just to be safe and lets you in. 

You’re dressed from the diner, sweat on your forehead from your walk to the apartment. It’s the first time you two have seen each other since that terrible day that Johnny chose to sit next to your piece of shit boyfriend at the bar. Without the other man there, there is more life in your cautious eyes as you glance toward the bedroom in silent question. 

“Asleep,” Simon affirms. 

“You should go join him,” you whisper. “You look tired.” 

“I just might. If that’s alright.” 

You nod your head. Simon’s heart clenches with the strangest sensation for you, one he hasn’t felt for anyone save Johnny: fondness. If he thinks too long about why you’re here—just repaying a debt that doesn’t truly exist—he’ll talk himself out of the rest he needs. Let him talk himself out of it another day, after a little sleep. 

“Thank you,” he says, voice rougher than he would like it to be. 

He goes and curls up on the bed beside Johnny, quietly closing the bedroom door behind him, and falls asleep before his head hits the pillow. 

And when he wakes, nearly two hours have passed. You’re standing at the foot of their bed like a child coming to wake their parents in the night, and it nearly startles a sound out of him. Heart pounding, he sits up, sleep vanishing from his system. Your hands are anxious, wringing together in front of you as you rush out of the bedroom once you know he’s awake. He gives Johnny a cursory glance—still snoring—and follows you. 

“I let you sleep as long as I could, but I really need to leave now,” you whisper. 

“You should have woken me,” Simon says. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.” 

“I won’t,” you answer mindlessly, already working your apartment key from your pocket.

“Don’t lie to me,” says Simon, stern but soft. 

The two of you stare at each other. 

“Okay,” you say at length. “I won’t.” 

A lie if Simon’s ever heard one. 

-

That night when your boyfriend is asleep,  you go back to your drawer. For a moment, you can’t find the lighter. A part of you is convinced that it will be gone, that he will have found it and moved it and be biding his time to bring it up to you, and just when you are nearly convinced to give up, your hand encloses around the hard piece of metal and plastic and you pull it free. You carry it into the bathroom just to flick the pinwheel once, watching the fire burst into life. In the little orange flame, you’re convinced that you see Johnny and Simon, their figures curled around each other on their bed in the darkness where you had stood like an intruder waiting to make yourself known. Your heart aches with a throbbing you can’t understand. You let the flame die and smuggle the lighter back into the drawer. 

-

Johnny thinks about everything. 

The cameras: who he plans to talk to to find out if they’re real and if so where the footage is being held. The entry points: the front door which you rarely leave unlocked, and the balcony doors which he is already considering how to get to. The method: simplicity is best, something which looks like a terrible, untimely accident. A slip and a fall, a head injury beyond repair, a broken neck. Nothing traceable, no weapons. The alibi: Simon. 

Simon would vouch for him, Johnny knows. Even if they aren’t on good terms (and just thinking of the other man makes Johnny’s blood boil), Johnny still loves him, and Johnny knows that Simon loves him back. Simon would die for him. Nearly has, many times. Time doesn’t change something like that, except to make it stronger. 

Johnny barely notices it, but as the days pass, he grows stronger too. The walking comes a little easier. Sometimes he manages inside the apartment without the crutch, his knee a dormant throb as he grips onto the nearest surface when his balance goes wonky. 

With the good comes the bad. There’s a little less pain, yes, but also less pain pills in the bottle and even fewer doctors willing to prescribe them to him. They want to know what else Johnny is trying to lessen his pain; how’s therapy going, has he tried icing and elevating his knee, does he use Tylenol? None of them understand what it’s like to function at his level of pain every day. He counts the pills left in the bottle and dreads the day they run out. 

The nightmares get worse, too. He starts digging through the snow every night looking for his arm and uncovering bodies instead: the men who had died on the helicopter, sometimes Simon, sometimes you. He takes his Keppra every day and has no more seizures, but the medicine makes him feel restless in his own skin, like he’s in a cocoon, like he’s transforming into something. Something else. 

Maybe it’s just in his head. Maybe there’s just something in the air. 

Saturday is coming, after all. 

-

Thursday, Johnny’s anger wavers. He moves quieter now without the crutch, and it gives him the stealth to sneak up on Simon for the first time since his accident. He catches his lover with his head in his hands at the kitchen table, fingers buried in his short blond hair, the picture of exhausted defeat. Johnny must make some sound, his socks brushing against the linoleum, because then Simon’s head snaps up, face morphing into a neutral expression. But there’s no hiding the shadows beneath his eyes. There’s no hiding the way the frown lines on either side of his mouth look more at home than ever. 

The craving for him rises up in Johnny so keenly that it’s almost a pain. He doesn’t fight it, just hobbles quietly across the kitchen to stand at Simon’s side and let Simon lean his head against Johnny’s belly. Johnny runs his fingers through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, thinking about how foreign it feels to be doing this with the wrong hand. With the Weak Hand. 

“Yer a stubborn bastard,” Johnny whispers. 

“Talking to yourself in the mirror again, Johnny?” 

Before Johnny can answer, there comes the sound of rising voices from the hallway. Your voice is easily recognizable—and angry. The two meet eyes briefly and then both are dashing (as well as Johnny can dash) to the front door, holding their breath to better hear the argument taking place just beyond their door. 

“—don’t like it, then you can go back to the shelter.” 

A door slams shut. Johnny flinches at the sound. 

Your hand pounds against the wood. “Let me in you fucking cunt!” you shout. “I pay for this shithole, you let me in or I swear to God—”

It’s rare for them to be so in sync these days, but as Johnny reaches for the latch lock, Simon reaches for the deadbolt. Their fingers brush against the knob as they twist the door open in perfect harmony, Ghost and Soap, both on your six. 

You freeze, fist raised to beat savagely against the door again. Your face is swollen from tears, cheeks wet, hair disheveled. Your knuckles are peeling. Wiping your face dry of tears, you can say nothing—no excuse, no explanation for your actions. You lamely point at the door. 

“He…he’s locked me out.” 

Simon silently nudges their door open wider just a hair, a silent offer. 

You take it. 

-

It’s the first time you’ve ever been inside their apartment when Johnny is awake. Johnny doesn’t have his arm crutch as he guides you to the kitchen table and pulls out a chair for you, and it’s strange to see him without it. 

“Would yeh make tea?” Johnny asks Simon. 

Simon gets to work without comment, filling the kettle and pulling cups from the cabinet. You remember the taste of tea from the last time Simon offered you some: bitter without any sugar, but so warm in your belly. Soothing. Your stomach growls. You press your fist against it and hope to silence any further noises. 

“Does that happen often?” Johnny asks, exuding an eerie calmness as he takes the seat across from you. “Him locking yeh out, I mean.”

You shrug a shoulder miserably. It happens more often than you’d admit even under duress. He knows you have limited options when you’re locked out of the apartment, with no friends to go to and no family nearby. There are shelters, but they are terrible places where terrible things happen to needful people. You won’t go there anymore. Not ever again. 

You know what he really wants: for you to beg to be allowed back in. And eventually you will. You always do. Just…not yet. 

“You can stay here for as long as you need to,” says Simon, setting a teacup in front of you. You had disappeared into your own head for a moment—for a handful of minutes—and you could feel their eyes on you. Judging you. 

Except when you meet the clear blue gaze of Johnny, there’s no hint of judgement in them. He looks like he’s trying to see through you to the chair at your back. When he catches you looking, he forces a smile, something soft and kind and maybe not truthful. 

Were you an idiot to be alone in this apartment with two strange men? You felt that they were good people, but your instincts were broken. They had misled you before.

“He makes me out to look like I’m crazy,” you whisper, speech pressured, hands wringing in your lap. “But I’m not crazy. I swear. I’m not—“

“We believe you,” Simon says simply. 

And you believe him. The relief is almost enough to make you cry fresh tears, but you blink them away, on the verge of a splitting headache already from all the tears you had cried. 

“How’s giving up smoking going?” you ask to change the subject. You burn your tongue on your tea again, but it feels good to fill up your belly like this, so you drain the cup. 

“Fantastically,” says Johnny with a grin. “Lost my lighter.” 

Your face burns with warmth. 

“Bad luck,” you offer. 

Johnny’s grin widens. He hums. 

Simon stays silent, one hand coming to rest against Johnny’s knee beneath the table, if the slope of his arm tells you anything. It makes you want to dash your mug to the floor, it hurts so much. You want something like it so bad. 

“I’m going to take a walk around the block I think,” you say, standing. A piece of you feels left behind in the chair, broken into bits. “Cool off a bit. Thank you for the tea.” 

“It’s just tea,” Simon reminds you, also standing. He goes to the table by the door and you hear the rustling of keys. When he returns, he has a silver one in the palm of his hand. “Take this. If you ever get locked out again—come over here. We’re probably home, but if we aren’t, just let yourself in.”

“I couldn’t,” you say, eyes wide. 

“You can.” He puts the key in your hand firmly. “You will. Understand?” 

You swallow the knot in your throat and nod your head, reluctant but grateful. 

You slip out the front door, the key burning a hole in your pocket. 

Once the door has shut behind you, Johnny stands from the table, chair legs screeching against the linoleum. He goes to Simon and wraps his arms around him. The two embrace for the first time in days. 

“Yer a good man, Simon Riley.” 

Simon sighs softly and lets his head rest against the crown of Johnny’s own. First a coward, then a bastard, now a good man. What a metamorphosis. 

He’s afraid of who he might turn out to be next. 

[yubellia]

Tales of a traveling Creator…. „Am I an author now?…“

Imagine that we, the creator, finally made it back home. Back home to Teyvat that is. „Because this is where you belong, your grace!~“…. Yeah… great.

Actually, life is pretty sweet. Sure, there are certain things we don‘t have in Teyvat but… we can look past that. Mostly.

The characters don‘t know that for us, all of this was a game. Literally a video game. And there were many others too.

Now imagine how it must feel to never see your favorite show or cartoon again. How it feels to never play your favorite games again. (Especially if you know that a series would get a new game or season soon…. Gosh the horror!)

One day, you notice how your memories of these things start to fade. You forget the name of a character. Small things. But it’s scary enough to make you do something. You do the next best thing.

„Somebody bring me empty notebooks and writing tools! Hurry!“ Your always loyal followers almost run over each other to get what you requested.

And so starts the time period of none stop writing. Really. You carry notebooks everywhere. You start to write down the plot of your favorite games, shows, movies. You name it.

Until one day, because it had to happen, someone asked you where this enthusiasm came from. You and some of the other archons were having tea and snacks in inazuma. Ei insisted that you had to come for a visit again. Zhongli, your loyal shield („shield for what?“ „better be safe than sorry.“), Nahida was there too. Naturally considering that she is pretty much your daughter. Ei brought Miko with her and that’s when it happened.

„Your grace? I heard you always carry these notebooks around these days. Would you be willing to share your thoughts with us? Hm?~“

Zhongli gave Miko a slightly stern look but you shook it off. „sure. Why not. You see, i noticed that i started to forget certain things. Books I read in the other world.“ (you had to think on how to put this.) „stage plays I saw, songs and the adventures I had in…. Other worlds.“ „you visited other worlds too? Like the traveler?“ „yes. I did. Just like with the traveler or you guys, I used…. ‚Vessels‘ and guided them through their adventures. And i started writing things down so that I won‘t forget.“ You showed them a picture. „I even used my powers to create images of the characters.“

Miko‘s ears started to twitch. „Oh my…. Would you mind if… I took a look at that?“

„Sure…. But wait. Not this one. Here. This story is finished.“

You take another notebook from your pocket and hand it over. Miko promises to take very good care of it and the others look on in jealousy.

That was a few weeks ago. You continued. You did everything you could. Even create pages with character sheets and detailed descriptions.

One day, there is a long line in front of a book store. You could hear the owner talk about the newest story.

„Witness the the tale of a chosen hero in a distant world! A fight between good and evil. An innocent child chosen by destiny and the gods! One of their graces many vessels in another realm. This is The legend of Zelda. Ocarina of Time.“

For a moment, you just stood there with your mouth slightly open… „Miko…. Why? Zhongli can you believe it?….. Zhongli?“

You didn’t get an answer because instead of next to you, Zhongli was waiting in line for a copy of the book…..

„Oh hello your grace! The people of Inazuma and Teyvat as a whole love the adventure of the young hero and the princess…. When I read it, I just new it would be a hit.“

You didn’t have it in you to be surprised when Miko showed up. Oh and Zhongli returned with a copy of the book soon after that.

„So… I am an author now?“

„Well, it would be a shame to keep you loyal readers hanging no? Also, I heard some people discuss the criteria for becoming someone worthy of your guidance.“

„Well fortunately Link and Zelda have enough adventures. And i visited enough worlds…..“

Once Zhongli is next to you again, you grab his sleeve and pull him away before others see you.

(Heaven forbid I tell them about Kingdom hearts. The legend of Zelda has enough lore to keep them busy.)

[mxrcusflint]

secret quiet relationship hangster our beloved

The Pacific never got old. Never could. The first time Jake saw the ocean was at the mouth of San Diego on a kayak behind his older sister. He was ten and hypnotized by the way light reflected off the surface of the water, how everything looked like molten metal. 

The front door was still sticky at the hinges, opening with a creak as Jake crept in. He avoided tripping on the skewed doormat. He should place the haphazardly thrown boots into a neater line below the bench, but it was late, and the shot of whiskey to round off the night had seeped into his bloodstream. 

He took great care to close the bathroom door quietly when he was done brushing his teeth, throwing his uniform into the hamper, but Bradley had always been a light sleeper.

“Took you long enough.”

Rooster earned his reputation by getting up at the ass-crack of dawn and making it everyone’s problem. Why he never bothered with ear plugs was a mystery, but Jake liked how Bradley usually awakened when he slid into bed.

Jake approached the edge of the bed. “When’d you leave?”

“‘Round ten,” Bradley grunted, as he brought himself closer. 

That was how Bradley worked at a party: a flash-bang firework which left everyone on a high. He would tug in a crowd with a loping smirk and perform an Irish-exit once he grew satisfied with the attention and the fun. 

“Should I be concerned about your welcome?” Jake chuckled. “Did I make you mad somewhere, sweetheart?”

Bradley didn’t protest. He held a grudge when it befit him, and Jake had dangled a challenge in front of his nose, fully expecting the worst. Whatever it was stewing in Bradley’s brain would come out in bits and pieces, but Rooster seemed more than happy to place his forehead against the rise and fall of Jake’s stomach.

“Slow Ride was not appreciated.” Bradley’s voice was muffled. The movement of his mouth tickled. 

