#he still has wounds he has to heal and he has to go through withdrawal and he has two fingers that arent gonna come back

[pear1ridge-a]

I just think. I think more violence. More horror.

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part Sixteen

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Warnings: there’s a Fremen orgy, Chani joins in with Feyd and reader, oral sex f receiving, oral sex m receiving, Feyd gives you a facial

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: Yes, I’m still alive and updating, I promise😭(Also Chani really just pulls a Peeta in this part)

When Feyd wakes in the night, wrenched from his slumber by nightmares, you’re there to bring him back to reality. The wild look in his eyes stays with you, though, even after they close and he returns to a restless sleep.

“What are you doing?” You hiss at the healer one night after a particularly bad nightmare.

Feyd whimpers as you pass your hand over his smooth brow. The healer is at his side, collecting the slightly blue-tinged sweat that glistens his skin and bottling it in a glass container.

“The Water of Life,” the healer says in way of explanation, then slips away.

Ignoring your mother’s advice to assimilate with the sietch, you’ve stayed by Feyd’s side most days. But you seek her out now, presiding over a small group of Fremen who kneel at her feet. Her mouth purses unhappily as she realizes who has stolen the attention from her.

“What do you want?” She demands when you pull her aside. Her voice reverberates through the halls, a side effect to the hollowed out caverns.

You curb your annoyance. Jessica won’t tell you anything if you snip at her. “Tell me about what they’re giving Feyd-Rautha.”

“More poison,” she says after a pause, “there had to be a way to counteract the poison in his veins. What kind of paranoid —”

“I dosed on the poison too,” you snap. “Why don’t I take the same thing?”

Jessica’s eyes flash. “The poison has been in his system longer. He almost died because we couldn’t figure out why he was going through withdrawal. Without know what he dosed on, we used the only thing strong enough to save him.”

“Why do they collect it? His sweat.”

“They use the recycled poison for…recreational reasons,” she says.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“I suspect you’ll see soon.”

You keep careful watch over Feyd’s injuries and his care, semi-grateful that he phases in and out of consciousness. Your stomach revolts against any food you eat and morning sickness plagues you constantly — he hasn’t noted it, yet, but you’re afraid for when he recovers and reverts to his usual observant self.

From Jessica’s prying gaze you can tell she’s judgmental of your decision not to let Feyd know of the pregnancy. You don’t owe her an explanation, though, so you keep it a secret, which is all fine and well until the supposed Water of Life quickens his already heightened healing.

Feyd perches on the edge of the makeshift bed, the hint of a smile on his mouth as you approach. You swallow your surprise. A healer is adjusting the bandaging around his middle, and you catch a glimpse of the wound before they finish. It’s still pink and raw but mostly healed, just another mark to join the hundreds of others crisscrossing his muscled form.

“Are you ill?” Feyd asks.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “How are you?”

“Better now.”

You send away the healer and cross the room to his side. “Did they mention anything…weird?”

Feyd frowns, brow creasing. “No. I know what you’re referring to, however, there’s a strange tension in the air.” He clears his throat. “I was hoping to take a walk with you.”

We need to talk alone.

“Of course.”

You move to help him to his feet but he waves you away. Without giving a certain destination, you just lead Feyd through the winding tunnels of the sietch until you reach a small outing. The duel suns beam down on you. “I didn’t miss this,” you remark as he beckons you up an incline.

“I need to ensure that we’re alone,” Feyd says.

“I doubt we ever really are.” You sweep the sandy horizon. “They don’t trust us.”

“Understandably.”

“Listen, Feyd —”

He cuts you off. “Tell me everything that’s happened. I feel inadequately prepared. I-I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to me about that first?” You press, risking his irritation.

“No.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek. What did you expect exactly? You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “Nothing…much. I spoke to them on our behalf. Upon Jessica’s request.”

“Jessica?” His head swivels. “Your Mother?”

You nod, somewhat somberly. “She survived Rabban’s attack and has become the Sayyadina. A sort of…spiritual mother.”

Feyd grunts a reply. Not for the first time, you wish that you could pry open his skull and peer into his thoughts. He’s lost weight since the crash, his cheekbones standing out starkly in his face. Although he still cuts an imposing figure, aided certainly by his sharp tongue, his body is not as powerful as it once was. You realize he’s been covertly trying to catch his breath since your short climb up the sandy incline.

“You almost died, Feyd,” you say quietly. “Recovery is going to be —”

His jaw feathers. “You should’ve let me die.”

“What?” When he doesn’t explain himself, you continue, “What are you talking about?”

“I told you not to sacrifice yourself for me. By trying to keep me alive you were opposing my wish and risking your life.”

“I have no life without you,” you whisper furiously.

Feyd’s dark eyes flicker. A look of conflicted torment crosses his face and he finally pulls his gaze from you, back to the desert. “One of us must stay alive to get revenge on our enemies.”

“Oh, that’s why?” You bitterly ask.

“I can’t be worried about you jeopardizing yourself for my sake,” he says, softer. “Obviously that is my top priority. But we are the only ones who can dismantle the Emperor.”

“This is what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“We need to figure out our next steps.”

You exhale a stream of air. “Fine. What are you thinking?”

“The Fremen haven’t heard anything from The Baron?”

“Not that they’ve deigned to share with me.”

“They must believe us dead,” Feyd mutters.

“Like my mother.”

“She will certainly be an asset in this war.”

The word war sends a chill down your spine. Of course you knew that it was happening, but to hear it explicitly said is something different. “They underestimate us again and again,” you say to him, offering him a grim smile.

Feyd picks up your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Their greatest mistake.”

The both of you sit there for quite some time, discussing strategy, before commotion within the sietch draws you back. You don’t miss the way that Feyd walks behind you possessively, hovering, your dark shadow.

“What’s going on?” You ask one of the passing Fremen.

They shake off your hand but appear too excited to give you a reprimand. “The Water of Life ceremony. We must make preparations.”

“They keep saying that — Water of Life,” Feyd comments lowly.

“I’m afraid to ask,” you reply. Does he know that it’s made of his own perspiration?

You’re still not quite accustomed to the winding tunnels of the sietch and this is Feyd’s first time navigating, so you’re both helpless. You end up just following a large group of Fremen into the center of the sietch, curiosity leading you. The music pumping through the space reminds you of a heartbeat, making the hollowed out walls the ribcage that it rattles.

You can feel Feyd’s skepticism from behind you just by the stiffness of his limbs. “Would it kill you to smile?”

“Yes,” he rasps. His breath on your neck makes your toes curl in your boots.

You find a place on the outskirts of the celebration to stand and observe, watching as more and more Fremen cram into the room. The music lifts and circles around you, impossibly loud, joined now by the sound of drums. Duel suns begin their descent and it’s not until darkness has shut like a curtain on the outside world that the chorus of feminine voices begin. It’s quite beautiful, really, chilling. Moonlight pools into the sietch from a hole in the ceiling and illuminates the women singing, lilting and ethereal, passing the container of blue liquid.

You bristle slightly at the sight of it.

“What?” Feyd asks. His gaze is still fixated on the crowd, enraptured with the strange ceremony.

“Nothing,” you say.

You can tell he wants to press the matter but the words die on his tongue — like a breeze rippling over water, starting in the center and moving outward, Fremen begin to dance. It’s like nothing you’ve seen before, strangely elegant and moving, tanned limbs flashing in the light. And as soon as the dancing begins so does the sounds of flesh on flesh, of mouths meeting, bodies tangling together. Surprise flares through you.

Orgies are, of course, nothing new to you. There were plenty on Giedi Prime. But you didn’t expect the Fremen to engage in such indulgences, yet it made sense the more you watched. Sharing your waters with someone was deeply personal, which inevitably happened during sex in some variety. The Water of Life appeared to be the catalyst to this behavior, entrancing the Fremen and loosening their inhibitions.

Feyd pushes his front to yours, cock hardened already. One hand encircles around your waist while the other goes to your throat, thumb pressed to your fluttering pulse.

“You look ravishing tonight, jewel,” he whispers, his lips on the shell of your ear.

You suppress a shiver at his words, your cunt contracting in anticipation. His mouth travels just below your ear now, brushing over the sensitive skin there.

“We’re not welcomed here yet,” you remind him, “I don’t know if we’re exactly invited to…join.”

“Of course you are.”

You turn your head, still entrapped in Feyd’s embrace, who doesn’t seem the least bit guilty to be caught in such a promising position. In the dark it’s hard to tell who spoke but you notice the delicate features off the glint of torchlight, contrasted by the hardness in her eyes. Chani hovers nearby, wavering slightly and clearly under the influence of the Water of Life.

“It would be rude not to,” she adds.

“You’re very generous but we really should be going —”

At the same time, Feyd asks, “Do you want a taste?”

Silence throbs between the three of you. She steps closer. Feyd, hard and muscled behind you and Chani, lean and beautiful, in front of you. Desire nips at your more reasonable senses, with teeth sharp and wanting. Feyd keeps his hands on you as Chani closes the distance.

“This can be a lot for an outsider,” she says.

There’s no mistaking the challenge in her words. Feyd bristles slightly, clearly ready to intervene no matter your answer. You appreciate this, and paste a smile to your face. “Hopefully after tonight I will no longer be one.”

“We’ll see, na-Baroness.”

Chani grabs you with both hands and slots her mouth over yours.

The kiss is so different compared to Feyd’s — even the way she spit out your title instead of saying it in awe — that shock seizes you, rendering you motionless until Chani parts your lips and her tongue slips inside.

She tastes of cinnamon, fresh dew, the heat of the desert slipping into the coolness of night. You want to ask how her opinion of you had changed so drastically but it’s clear that she’s testing your tolerance of Fremen traditions, more probing than lustful. Feyd’s fingers dip below your waistband and your breath hitches.

“I don’t usually share,” Feyd says to Chani, voice low and rasping, “do you realize how lucky you are?”

Chani snags your lower lip with her teeth, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, certainly.”

“I urge you to respect what’s mine,” he retorts. Although your eyes are closed, your body limp and fluid-like between the both of them, you can imagine the wicked glint in his gaze.

“Fremen don’t believe in possessing others,” Chani challenges. She bows against you as Feyd finds your clit, provoking a moan from you.

Feyd inserts a digit into your cunt as he says, “Then you’ve never known anyone you’re afraid of losing.”

Chani works to remove your shirt while Feyd pleases you with his fingers, nimble and skilled. He grinds his hips against your ass and holds you to him as Chani captures one of your nipples with her mouth, your head lolling back in response. The familiarity of Feyd’s warmth mixed with Chani’s touch is almost too much for you to handle, her wet mouth hardening your nipples as she releases them to be exposed to the air.

“Now get your taste,” Feyd says to Chani.

She sucks your juices from his fingers but there’s no pleasure in the act, only the burning sensation of her eyes on you as she licks him clean.

Exhilarated by the two, you wiggle free of Feyd and give Chani a light push. “Allow me.”

Obediently, she falls back onto a flat surface of rock. It’s tricky, at first, to remove the stillsuit but you’re emboldened by Feyd’s presence in your peripheral. He murmurs encouraging words to you as he strokes himself, large hand sliding up and down his length. Finally you free Chani of the lower part of her stillsuit and, in a single, swift movement, part her legs.

A patch of dark, curled hair greets you at the apex of her thighs. Her skin is soft, body slender, hipbones earning two open-mouthed kisses. She writhes eagerly. Admittedly, you’ve never been with a woman before but you know your own cunt well enough to hopefully be of service to her. She releases a breath of surprise when you lick a stripe up her center.

Determined to show her just how adaptive you can really be, you guide her legs over your shoulders as you settle. You explore, at first, testing what would invoke the most reaction from her, running your tongue through her folds. Once you understand exactly where it is she wants you to suck and lick and pamper, you use your mouth to give her exactly that.

And you realize that you enjoy it — enjoy her — despite the implications of the act. Sure, you’re trying to prove yourself but now you can think of nothing but bringing Chani to orgasm. You want to draw from her the shuddering delight, to feel her squirm as you pin her with your hands and your mouth, to show her that you are a force to be reckoned with.

Curiously, sensing that she’s close, you release one hand from her to tease her entrance with your fingers, gathering the wetness there. You revoke, slightly, to admire your work. Her juices coat your lips and chin. She bucks her hips in protest at the absence of you and you extend your apology in the shape of your fingers sliding into her cunt, curling, beckoning for her.

Chani’s thighs clench around you. It’s enough to invite you back to her, press your mouth to her, joining together with your fingers as you start to coax her to orgasm.

“You’re so wet for me,” you murmur to her, hoping the vibrations of your voice transfer.

Chani lifts her head to glare at you, though her eyes are lidded blissfully. “I hate you,” she says through gritted teeth. She shudders at the change in pace of your ministrations, responding to her words with renewed passion.

“Say it again,” you order her.

Her head falls back and her body bows. “I hate you.” Chani swallows, throat working as she fights the inevitable. “I hate you. I hate you.”

Chani’s cry of release mingles with those of others around you, seeking their own pleasures. A spike of triumphant stabs through you. You’re hopelessly horny now, your own thighs slick, and you’ve just conceived the notion to give yourself attention when there’s movement in the corner of your eye. Feyd undresses quickly, looking like some sort of malicious phantom in the moonlight, paler and taller than most of the Fremen.

“I will take care of you,” he says, words drenched with lust, “so that you can continue to take care of her.”

“Don’t you dare touch me,” Chani warns to him.

Feyd positions himself behind you, sinking to his knees. His touch is gentle as it descends down your spine, affectionately grazing over each knob until finally he presses a kiss at the nape of your neck. “Will you tell her that I would never dream of touching anyone but my beloved?”

You open your mouth to say as much, breaking from your sentry at Chani’s cunt, but Feyd effectively stops you from getting out the words. There’s a moment of temporary discomfort as he thrusts his cock inside you but the friction that you’ve so badly needed feels excruciatingly wonderful, and you back out in surprise.

“By all means, don’t stop on my account,” Feyd rasps as he snaps his hips up into you.

He keeps you secured with one hand around your waist while the other grabs hold of Chani’s ankles. She struggles against his grip but ultimately relents as you draw her clit into your mouth and suck, the force of Feyd’s thrust rocking you forward ever so slightly. It doesn’t take very long until you’re slick enough that he can push into you without resistance, and the feeling of being cleaved in half melts into complete bliss.

It’s a moment of transcendency, floating to a higher plane as your pleasure crests. Feyd’s cock fills you so thoroughly — you missed it over the few weeks of his recovery, missed the feel of his powerful body against yours. And he’s clearly enraptured at the sight of you between Chani’s legs, each buck of his hips accompanied by whispered praises.

Your mind reels as you struggle to grasp your situation, so beyond anything you could’ve ever imagined. Chani grinding against you and Feyd fucking you from behind, both of them working in tandem to fill you with inexplicable ecstasy.

“Fuck, jewel,” Feyd pants out. His fingers dig into your side, keeping you steady.

You wiggle back against him appreciatively.

There’s an unspoken rhythm in this dance, this strange, wonderful dance, reminding you of the tides. If you break from Chani to kiss Feyd over your shoulder, she replaces her hand where your mouth was, and if you break from Feyd to properly lavish Chani, he pumps into you rapturously. And then there’s you, torn between them both, lost in your own place of existence.

Time stretches and broadens, one moment melting into the next. The wailing sound of drums and voices joins with the crowd of bodies, the air smelling distinctly of spice and sex. You swear that you feel strange hands graze across your skin, reach out to grab you, touch your hair. There’s no telling where your body begins and someone else ends and the only anchor to reality is Feyd’s presence behind you, the rasp of his breath as he fucks you.