“Not my fault you’re a pillow princess.”

Bradley smacked his ass. 

“Gonna throw my back out because of you one day,” Jake continued, though he betrayed himself by combing his fingers through Bradley’s mess of hair. He’d showered before flopping into bed, it seemed; Jake felt the damp cling to his fingers. 

He placed his chin into Jake’s open palm and peered up with heavy-lidded eyes. Bradshaw and his Pacific sunshine – easier on the eyes than Texas sun overhead at noon, and hot where his arms wrapped around Jake's hips. He liked to sulk until Jake gave him what he wanted: a warm body to curl around, something solid between the sheets. 

“You knock out now, you’ll be up at three.”

“I’ll wake you up, too,” Bradley finally leaned back against the faded blue and white bedspread. He was already half-asleep. “You can amuse me.”

The fine faded lines of Bradley’s scars webbed over his cheek and down the strong line of his neck. The raised skin was easy to trace. Jake thought about what lay underneath often: sinew, blood vessels, and a mandible which worked itself tired whenever Jake forgot to return his calls. 

“Don’t you dare,” Jake dropped heavily onto Bradley’s stomach, earning a quiet huff from the man below. “I need my beauty sleep.”

“Plenty pretty enough.” Bradley’s stupid smooth charm caused Jake’s stomach to swoop in familiar thrill. He wished, sometimes, that he could hold onto the feeling. It was akin to doing loop-de-loops in the sky, of pointing the nose of the jet low and diving down. 

It always felt like a thing that could slip out of his fingers.

“Brought a change of clothes over for you,” Bradley mumbled; he placed a possessive palm over Jake’s hip, with a grip in the slippery material of his shorts. “So you don’t have to go home before we gotta be there.” 

Bradley had probably grabbed mismatched socks, but it was the thought that counted. He would gladly take the gesture if it awarded Jake a few more minutes of sleep.

Rooster ran hot even under the full blast of the air-conditioning. Jake unwrapped a greedy arm from his waist. “You ready for it?”

“Mhm,” Bradley fumbled for his pillow; his words were slow and slurred. “‘specially with you around.”

There would be no peace found in the next few weeks. He’d done this long enough: to be summoned back with the best of the best meant consequences. A success for him to chase with trade-offs. Jake sucked in a breath and watched the smooth blanket of sleep spread over Bradley’s face.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Eleven — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader receives a much-needed pep talk in Velaris and gets thinking. Azriel receives a lecture in Windhaven by a frustrated Rhysand. Reader is surprised by an unexpected visitor to the City of Starlight.

Word count:

Warnings: A little bit of smut, 18+, minors dni.

Velaris feels like an entire world away from Windhaven.

You’ve been here only once before, when, as mischievous fourteen-year-olds, Rhysand had brought you. The High Lord had been in another court on business, which had seemed like the perfect time for Rhys to show you his other home. Only, his father had returned early, and had thundered — hard enough to shake the mountains — about strangers entering the shielded city without formal invitation. Not you, nor Cassian, nor Azriel, had been back since.

And that lingering encounter was why, when Roza brought you here three days earlier, you’d been nervous about coming face-to-face with the High Lord yet again.

But the handsome, roguish male had merely given you a long, slow perusal, and then smiled a charming smile — about the only thing Rhys seems to have inherited from him — and welcomed you to his home for as long as you do so please.

It’s tranquil, there’s no doubt about that. Light and airy and so beautiful that you can forget, for a time, that there’s a world outside the City of Starlight. You’ve spent the last three days at Roza’s side, exploring the city and helping her run light errands, and attending to her at the end of the day when the pregnancy tires her out.

The High Lord — Finadar, or Fin, as you’ve learned most people call him — does no such thing. He does not visit his pregnant mate after long, tiring days. Does not summon her.

Despite the growing new arrival in her belly, there’s a distinct lack of love between the two of them that surprises you, perhaps more than anything else.

But tonight, with Roza joining him for a public appearance, you’re left alone with your thoughts for the first time in three days. And you’re desperate to do anything to fight them off.

You wander the long, spacious halls of the High Lord’s opulent home, warm, despite the brutal mountain range that stands guard around it. This is a level of luxury you were never built for, and don’t quite know what to do with. You read from Roza’s broad selection of literature, and gorge on sweets in the kitchen, and slide along the polished floors on your socks, because why the fuck not.

It’s better than thinking. Anything is better than thinking.

But as the night wears on and the silence gets too loud, it’s hard to keep deeper thoughts at bay. Your heart aches relentlessly over the broken shards of your loving friendship group that you don’t know how to glue back together. Your mind swoons longingly over old memories, old smiles. You’re a hollow vessel of complications, and regrets, and excruciating love—

“I heard you were here.” A trilling voice echoes from the far end of the hall you’re traversing.

You turn, and you think you might choke out a strangled noise of relief at the sight of shimmering, golden curls and warm, brown eyes, huge like a doe’s.

Mor looks far better than the last time you saw her, that’s for sure. She’s always radiant, no matter what she has going on, but the sun-kissed glimmer has returned to her skin, and the gaunt fragility from her hardships has been snuffed out by delicious, enviable curves.

You’re in front of her in what feels like a few great strides, and she’s cupping your face in her hands and kissing both of your cheeks.

“I’ve missed you.” You breathe, realising, in that moment, just how much you have. She doesn’t spend as much time in Windhaven as she used to, and gods, the absence of a sincere female friend is a weighty one.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Concern fills her eyes as she studies you.

“Rhys, Az and Cass aren’t here. It’s just me—”

“I know.” She links her arm through yours. “And let’s be glad of it. I’ve had enough of males to last me a damn eternity.” She’s barely taken a few steps forward before she’s stopping and studying you again. “Roza tells me you’re having a hard time.”

Just like that, you feel yourself begin to crumble. There’s something about the concern of others that utterly obliterates the walls you try to craft around yourself.

And at the first glimpse of tears filling your eyes, Mor is tugging you along again.

“Come.” She says. “I know where the High Lord keeps his stash of booze.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“You don’t ever come to Windhaven anymore. Why is that?”

There’s the slightest tensing in the set of Mor’s shoulders as she returns the stopper to a decanter containing dark amber liquid. She turns, handing you a glass.

“I figured you knew.” She says. “My father is being strict about me not spending time there.”

On some level, you think you did know. It’s not hard to figure it out.

For a time, Mor was a pretty frequent member of your friendship group, visiting as often as she could — until a few years ago, when a fight broke out between Cassian and Rhys, and then Mor just stopped coming around. The matter was swept under the rug and not mentioned again. But with her father being so strict—

“Ah.” You murmur, the pieces clicking into place. “Cass, huh?”

Mor snorts softly. “Yes. Cass.” She shakes her head fondly. “Before you ask, no, I don’t have feelings for him. Not like that. It was just…a choice I made for myself. And I’ve never regretted it, even if my father is determined to make my life hell because of it. But I didn’t come here to talk about me.” Her eyes rake over you. “Tell me everything.”

So, you do. The words come spilling out of you in a flurry of shame and heartache. You tell her every damn detail and spare none. And when you’re finally done, you take a breath and wonder — not for the first time — how the fuck you’ve managed to create this situation for yourself.

Mor frowns at you. “I—” She seems genuinely speechless. “Cauldron, I thought my situation was complicated.”

You shake your head. “I’ve made such a mess of things, Mor.”

“Why haven’t you told Azriel how you feel?”

“I wanted to. Gods, I planned to. But I supposed walking in on him and Kaeda made me realise that there’s no point.”

“First of all, that’s bullshit.” She takes a seat opposite you. “Love is one of very few things that there is always a point to. Your self-loathing my try to convince you otherwise, but it’s always better to be honest and face whatever outcome than suffer in silence and wonder what would have been.”

You open your mouth, but she’s holding up a hand.

“Secondly, I don’t like the sound of this Kaeda one bit. I know almost nothing about Fenlaros, but what I do know is that she must have some sort of backing — not just that of her Camp Lord father — that gives her the ability to flounce in and out of a rival camp at her leisure without a single consequence. And that tells me she’s up to something. And that makes me nervous that it’s Azriel, of all people, that she’s attached herself to. Not that Az isn’t a total catch — of course, he is. But he’s also a very, very rare gift who always has sights set on him. I’d wager that that plays into Kaeda’s interest somewhere.”

You fall still in your seat, staring back at her.

You feel damn stupid for not seeing what she’s laid out before you with such clarity.

“You…don’t believe Kaeda’s interest in Az is genuine?” You ask. “I wondered why she was hanging around Windhaven, but I didn’t think…”

“I think she has ulterior motives.” Mor shrugs. “And if Az is in a blinding haze of lust — or even love — it’s not something he’s going to see for himself. He’ll need proof.”

“How could I possibly give him proof of something I’m not even certain about myself?”

“Perhaps you should play Kaeda at her own game. Do some sniffing around her and see what you find out. You’d only be looking out for Az, after all.”

Would you, though? You can’t deny that your feelings, your jealousy, would play a part. You should want, for Azriel’s sake, Kaeda to be genuine, whether your heart would get broken or not. But what you truly want is to show Az that—

That you’re better for him than she ever would be.

You want nothing more from or for him, than to make him happy.

You drag your lower lip between your teeth in thought. “What if it blew up in my face, though? I could just…end up making Az even more mad at me than he already is.”

“Which brings me to my third point. Why are you allowing Az to act like you’ve done anything wrong?”

“I slept with Cassian…”

“Welcome to the club. Tell me, Y/N. are you tied down to anyone?”

“Well, no—”

“Did you and Az agree to only have sexual relations with each other?”

“No—”

“Have you ever sworn off exploring such things with your other friends?”

“No, Mor.”

“Then Azriel has no right to be freezing you out the way he is. Is it messy? Yes. Have you created some tricky drama for yourself? Also yes. But he’s a damn hypocrite if he’s chastising you in one breath and jumping into bed with Kaeda in another.”

“That’s the thing, though.” Your gaze lowers to the table. “He says he hasn’t done anything with Kaeda, and I don’t think he would lie about that. I think…had I slept with anyone outside of our circle, perhaps he wouldn’t have cared. But it being Cassian is just…a bit too close to home for him. Especially given that Az and I were doing things, too.”

The gorgeous blonde rolls her eyes. “So, it’s an ego thing. Give me a break. If he didn’t want you to sleep with anybody else, he should have communicated that. You both should have communicated better.” A soft sigh leaves her. “Listen…Az will sulk for a little while, because that’s just what males do. He clearly has things he needs to work through, and when he has, you should talk. But in the meantime, perhaps you should try to find some more out about Kaeda and her intentions — for no other reason than that Azriel is your closest friend and you’re looking out for him. Perhaps being in Velaris is a blessing in disguise — I’m sure the High Lord could tell you a thing or two about the Fenlaros lot, if you ask nicely.”

So wise, so brilliant, is Mor. A female with such a good head on her shoulders, despite an environment that tries to wreck her.

She just…rationalises things, in a way that you’re not able to. And you hadn’t even considered talking to the High Lord.

You take a slow, pensive draw from your glass as you think on it. And then you’re deciding, “Perhaps I will speak with the High Lord. There’s nothing wrong with showing an interest in a rival camp, after all.”

“No.” Mor flashes a feral grin. “There is not.”

Perhaps it’s selfish, something felt at Azriel’s expense — but setting yourself a little task like this is precisely what you need.

You’ve wondered for a while what the hell Kaeda is doing in Windhaven. You’re determined to find out, one way or another.

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Rhysand is balls deep and utterly lost in the male beneath him.

The noises that fill the room are sinful.

Midnight-kissed moans and panting as breathy and ethereal as a winter-chilled breeze.

This has been a long time coming, and Rhys is just so glad, in that moment, that he finally gets to be inside Zakai, that he thrusts deep and captures him in a full kiss. Zakai growls and grabs his ass, encouraging those thrusts.

Honestly? Rhys fucking needs this pleasure. Never did he think he’d actually be glad to get away to his room at the dormitories, but he needs a godsdamned break. Cassian’s sulking at the cottage has become unbearable since Roza swept Y/N off to Velaris.

If Cass and Az don’t sort their shit out soon, Rhys might just launch them off the peak of the nearest mountain.

Of course, they’d probably fight each other suspended in thin air, instead.

But he banishes those thoughts and gives himself entirely to Zakai, reaching down to fist at the pretty male’s cock. Neither of them will last long. This sex has been too highly anticipated, and it feels too good, and—

And the door is practically kicked in behind them. Azriel strides in as if it’s his fucking room.

“Get out, Az.” Rhys snarls, not faltering.

Az does not, in fact, get out. “Is it true Roza has taken Y/N to Ve—”

“For fuck’s sake.” He pulls out of Zakai with complete reluctance, grabbing clothes to cover them both. Zakai exhales a long sigh and tips his head back.

“Well?” Az demands. “Is it true?”

Rhys yanks some undershorts on. “Three days ago. You’d have found out sooner if you’d just quit your sulking and talk to us.”

“Why has she gone there?”

Zakai clears his throat, awkwardly shucking his clothes on. “Perhaps I should go…”

“No.” Rhys says.

But Az counters it with a dismissive, “Yes.”

The poor male stares between the two of them, and while he may have just been lying beneath the future High Lord, he doesn’t feel like getting in the way of a temperamental shadowsinger.

Rhys releases a yielding breath and grits his teeth. “Fine. I’ll catch up with you later, Zak.”

That’s all it takes for his pretty lover to leave, sex now a distant memory. Azriel shuts the door behind him.

“So?” He rounds on Rhys. “Why is Y/N in Velaris?”

Rhys rolls his eyes at his tone. It’s not exactly any use for Az to be frantic now. Bit too late for that, he thinks.

“Because she needed a break from this place. From you and Cass and Kaeda.”

“I told Y/N that Kaeda and I have not done anything.”

“And maybe you haven’t, Azriel. That’s your business entirely.” He throws himself onto the bed. “But have you stopped for five fucking seconds, amidst your brooding and self-pitying, to consider how it might have made Y/N feel to be the practice run?”

Azriel goes preternaturally still. Doesn’t know what to say.

And that’s fine, Rhys reckons, because he’s nowhere near fucking finished.

“You explored that intimacy with her under the pretence that you were merely refining those skills for another female’s benefit.” He continues. “Whether it was initially Y/N’s idea or not, you should have recognised right away that she deserves better than that. And then you had the absolute fucking audacity to get mad at her for sleeping with Cassian, at the same time she would naturally assume you were sleeping with Kaeda, when you actually have no right to be angry. So what if she slept with Cass? So what, Azriel, that she fell into the arms of somebody who actually made her feel chosen, and not like she was just a stepping stone to a greater pleasure?”