Feyd doesn’t have to alert you to his climax, you recognize the familiar tautness of him, and then he’s spilling inside you, effortlessly lifting you up so that he can expel his seed. Chani watches this, chest heaving, mouth parted. If she notices the excess of black cum on your thighs, she says nothing, just tilts her head back and smirks.

“That was a good start,” she says.

The next morning, you’re surprised to find that most of the sietch has roused from their stupors. Not having indulged in the Water of Life, you and Feyd have no difficulty rising from your makeshift beds, besides your distinct soreness.

“Could it be that easy to get accepted?” You ask him as you both dress.

He makes a small noise. “Mm. A few orgasms and you think they’ll forget my family’s bloodshed?”

“It certainly helped in my case.”

Feyd casts a glare in your direction, lips twitching with reluctant humor. He says, infuriatingly casual, “I didn’t know you were interested in taking more than one partner.”

“Well, she didn’t give me much of a choice,” you reply, face burning slightly. The memory of Chani’s long legs over your shoulders flashes through your mind, how Feyd had held them in place. “If I refused her she would’ve taken it as reluctance to join their customs.”

His brows quirk.

“Okay, I didn’t hate it. But I’m not interested in other partners. You’re all I need.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Did you doubt it?” You ask.

“I only wanted to hear it out loud.”

There is something in his voice that hooks behind your navel and pulls, the invisible tether between you both. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Ask you what?” He muses, stepping closer. “To prove that I’m the only one who can fuck you? That you belong, first and foremost, to me?” His proximity reminds you of the crackle of electricity before a lightning strike, a dangerous charge of energy. “Do you suggest I ask you to get on your knees and demonstrate your devotion?”

Your eyes dart traitorously to his plush lips. “You know I would do anything you ask of me.”

“Then kneel.”

Your knees hit the ground. You ignore the sharp bite of pain in favor for admiring the deft motion of his fingers at his buckle, eager to see what’s underneath. There’s yet to be a time that the sight of his cock hasn’t made your mouth water and your thighs slicken — your gaze runs up his shaft, threaded with veins, to the pale underside of his head. A gleam of pre-cum is visible near his slit that he smooths over with his fingers, transitioning it into a loose grip and drawing your attention back downwards.

“I don’t have to ask you to take my cock, do I?” He all but sneers at you.

It’s enough of an invitation for you to reach out and replace your hand with his. The blood in his veins, dark as ink, stands out against his skin. Giving into your impulses, you trace your tongue over each vein, flicking his head. You swear you can practically taste him, know the way that his blood would flood your mouth, imagine the rush of his seed down your throat.

And suddenly you can’t wait any longer to wrap your lips around his cock, subsequently forfeiting your control as Feyd gasps and, in response, thrusts deeper into your mouth. You gag. There’s a sick pleasure in the way he slides in and out, pushing himself past your lips and grabbing hold of the hair at the base of your skull, snapping his hips in short bursts.

You thought that he wanted you to prove your loyalty by lavishing him with your mouth but clearly he intends to challenge you — judge how well you will open and take his ruthless appraisal. Tears burn behind your eyes and saliva, having nowhere else to go as he fucks your throat, dribbles from the corners of your mouth, effectively coating his cock. Never one to be outdone, however, you manage to reach up between you and cup his balls, holding them tightly in your palm. Feyd inhales sharply.

It’s a brutal game of back and forth now, him bucking into you and you matching each thrust with your own touch, firmly squeezing and massaging him between your fingers. Oh, how you would love to pull his balls into your mouth. But the force with which he buries himself allows no room for any other action, just the quick, steady intrusion of his cock. You know already that tomorrow — hell, this afternoon — your throat will ache wonderfully. And while he always satisfies you, there’s something extra pleasing about the physical marks of his work, the proud artist signing his masterpiece.

And you, his canvas.

It’s not long before you feel the familiar warning shudder of him before he comes, the tightening in his balls that you’ve kept forcefully in your grasp. Feyd paints you with his cum then, warm ropes shooting across your face and tongue. He jolts once, twice, then stills, stroking himself until the end. Feyd surveys you, searching your face, then swipes at the seed from your cheek and pushes it into your mouth, thumb pressing down on your tongue.

You eagerly lick and suck from it, a satisfying suction sound resulting from him as he pulls out. “Just for me,” Feyd says approvingly. He glances over you again and adds, “You might want to clean up before we join the others.”

Glaring, but unable to hide your grin, you dart your tongue out to capture the residual cum near your mouth. “You think?”

The rest of that afternoon is helped pitching in wherever you can in a continuation of your test of worthiness. Feyd, still healing, is relinquished to minimal labor errands like ferrying messages but when the Fremen discover that he’s not exactly sociable, decide that he can tend to their subterranean garden. It makes you laugh to see him rooting through the weeds and hardy plants able to grow without much water, muttering.

You, on the other hand, have convinced the others that you are more than capable of handling yourself despite your “delicate condition”. This probably has to do with your mother’s influence but you frankly don’t care — at least you can leave the suffocating odor and closeness of the sietch, venturing out for shorts stints to hunt small desert animals and perimeter checks.

Of course, neither of you are left alone. Chani has delegated herself to be your perpetual guardian, which you don’t know whether to take as a compliment or an insult. Either way, she refuses to acknowledge it, and you’re under the impression that she wants to make your life as difficult as possible.

This goes on for two months, Chani driving you to your limit in order to prove yourself. The man named Stilgar urges her to give you a break, in which you’re grateful that Feyd is never around, but she staunchly refuses. Every time Stilgar mentions the Messiah, you’re struck with panic; in an effort of self-conservation you’ve successfully ignored your pregnancy despite the occasional boughts of nausea. But as time goes by it gets harder and harder as the life inside you grows and forces your attention to it.

There’s still no physical indication of your pregnancy, but you’re starting to fear that someone will tell Feyd or he’ll notice the bloat of your belly and say something. Stillsuits aren’t exactly fantastic maternity wear. How will you do your part in the Sietch if you can’t work?

These thoughts plague day in and day out, especially when Jessica preaches your contribution to their society, the sacrifice you’re making to bear them their savior. It makes you uncomfortable and furious but you let her as long as their false hope keeps you and Feyd safe.

It’s morning when everyone gathers to break their fast together, and you catch snippets of gossip about The Baron. He’s taken over Arrakis, which you suspected, but apparently has been sending out hits into the desert in hopes of eradicating the Fremen. This is met with collective hatred, of course, and you express your interest in joining a team of fighters in response to this.

“I want to fight,” you tell them sternly.

Chani lingers nearby, never too far. “Absolutely not. How do we know that you won’t just sabotage our mission?”

“And why would I do that? I hate them just as much as you do,” you snap back.

“Clearly,” she says, glancing at your abdomen.

Frustration takes root inside you. “Feyd hates them just as much. We have tried to prove ourselves to you for months now. Let us actually make a difference besides gardening and petty perimeter patrols.”

“No.”

“What? We’re only needed when it involves your own self-interest?” You bite back. “Just when I can make you come?”

Her upper lip peels back in a snarl. “Bitch.”

“What’s going on?”

The small crowd that’s gathered all turns to watch Feyd saunter into the room. He’s looking much healthier now and returning to his former strength, which might make or break your case in this instance.

You purse your lips. “Nothing.”

“The na-Baroness wants to join us in a responsive ambush against the Harkonnen strikes,” Chani says over you. She crosses her arms over her chest and you catch a triumphant look on her face that irks you to no idea.

Feyd looks to you, then back to Chani. “Do you deny her this?”

“Of course I deny her this,” Chani says, “I don’t care what everyone else thinks. I don’t trust you.”

“Then you are stupid,” Feyd remarks.

There’s a gasp of surprise from several of those around you and you grit your teeth. Feyd, I hope you know what you’re doing, you think.

Chani’s face twists in anger. “Why would I trust you to join us in an ambush when you so spectacularly failed your last one?”

Feyd opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it, cutting your gaze to Chani. “Fine. Forget it.”

“Y/N —” Feyd starts to say.

“Besides,” Chani sniffs, “how would I forgive myself if anything happened to the baby?”

Your blood runs cold.

Feyd’s entire body stiffens at this and you force yourself to turn away from him. It feels as if your heart might burst from your chest, your stomach twisting with guilt and regret. When he finally does speak, Feyd’s voice is soft, imploring:

“What baby?”

Part Seventeen

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @kpopnstarwars @dacreshoney @stopeatread @therealslimshady-1 @aoi-targaryen @psychoffin @lauratang @austinswhitewolf

[blackkatmagic]

Barriss Offee!

There are scrolls on bloodbending hidden deep in Archives, in the back areas restricted to senior padawans and above, where Madam Nu carefully monitors any withdrawals or changes to the catalogue.

Barriss hadn’t expected to actually find any, even knowing that the Jedi have studied plenty of other Sith bending variations. Something about this one just feels…different.

She stares down at the scroll, at the carefully-laid sketches of positions and stances, hand motions and foot placements. Some ancient Jedi wrote everything down so that the Order could combat the ability in the future, could recognize it. Not so that they could use it.

Barriss wants to use it, though. That’s the only reason that she’s here.

She hasn’t decided yet. Not really. But—the thought is there, tucked away in the back of her mind. The war is going badly, and so many millions of people are dead. So many millions of clones are dead. Barriss is a Healer, and she’s always wanted to be a Healer, but this isn't something she can fix by treating wounded, by patching up soldiers who end up on a pyre twelve hours later. Something needs to change, and the war needs to stop, and the how is getting harder and harder to care about.

Bloodbending will help. The Sith used to use it because its control makes it impossible for a target to use the Force. If Barriss has to do something drastic, the Jedi will try to stop her, so she needs a way to just…make sure they can't.

It doesn’t have to be permanent. She’s not going to kill Jedi. Just…keep them out of the way.

“Commander Offee?” a voice says in surprise, so sudden that it makes Barriss startle. She whirls around, heart in her throat, and freezes at the sight of clone armor, painted with blue like teardrops, battered in a way she hast seen before.

“Tup,” she says, startled, and takes a step forward with one hand already raised, the water pouch at her waist uncorking itself with a snap. “Are you all right? You look like you got dragged through a swamp.”

Tup smiles, maybe a little sheepish, putting a hand up to rub at his armor. “Umbara,” he says in explanation. “Does that count as a swamp?”

“With Master Kolar and Commander Faie to lead you through it? I would think so.” Barriss hesitates, then carefully tucks the scrolls under her arm and reaches out, water flowing up to cover her hand. When she brushes one of the deep scratches on Tup's cheek, the water shimmers, and Tup closes his eyes, leaning into the touch in a way that makes Barriss’s chest feel tight.

“I missed this,” Tup says, and he sounds…tired. Exhausted, like he’s on the verge of collapse. “Your healing. It’s—” He stops short, eyes flying open, and jerks back with red flushing his cheeks. “Sorry, Commander! I just meant—”

Barriss smiles, not able to help it. “It’s all right, Tup,” she says, pitched gentle. “Master Luminara is out with Master Gallia tonight, so I was a little lonely. Would you like to come back to our rooms and keep me company? I already made food.”

The relief Tup feels is heady and bright, and his smile almost matches it. “If I won't get in the way, sir. You're sure?” His gaze flickers down, to the worn old scrolls, and he hesitates. “If you were planning to study, I can just go back to the barracks.”

Barriss’s heart turns over, drops even as it accelerates. The wash of emotion is something like shame, or maybe terror, and she turns, shoves them back into their slot on the shelf before Tup can see the contents. Adrenaline makes her feel shaky, like she’s been caught, and it flickers for an instant, an image of horror on Tup's face if he found out. They met in the aftermath of a bad mission, with a Sith ghost who still had a trace of her old power, and Tup had been so scared of that ability.

Bloodbending is useful, but—if Tup finds out, Barriss can imagine his reaction, and it makes shame twist tight in her stomach.

“Just distracting myself,” she says quickly, turning back. “Master Luminara didn’t leave me any preparation work for the next mission, so I was just poking around in here. Shall we go?”

Tup smiles, and—it’s probably only because he’s so tired that Barriss gets away with the lie. “If you're sure, Commander. I was dreaming about those cakes you made the whole time we were deployed. I think I stayed alive just for those.”

There’s a knot in Barriss’s throat, but she still manages to smile. The traditional Mirialan sweets were a last-minute gift, something she was able to bring Tup right before he was released from medical. A small thing, but—

I stayed alive just for those.

One life, just a little bit brighter, even with the war raging. That’s something. It has to be.

“I’ll make a whole batch just for you,” she promises, and takes Tup's arm to lead him out of the Archives, leaving the bloodbending scrolls behind. At least for now.

[cheolsfae]

☾ Enhypen Sensitive S/O!

Notes:

Long post ahead! Some of these surprised me more than they should have. Keep in mind these guys are still pretty young they are trying to get it together in front of the world!

Tarot Reading

Request: Hiiii your readings are so good I just binge-read all of them (I think thats a word) Is there any way you do a reading on how enhypen would be with an s/o thats more sensitive? Like one that constantly needs reassurance kind of thing. If you can't do all the members that's fine I understand. 🤍🤍

*Disclaimer: solely for fun! Please do not take this seriously. For entertainment purposes only!*

Heesung

Past: ace of swords, the empress

He may have been ready to comfort this type of person. Willing to do what he could to help his sensitive partners. I feel like he was pretty empathetic with them. They were crying? He was also crying. They were mad at someone at work? So was he! He really might have been good at this. He felt like he was able to be that support system for his partners. Someone they could rely on. Dependable.

Present: the high priestess (reversed), queen of wands

I keep hearing the cats out of the bag. Not really sure what that is about? Maybe that's important to him in some way. Anyway, He may choose to withdraw from a sensitive s/o if he had/has one right now. I don't think he could provide any emotional stability for them. He might be nice and friendly with them but I think it would wear off quickly. His emotions are focused elsewhere at the moment (most likely work). He could be dealing with this type of person right now, things just aren't working out. This person might be his soulmate but he's not giving it much thought.

Future: 5 of pentacles (reversed), king of swords

If another person were to enter his life, an emotional one, I think he would have to turn them away. He's not in a place to handle that right now. He's fully aware that he cannot give another person the affection that they are seeking right now.

Bottom of the deck: the emperor

He's trying to be more stable. He's trying to balance his personal life with his work life. I don't think he wants to add another person to the mix at this point in time. Seems like he's stressed enough.

Jay

Past: 8 of pentacles, 2 of swords

He could have ignored the issues and distracted himself with other things and tried not to over think anything his partner was saying. He's also someone who is sensitive so it could have really affected him deeper than he was letting on. He may not have been looking at the bigger issues at hand. Just focusing on the comments that may have seemed like personal attacks when they weren't.

Present: temperance, the fool

He doesn't want to keep doing that with his partners anymore. He feels like he's more patient with them, like he's willing to listen and take into account about what they are thinking and feeling. It feels like he's willing to trust them more than he previously had. He's being warned to not make any foolish mistakes with the next person. He's being cautious with the next person to make any sort of approach on him.

Future: knight of cups, 10 of cups

He knows the type of relationship he wants in the future and the type of trust and love he wants to be able to give to that person. But I think he's working on becoming a better person. For that future person. So they can have that stable connection for that total happiness. He's willing to be more submissive and listen to them and trying not to take the whole thing as a personal attack.

Bottom of the deck: 3 of swords (reversed)

He's trying to heal past wounds. He's trying to be that person that's healed so he doesn't hurt the next person he's involved with. The healing process feels like it's something that is never going to end but it will. He will be a better person by the end of it. It's a bit of a tough journey but he will get through it just fine.