Silence.

Stunned, heavy silence.

This room is far too small for such strong, impassioned words. They hang threateningly in the air, and Azriel feels like he’s watching them fly towards him in slow motion like poison arrows closing in on their target.

And then the shadowsinger croaks, finally, “It’s not—like that. I never wanted it to be like that.”

Rhys shrugs. “I’m not sure you even know what you intended, Az. The whole thing is one big mess. I mean…why haven’t you had sex with Kaeda, if that’s what you were practicing for? Do you even like her?”

Az says nothing.

The lack of an answer is precisely what Rhys is expecting. Even makes his lips kick up into a smile.

He thinks he’s pretty damn wise, does Rhysand.

“I’ll wager,” he goes on, eyeing Az knowingly, “that the practice wasn’t about Kaeda at all. Perhaps it was, the very first time Y/N offered.” He rests his hands behind his head. “But then something happened between the two of you — perhaps a kiss, maybe even some touching, and you were struck down by a realisation that the rest of us saw coming years ago. That what exists between you and Y/N goes beyond friendship. What you have is something special. And getting a little taster of that under the ruse of practice sent you on a downward spiral. So many emotions. So much angst. Suddenly, you were acting irrationally, getting into fights. Not over Kaeda, no, but over Y/N. Seeing her with other males makes you feel sick to your stomach. And that is why you’re so angry with Cassian. Because he had sex with Y/N, and you want her, not Kaeda. You love her.”

Well.

Azriel may as well be standing there stark naked, for all Rhys has stripped him bare.

He feels like his skin has been peeled from his bones and a patchwork of ugly truths lies in its place. He wouldn’t be overly surprised to glance down and see writing covering every inch of his body in bold, alarming ink that reads: I AM IN LOVE WITH Y/N. I AM JEALOUS AND ARROGANT AND SELFISH. I AM SCARED.

He tries to swallow down the lump in his throat. It doesn’t budge. “I never meant to make her feel like that.” He damn near wheezes, the words punching their way out of his lungs.

Rhys softens a little. “We know that, Az. But as long as you try to run from your feelings, you’ll be kicking dirt up at the people behind you.”

“I don’t…don’t know what to do — about anything.”

“You just need to stop trying to fool yourself. You need to make use of your space from Y/N and figure out what, exactly, it is you want, and what, exactly, you’re going to do about it. You need to accept that mistakes have been made all round, but not one of them is unable to be fixed. And you should start by mending things with Cassian.”

On instinct, Az scowls. He may know Rhys is right — and damn him for it, too — but he still can’t help being angry at Cass. The thought of his hands on Y/N—

“Wipe that look off your face, Azriel.” Rhys says drily. “You both know you miss each other, and you’re just as miserable as one another because of it. I’m not saying you should fix it today or even tomorrow — take your time to brood, if you like — but something has to give eventually. And if you won’t fix things for your sakes, do it for mine. Perhaps then I’ll be able to fuck Zakai and actually finish.”

This — these glimmers of wisdom and authority and reason — are like a little window into what Rhysand will one day be like as High Lord of the Night Court.

Azriel is glad of his friendship, his counsel. Even if he’s not quite ready to act on the advice yet.

“It’ll all be alright, Az.” Rhys says, studying him. The shadowsinger looks…lost. “But you should take the time to work things out before Y/N returns to Windhaven. She doesn’t need any more drama, and neither do you.”

Right again, of course.

Az can only manage to clear his throat and nod, before rasping out a quiet, “I will. Thank you.”

Rhys dips his chin. “I do love you, you know. I wouldn’t put sex aside for a conversation with just anyone.”

His answering smile is unconvincing. “I love you, too.”

“And you love Cass. So don’t wait too long to talk to him.”

Azriel inclines his chin. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“I’ll forgive you this time.”

The shadowsinger shoots him one last look that says far more than he can articulate in that moment. And then he’s slipping out of the room.

And as he walks away, he can’t stop his thoughts from venturing to Fenlaros.

To how lost he would be without Rhys — and Cass, too — if he really did leave them behind.

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Roza is so godsdamned beautiful.

You can’t help feeling a little awestruck as you stand behind her, gently combing a brush through her night-black hair.

She stares into the mirror of her dressing table, her face a sheet of serene beauty. Through her nightgown, the swell of her bump shows proudly.

She seems pensive tonight, quieter than usual. Every few seconds, your gaze creeps to her reflection. Curiosity gets the better of you.

“Can I ask you something?” You part the strands of her hair, beginning to tie them into a braid.

Roza’s eyes lift to yours. “Of course, my love.”

It takes you a long moment to work out how, exactly, to diplomatically word what you’re thinking. You imagine it might be a touchy subject.

“…You and the High Lord….” You chew the inside of your cheek. “You’re not…not quite what I expected — together, I mean.”

You’ve never seen a mating bond up close, but you’ve read about them enough to know that they should be intense, passionate, a love that is so altering that it’s almost gut-wrenching. You expected to catch a glimpse of that with Roza and Finadar, to see a bond that you may never have the honour of experiencing yourself, for how rare it supposedly is.

What you didn’t expect was the huge distance that exists between them. Not a single person could miss it.

There’s no desperation to see each other, be in one another’s company. They sleep in their own quarters of the house and only seem to come together for public appearances. The whole thing is…bizarre.

Roza smiles wryly at you in the mirror. “You mean, you didn’t expect the High Lord and I to be as separated as we are?”

“I just figured…with a mating bond…”

“A lot of weight is placed on a mating bond, little dove.” She swivels on the stool to face you properly. “I had the same thought as you, when I was younger. Fin and I tried to love one another, but…the fact of the matter is that mating bonds aren’t always right. He and I are so different, and sometimes that can be a beautiful thing. But in our case, it certainly is not.”

Your eyes fall down to her bump. “But the babe…”

“This babe was conceived on a heat-of-the-moment, impulsive whim that shouldn’t have happened. Not that I regret it.” Her hand strokes over her bump. “But sex and love are two very different things. Fin and I do not love each other. I’m only in Velaris because he only trusts his healer to see me through this pregnancy. We are mates in the loosest definition, but we are not committed to each other. And he has no problem reminding me of that, with all the females he invites to his bed as though I’m not in the same damn house as him. He’s an arrogant, salacious lech — but he’s also the father of my children, and my High Lord, too. So I choose not to confront it, because I don’t care enough to. The babe and I will be back in Windhaven soon enough.”

It makes your heart ache, makes you feel sick, to think that Roza is on the receiving end of such treatment. She deserves better. Deserves the world. Someone who will worship her like the goddess she damn well is.

It terrifies you to think that…that you could just as easily find yourself trapped in such a dire situation.

“What worries you?” Her violet eyes are soft, warm, as she reaches up and presses a hand to your cheek.

You place the hairbrush down, leaning against the dressing table. Your hand finds hers with a sad desperation. “Is love doomed, Roza? Is it real? If a mating bond can’t hold up, what hope do I have—”

“You have all the hope, dove. And as you should. You will love, and you will be loved. You just need to have the courage to face it and all that it comes with. Fin and I are a bad match. But there’s no reason to believe you’ll see the same fate. So just…don’t give up. Be brave and love.”

Tears blur your eyes as you stare down at her. You can’t stop yourself from moving your joined hands, both yours and hers, to rest on her bump. “This babe is the luckiest child in the entire world to have you for their mother.” You whisper. “And I will be honoured, Roza, to help you in any way I can when they’re born.”

She lifts your hand to her lips and presses a kiss to the back of your palm. “And I will be honoured to have you by my side.” She cracks a smile. “Perhaps you can start with making me some ginger tea before bed.”

A soft, breathy laugh leaves you. “Of course.”

Her beautiful smile follows you out of the room and into the dark, empty hallways. You feel strangely at peace tonight, more so than you have for a long while. Most likely thanks to Mor’s pep talk.

But after you’re done in the kitchen, a steaming cup of ginger tea clutched in your hands, a pair of booming male voices reach you from the antechamber. It piques your interest at once.

One voice is certainly that of the High Lord, but the other sounds somewhat familiar, too — like it’s one you’ve heard before, but not enough to place who it belongs to. It’s a dangerous, gruff baritone of a voice that seems almost impossibly deep.

You should mind your business, walk away…but it seems strange for the High Lord to receive a guest so late at night. Seems…clandestine, in nature.

And so you stay light on your feet, inching towards the door and peering through to the giant, opulent antechamber.

And that’s when you see the High Lord leading Tathaln Baralas, Kaeda’s father, in the direction of his study.

az tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes

[awakenedevildays]

Omg that not alot just forever fic literally changed the trajectory of my life ive been giggling kicking my feet sliding down the wall in slomo twirling my hair I LOVE UR WRITING STYLE😓🫶🫶🫶

What about a Halloween / autumn inspired fic I'd love that!!

Ur amazing mlll xx

The compliments literally made my week! Thank you for them and for requesting, hope you'll enjoy it 🩷

「Halloween」 Stiles Stilinski x F!reader

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"A friend of mine is having a Halloween party this weekend, do you want to come with me?" you ask breathlessly after breaking the make out session you two are having in an empty classroom. He grunts in annoyance at the interruption but doesn't let it discourage him as he keeps kissing you even after. "Mh- Stiles?" 

"Yeah," Stiles replies distractedly between kisses. "Yeah that sounds cool." His index fingers hook into your belt loops and pulls you closer to him from where you're sat on the teacher's desk, him comfortably snuggled between your thighs.

"Did you even hear a word I just said?" you ask with a chuckle before pushing his face away from yours, your hand squishes his cheeks until his lips pucker up in a funny way.

"Of course I did! halloween party this week end, got it" He says and removes your fingers from his face to kiss your swollen lips again, and again. 

"Great! We could- do- a couple costume- let me talk!" Your hands push his chest away from you enough to catch his attention. "Hellooo? You with me?" 

"I heard every word" The boy grins widely and places his hands on your waist, gently holding you. "I was just trying to stock up on enough kisses that will last me until the end of the school day." The fake sappiness in his tone makes you roll your eyes.

"boo loser!" You answer and fist his shirt with your fingers to bring him back closer to you, you peck him again.

He chuckles at your reaction and allows you to pull him back, his hands moves from your waist  into the back pocket of your jeans and leans a bit over you to speak next to your ear. "What do you think about skipping the rest of our classes?" Stiles mumbles as he leaves kisses on your cheek and jaw.

"we really shouldn't" you answer and, sadly, put and end to your make out session by getting down from the desk, despite Stiles whines and attempts to keep you there.

"I can think of a million reasons of why we should," he protests as you get off the desk. "We have no work due in any classes, the teachers have been pretty boring today and now we have economy with the Coach. You want me to go on or have I made my point?" Stiles says as you grab your purse, and his wrist, to leave the classroom and begin to walk down the empty hallway together.

"Stop being a baby and focus on the costumes. I was thinking of the usuals: angel and devil?" you chose to ignore his complaints.

Stiles intertwines his fingers with yours and follows you easily, keeping up with your pace. "And I guess I would be the devil." He says throwing a wink at you and you snort as response.

"You? please! I would be the devil."

"You? No way. You're too cute to be the devil." 

"And you're too innocent." you bite back.

He lets out an offended gasp. "Excuse me? do you remember I was possessed by an evil spirit like- a year ago? You can't stand a chance!"

"You can't alway bring that up as a way to win Stiles!" 

"Yes I can! I was literally the perfect vessel for something evil. You can't beat that!"

"Oh my god okay. Let's just change the costumes, what about...Sexy nurse and patient?" 

It was his turn to smirk this time. "Shouldn't you find it sexist?"

"Shouldn't you find it hot?" you bite back. 

"That depends' would I be the sexy nurse? in that case ye-"

"Put your sarcasm away for a second, Stilinski." 

"You act like you don't know me," He giggles to himself, "but seriously, how about something more original. We can't just go with clichés come on."

"What did you have in mind?" you ask as you stop in front of your locker just when the bell rings and signals the start of the next lesson. 

He shrugs. "I don't really have anything specific. I just don't want something too cliché like a nurse and a patient..." He trails off, "...what about princess Leia and Han Solo?" he asks with fidgety fingers and red cheeks and you immediately catch what he's implying. 

"mhh I wonder why..." you trail off as you close your locker with books in hands.

He lets out a nervous chuckle and rubs the back of his neck. "No reason!" He tries his best to keep his expression as neutral as possible, but the red ears and agitated fingers betray him.

"what a coincidence though... just a few days after watching Return of the Jedi you conveniently get the idea to dress up like in that movie." You rest your shoulder against the lockers and gaze up at him with a smirk.

He stutters a little. "What? it's a pretty cool movie, and- uhh... I thought the outfits were iconic and stuff...yeah... " he says, the excuse sounding less and less believable with each word.

You put the books in your purse. "Which outfit did you find iconic then? say it." Your arms are immediately crossed in front of your chest with a winning expression on your face.

He groans annoyed, "What?! Is it a crime to think you would look hot in Leia's slave costume?" He asks mildly offended.

"ha! I knew it!" you point an accusatory finger at him that he gently swats away.

He lets out a flustered laugh and blushes even more, running a hand through his messy hair under your amused eyes. "Okay, okay. You got me. But can you blame me? You would look so hot."

Your thumb raises to his face to wipe off the lipgloss you accidentally left on his lips. "Thank you baby, but I'm afraid I would freeze my ass off in that costume, what about Morticia and Gomez?"

His eyes light up at the suggestion. "Fuck yes, I'm in!" He sighs almost dreamily at the thought and you can't help but think he would be a great Gomez, considering how he behaves daily with you.

You giggle with your hands now in his hair to fix the messy state they're in (absolutely not your doing). "I'll buy our costumes tomorrow, kay?" 

He hums in agreement and basks into the feeling of your fingers in his now... 'presentable' hair, at last you tried. "Goodbye Y/N in the Leia's slave costume, you were brighter than the whole sky." he sighs 

You laugh out loud and slap his shoulder lightly, "shut up!" 

He chuckles in response, not even trying to defend himself or avoid the playful slap. "I am allowed to have dreams!" your boyfriend playfully pulls grabs your cheeks to look at your face better. "Is someone getting flustered?" 

"haha. Before acting so cocky you should see if you would be able to handle the sight." you sass back to try regain your confidence. 

"oh trust me, I would be able to handle the sight." Stiles replies with a hint of cockiness before pecking your lips. "In fact, I wouldn't mind if it was an every day sight."