Jake

Past: king of pentacles (reversed), 4 of wands

In the past, I don't think he reacted very well to his partners being "overly emotional". He may have been quick to dismiss them and write them off as no big deal, which clearly it was, to that person. He was not one to take it too seriously. He may have been guided to pay attention to what he was doing to this person. He knew what he was doing was wrong to do but it was like he couldn't get his head out of his ass long enough to straighten his act out.

Present: ace of swords, the sun

It seems like he came to some kind of wake up call to this. He's realizing that you need to listen to what the other person is feeling even if you don't necessarily like it. They need to be felt like they are being heard, like they are genuinely cared for. He knew he was the main issue in that past relationship. He knew what he was doing. He's wizened up since then, at least a little bit. But he's still stuck quite a bit.

Future: page of swords, page of pentacles

He could have recently heard something about this past person. The one who was "overly emotional" and he's not liking what they are saying about him. They could be gossiping about him. He's being guided to speak to friends or family about this situation. See what they have to say about the situation. He's trying to come to some type of acceptance of the person he once was. He knows he screwed up and he knows this person has every right to say what they said but it still hurts.

Bottom of the deck: 2 of swords

He's debating if he should approach this person about this or not. One one hand, he wants to move on and live his best life but on the other this person is testing him with all of the negativity they are spreading about him. He doesn't want to because he knows whatever he says could affect his job but at the same time it still sucks to know that someone you once trusted is now just shit talking about you.

Sunghoon

Past: 7 of cups, the moon

He's a runner, he's a track star. I feel like he took the easy way out of this. He may have thought about his options before leaving but ultimately he would always leave them when they became too much for him to handle. It may have been a while before he left but he still left without a second glance.

Present: 6 of pentacles, 5 of cups

Now, he might be more willing to help out more. To do things that can help his sensitive S/O. But I think to him, it's draining. Like it's hard for him to keep a positive attitude. He's doing better but still kind of in a selfish vibe. He's stuck in his masculine vibe. He's not really wanting to move out of it. Someone may view as weakness.

Future: ace of swords, 6 of swords

He's going to be moving to more stable waters. He's trying to better himself so he can keep a healthy relationship. He doesn't want to keep this cycle going. He wants to be better than that! He wants to do more things to help out and such. Acts of service may be his love language.

Bottom of the deck: ace of pentacles

He's slowly moving toward a new person. They might be like that and he is going to be trying to be better. I don't know how successful he's going to be. Considering he isn't trying to fix it all that much. . .

Jungwon

Past: 9 of pentacles, 3 of wands

He might have valued his own independence in the past. He was more interested in furthering his own career goals. I don't think a person was even on his radar. He was more so following his own intuition more than anything else. I think he knew he was nowhere near ready for any type of commitment.

Present: the sun, 5 of cups (reversed)

He might feel like he can handle someone more sensitive but he could hold a lot back. Kind of like muting himself or shutting down because he doesn't know how that person might react. It's more out of fear than anything else. He doesn't want to make them upset. He needs to look at how he handles/carries himself over all. Rather than looking at the bigger side of the issue (with his sensitive S/O), he's looking at the fine details. Little things that do not matter in the bigger scheme of things.

Future: 5 of swords, king of swords

He might even cause fights. Not intentionally but accidentally, frequently. He might be a bit guarded with this person because they are so sensitive, he might feel like he has to watch his own emotions too much to not set off his partner. This would end up being a bit of a habit. Again, not intentionally.

Bottom of the deck: knight of swords

He would foolishly do things without thinking. Kind of reckless behavior. Having a sensitive partner would make him think more about his actions but I don't think he would really want to.

Seonwoo

Past: 3 of cups, the chariot

He may not have cared for a sensitive partner in the past. He might have just tossed the whole idea of a partner aside, he might have just wanted to have fun and play the field a bit. He most definitely knew he was not in any sort of mental space to deal with a partner. He knew he was not capable enough to handle anything so serious at that point in time.

Present: knight of pentacles, 4 of pentacles

Now, I think he could handle the situation a bit better. He would definitely be taking a slower approach to them though. He might even be a little protective of his own energy. Like trying not to take their over flow of emotion to heart. Like trying not to take it as an attack on him. Again, would be protecting himself and really hesitant to make a deep connection with an emotional person.

Future: the wheel of fortune. ace of swords

He might even feel blessed/lucky to have someone like that is good for him. I think this would help him grow as a person. I feel like his spirit guides might be sending him signals to let him know that his person is near. They are close to him but he needs to grow up a bit more before he meets them, so he is able to be that emotionally available partner.

Bottom of the deck: 5 of wands

Again, he's trying not to take things as a personal attack. He knows in doing so it would only cause chaos and a huge argument. It would do more harm than good in a relationship. He needs to go through some rebirth before anything like a relationship can happen for him. He needs to break some habits.

Ni-ki

Past: king of pentacles, 8 of swords

He might not have been ready to take on this type of relationship. He probably felt like he couldn't be the person they may have needed him to be. He might have been too much in his head about this. It might have caused some anxiety about this whole thing. He was looking at the bigger picture of things. Like he knew this was something he needed to get together before he entered any relationship. He wasn't stable in any regard.

Present: 6 of pentacles, 4 of cups (reversed)

Now, I think he feels he has more to give to an emotional/sensitive type of person. He feels like he can do so unapologetically. He might feel like he's more ready to do that. he's since changed. He feels like a brand new person. Someone more capable and emotionally available. So I think he could handle this better now than he could back then

Future: 7 of cups (reversed), 9 of wands

He might feel like he's ready for a relationship overall. Yea, he's a little scared of getting hurt but he feels like he can handle it. It's something he might be needing in his life or he feels like he needs right now. He feels like he can give more. More than he could in the past. He would value this person like the world depended on it!

Bottom of the deck: 6 of wands

He's feeling pretty good over all, he feels like he has his shit together. He thinks he can handle anyone the universe brings him. It's just a matter of someone coming along for him lmao.

*Oracle deck was also used!

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 23 FINAL | S.R

Previous Chapter

A/N - final chapter! This one skips forward a couple of months.

Chapter Summary - Spencer’s friends join him celebrating a milestone in his sobriety and Luke has a special surprise in store for him to commemorate the occasion.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Warnings - rehab, swearing, making out, lots of fluff. WC - 3k

Chapter 23 - Long Promised Road

Crescent Oak Rehabilitation Facility was more or less exactly what Spencer imagined a rehab centre to be like. It was almost eerily calming, his first few weeks here he’d almost been on edge by just how serene it was. 

There was always some kind of soft music playing from speakers he often couldn’t even see. Meditation was highly encouraged, as were walks in the zen garden. Patients were required to wear all white linens and white canvas shoes. The only good thing was that he was here voluntarily, so if he wanted to leave he could. And a few times he almost did. 

At first Spencer couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck he’d done. He felt more as though he’d joined a cult than checked into a rehab facility. For at least a week, maybe longer he considered leaving every single day. But he just kept telling himself, give it one more day, it will get better. Just one more day.

Around the middle of his second week Spencer found he woke up one day and didn’t hate it here. He didn’t begrudge getting in his white linens, he hummed along to the soft music playing through mysterious speakers and he actively joined in a meditation session. And ever since then he’d felt oddly at peace at Crescent Oaks. 

He met with a therapist once a day, one on one, no group sessions thank god. He ate his three meals, he showered every day without fuss. He partook in arts and crafts, read in the library and went on nature walks. And not only did he tolerate it, he actually liked it. 

Thankfully he’d gotten over the hardest part of his recovery in comas and catatonic states. He still had the occasional withdrawal and of course there were still days when he wanted to use. But they were few and far between these days. 

He’d initially checked himself in for three months - he wanted to reach his six month milestone before he even considered going it alone. After those three months he had the option to stay for as long as he thought he needed. It was comforting to know he wouldn’t be on his own. 

His old team visited every chance they could. Crescent Oaks allowed visitors every day between the hours of six pm and nine pm and he had a visitor at least four times a week if not more. Usually it was Garcia when the team were on cases and they would take walks together and chat aimlessly amongst themselves. 