Even if Stiles doesn't notice, you take it as a challenge and you chose to not reply at that, only shake your head at his antics. "Come on, let's go to class, maybe the coach will shut you up for good."

He groans at the comment but follows you in the correct classroom. "If we had stayed in that class you could have silenced me in another way, that's too bad." He says in "fake" disappointment as you both enter the classroom.

"Oh my god what is wrong with you today?!" 

The night of the party you're in the bathroom when you hear your front door slam shut, "babe I'm here! Where are you?" you hear his footsteps approach your bedroom and you shake your head at the way he enters in your house undisturbed without even knocking.

"In the bathroom! And for the record, I let you get a copy of my keys for emergencies only." You shout from behind the closed door and you hear your boyfriend huff as he walks into your bedroom, the bathroom's door is the only thing between you two now.

"You should define what is an emergency for you." He replies. "And I never asked for a copy of the key, I just did it"

"... is that suppose to make it better or...?" You ask as you look at yourself in the mirror on last time, the costume is.. something: your chest is covered by a golden bra with multiple metal-like rings that goes around your chest and back, paired with loincloth-style, red skirt supported by the gold waistband with the same decorations as the top and around your neck sits a collar with a small chain that dangles between your breasts. Well... this is humiliating and... hot? Fuck, Stiles turned you into a nerd and you hate it.

"Just a clarification... Are you done in there Morticia?" he jokes from outside and you brush your hair one last time, you love him but there is no way you would have bought the wig too. 

"In a sec!" you breathe out, you're kind of nervous about his reaction.

"Okay! Hurry up I'm excited to see! Do you remember that yesterday's was coach's birthday, right?" He says from his laying position on the bed and you take a deep breath before opening the door of the bathroom slowly.

"We threw eggs at his house yesterday nigh, you should have seen his face when he opened th-" He snaps his head up to meet your gaze and his jaw drops at the sight.

You suddenly feel shy in front of him and you fidget with your hands as you wait for him to say something. "Do you... like it?" you ask with anticipation.

It seems like the entire word was stolen from his mouth, his brain was not functioning anymore at the sight of you. "I-" is as all Stiles is able to say as he sits up on the edge of the bed to get a closer look at you and his eyes roaming all over your body.

"Please say something I feel really stupid right now," you giggle nervously and your boyfriend's mouth opens and closes repeatedly like a fish. 

"I-uh...I think my brain stopped working." He swallows and gulps loudly, the words, the numerous compliments he wants to throw at you are all stuck are stuck in his throat and it's difficult for him to speak right now.  You grin proudly and do a slow twirl around to make him see everything, careful not to flash him considering the fact you're not wearing anything underneath the skirt... it's not like you're actually planning on making you or Stiles leave this room tonight so why bother ruining the fit. "Fuck." He stands up from the edge of the bed and walks towards you with long strides.

He stops just a few inches away from you and gazes down at your figure. "You look so gorgeous" he breathes out and a hand goes to hold one of your hips, the sudden need to touch you is making his fingers itch uncomfortably as his eyes stay fixed on the golden rings around your chest.

You let out a genuine laugh and take him in too, he's clad in the iconic striped suit Gomez wears, with a cute bow tied around his neck and hair slicked back neatly. "You look really good," you compliment him with a smirk and you receive a bewildered look as response.

"Me? I look good!? Look at you! I'm pretty sure I'm hallucinating right now this can't be real." He scoffs and takes a step back to admire you all over again, "fucking hell, you look unreal." 

"Where did the cocky Stiles of a few days ago go?" you ask sarcastically as you walk towards him again, your hands on his chest to push him back until the back of his legs hits the mattress. 

He lets out a huff as he's shoved backwards onto the bed, he bounces on it a couple of times and then looks up at you as you stand in front of him. "Gone. Gone, forever. He won't ever utter a word againohmygod" He almost promises in a groan when you straddle his lap.

You nod satisfied in a thought-so manner and adjust your position on his thighs. "Now, do you want me to change into the Morticia costume and go to the party or-" 

"The second option. Whatever that is I don't care, we're staying here tonight." he answers firmly and his hands immediately go to your hips under the skirt. 

You nod in amusement, "that sounds perfect," you lean in to kiss his lips but he sadly interrupts you, gesturing to your costume with timid eyes.

"... is there any chance you could keep this on?"

"Well I bought it for a reason, didn't I?" You ask as you untie the bow at his neck and he literally moans.

"Just when I thought you couldn't be anymore perfect." 

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Hope you enjoyed, recommendations, suggestions and requests are always welcome and open! <3

Do not copy or repost.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I hope you had a great time seeing them in Germany! What do you think about reader seeing the boys live for the first time? ❤️

I really ran with this…

Vessel

He was shitting his pants. There were always some nerves before the show. That was inevitable when you genuinely cared about what you did. But suddenly he felt that he was more than fine to go in front of thousands of people. Even messes a line in his song. But knowing that you were there. That his team had secured you the best spot in the pit. That suddenly made him overthink every little thing.

Not to mention that you were there. In a sea of people. What if someone knocked you out while moshing? What if you fell? Did someone rob you? Punched you? No, he was flying off the hook. He had security there. There were a couple of people from the team who were there alongside you. You weren’t alone. He had nothing to worry about. No one knew you two were together. No one had a reason to target you. Yet he cared too much to not feel panic over it.

It all shifted when Vessel had finally made his way to the catwalk. For a moment he had forgotten that you were there. Too lost in the music. Too used to your schedule clashing with concert dates. But when his eyes met yours. The smile on your face could have sent him straight to his knees. You told him every day how proud you were of him. But there was something else about seeing it yourself. The glisten in your eyes. The way you shook your head almost in disbelief. That smile. Fuck him the smile that he had fallen for months ago. Without really thinking about it Vessel pointed at you. Making the crowd fall into fits of screams. Just they didn’t know that was for you and you only. You laughed softly shaking your head. He spent as much time as he could there at the end of the catwalk. Looking at you the whole time, thankful that his mask didn’t let others see that.

Pumped up with adrenaline after the show he could barely stand in one place as he waited for his team to bring you backstage once more. Crew passing by kept on congratulating, tapping his shoulder but he didn’t hear much of it. All his attention was on the little metal door that stood between you and him now. “Sir, could I get an autograph?”, a tap on his back made him do a 180 so quickly Vessel nearly lost his balance. And here you were. The same glistening eyes looked up at him. He simply smiled, hands reaching for your hips as he pulled you closer to him. Making you step on your tippy toes to kiss his lips softly.

“And?”, Vessel muttered after pulling away. “You were unbelievable!”, your hands clasped his biceps as you attempted and the key word here was attempted to shake all 6’3 of him. “I mean my god…”, you grunted throwing your head back, “I knew you were amazing but that”, you gestured back towards the stage. Vessel could feel his cheeks heating up. He knew that he always cared about what everyone thought but there was something special about knowing that people you loved, shared the love for something so special to you as well.

“Vess you were fucking amazing”, you beamed, cupping his still paint-covered cheeks. “You are too kind”, he muttered leaning closer. Brushing his nose against yours, before giving it a little kiss. “No i see you and that was life-changing”, your tone turned a lot more serious now, “that’s why people love you so much, baby”, you mused softly.

“I only had my eyes on you”, Vessel pointed out making you chuckle. “You better, I saw them girls with their titts out”, you narrowed your eyes at him playfully. Vessel let out a soft chuckle, “saw no titts only your eyes”, he muttered, pushing a strand of your hair away from your face. “Thank you for inviting me”, you whispered, stepping closer, and pressing your palms against his chest. “Thank you for being here”, Vessel smiled, leaning in once more, brushing his soft lips over yours. “Sorry you have paint…”, he grunted, reaching out to brush his thumb over the smudge on your cheek. “No, don’t brush it off - want to have my fangirl moment”, you pull back, grinning like a devil, making Vessel chuckle once more.

iii

Everyone knew a month prior that you would join them for one of the home shows they were doing. There wasn’t a soul left in the crew who hadn’t heard the whole “my girlfriend this”, and “my girlfriend that”, story. He was a proud boyfriend okay. Besides this band, you were the best thing that had happened to him and he wasn’t about to be quiet about it. So the whole morning he has a grin on his face because he’s in his car, going to the venue and you’re right beside him. His hand on your thigh as he grins.

Everyone else is being the sweetest, greeting you as if you are one of the team. Your hand is in his as iii slowly walks you through the whole setup. Showing you where all of his guitars are. “Hold on”, he muses, reaching for his black and red bass before putting it over your shoulders. “Jesus, you look tiny”, he chuckled at how huge it looked in your arms. “Wait, pose”, he’s laughing, taking shit tonnes of pictures of you with his bass. And you best bet that’s his new lock-screen.

When it comes to the show it’s, you also choose to watch it from the pit. Craving that rush of energy from the crowd plus it’s the best spot to see him from in all his glory. You’re grinning up at him the whole show. Singing the lyrics that by now are a part of your soul as well. Not being able to keep your tears at bay at some parts. “You cried”, is the first thing he says as you two reunite, “That bad?”. “That good”, you mutter back, wrapping your arms around his neck. iii stand up fully, making your legs dangle in the air as he sways you from side to side. “Next time stay backstage”, he muses against your neck, “want to come back between songs and give you a kiss”. You chuckle softly, “You wanted to do that on stage tonight didn’t you?”, because you could swear that man was teetering the line of falling off stage more than once. “What gave me away?”, iii chuckles. “I love you, you little crazy dude”, you shake your head, brushing your fingers through his messy hair.

ii

Yeah, you are in the pit. His side of the stage end of the story. He had told you once that there were shows where he felt forgotten. That people were there for everyone but not him. He was more than aware that he couldn’t go zooming through the stage with his drums but that didn’t mean that he didn’t feel left out at times. So the moment you knew that you were going, you had taken it upon yourself to make a sign. A sign that said: I’m only here for the drummer. All covered in pink glitter and bows because you knew that that would make him roll his eyes.

And you knew that you made the right choice once the girl barricading next to you muttered, “Cool sign”, you chuckled softly, “Thanks, got to show the love”. She simply nodded, asking if she could take a picture of you with it. “I love ii as well, he deserves to know that we see him too”, she smiled, making you smile alongside her. “Let me take a pic of you as well”, you motioned for her to hand her phone over. Falling into a soft conversation after.

You could tell the exact moment ii saw it too. He had halted. Only making you scream louder. Then did his infamous disappointed head tilt before shaking his head no doubt in laughter. ii had stopped and took a moment to get down, throwing some of his drumsticks for the crowd. Shaking a warning finger your way before throwing you one as well. You caught it with ease and almost instantly turned to the girl standing next to you.

“Here, have it”, you pointed the drumstick at her. Her eyes grew big, “No you caught it…”, she shook her head, yet you could see the suppressed excitement there. “Nah”, you waved her off, “trust me. Take this, I already have one at home”, you threw her a wink. Give her a quick hug before turning to find the crew waiting to bring you backstage.

ii was leaning against some of the gearboxes, arms crossed. His serious face morphed into a grin when he saw you skipping towards him as you waved your sign around. “Only, here for the drummer”, he muttered, right as you jumped into his arms. Giggling as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Yeah, sorry”, you shook your head, pulling back from him slightly, “everyone else is not up to my taste”. ii chuckled softly, arms moving to cup your ass as he moved your legs to wrap around his torso. “So how was the drummer?”, he asked raising one eyebrow at you. You tapped your chin a couple of times as if pretending to think. “Extremely sexy”, you wiggled your eyebrows making ii let out a laugh, “Played not bad too”, you shrugged, grinning, only to be met by ii fingers tickling your side as you squirmed in his arms. “Not bad, huh”, he muttered against your neck, making you giggle even more. “might have to come a couple more times to make sure he’s good”, you chuckled, leaning your forehead against his. “Well, that could be arranged”, ii nodded, leaning in to kiss you.

Ivy

Ivy had never taken anyone backstage. There has never been anyone in the crowd for him. Just fully for him. So when he’s telling the team that he’s bringing someone with him for the next show he can’t escape the wiggling eyebrows and woops that follow him. So he’s a nervous wreck stopping you right before you enter the green rooms.

“They are insane please don’t run away until the very end”, he whines, eyes pleading as he looks down at you. “Ivy, I’m here for you”, you cup his face, brushing his thumbs over his face. “I know just…”, iv shakes his head. It’s so weird for him to have someone he trusts so unconditionally. Someone he wants to make a part of every single thing in his life. “There could be a giraffe there and still all I care about is seeing you up there tonight”, you shrug trying to lighten his anxiety. “Sorry to disappoint we do not have a giraffe, that’s the venue next to this”, he sighed, yet there it was his infamous grin you had fallen victim to. “Bummer”, you scrunch up your nose before leaning in to chase a couple of fleeting kisses.

You watch him from the pit as well. I mean, that would be an opportunity wasted. He’s grooving the whole show. Pulling all sorts of stunts. Even Vessel joins in pointing towards you before yanking Ivy’s head back for a kiss. Fans scream around but all you can do is laugh at the death glare Ivy shoots at Vessel, who’s laughing to himself as he runs to the other side of the stage.

You’re lounging in one of his jackets when he finally comes backstage. Paint still smudged all over his face. “You look like a raccoon”, you chuckled, standing up to greet him. His arms are around you in an instant, bending you back slightly as he kisses you. “Okay, rockstar, knocking me out of my boots”, you blow a breath out, making him laugh.

“How was it? Tell me I looked hot?”, he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “How you submitted to Vessel? Yeah, that was sexy”, you smirked back at him, “You recon he would give me tips on how…”, but you don’t get to finish before Ivy’s lips are back on yours, kissing you senseless.

[naffeclipse]

Always A Hunter

Reader x Cryptid!Eclipse

Commission Info

I have another lovely little request from @counterbalance with the little hunter adjusting to life after F.E.I. and learning how to hunt on their own. There's a setback and discouragement, but it's nothing the cryptid boys can't handle. They will remind their heart what a great hunter they are despite all the changes and challenges.

———

A branch snaps under your foot. You wince as you fear the sound echoes through the dense trees. The forest thickly crowds around you, pressing close as if to suffocate you within its embrace. The shadows stretch blue and little starlight touches the moist earth. 

“Are you alright?” Moon rasps just behind you. His presence is a constant cool against your back, confirming without a word that he is still with you.

“I’m fine.” You glance around and then stare down at the detector. “Just afraid I’m spooking the hidebehind away, that’s all.”

The green dot only picks up the demonic cryptid within the animatronic vessel, not the monster you hunt this very night. You sigh and lower it back down. The screen flashes green. You stare out into the thick columns of tree trunks, wondering what may lurk behind each one.