His wounds were slowly starting to heal, both the mental and physical ones. Of course his scars remained and always would but Spencer now looked at them like they were badges of honour, proof he survived the worst life had to throw at him. He was proud to wear them for the world to see. 

Luke continued to see Y/N. He hadn’t told Spencer at first but Spencer could just tell. And once he got over his initial jealousy he had actually been pleased that you had someone like Luke in your life. 

He didn’t let himself ask about you, despite the fact he was always thinking about you. Sometimes Luke would say, “I saw Y/N yesterday,” and Spencer would nod and smile and change the subject. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about you, because he did. But talking about you often left Spencer feeling miserable with how much he missed you and right now he only had the brain capacity to focus on one area of his life. And that had to be his recovery this time. 

He still wore your bracelet. Maybe one day he’d take it off, but for now he found comfort in it. It made him feel connected to you in the way he hoped having his one year sober chip felt for you. It was some kind of reminder that the two of you were still entwined, bound to each other in ways even he didn’t truly understand. 

When Luke had told him a few weeks after he checked into Crescent Oaks that you’d been to visit him while he was catatonic, he’d been at a complete loss for words. He must have disassociated by the point as he had absolutely no recollection of you being there. 

He hated that he couldn’t remember something so important but maybe it had been a blessing in disguise. If he’d been conscious of you being there while he was trapped inside the shell of his body that wouldn’t move to his command, he would have hated Luke for bringing you there. 

But knowing you had been there was comforting in a way, it meant you still cared. Maybe one day he’d get the chance to thank you.

***

Spencer was mildly overwhelmed at all the eyes that were on him, shrinking in on himself a little and wrapping his arms around himself. He’d never liked to be the centre of attention, but there was no getting out of this. He’d asked his therapist if they could just make it a lowkey affair but she simply smiled and shook her head.

“Trust me, Spencer, in the months or years to come, you will be glad you marked this milestone with all your closest friends.” 

He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, averting his gaze to the floor as his therapist stood and addressed the room. 

“Thank you all for being here, this is a big day in Spencer’s recovery and having all his friends here means the world to him. Even if it doesn’t seem like it.” Jessica laughed slightly as did the others in the room. All except for Spencer. “He’s told me all about his long struggle with drug abuse and his mental health and I for one am so proud of him for getting here. The first six months are the hardest on the road to recovery and so I am overjoyed to be able to present him with his six month chip.”

Jessica cleared her throat when she finished speaking and Spencer tentatively glanced up at her, still chewing frantically on his lip. She was holding out his new golden chip, motioning for him to stand and join her. He swallowed thickly, pushing himself up to his feet and shuffling over to her.

“Uh, thanks.” His cheeks burned as he took the chip from her hand and rolled it between his fingers.

“Speech!” Luke hollered with a chuckle. 

“Come on kid, we didn’t come all the way out here for nothing.” Rossi goaded him. 

“After all we’ve done for you, it's the least you can do.” Tara teased. 

Spencer finally looked up, glancing at the seven faces in the room. The seven people he loved most in the world who had gone to the ends of the earth to help him on every step of his recovery. These seven people were the reason he was still standing, the reason he was able to stand here today and proclaim that he was six months sober.

“I hate being the centre of attention. And I hate public speaking.” he scuffed the toe of his converse on the worn carpet. “But I guess I do owe you, honestly I don’t think I will ever be able to put into words just how much. Without each of you, I know for a fact I wouldn’t be here, I would most likely be dead. I know I’ve been difficult to be around, I know I’ve given you all a hard time but for some reason you’ve stuck by me and I am so grateful for that, you have no idea. 

I don’t know how exactly I got so lucky as to have you all in my life. And I certainly don’t tell you all enough just how much I love and appreciate you all. To be able to stand here and say I am officially six months sober, I wouldn’t have made it here without each and every one of you. Emily, Luke, the two of you probably got the brunt of my frustrations and anger and I am really very sorry for that. But between the two of you, uh, you…” He got choked up and swallowed, closing his eyes as he finished the sentence. “The two of you saved my life. And I don’t even know how to begin thanking you for that.”

When he opened his eyes his tears overflowed and he noticed several of his old team had also gotten teary eyed. JJ and Garcia were holding hands, both crying as they looked at him. Luke’s eyes were glossy with unshed and Emily turned her head to wipe her eyes. 

“I, uh, I guess that’s it.” Spencer sniffed, running his thumb over the chip’s engraving. “I still don’t know what normal feels like but I, uh, feel decent.” 

The seven of them, plus Jessica, started clapping loudly, cheering and Matt even whistled. Spencer smiled, wiping his eyes with his free hand while his cheeks flushed pink. One by one they came over and hugged him tightly, congratulating him on this huge achievement. 

“What are your plans, Reid?” Matt was the one to ask the million dollar question while they all crowded around him. 

“I think I’m gonna stay here, just a little longer. I don’t think I’d relapse if I left now but I just wanna be sure.” He pocketed the chip but kept his hand wrapped around it. 

“I think that’s both smart and brave of you to admit.” Tara smiled at him.

“We are so, so proud of you Spence.” JJ still had tears in her eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah alright.” He rolled his eyes with a soft chuckle. “Can we turn the attention on someone else now?” 

The seven members of his old team looked between each other, slightly guilty looks on their faces that weren’t lost on Spencer. He frowned, looking between them in turn while he tried to figure out what was going on.

“What’s happening?” He asked no one in particular. “I’ve missed something.”

“I mean now you’ve mentioned turning the attention onto someone else, we do kinda have a surprise visitor for you.” Luke spoke, giving him a sheepish smile. 

But Spencer could tell exactly what he wasn’t saying. His brain was so much clearer these days, it was almost working back at its full capacity and he knew what, or rather who Luke was referring to.

“No.” Spencer shook his head, his stomach coiling into knots and more tears flooded his vision. “No way.”

Penelope smiled brightly, tottering over to the door on her too high heels and slowly gripping the handle. Spencer stared at the closed door, tears rolling silently down his cheeks and he inadvertently held his breath. 

Garcia leisurely opened the door, clearing trying to build the suspense, which admittedly worked. Spencer’s heart hammered rapantly against his chest, causing him to feel a little nauseous. His hands were shaking, he worried his knees might buckle beneath him.

When the door was finally all the way open, you stepped into view, teeth digging heavily into your bottom lip and your hands stuffed deep inside of your pockets. As soon as you locked eyes on him, your own tears overflowed but you found yourself frozen to the spot.

When Luke had told you over coffee one afternoon that Spencer was due to celebrate his six months sober and invited you to come, initially you’d quickly declined and shut the conversation down. You were doing well in the outside world, still living at the halfway house and enjoying your job at the diner. 

You were keeping yourself afloat but the idea of seeing Spencer again was too much for you to even contemplate. Not now. Maybe not ever. You were eleven months sober, you couldn’t risk any bump in that road.

You still weren’t sure, as you stood here now, what changed your mind. Luke hadn’t pressured you to come, he’d never mentioned it again after the first time. But the overwhelming need to see him with your own eyes, to confirm he was in fact alive and ok had driven you to be here today. It had only been yesterday when Luke popped by the diner for dinner that you’d told him you would come. 

And now as you stared at Spencer from the doorway, you knew you’d made the right call. Seeing him looking healthy and happy filled you with pride and the last thing you wanted to do was ruin your sobriety. You wanted to be sober alongside him. 

“Y/N.” He croaked out your name, wobbling a little on his feet. 

“Hi Spence.” Your voice cracked. 

“We’ll give you two a minute.” Emily spoke on behalf of her team and the seven of them, and Jessica, left the room as you took a few steps inside. 

The door was closed behind you as you cautiously approached Spencer. He didn’t move, seemingly frozen to the spot. You noticed the frayed end of your purple and gold bracelet poking out the sleeve of his sweater and it filled you with joy to know he still wore it.

“I, uh, I hope you don’t mind me coming. Luke invited me and at first I didn’t think it would be a good idea but…” you trailed off, sniffing back your tears. “But I really wanted to see you.”

“Are you really here?” Spencer choked. “I’m not imagining things?”

You smiled at him, cautiously stepping closer to him. You were steady in your movements as you reached out and took hold of his hand. You brought his hand to your lips and pressed them against his knuckles softly. The action caused Spencer to whimper slightly, even more tears now falling from his eyes.

“Do you believe me? I’m really here, Spence.” You were still holding his hand and he used it to pull you closer to him. 

Your chests crashed together, and he used his free hand to wrap around your waist, his large hand taking purchase on your lower back while he kept hold of your hand in his other. You looked up at him and he was smiling down on you. You could feel his heart beating against you and you were sure he could feel yours. He bowed his head closer to you, resting your foreheads together. 

“I might need a little more convincing.” His lip tugged into a smirk and before you knew what you were doing, you were crushing your lips together.

Spencer hummed into your mouth, holding you firmly in place while parting your lips with his tongue. The kiss was like nothing the two of you had ever shared before. It was a new beginning, a fresh start. It was hope and it was home all in one. 

It didn’t last particularly long, but the passion between the two of you was clear. When he pulled back he kept his arm around you, but let go of your hand in lieu of cupping your cheek.

“I think…I think I’m bound to you.” You whispered shakily. “I probably have been since the moment we met. I think I meant what I said before about us, at least at the time I did. But I can’t imagine my life without you in it, Spence.” 

“You don’t have to.” He stroked your cheek with his fingertips. “I think we were meant to find each other, Y/N. I think in some kind of fucked up way, the two of us are perfect for each other. On paper, two addicts shouldn’t work together, but I think we can be the exception to that. I don’t believe we will pull each other down, I think we’ll only raise the other up. Our sobriety is so important to both of us, I truly believe we can aid each other through recovery.”

“I think so too.” You nodded. “Spence, I love you.” 

He felt his heart swell to double the size and he held you tighter, almost impossibly closer to him.

“I feel like I’ve loved you my whole life.” He confessed, brushing his lips over yours. 

“I may not have loved you for my whole life, but I know for a fact that I will love you for the rest of my life.” You breathed him in, knowing that you only had a limited amount of time together for now. 

“The minute I get out of here I am taking you to dinner. The most incredible dinner you’ve ever had in your life.” He smiled at you, chuckling lightly.

“I will hold you to that.” You laughed too. 

He kissed you again, somehow more passionate than the last which seemed impossible but yet here you were. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers grazing the hair at the base of his neck. He moaned softly into your mouth at the sensation but tried to keep himself from getting too riled up. There would be plenty of time for that once he left Crescent Oaks. For now he had to keep it PG13.

When the kiss broke he looked you deep in the eyes, right through to your soul. It caused your knees to buckle a little and Spencer smiled, helping you remain upright. His other hand joined his first on your face, cupping it lightly and wiping at your tears with his thumbs. 

“For so long all I’ve seen is darkness,” he whispered, staring deep into your eyes. “But you, angel, you are and always have been my guiding light.”

With that he kissed you once more, all his love and adoration for you communicated without the use of words. You’d gotten used to your life being shrouded in darkness, almost grown accustomed to it in a weird way. 

But Spencer had shined a light on you that was so bright it had banished all of your demons to the shadows. It wasn’t to say they would never rear their ugly heads, but as long as Spencer was by your side fighting them with you, it didn’t seem so daunting anymore. 

“The darkness declares the glory of light.” - T.S Eliot

@tiredmilky @thatsonezesty13 @1mechanicalalligator @elle-28 @academiareid

[irkimatsu]

Sweet sweet angsty smut~

This is my third in a series of pieces about Husk being chained up and muzzled by Alastor as a punishment for... something. I've been vague about it, if we're being honest.

Part 1

Part 2

This piece is full on smut, with fem!Reader having sex with Husk while he's chained. Lots of angst; references to abuse, self-harm, substance abuse and withdrawal, all sorts of nasty stuff. But at least you get to comfort Husk through it in any way you can...

---

It’s been several weeks, and neither Husk nor Alastor are budging on their positions in whatever disagreement they’ve gotten into. Until someone gives in, Husk will remain here, leashed to his bed and muzzled, while you do all you can to make his isolation a little more comfortable.

Even with your best efforts, however, Husk’s deterioration has been steady. It’s hard for him to consume anything with the muzzle on, for one thing. You bring him food scraps and alcohol whenever you can, but it’s so hard for him to eat and drink with his mouth blocked like this, and in his weakened state he can only try for so long before his body gives up on the effort. At least he can splash some sink water into his mouth when you’re not there; Alastor gave his leash enough slack to let him use the bathroom, though that likely had less to do with compassion for Husk and more to do with not giving Niffty a disgusting mess to clean up. It’s difficult for him to do, but it’s one thing that saves him from feeling completely helpless. The alcohol and nicotine withdrawal hasn’t been easy on him, either; he’s still regularly self-harming to distract himself, clawing open new wounds over old scabs before they have a chance to heal. His fur is sparse and comes out in tufts when you touch it too much, and his wings and tail are only lined with a thin red fuzz rather than the handsome plumage you’d gotten used to on him. He’s never been a healthy weight due to him regularly replacing meals with alcohol, but he’s wasted away so much that you’re beginning to see the outlines of bones beneath his bare skin.

If he wasn’t already dead, you’d be terrified for his life.

Why is he being so stubborn about this? You’ve never seen him defying Alastor this intensely before. Sure, you’ve seen him talking back enough to receive a condescending scold; you’ve even caught Alastor striking him a few times when neither realized you could see, followed shortly by Husk going off to complete something particularly dangerous or demeaning. Husk had even told you about previous times when he’d been muzzled until the substance withdrawal had him begging his owner for mercy, willing to degrade himself however it took to receive just one bottle of precious, life-granting booze. But from what he’d said before, it usually took him days to break, not weeks.

He’s still not telling you what task he’s so desperate to avoid. “It’s better if you stay out of it,” he always says. It’s been a few days since you’ve asked about it, at his request; it was one of the only times he snapped at you while in this predicament.

“Fucking hell, I told you I don’t wanna talk about it! I spend enough fucking time thinking about it when I’m alone in here! Can’t you let me forget for a minute?!”

Despite your deep concern, you’ll grant his request; it’s part of the least you can do for him.

Neither of you have said a word since you arrived for that day’s visit. You brought him lunch, a bread roll and a miniature bottle of whiskey, and laid his head in your lap so you could feed him. He was able to finish the whiskey, and he weakly chewed some of the pieces of bread you broke off for him, but more than half of the roll sits on his bedside table for now as you gently stroke him between his ears, moving gently as to not dislodge what little fur he has left. His eyes are closed, and his breaths are heavy.

You know you need to stay strong for him, you can’t give him yet another thing to worry about, but it takes so much for you to not start sobbing at the sight of him like this.

“Hey… babe?” he asks, his eyes slowly creaking open, his voice hoarse from how little he’s been using it recently. “Could you do something for me…?” “Anything,” you promise as you continue petting him.

You can barely see his mouth behind his muzzle, but his slight smile is visible in his eyes. “I miss… making love with you.”

“Oh… oh, Husk…” That was the last request you expected when you offered him anything. “I miss it, too, but… not while you’re like this…”

“What? Am I not handsome enough for you anymore?” His eyes glimmer playfully as he speaks, somehow.

“You know it’s not that!” you insist. “I just don’t wanna overexert you. You’re having enough trouble eating.”

“Can’t I at least see you?” he asks. “It’s been way too long…”

Surely there’s no harm in that much? Besides, you do miss his skin against yours… “Of course.” You help him sit up and get settled across from you. He leans back on his hands, drooped ears and lidded eyes making him appear as if he’ll collapse any second, but his eyes stay glued to you for as long as you can.

You’re not exactly in the mood to give him a sexy display. You take off your clothes simply, as if you were only preparing to change them. Despite this, he’s still entranced, his breath growing more rapid as you expose more skin.