Moon’s hand ghosts over up your arm. His fingertips press into the flesh along your shoulder and you close your eyes briefly as he tenderly works the muscle. You hadn’t noticed how tight it’s become since you stepped foot into the woods. 

“You’re anxious,” he says. His hand brushes over the nap of your neck to reach for your other side but you straighten and step forward.

“I’m fine.” You glance down at the detector and try to bite back a scowl. “The hideaway is notoriously difficult to document. Though it’s blamed for causing people to disappear in thickly wooded areas, like this, no one can properly describe it except for its hands which wrap around the tree, peeking out from behind—hence the name. It’s said to be animal-like with thick, dark fur on its arms like a sloth, with three long talons on its hand.”

You’re hoping Moon’s presence will cause it to show itself, struck by fear of the demonic cryptid. The unfortunate thought of your sweetie’s presence triggering the exact opposite effect brushes your brain before you shove it aside and stomp forward.

It’s here. It has to be here. You did your research. You collected the best evidence you could find through the internet. 

“It’s shy,” Moon says, then rumbles a deep laugh. “A coward.”

“We’ll take care of it.” You turn back briefly to smile at Moon but it doesn’t quite touch your eyes. Immediately, you feel a wave of cool judgment from the possessed animatronic.

Touching the strap which allows the crossbow to hang on your shoulder, you continue forward.

“No one has ever looked at it directly,” you continue, lowering your voice as you step over a log. In the corner of your vision, Moon steps over it with ease using his long, lanky limbs. “It conceals itself quickly behind anything it can find, including the observer. It takes its victims by surprise.”

“It must be weak.” Moon’s arms hang heavy by his sides as he reaches you. He stares down at you with wide, pale eyes. “We’ve been walking a long time.”

“It’s only been a few hours,” you huff, exasperated before inhaling deeply. “It’s here. I know it’s here.”

You make your way around a tree. A rustle of leaves sets your heart on edge. You stop, eyes darting to what may be movement, but you spy only a lone deer darting through the underbrush. You sink slightly where you stand.

Moon’s hand falls on your shoulder.

“I can’t sense anything unusual,” he murmurs. He stares down at you. The end of his patched nightcap falls over his shoulder, silent despite the bell at the very end. “You need to rest.”

Disappointment snakes through you, leaving you writhing where you stand as you stare down at the detector. It gives no sign of any other presence despite the one in front of you.

“It might not have a heart you can sense, like the vampires,” you say, but it doesn’t sound convincing even to you.

“Maybe,” Moon says softly. His fingers knead softly into the meat of your shoulder that he didn’t get yet. “Take a break. Your heart is fluttering like a bird.”

“Sweetie,” you sigh deeply and rub your temple, not helping your image, “I can’t. The hidebehind has been reported in this area. There was a news clipping about a man who went missing when he went out to cut some lumber, and stories are dating back twenty years ago of something hiding behind trees in this area.”

You step out from under Moon’s reach. You ignore his hand still outstretched, still wanting to touch you as you march forward into the darkness and tree-littered maze. 

Unless you missed something. How does F.E.I. do it? Without fail, they have sent you towards a cryptid using their findings and research. What if you don’t? What if you constantly chase hoaxes and rumors and find nothing but emptiness while real cryptids are out there, terrorizing and killing people? But you had the reports and the stories. You have a missing man. 

Your body heats up as your breath quickens. You squeeze the handle of the detector. Looking out between the trees, you hope against hope to see claws and a wicked creature lurking, ready to attack when you least expect it, but there is nothing. Only quiet shadows.

The first hunt without Vanessa and since leaving F.E.I. should go better than this. What are you doing wrong?

You hear a soft, thick sound of a footstep. Claws sinking into the earth. A presence most unholy. The coldness of a demonic cryptid’s presence washes over you. Before you can turn around, two pairs of arms surround you. 

A limb wraps over your shoulder and another clings to your chest. The lower pair hugs your waist, squeezing softly until you stop. Claws of scarlet and deep blue softly pet over your clothes, not severing one fiber despite the wicked edge that has cut through meat and bones.

“I’m fine, sweetie.” You pat at what you can reach. Their body is oozing and dark, as thick as shadows at midnight. Their large hands easily contain you. You try to wiggle free but they stay firm. 

“Take a break,” a voice, low and demonic, rumbles. You vibrate with the intensity of two voices speaking at once. “We can carry you back.”

“No,” you breathe. “The new snippets were credible. The man is missing and no one has found him yet. It’s been a week. Many locals testify of sensing something in the woods—but never seeing it, only fearing that it’s there, watching them.”

“If it’s here, you can hunt it tomorrow.” Long, inky fingertips roam over you, tracing your hip and caressing the length of your collarbone. “Heart, you’re exhausted.”

You blink. Slumping slightly, the arms support you. A cool breath yawns against the nap of your neck. The softest flick of a tongue swipes the sensitive skin there, and you close your eyes, brow furrowing.

“Maybe the local story was just sensationalized,” you admit. You deflate like a balloon left over from a children’s birthday party. “Maybe I just… got it wrong. Maybe I can’t be a cryptid hunter without F.E.I.—”

“Enough,” the growl at your back nearly makes you jump out of your skin. “That is not the truth.”

“Eclipse,” you say, perhaps in protest or argument, but it sounds tired. You are tired.

“Listen to us.” A dark mouth presses behind your ear, whispering into your hair. “You are a great cryptid hunter. F.E.I. has nothing to do with the aspects of your love for people and your will to face dangers. It’s alright, sweet heart.”

They lower their rumblings into a purr-like vibration that fills you to the brim, soothing the anxieties bouncing off of the inside of your skull.

“This is your first hunt starting anew. It’s alright.”

You lean back into their touch. Their teeth wetly touch the shell of your ear until you shiver. 

“It’s alright if you make a few mistakes.” A red claw softly pats your chest, right where your heart is tucked underneath your sternum. “That does not damper your abilities. That does not take away from who you are, little hunter.”

“Eclipse,” you say much softer. A thickness gathers in your throat. You can’t cry. Perhaps you were on the road for too long and maybe you did walk through the woods most of the night. The exhaustion is sinking into your bones, infecting your marrow. 

“You are strong. You are kind.” A kiss touches your temple—as much as a creature without lips or flesh can kiss you. “You will find a cryptid. Perhaps this one is a hoax or in hiding but regardless, you can keep searching tomorrow. It’s time to rest.”

“But if it’s here—” you start.

“You will find it tomorrow.” Eclipse gives firmly.

You stare out into the darkness. The trees thickly crowd one another, and though there are plenty of spaces for a hidebehind to, well, hide behind, you see nothing. Your detector doesn’t beep. Your skin doesn’t crawl with an unwelcome presence.

Maybe it is here, hiding, or maybe it’s not. It’s okay. You pull in a deep breath as a blue hand wraps around your waist and caresses your side. There’s tomorrow. One bad hunt isn’t the end of your career. 

The heaviness in your chest eases.

“Okay,” you finally give in. The air leaves your lungs and you feel lighter, catching the rich scent of the earth and the crispness of the green leaves caught in a late-night breeze. Your tongue fumbles for one moment, an old, crippling fear returning as you cling to the demonic cryptid hands holding you. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing, heart?” A nuzzle burrows into the crook of your neck. You are gently moved as they press deeper against your throat, and a stray flick of a tongue finds the pulse in your neck.

“I thought I would be better at this by now.” You sigh deeply, staring down. “I thought I could do it without faltering.”

“Every winter has a spring,” they murmur gently against your jawline. “You will do your best. You will have mishaps and mistakes, and you will try again. That is the kind of human you are.”

You make a soft noise when they nuzzle against your shoulder, not unlike a cat wanting affection. You reach up a hand to find their flat, dark cheek. You slip your other fingers between the claws of a deep blue cryptid hand. A soft rumble follows, and you close your eyes.

“But we should keep looking,” you murmur. You’re both here. What if the hidebehind attacks someone when you decide to leave? 

In answer, Eclipse nuzzles deeper against you, roaming over the back of your neck and pressing their teeth gently against your skin. You shiver, feeling the graze of their horns and spikes but never once being cut by the sharp edges. Held gently in large, dangerous arms, you find yourself releasing the anxiety within you that whispers of tragedies and fears, of failures and blood. Tears gather behind your eyes.

One drop spills out of the corner of your eye. A scarlet claw catches it against your cheek, wiping it away delicately. 

“Okay,” you say finally. “Let’s go. But we will come back tomorrow.”

“Of course, little hunter.” Glinting teeth once more kiss your hair, clicking softly against a black hairpin you wear, before releasing you. “Give us a moment.”

Four arms slip away from you, reluctantly trialing over your wrists and hips before finally lifting away. You wait. Looking up between the brief breaks in the green canopy above, you stare at the night sky as stars twinkle with a promise. A familiar sound of footsteps, metallic but lighter, returns to your side. 

Moon’s pale eyes hold your gaze as he takes your hand within his.

“You take care of the scary things,” he reminds in a gentle rasp. 

You smile, almost about to cry. He tugs on you gently, and you follow him out of the forest.

[neversetyoufree]

Looking back, I wonder how much of Vanitas's choice in this scene is tied to the fact that he was given a choice in the first place.

So much of Vanitas's character is centered around the theme of self-determination (and the lack thereof). He is absolutely deprived of any control over his body and/or destiny at many of the key points in his life, and nowadays he's always desperately grasping at what few shards of self-determination he does have. This is why he freaks out when Roland talks about him being "under the vampires' power" in mémoire 15. It's why he's hung up on the idea of freedom as isolation from others' influence. It's why his main response to being triggered is to do something crazy and cause a scene; it puts him in control of the situation.

All that to say, when Luna destroys Moreau's lab and agrees to take Misha away, Vanitas must be desperate to feel some form of in-control, but I do not think he expects to be given any choice in what happens to him next. He's been conditioned not to expect that despite how much he wants it.

Vanitas certainly doesn't have much agency in how he lives his life as a child, as no kid gets to pick their parents or circumstances, and Vani has it especially rough with the death of his mother hanging over his head. Then his father dies protecting him, and he dies in a situation in which Vanitas is utterly powerless. Horror erupts into his life out of nowhere, and his dad throws himself in front of some fangs, and there's nothing Vanitas can do but watch it happen.

Next there's Vanitas's brief time training as a chasseur, which is one part of his history we know little about, so it's hard for me to say how free his choice was. He may have been pressured into joining, as we know the Chassuers aren't above pushy/manipulative recruitment of children (Astolfo), but I could also see his choice to hunt vampires made as a trauma response to the powerlessness of the vampire attack he survived. "I was powerless, so I'll claim the power to enact violence and make sure they can't hurt me or others again."

Then Vanitas is abducted by Doctor Moreau, which strips him of his agency just about as awfully as anything possibly could.

Vanitas the test subject has no bodily autonomy. He is poked and prodded and experimented on, because his body is an object of science to Moreau, not the vessel of a person with rights or self-determination. His only big active choices during his captivity are the choice to not run away for fear of somebody else suffering and the choice to volunteer in Mikhail's place. The only choices he can make are the choices to stay and throw himself even deeper into his own violation. Even his relationship with Misha is something that just kind of Happens to him. The kid is a force of nature that Moreau dumps on him without his say.

(This isn't Mikhail's fault, as Misha is just a child that wants affection, but having a needy, vulnerable little brother figure suddenly dropped on him in the midst of all that horror couldn't have made Vanitas feel less out of control).

Then Vanitas's torment by Moreau hits its climax, and Vanitas is told that not only has his body been violated by way of pain and torture—even his basic humanity has been and will be stripped from him. He now feels the disgust of having the blood of something he hates inside of him without his consent. And he's about to be killed, turned into a mindless husk of a "living key" instead of a person.

And that's when Luna shows up. This mysterious, incredibly powerful being appears and wreaks havoc on Moreau's lab like an avenging angel, and it agrees to Mikhail's request to take "us" along with it. Everything in Vanitas's life so far has taught him that he is powerless in the face of others' great power. Horrible shit just keeps happening to him forever, and this monstrous person sounds like they've just agreed to carry him off on Mikhail's request without a word of input from him. Of course he doesn't expect to be given a choice.

But he is.

Luna scoops up Mikhail, then they turn to Vanitas and ask if he would like to come along with them as well. After months or years of absolutely all of his autonomy and power being stripped away from him, the most powerful being Vanitas has ever encountered stops and gives him a choice about what he'd like to do next. They give him the option to go off on his own and decide his own fate rather than go along with them. And that's why Vanitas doesn't run away.

These are the images that flash through Vanitas's head right before he gets up and runs to Luna:

These moments are what inform Vanitas's choice. The memories of his father's death and Moreau's final experiment on him—his two most awful moments of abject helplessness.

When Vanitas runs to Luna and accepts their offer, these moments are what he's running from. He's fleeing from his inability to do anything or control his fate. He's running from a life of stolen agency. He's running toward the one adult who actually stopped and gave him a choice about what he'd like to do next.

Vanitas chooses Luna because they, despite having the power to kill or subdue him, give him the freedom to choose to accompany them in the first place. He's drawn to them not for protection, but as an escape to a life where he gets to keep making choices and grasp some agency.

Luna is the savior that gives Vanitas his freedom and autonomy back after it's stolen by Moreau. That's why it's so tragic that Vanitas carries their Mark in the present day. It's undeniable proof that, in their right mind or not, some version of Luna violated the fundamental trust and gift of autonomy that brought Vanitas into their family in the first place.

Luna's bite, both the physical violation and the transformation into inhumanity that it brings, is yet another way that Vanitas is stripped of all control of his body and fate.

[lamemaster]

A Secret Garden

Request: me (hehe)

Pairings: Thranduil x Illyrian reader

Genre: fluff and feels

Summary: The forests of Greenwood were brimming with fae, imps, valkyries, Illyrians, and whatever those horses with horns on their heads were called.

AN: I think Greenwood exists out there somewhere hidden from canon. That's where Maglor lives, probably. Thranduil deserves a baddie. I don't make the rules.

Next up- Zombie Maedhros Fall trope event list

Contrary to the usual, casual belief, Legolas’ mother is very much alive and thriving within the halls of Greenwood the Great.

And yes, it is Greenwood the Great. Mirkwood was merely a convenient front. A grim veil to dissuade would-be intruders.

That includes the so-called "statue of the Queen," which, for the record, looks nothing like you. Truly, Thranduil outdid himself in selecting the most unlike-you statue and crafting the wildest tale of gems and tragic loss.

Your husband, the King of Greenwood, was a mastermind. A ruler so adept that his kingdom flourished for millennia without enchanted rings or the guidance of the Valar. His conniving brooding ensured that his people prospered in secret, while the world saw only a shadowed, forbidding forest.

As for where the real Greenwood the Great lingered during those turbulent times? That remains a mystery. Its shifting location shall not be revealed here.

This tale, however, concerns you, the Queen of Greenwood the Great. Mirkwood, for all its legends, lacks a queen. It possesses only the image of a bitter, widowed king clinging to a fading world and a son growing restless with time.

Thranduil was a vessel of theatrics and drama.

You, on the other hand, were content in your hidden kingdom. Three thousand years of seclusion had yet to yield a Turin or a Maeglin to wreck your haven, and for that, you counted yourself fortunate.

As for what you are? Most guesses would not quite be accurate. Not quite an elf, in the not-quite-elven kingdom of your husband.

The forests of Greenwood were brimming with fae, imps, valkyries, Illyrians, and whatever those horses with horns on their heads were called.

You were one of them. Or, more accurately, an amalgamation of many. Yet the great, leathery wings at your back made it clear that your Illyrian ancestry dominated while the rest of your gene remained suppressed only to peek upon close inspection.

And how, you ask, did a lowly bastard with wings become the Queen of Greenwood the Great?

That tale begins long ago.

Thranduil had been lost for days, his once-pristine robes torn and muddied, his sword arm aching from constant readiness. 

The air of the forest felt different here, heavier, charged with an unfamiliar magic that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He had strayed far from the borders of his father’s palace, lured into unknown territory by the magnificent silver fawn.

They were like nothing he had ever seen beasts in the shape of men, with great bat-like wings that cast shadows over the forest floor. Runes glowed faintly across their arms, swirling and shifting like living things, their meaning lost to him. 

They didn’t kill him outright. Instead, they toyed with him, driving him deeper into the woods, their eerie laughter echoing around him like the rustle of dead leaves. Every so often, one would swoop low, slashing at him with claws or the sharp edges of their wings, drawing blood but never a fatal blow.

Thranduil’s breath came in ragged gasps as he stumbled through the dense undergrowth, his usually keen senses dulled by exhaustion.

That was when he found you or, rather, when he collided into you.

One moment, he was running, heart hammering in his chest, the laughter of his pursuers closing in. The next, he crashed into something-someone, so abruptly that the force sent him sprawling to the ground.

Disoriented, he scrambled to his feet, sword raised, his golden hair falling in disheveled strands around his face.

You stood there, unmoving, watching him with a curious tilt of your head. Your wings extended slightly behind you, the moonlight falling gently onto them. 

Not unlike his hunters, Runes spiraled faintly along your arms. With broad shoulders and visible strength of muscle lining your body, you were what he assumed to be an Illyrian. 

The Illyrians were brutish fighters. An army with no leader. Children of the night. No one in Greenwood had seen them. Most were reluctant to seek the bunch that were rumored to make a stew out of anything and everything. 

“What are you doing in Illyrian woods, elf?” Your voice was calm, almost bemused, though your eyes betrayed a hint of irritation.

Before Thranduil could respond, the sound of wings beating the air filled the clearing. His hunters emerged from the shadows, circling above. They slowed at the sight of you, their jeers fading into uncertain murmurs.

One of them dropped to the ground, his cruel grin faltering as he addressed you. “Captain,” he sneered, though his tone carried a note of wariness. “We didn’t realize you were… entertaining guests.”

Your wings flared slightly, and the runes on your arms pulsed in response. “He is no guest,” you replied coolly, stepping forward. “But nor is he your prey.”

The hunter hesitated, his confidence waning under your sharp gaze. “We were only—”

“Leave,” you commanded, your voice carrying a weight that stilled the air. 

The hunter glanced between you and Thranduil, clearly torn between defiance and self-preservation. With a final sneer, he launched himself into the air, the rest of the group following in his wake. Their shadows vanished into the trees, leaving behind an uneasy silence.

Thranduil stared at you, his sword still raised, his mind racing to make sense of what had just happened. “Who are you?” he demanded, though his voice cracked at the most unfortunate pause. 

You turned to him, your expression unreadable. “I might ask you the same question, elf.” 

Thranduil hesitated before he answered “I am Thranduil, prince of Greenwood.”

Your lips curved into the faintest smile. “A long way from home, aren’t you?”

Before he could reply, you turned and began walking deeper into the forest, your wings folding neatly against your back. Thranduil stood rooted to the spot for a moment, torn between suspicion and exhaustion. Then with a quiet sigh, he followed you, hoping to escape the fate of becoming a hearty meal.

Legolas, as many assumed, was not your only child. He was, in fact, your youngest, the cherished baby of your family, born long after the triplets. 

He took after Thranduil in nearly every way, so much so that his presence alone was acceptable in the halls of Mirkwood. The only one to be elven enough for Middle Earth. 

Your other children, however, were a different story.

The triplets, older and undeniably yours, had delicate, protruding wings like yours—proof that their father’s genetics had long since lost the battle. 

The children however did not fail to possess their father’s dramatic flair and liking for chaos. 

Now seated with your bickering triplets and sullen eldest you await your husband and son to return to your world. Away from the chaos of the world that was nothing but an illusion. 

With a prayer sent to the spirits, you try your best to spare the dinner from the hands of your wild family. 

[ronwestbreeze]

you're gonna go far | 9

pairing: jake sully x neytiri x tsu'tey x fem!human! reader summary: a scientist arrives on pandora (unwillingly) a year after the exile of the rda. now she must deal with the likes of a clan leader, a great warrior, and a thanator rider. word count: 6.3k warnings: mentions of suicide (not explicit!)

read on AO3

Tsu’tey remembered when he first came back from death.

It was like clawing out of the ground and feeling as though there was dirt filling his lungs. He remembered Arvok hugging him and crying into his shoulder when he found him awake. He remembered his father sitting nearby and quietly thanking the Great Mother for this second chance, for this mercy, even though they didn’t deserve it. He remembered his mother calling him a gift and that Eywa favored him, that he was the true and chosen Olo’eyktan to the People. Like he was some type of god that Eywa created herself.

He remembered feeling so horrible that his mother didn’t even see him as her son anymore. But a god of sorts. An idol to look to.

Someone so perfect that no one, not even a demon or the daughter of a “simple” Tsahik deserved his attention or praise.

The People celebrated once they learned that Tsu’tey had survived the battle, even when all the odds were against him. In a way, they looked to him as some sort of god too. Not to the extent that Artsut did but idolized him, nonetheless. Tsu’tey remembered feeling frozen as if he were turned to stone, hardened into an empty vessel.

He didn’t feel like himself. He just felt exhausted.

All. The. Time.

And no matter what he did, that exhaustion or feeling of wanting to sleep for a long, long time, never left him. He was just stuck in this state where he was both living but half buried in the ground.

It wasn’t until Tsu’tey confessed to what he was feeling to Jake who then put everything he felt into words that he could not—still couldn’t—quite understand.

“It’s a common thing we humans feel,” Jake explained once when it was just the two of them in the middle of the night.

Sitting in a tree, watching a lively celebration far below. That world seemed so far away at the time. And it was then that Tsu’tey felt like the god his mother praised him to be. Disconnected from the world that he so cherished but watched over them with a protective heart.

“That exhaustion, truthfully, that probably won’t ever go away. This depression can wear us down until all we want to do is sleep without worrying about waking up. Living doesn’t feel the same anymore. Almost like it’s a burden to both you and everyone around you. And then comes the exhaustion.”

Tsu’tey stared at Jake, both thoughtfully and to memorize every detail of the dreamwalker’s face. “Have you felt this?” It was the predictable question at the time. He seemed to know exactly what Tsu’tey felt, so much so, that it sounded as if he lived through—still went through this experience.

Humans were as peculiar as they were dangerous. They hid their feelings. They didn’t allow themselves the freedom to feel as if someone or something was holding them back. They were often birds trapped in a steel cage when the way out was right in front of their face.

That was a certain observation one would notice if they paid close attention. Tsu’tey paid Jake a lot of attention. Memorized his micro-expressions. Noted the way he hid behind an impenetrable wall with a single window he only allowed certain people to look through.

It’s what Tsu’tey imagined loving Jake would be like. Finding ways to climb over that wall to embrace that lonely soul on the other side.

Which was why he was keenly aware of the fact that Jake never answered his question. But instead said, “Many people don’t always have someone to keep them above the surface. That is why most end up drowning forever until they fall asleep. It’s okay to feel these things, even if they’re hard to acknowledge. And if you need to talk, I’m always here. I’m too human not to help you, even if you don’t approve of me.”

While Jake’s words were somewhat flowery and cautious in delivery, there was Neytiri, who grounded him with her very blunt words.

“You are not a god. You are Tsu’tey.”

She did not see him as a god. And he was grateful for that.

Perhaps that was why he so easily fell for her after the war. Or, rather accepted his feelings after forcing them back because of his guilt with Sylwanin.

You did not see him as a god.

And he was relieved by that.

Yet that relief would soon be buried beneath the horror of something else he saw whenever looking at you.

It was himself.

Half alive. And half buried in the ground.

And Tsu’tey had this strong urge to start digging at the ground with his bare fingers. Until his nails were filled with dirt. Until his clean skin was dirtied. Until they bled.

He owed you that much.

“That demon did this!” His mother, Artsut hissed while she knelt next to Arvok’s sleeping body in some form of protection. She stared up at him, pleading, desperate, and angry. “Will you let that creature run free like you did before? Look what that thing’s done! She’s hurt your blood! Be Olo’eyktan and exact punishment on the ones that hurt your family!”

“Reeds didn’t do this.” His mate, Jake protested calmly—as calmly as he could when it came to Artsut. His arms were wrapped around him so tightly his muscles twitched whenever he moved, tail lashing behind him as he continued. “Arvok had already explained what happened. The Tipani warriors were going for Hell’s Gate. Arvok had tried to stop them, they got pissed and injured him—”

“And who’s fault is that?!” Artsut snapped viciously, eerily resembling that of a palulukan. “If that demon hadn’t landed here none of this would be happening!” She turned her fiery gaze onto Tsu’tey, her pleading becoming more adamant as she spoke. “You must kill it! This is your doing, you never should’ve let it live! And now our clan is in danger because of that creature—”

Jake scoffed, his tail swinging now, “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Artsut hissed at him, “You do not deserve to speak, demon! I should have connived my son to kill you the first day you came to us—”

“Enough!” Tsu’tey hissed as he stalked forward and grabbed his mother by the arm.

“Tsu’tey—” She tried protesting only to be interrupted by his hiss.

“Be quiet, mother.” He led her out of his shared hut and went outside.

Once they were further away from the entrance, he let her arm go.

“My son—”

“No, mother.” Tsu’tey didn’t want to hear any excuses or laments that would make him feel awful for putting her in her place. “I’ve warned you and you’ve gone too far many times now. You are my mother, I do not wish to remove you from my children’s lives—”

She gasped and grabbed his wrist, “Do not be so cruel to your mother! You would prevent me from seeing my own grandchildren?!”

“You do not even accept the one son that I have!” Tsu’tey snapped but stopped when her eyes widened. He did not wish to shout. He did not wish for any more division. But she wasn’t making it any easier on him. So he continued slowly, “Jakesully is my mate. Neytiri is my mate. I will not allow you to keep disrespecting them. They are a part of my life, they make me happy. Shouldn’t that be what you wish for your own son? Do you not want me to be happy?”

Artsut scoffed in disbelief as if what he was saying were unbelievable, “Of course, I do. I wish for nothing but eternal happiness for my one and only boy—”

“I am not your only child.” He said gently, his heart falling. “Your son nearly died—”

“I know this! Do you think I do not know?!” Her eyes became glassy, her grip on his wrist tightening. “But know this, son. I do want your happiness. That is what any mother wants for her children.”

Tsu’tey watched her with a frown. He wished, he really wished he could believe her. Maybe a part of him did—wanted to. But he couldn’t help this unease in him whenever she was around him and his mates. He’d always feel her disapproval. No matter what flowery words she’d say, she would not change her opinion of Neytiri, Jake, Neteyam, and even their unborn little one.

But today he would not push any further. Today he was simply too tired.

“You should return to your home.” He told her and pulled his wrist free from her grasp. “Arvok will stay with us tonight—”

“Tsu’tey—”

“It is closer to the Tsahik’s where she can come and go freely to check on him.” He turned his back to her as the next words spilled out of his mouth like blood. “I do not want you near during that time. Or for a while. Not until I say you can come.”

There was a beat. And then there was sniffling. Tsu’tey refused to look at her. “You are abandoning your mother! You would do this to your own mother, who carried you for so long—” Tsu’tey ignored her words and ignored the pang in his chest as he forced himself to walk away. “It is that demon that has done this to us! They keep destroying everything we hold dear! If you will not kill it then I will—”

At that, Tsu’tey whirled around and stalked toward her as he spoke warningly, “You should be thanking Eywa that your son isn’t dead! You should be thanking our Great Mother that the demon had brought Arvok back instead of leaving him for dead! You should be thanking her that the arrow did not hit him but the demon instead! And yet here you are, plotting to kill Eywa’s favored!”

At this, Artsut scoffed, “Eywa would not favor a stain on her beautiful creation—”

“As Olo’eyktan I order you to stay away from the de…” He winced, not wanting to sound as venomous as his mother did. “—from the dreamwalker. I will carry out the will of Eywa as I intend to do. As this clan is intended to do. And because of that, she is under my protection now. She has saved my brother—your son.  She has earned this right. You will leave her alone.”

“And what if I don’t?!” Artsut shouted as Tsu’tey turned his back away from her and began stalking back to his hut. “Will you punish your own mother?! Will you kill me?! Tsu’tey? Tsu’tey, answer me! Do not turn your back on me! Tsu’tey—”

Her cries continued to ring in his ears, making him tremble.

He did not feel like a god.

He just felt like a failure.

Failure of a son.

Failure of a mate.

Failure of a leader.

He did not return to his hut.

You were lost. That was fine.

To be honest, you weren’t even focusing enough to go where you wanted. Frankly, you weren’t even sure how to get to your mother’s burial from here. All you did was wander around until you were far enough from the clan, until all you were surrounded by was forest until your legs gave out to the point where you couldn’t walk anymore.

There was a large leaf nearby, big enough for you to duck under it and sink to the ground as it covered your head from the rain. There was still a bit of daylight out, so you had more than enough time to stay there. Because getting back up was going to be difficult.

And you weren’t even sure if you wanted to keep going.

Your mother’s songcord was dangling from your hands now as silent tears spilled down your cheeks. You cried. And cried. And cried. And cried. And cried. Until you were hallowed. Until you weren’t sure if there was anything left of you at this point.

God, you hadn’t cried in so long.

You were dead. Your real body was dead. That wasn’t even your choice either. You had been poisoned, you died, and now you were in a new body.

None of it had been your choice. You didn’t want this. If you had the choice—if it were really up to you—you would’ve let the poison kill you. Anything was better than living in this hell where everything just seemed to be against you.

No matter what you did to make your situation better, something always came along and tackled you back to the ground, pushing you further and further until you began sinking again.

Death could’ve ended all of that.

But even that choice was taken out of your hands.

You could’ve done it now.

You could’ve gone back to Hell’s Gate, grabbed your knife, and…

And—and—and—

For a moment, your mind was quiet as you stared at your mother’s songcord. As you stared at the bone that ended the string.

You were a coward.

Something rustled a few feet away from you. Your body froze and considered the sounds around you. The rustling continued, drawing a little too close for your comfort.

With that, you ducked from under the leaf and moved away from the sounds.

Because even if you somewhat wanted to die, you sure as hell knew it wouldn’t be at the hands of a palulukan.

No. You were just a coward.

Dying took bravery. And you didn’t feel too brave at the moment.

All you could do was stagger forward until you found something to latch onto. To take you away from this until you felt brave enough.

Until then, you kept wandering through the forest. Letting rain pour onto your already wet and somewhat matted hair.

You tugged at one of the locks and hummed to yourself. You should do your hair.

At that, you kept going until eventually you found a waterfall. By then the rain had finally let up, the air was cool, and the smell of rain stayed with you despite the downpour disappearing.

It would’ve been calming if you allowed it to be.

The area itself was beautiful even in this dreary weather. You found a rock just a few feet away from the mainland and jumped onto it. Sitting down with your legs crossed, you leaned over the edge a bit, staring back at your reflection in the water.

Well, you supposed you looked as horrible as you felt. Your hair was one of the main things contributing to that. The braid that Neytiri made was still intact but the rest of your hair was just a wild mess. It was beginning to mat together and form dreads.

So, not particularly happy with the look and wanting a good enough reason to distract your hands and mind, you began doing your hair.

Diving into the waters wasn’t a good idea considering your healing injuries. Instead, you ducked your head into the waters. It was nice. Feeling the cool water against your skin, waking you up slightly. You would’ve stayed like this for a while and you did, considering you could hold your breath for a while.

The tension in your muscles relaxed and right when you were feeling yourself being pulled to sleep, something yanked on your queue, bringing your head out of the water and causing you to fall onto your back.

“Ow!”

“Skxawng!” You looked up only to regret it when you found Tsu’tey scowling down at you.  “What do you think you are doing?!”

You rolled your eyes and tugged your queue out of his grasp, “Obviously I came to drown myself. Congrats, you just saved the inconvenience.” Tsu’tey frowned, looking incredibly serious. You looked up at him and sighed, “I’m kidding. Do you guys not make depressing jokes now and then? Or is that only a human thing?”

He didn’t respond and you weren’t exactly waiting for one. Instead, you turned away from him and began parting your hair. You didn’t have a comb so running your hands through your thick curls was the best you could do for now. The best you could do at this point was take two strands and begin twisting them.

Tsu’tey appeared next to you, looming and watching you do your hair with a huff, “You’re doing that wrong.”

You glared, “I know how to do my own hair thank you.”

He didn’t move and you ignored him as you kept going with your hair. That was until you felt longer fingers wrap around yours and remove it from your hair.

“Hey—”

You felt his hands in your hair. Instantly, you went to yank yourself away from him only to stop when you felt his fingers move. It wasn’t rough or harsh, it was actually rather careful and precise. Any other day you would’ve shoved him away and told him to never touch your hair again but seeing as his braids were pretty neat and concise, you reconsidered.

Hell, maybe you’ve lost it. You were seriously letting Tsu’tey—the man who hated you the most—do your hair.

Maybe when you died you somehow went into a whole other universe. Yeah, that had to be it.

He was mumbling under his breath in Na’vi. You caught some words here and there like “humans” and “useless” a few times. But other than that his voice had been too quiet and quick for you to understand or at least translate some of the things he was saying.

Eventually, his hands disappeared from your hair. “There.” You watched as he stepped away from you to grab a bow from the ground, stretching his fingers, his face turned away from you so that you couldn’t see his expression.

You felt your hair to find some of it braided while the rest would’ve been left to mat together again. You tugged on it thoughtfully, perhaps you could let them turn into locs. It would be easier anyway. A lot more manageable considering you often forget to do your hair these days.

Next to you, Tsu’tey had also grabbed an arrow and approached the edge of the rock, pointing his bow down at a group of fish floating around the rock the both of you were on. You halfheartedly watched as the arrow flew into the water seconds later and hit one of the fish.

Absentmindedly you tugged on another braid as he went into the water to grab the arrow, “The Tsahik is looking for you.” He took the arrow from the water and yanked the fish off the tip. “She says you should not be up right now but resting. She is very upset at your disappearance.”

You didn’t respond. Tsu’tey looked back at you expectantly and you frowned, “So you came looking for me?”

A part of you was half-joking and half-annoyed when asking the question. You just wanted to be alone for a while. And dealing with Tsu’tey was the last thing you wanted right now.

“Yes,” Tsu’tey responded easily as he threw the dead fish to the spot next to you. You cringed away from it as he drew back another arrow. “And by the time I am done here, you will be coming with me to be checked by her.” You glared at the ground. A beat went by. “I will not take no for an answer. Your wounds are still healing—”

“Can we just, can we wait for a while?” You dropped your hands from your hair and into the waters. “I just—I need a place to breathe, okay? Back there, it’s just too suffocating. And I really don’t want to fight today. I’m too tired, so please…”

You didn’t look at him. But you did hear the arrow release and hit the water. Another beat went by. The waters slushed as he moved, “So you came here. For peace.”

It wasn’t a question but more of a statement like he understood it.

And reluctantly, you nodded in response.

For a while, you were quiet. Both of you. Tsu’tey grabbed the arrow and tossed the fish onto the rock. The water filled the silence, bringing you a sense of comfort in this long silence. You didn’t feel obligated to speak and Tsu’tey didn’t bother to conversate either. A big difference between him and Jake who would probably be talking your ear off with stupid jokes and infuriating jabs.

Not that it wouldn’t help a bit.

But right now, all you felt was exhaustion. Even Tsu’tey allowed himself to appear somewhat tired, at least from what you saw whenever his face was turned in your direction.

 “I thank you.”

You looked at him then, his back was still turned to you as he continued, “For saving my brother. Arvok. The arrow, he could have died if you hadn’t taken it for him. You—”

“Anyone would’ve done it.” You shrugged off, not wanting this type of attention. Especially not from him. What you did may have been somewhat heroic but you sure as hell didn’t feel that way. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I will.” Tsu’tey drew his arrow back again. The arrow flew again and hit another fish. “Even when I treated you horribly. You still saved him.”

You frowned and shook your head. His thanks for some reason made you feel worse. You didn’t know why but you wanted it to stop. “Like I said, anyone would’ve done it if they were in my position.”

“Hmph.” Tsu’tey tossed the third fish onto the rock and jumped back onto the rock with you. He grabbed the three fishes by the tail and nodded toward the forest, “Come, we should head back—”

“No.”

You heard him sigh, “Dreamwalker—”

“I can’t go back right now.” You blurted out, your hands clenching into fists as you glared down at your reflection. “I just can’t, okay? I can’t go back and face the pitiful looks Norm will send me. I can’t go back to Neytiri telling me that Eywa saved me or gave some fucking second chance that I had no say in. I can’t go back to hear Jake apologize over and over and over again until I go fucking crazy! I just can’t!”

You buried your face into your hands, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to face the world. All you felt, all you wanted to do was just crawl into a hole and hope that everyone left you alone. You hoped that you could lie down and become stone. You hoped you could become the tragedy that was amid the beautiful Pandora.

You hoped—You hoped—You hoped—

Something within your body told you that you were crying but no tears came.

Half alive and half buried.

Until they bled.

Something heavy landed on top of your head. It took you a moment for you to realize it was a hand—Tsu’tey’s hand. You dropped your hands from your face and frowned, reluctantly looking up at him to find him staring back at you.

God, these people were straightforward when it came to expressing themselves. Even Tsu’tey, who you considered the hardest to read out of the three.

“It is sad.” Tsu’tey squatted down next to you, his hand gently ruffling your hair. Your ears twitched, “I am sorry.”

You were taken aback, to say the least. Never in a million years could you imagine Tsu’tey out of all people, comforting you. Frankly, you never thought he felt anything toward you to enact such a strange reaction from him. And yet you didn’t move. Too afraid that if you flinched then he would take his hand away.

A part of you felt awful that he had to do this. And a part of you…

“You don’t have to do this.” You mumbled.

He huffed, “I do what I want. And I choose to be here. You saved my brother.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to comfort me.” This unyielding guilt was overwhelming, You almost wanted to shove his hand away. “I feel like I’m using you.”

“Then use me.”

You shook your head again, his hand remained firm, “You’re impossible—as usual.”

“Hmph.”

The both of you stayed like this for a while longer. It was getting dark. Creatures would start coming out soon. Perhaps you should stop being so stubborn and move already.

Tsu’tey didn’t say anything though. He was rather still and quiet. You looked over, for a moment wondering if he was asleep.

Only you found his yellow gaze staring at something intensely. Frowning, you followed his gaze.

Floating toward the both of you was an atokirina. Huh, you hadn’t seen one of these in a while. And even now they were still as pretty as you remembered them. Last time there were multiple, but this time it was one.

You stood and Tsu’tey followed seconds after.

Even for this, you remained still. As if moving would somehow scare it off. Tsu’tey must’ve had the same thought, standing as still as a statue next to you as the atokirina floated over your heads. The pure creature hovered over Tsu’tey’s forehead for a bit until it came over to you, tickling your nose.

Tsu’tey watched you and the atokirina in astonishment. It floated between the two of you for a moment before finally floating away.

You watched it in for a moment longer before your arm began to throb. Tsu’tey noticed you rolling your arm back uncomfortably and finally snapped out of his trance, “Is your arm bothering you?”

“A little.” You admitted reluctantly.

With a nod, he grabbed the fish and then the bow as he gestured toward the forest, “Come. We should return now. Mo’at is waiting.”

This time you did not protest. You glanced back toward the direction the atokirina disappeared before finally following after Tsu’tey.

When you got to Mo’at’s hut, she was already scowling at you. And surprisingly it was rather scary. So much so, that you unconsciously shrunk behind Tsu’tey so you wouldn’t feel any of her wrath. Jake and Neytiri were there as well, for what you did not know, but they appeared to have been waiting for yours and Tsu’tey’s return.

“Well, now we know you are well enough to foolishly run off.” Mo’at huffed as she pointed toward the spot on the floor. “Sit.”

Without waiting for you to respond, Mo’at dragged you to the spot and sat you down on the floor. Tsu’tey remained near the entrance and watched you silently. He hadn’t said anything ever since you started your walk back to their base. You wondered if he was at all bothered about seeing the atokirina. Or if it was on his mind at all.

While Mo’at wiped the dried mush from your arm, Neytiri squatted down next to you, “How are you feeling?”

“I died.” You said dryly. “Other than that, I’m swell.”

Jake sighed from his spot closest to Tsu’tey and the entrance, “Well, her snark’s intact. You sure she’s not back to normal?” You rolled your eyes, Neytiri rubbed your back while glaring at Jake.

“We saw an atokirina,” Tsu’tey spoke for the first time since you left the waterfall. “It came to the demon and I…” He said the rest of his explanation in Na’vi. You frowned, looking at Jake and Neytiri to gauge what exactly he was saying. You watched Neytiri’s ears twitch as her eyes brightened. Then there was Jake who looked completely serious, tail swinging behind him. Mo’at gave nothing away as she added more mush to your arm. You held back a scoff, irritated that you were the only one who couldn’t understand a single word.

“Another sign from Eywa,” Mo’at spoke in English. She looked at you almost knowingly as she continued. “This dreamwalker is here for a reason. Maybe for the same reason, Jakesully had come to us. Or something completely different. Perhaps this is her way of choosing a fourth for you.”

Neytiri perked up instantly, her hand squeezing your good shoulder gently. Jake’s head was bowed, hiding his expression. And Tsu’tey just frowned. And you felt your entire face grow hot. Suddenly you were rather aware of everything around you. If you had been standing, you would’ve fainted.

“Or maybe it’s something else?” You offered, trying to move the conversation forward instead of enduring this awkward and uncomfortable silence.

Mo’at watched all four of your expressions and huffed, “Come. We will just ask the Great Mother ourselves—”

“No, we don’t have to.” Jake stood straighter, tail lashing behind him.

Neytiri stood and sent him a look, “Ma’ Jake—”

But he shook his head, “I’m not doing it. I’m not taking her as a mate. That’s not fair and you know it—”

“And if it is in Eywa’s will?” Mo’at challenged, raising an invisible brow. “What then, Jakesully?”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” You added, already growing irritated by this conversation.

“Yeah, you’re right. You do have a say in this. But I’m gonna make this easy for you.” Jake nodded steely. “We’re fine as three. There is no room for another—especially her.”

“Fuck you!” You snapped, shooting to your feet. “Who the hell do you think you are—”

“Hey, I’m on your side here!” Jake argued. You failed to see the surprised reaction from your outburst, you failed to see the way he raised his hand as if easing you like you were a dangerous animal about to pounce—no you saw that actually. And it only pissed you off even more. “Do you want me to lie and welcome you into my family with open arms just like that? Or do you want the honest truth, Reeds? You value that, right?”

You let out a humorless laugh, skin boiling in anger now, “You really are full of shit, you know that, Sully? So you think it’s okay to just discard me then? As if I don’t have any fucking feelings? Am I just an emotionless body to you, Jake? Am I not supposed to be offended? ‘Especially her’? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“That’s enough—” Neytiri started only to be stopped by Mo’at who watched the two of you keenly. Even Tsu’tey didn’t even speak up. He didn’t snap at you nor did he stop Jake. He just watched on in grim silence that neither you nor Jake bothered to notice.

“I’m doing this for you—I’m not sayin’ this just to be an asshole, Reeds!”

“Could’ve fooled me.” You snickered mockingly. Honestly, you had no idea why you were so angry. You were just tired. Tired of him. Tired of this. Tired of all this bullshit. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, Sully, you’re not exactly prize material either, so there. Why don’t you just say that instead of hiding it behind some horse shit—”

“Jesus Christ.” He muttered in disbelief. Jake looked to the sky, struggling to respond. Struggling to string the words together.

But it shouldn’t have been that hard. “You’re right, I do value truth, Sully. So be fucking honest and just spit it out. Enough of the trying to protect me bullshit—I’ve heard enough of it and I don’t need any more of it. Say what you want, don’t hide now. It’s easy when it comes to me, right?”

You were just angry. So, so angry. You weren’t even sure if this anger deserved to be directed at him. If this anger was even about this conversation. You weren’t even sure why you were fighting so fiercely.

Jake scoffed, “And you think you make being around you easy? You don’t think maybe there’s a reason I blow up at you? You don’t think maybe it’s because you can be a huge asshole sometimes?”

“Oh yeah, this mate shit is going to work out perfectly.” You snorted.

“I can’t mate with someone I don’t love,” Jake spoke more bluntly toward Mo’at, Neytiri, and Tsu’tey. “I don’t know how much more honest I have to be about this. I can’t love someone like her. How can I? Not even a fucking miracle could ever get me to, and that’s the truth. You happy now? Is that what you want to hear?”

The tent was silent by then. Neytiri, in the corner of your eye, had her tail lashing behind her. Tsu’tey, who stood further back behind Jake held an unreadable expression instead of his usual severity but offered nothing. Mo’at just waited with her keen eyes on all four of you. She then sighed and shook her head, mumbling something in Na’vi.

You wished you weren’t so affected by his words. “Fine. Don’t love me, Jake.” You wished your heart didn’t sink to the pits of your stomach. You wished your heart wouldn’t take this much hut. You didn’t even want him. You didn’t even want a mate.

But you were unknowable. Unlovable.

You’ve always known this. So it shouldn’t have hurt so much for someone to tell you this straight to your face.

“Earn that shit.” You muttered, schooling your face into your usual impassive mask despite your achy eyes. Now you looked to Mo’at who was watching you in particular, “Is that all, Tsahik?”

You failed to see Jake’s shoulders fall and his ears lower, “Reeds—”

Mo’at spoke over him, “I want you back here in two days. Your wound is not fully healed yet.” She then looked at Tsu’tey, her eyes seeming to want something from him, “Is there a problem with that, Olo’eyktan?”

At this, Tsu’tey shook his head stiffly, “No. You are Tsahik. You must continue your work.”

“Mmph.” Mo’at huffed in what appeared to be disappointment. “Then you may leave, dreamwalker.”

You nodded and stalked toward the entrance. Neytiri tried reaching for you but you had been too quick for her grasp to catch, “Ma ‘tanhi…”

Jake avoided your gaze as you passed him, “I’ll see you later, Neytiri.” You stepped out of the hut, not bothering to look back.

After jumping down a few branches and landing on the ground, you found that two warriors were waiting for you on pa’li. One of the warriors guided a pa’li toward you, which you got on without much difficulty.

And without looking back, the pa’li began to move. You were cold. And tired.

Half alive and half buried in the ground.

“I will make sure my warriors return her safely to the human base,” Tsu’tey spoke stiffly as he ducked out of the hut. Jake watched him go, uneasy about what his mate could’ve been thinking at the moment. It was the most difficult when Tsu’tey was like this. He was hard to read and wouldn’t let up until he confessed to what he was feeling. So, all Jake had to do was wait until then.

But right now, he did know one thing.

Fuck.

He’d gone too far.

Neytiri had watched you go just a few feet from the entrance of the hut and by the time you were long gone she stalked back inside. Jake flinched when her glare stabbed him through his thin skin when it came to her fury, “Why did you do that? Why were you so cruel? Why are you trying to push her away?”

His ears flattened again, “Tiyawn—”

“No!” She shook her head and backed away from his reach. “You humans and hiding your true feelings. I know you, Jake. I know what you said wasn’t true and yet you chose to hurt her anyway. Why? Why do this?”

Jake frowned, his body tensing, “How do you know this isn’t how I feel—”

“Baah!” Neytiri hissed, smacking his shoulder. “Even if what you said was true, you did not need to be cruel! You do not need to hurt her! Do you even care?!”

“Of course I do!” Jake argued. He wasn’t heartless. Of course, he saw how his words affected—continued to affect you.

God, why did you always react that way when it was him? Why did his heart always feel heavy whenever it came to yelling at you these days? You weren’t like this with Tsu’tey, you always fired back. Why was it different with him? “What I said was true. I am doing this for her! I’m trying to protect her—”

“From what?” Neytiri hissed as if the words he was saying were false. “No more excuses, Ma’ Jake, what is it that you are so afraid of?!”

How did she do it? How did she fiercely protect you like this without a care in the world? How did she fiercely care about you without being frightened of the consequences? “You weren’t there when Artsut threatened her life.” At this Neytiri faltered, her ears lowering slightly but Jake continued before she could interrupt her again, “She’s already being pulled into this mess with the clans. What happens if Artsut, a woman with great influence within this clan, comes for her? What happens when we take another human mate that she doesn’t approve of? What then? It’ll be our fault that Reeds becomes ruined. It’ll be our fault for not being careful—”

“That is not for us to decide,” Neytiri told him bluntly but her face softened—only a bit. “Your heart comes from a good place but your words are misguided.” She gingerly grew closer to him until her hand could reach the curve of his cheek as she gently caressed it. “Make this right. Enough of this fighting. Can’t you see she’s tired?”

Mo’at, who had been crushing some herbs in a bowl, did not refute her daughter’s wise words.

Jake was outnumbered. But he was also tired too.

You came back to Hell’s Gate to find a white sheet over your former body, right in the middle of a nearly empty room.

Cry. Just cry. Cry.

Instead, you stayed in that silent room. You did not look away from the body.

Half alive and half buried in the ground.

All you needed was a tombstone.

boom! chapter 9! this one chapter i was definitely nervous to write because we see jake and reeds at, in my opinion, their worst in their slowly developing relationship and a peek at the beginning of tsu'tey and reeds' future relationship.

hope you enjoyed it! chapter 10 should be coming soon!

(i'm not adding any more people anymore!)

taglist: @doggyteam2028 @bigbootahjudy @innercreationflower @n7cje @celi-xxmoon @readerofallthingss @sillyblues @saturnhas82moons @1mawh0re @aprosiacperson @loserwithnofriends @garfieldsladybird @slutforsmut4ever @lik0

[insaeculaseaculorum]

We know Trina was fully aware that godhood would be a prison for Miquella.

The thing about prison is, you don't get what you want in there. You don't get to be who you want to be, or spend your life with your loved ones, or save anyone outside while you can barely save yourself. You don't get to avoid violence just because you have good intentions because violence is all around you and prison itself is part of a violent cycle that never breaks from within.

We know Trina was Miquella's other self, literally "half of the body". Surely Trina's knowledge used to be Miquella's knowledge too.

We know Trina thought Miquella must be killed and in fact instructed us to kill him. We know Miquella wanted to kill her too and in fact left her behind to bleed, wither and die, likely after having pushed her down a cliff.

When half of you and the other half took actions to kill each other, it's not murder. It's a suicide.

Many agreed the whole "no cost too great" mindset for ascension in the DLC felt very disconnected and disingenuous. Indeed Miquella showed no interest in becoming a god in the base game, since abandoning fundamentalism they have been more focused on materials - physical, tangible things rather than wrestling with concepts and philosophies. Instead of relying on their identity as an empyrean, they preferred using their own hands and knowledge to practice crafts as a sage and a scholar.

Then we were told what they thought of godhood via Trina. We followed their blood trail of literal total self destruction and reached the spot where they attempted suicide. We saw and heard them hold back a desperate cry when they said "I will become a god", alone in a memory space that's stripped of all colours.

Yet many still believed this was what Miquella wanted all along. I find that extremely unlikely.

Why abandon doubt and vacillation in the first place? If there weren't multiple alternatives to begin with, they wouldn't have had to abandon vacillation i.e. the inability to make a choice among two or more options.

We know for sure one of the options was to kill Mohg and use his body as a vessel to contain Radahn's soul to return as a god, which was what they eventually went with, although they didn't kill Mohg themselves.

It's very obvious that Miquella wouldn't want to go down this path. If you look at how they thought of Marika even after knowing about the Shamans:

(Count Ymir dialogue)

They despised her. It was unkind, given Shamans' history, but they were too angry to even pretend they had any compassion for her in front of Ymir.

Many people more or less sympathised with Marika after the DLC but even with the same knowledge Miquella's verdict was that Marika was simply wrong and insane, and she was the one to blame for everyone's pain that came after. This aspiring god of compassion, who sought to embrace all, couldn't embrace what their parents did. They resented her so much that they were determined to abandon everything they inherited from her, to give away every last strand of their flesh and bleed themselves dry, just to cut all ties with her, and her age of the Erdtree.

Even after the charm broke, the vengeful hornsent who was eager to kill all Erdtree denizens still fully acknowledged Miquella's redemption. This could not have simply been done by their charm.

Leda said to us:

A seduction and a betrayal. Hornsent grandam also spoke about being "betrayed" by Marika, who she referred to as a "wanton strumpet"; a low blow, at Marika's private history. Likely, Marika "seduced" a significant member of the Hornsents to gain protection, then forsook their soul and used their body as a vessel for her other partner, and it's therefore such a personal, despicable betrayal in Hornsent grandam's eyes. If it was irrelevant, she wouldn't have made such an emphasis on how Marika was sexually unrestrained.

Miquella clearly knew this. Whether they knew it was the only way to return as a god is another matter - I tend to believe Miquella only found the secret rite scroll later on - otherwise it wouldn't have been a secret rite (hidden in the corner of s secret library) for a sealed away tower hidden in the super secret shadow lands - and when they "spoke of the beginning", they only thought it was due to Marika's cruelty and insanity that she heartlessly used someone who fully trusted them for her ascension.

They condemned Marika so much that they tore their own body apart to show everyone their determination to never even come close to Marika's path, that they would be on the side of the downtrodden. As many have rightly pointed out, killing Mohg and using his body as a vessel would just be repeating Marika's doing which renders all their sacrifice and redemption pointless. Their promises to the Hornsents would become the biggest lie that haunts them for life.

No matter how they felt towards Mohg, they would for sure hate the idea of being even remotely like Marika, not to mention doing the similar deeds as her to ascend and return as a god. They also couldn't afford having their bloodline tainted again by themselves and having their future children think of them the same way as they now think of Marika. Think about all the omen children who would eventually figure out what happened to their father. It's not possible to rely on their charm (of which the extent of power was obviously limited) forever and ever. They came here to make things right, not to start another vicious cycle.

Naturally, one of the other options would be to not go ahead with the secret rite, although if they so choose, they'd be lingering in the LoS as half flesh half spirit forever, breaking their promise to Malenia that they'd return to her.

The vessel must be a sacred, horned body, and it must be emptied and refilled with a lord's soul. It's kept vague in the English version, but relatively clear in Japanese that the vessel and the soul need to be from two separate sources.

I don't think using Mohg's body as the vessel shows how indifferent or hateful they were towards Mohg - committing a thousand years' companionship with someone's body itself is incredibly sexually intense, and says something about their preference.

We can clearly see it from their attitude toward Marika that when they truly resent someone, they would not hide it, and they would want nothing to do with them. They also believe the ways they treat flesh and bones bear meanings and emotions. Abandoning their own flesh means cutting ties with their origin. Retaining Mohg's flesh should hold the same weight. There might be other options, but they'd rather it be Mohg's body that's by their side, if it must come to that.

Only the choice between two betrayals - two loved ones - can be so impossible.

In a way, Miquella mirrored each of their followers' qualities: they were academic like Ansbach, youthful like Freyja, charismatic like Leda, and determined to be the best in their craft like Dane.

They could also be hesitant like Thiollier, indecisive like Moore, and resentful like the Hornsent. This was when they faced the exact same questions as Moore:

Should I stay sad forever (about the fact that I must betray one of them) or put it behind me (do it, and get it over with)?

They had been choosing "I don't know" for so long that they eventually abandoned the very feature of vacillation itself to get it over with.

Now the new Miquella thought without doubt and vacillation, that maybe they could accept killing Mohg, and reviving Radahn's soul. They could betray the horned people a little for now and say a big sorry later. Mohg loved them so much that he would give anything they asked for anyway.

But they didn't actually kill him. I believe when Mohg was felled by the tarnished, Miquella's blood ran cold.

Entertaining the idea of betraying someone who wholeheartedly trusts and supports you and going against everything you believe in and represent is one thing, executing such a plan and staring into the aftermath is another. They were like those who joked about killing hundreds of people a day but in fact couldn't even make themselves shoot a cow.

Out of love and respect towards themselves, they thought it was best to die.

Even without the ability to think critically, the loss was simply too much to bear. They knew they must stop now, as they haven't managed to save anyone so far, and they wouldn't be able to save anyone if they carried on as they were even more dangerous than before. Hell, they didn't want to become a god to begin with, merely saying it out loud almost made them cry as a child.

I disagree whenever someone says Miquella was cruel. They were kind enough to decide they should spare the rest of the world from themselves.

But they failed at dying too. The thing that climbed up from the bottom of the fissure wearing Miquella's face, was not Miquella or Trina anymore. It was mindless, heartless, bodiless, and so very afraid.

The final boss was only titled "Promised Consort Radahn" & "Radahn, Miquella's Consort", instead of "Radahn and Miquella" for a reason.

The last remembrance only spoke about Miquella's innocent youth, a broken memory from when they didn't even know what asking someone to be their king fully entailed, as if the rest hundreds years of their life as a prodigy and a brilliant craftsman didn't exist, for a reason.

For Miquella was not there. Just like Mohg, Miquella's soul had also been torn into pieces and mostly forsaken by themselves. Descartes said "I doubt, therefore I am; in other words, I think, therefore I am." He was quite right.

Without doubt, vacillation, love and fear, without their very being, what exactly was there left?

Only blind ambition and violence, like every other power hungry man - as reflected in Light of Miquella - submit to him, or be annihilated.

This is why killing this last bit of them was mercy and forgiveness - Miquella themselves would have hated to exist like this. It would be cruel not to put them down. We were essentially their war surgeon in the end.

We reached their voice mail, a faint echo of them from yonks ago, stripped of all nuances. The lights were still on, but they would never be home again.