“Baby…” he breathes out as you throw your underwear aside and spread your legs, showing him the treasure he hasn’t seen for so long. “Can… can I…”

You nod without letting him finish, willing to accept any affection he can handle giving. He weakly leans forward until he flops down to the bed, his face settled perfectly between your legs.

“Fuck…” he whispers, before taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment. “I’m so thirsty, baby…” You can’t help but gasp as his cold nose rubs up your lips and settles against your clit. His nose may be cold against your skin, but it’s always so comforting, something living; it’s so different from the metal that’s now pressing between your legs, separating his mouth from what he so badly wants.

“I wish we could,” you tell him as you stroke between his ears again, warm breath exhaling from his nose and making you so needy. Normally you’d grab his fur and pull his face in closer, holding him in place while you grind yourself to an overstimulated mess against his hot, rough tongue… but you manage to catch yourself before you accidentally tear out even more of the weak fur that he can’t afford to lose.

An idea suddenly strikes you. “Back up a little?” you ask. Once he finally manages to peel himself off of you, you reach between your legs and sink a single finger into your opening. You gasp and buck at the sensation, teasing yourself as Husk enjoys the show. After you’ve sufficiently excited yourself, you pull your finger out, your slick now coating it, a string still connecting your fingertip to your entrance.

“Come here,” you say, holding your finger out to him. He catches on quickly. He moves closer to your hand and turns his head, allowing you to slip your finger through the side of the muzzle and into his mouth. He moans as he sucks your finger as best as he can from this angle, his tail waving as his teeth graze your skin. He doesn’t pull back until every drop of your cum on your finger has been replaced with his saliva.

“Delicious…” he moans, already drunker on you than he ever is on whiskey, as his tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth in a desperate search for more. Once he finally has to admit that there’s nothing more to be had, he climbs into your lap and buries his face in the side of your neck. His arms hold you tight and his knees squeeze your hips as he presses his muzzle into your skin; he’d be kissing you, at the very least, if there was any way for him to.. “Baby… want you bad, baby…” His words are slow and slurred, tinged with the emotions of a man who could start crying at any minute if he wasn’t so sick of it already. Yet, none of this is enough to drown out the pure need his voice always holds for you in moments like this.

“I want you too, Husk,” you say. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he responds as he weakly pushes against your body. He’s in no state to pin and ravish you like he has so many times before; it’s up to you to hold him and pull him down with you as you lay back. He spends a few more moments nuzzling against your neck, so desperate to kiss you, before slowly pushing himself up with his paws and staring down at you.

He whispers your name so sweetly as his body sways.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m… fine…” he says, still swaying. “I can…” He stops speaking to take a deep breath. “Please, just let me…”

“Don’t push yourself,” you urge him as you cup his cheeks, fingers threaded through the patchy fur.

“But I need this… please…”

“If you lay down, I’ll take care of you, okay?”

He nods slowly, and allows you to grab his hips and roll him over onto his back. Once he’s flat against the mattress, he spreads his nearly-bare wings out as he settles in, and looks up at you with eyes so tired, but so hungry. He’s still breathing heavily, as if just that much has him winded, but at least now you’re not worried about him falling and injuring himself further.

Looking at his body like this only emphasizes in your mind how much he does not need to injure himself further. He’s fully naked just like he has been on all of your previous visits, leaving no gash hidden from your worried eyes. Your eyes jump from gash to gash, allowing so much worry to build that you barely react when your eyes reach between his legs. You haven’t even been considering that sort of intimacy ever since this started, and this moment can’t get you to start thinking about it yet.

“Husk…” you whisper, trying your damnedest to stop any of your tears from dripping out onto his skin. You lower your face to his chest to kiss a particularly grisly wound; he groans in response. “Am I hurting you…?”

“No,” he says simply as he wraps his arms around you. “Keep going...”

You keep kissing him, showing every injury as much tenderness as your lips can give. The taste of his blood stings your tongue, reminding you further of the hell he’s been through, but you don’t let it stop you from showing the affection you have so many times before. As you kiss him, you trail your fingers over his concave stomach, lightly brushing his skin until your fingertips find his cock. Despite everything, he’s still able to stand at full attention, and he twitches the instant you touch him. You wrap your hand around him and gently squeeze, and he moans softly as his head tilts back, his hips so slightly jerking into your hand a couple times before giving up and lying still.

“Please,” he begs with a struggling exhale. “Please…”

Still stroking him, you move back up his body to press a series of kisses against his muzzle, continuing on no matter how much the cold steel tries to remind you how meaningless the gesture is. “Are you ready?” you ask.

“Please…” he repeats. “Please make love to me…”

You take your hand off his cock and brace yourself by placing both hands on either side of his head. “Anything for you, Husk…” You press one final kiss against his muzzle, letting it linger as you lower yourself onto his cock. You both share a moan, as close to each others’ mouths as you can both get, as you slowly sheath him inside you.

“God…” he murmurs as his claws lightly flex against your back. “I’ve missed you so fucking much…”

You slide up and down his cock, moving slowly and gently, trying so hard to not hurt him in his fragile state. His chain clatters against his headboard with every thrust, but you manage to block out the sound by focusing more on his breaths and moans. So many times before he’s had your brain screaming for you to take him fast and deep, to ride him rough like the wild animal he is… but that part of your mind is dead silent now.

He’s said it before. He’s not an animal, no matter what he looks like now or how Alastor treats him. And you’re determined to reassure him of that by letting him indulge in emotions and desires that are so deeply human.

You lay your body over him and gently curl your hands around the backs of his ears. “Is this okay?” you ask him.

He nods with a small grunt.

“Tell me if it hurts,” you say. “I don’t want to push you too far.”

Another grunt is all you get out of him before you resume moving, your chests sliding together as you rock back and forth. You wonder if this is bothering his wounds, but he’s not saying anything or making any noises to indicate anything like that. As you ride him, you kiss his forehead and cheeks, letting what’s still exposed of his face feel how much you adore him. He grips your hips and starts thrusting up to meet you, but after a few movements, he groans in pain and lets his waist collapse back onto the bed.

“...sorry…” he murmurs.

“You’re okay,” you assure him with another kiss to his forehead. They’re the last words you say for a while; all your focus now is on how you’re moving, making sure this is everything he needs it to be. Tonight, your pleasure is secondary. Both of you remain mostly quiet throughout the act. Not only is this not something that inspires the sorts of screams and filthy talk you love so much with him, but you absolutely cannot let Alastor hear an instant of this. You don’t even want to imagine what he’d do if he knew Husk wasn’t suffering his punishment, if only for a brief moment.

He still feels as amazing as ever inside you, his barbs greedily pulling at your tender walls with every upward thrust of your hips. And yet, you can’t focus on it as you usually do. His girth stretching you out, his throbs when you move at just the right angle, his tip finding your sweet spot and purposefully hammering it until you can no longer see or speak… none of it matters right now. All that matters are his eyes on you, brimming with gratitude and love.

You kiss away a tear before it can roll too far down his cheek.

“I’m getting close…” he whispers, his eyes not leaving you. In most circumstances, your current speed wouldn’t be enough. Hell, you’ve gone this slow to purposely tease him before, edging him on until he finally rolls you over and takes what he craves.

Given the circumstances, though, you can understand why it doesn’t take much this time.

“Go on,” you say, encouraging him with a small smile. “I know you need this.”

He smiles back before a shudder rolls through his body, sending his head rolling back again with another quiet moan. He pulls your hips down flush with his and holds you in place as he grinds up into you.

“Oh god-” He moans your name in between his pleas to the being that abandoned him so much. Soon it’s only your name that he’s saying, each repetition coming out with more urgent need.

You kiss his muzzle one last time, and his heavy breaths brush past your cheeks as he climaxes inside you. You don’t stop kissing him until you’re sure he’s done, determined to see the gesture through no matter how futile it is. He finishes and softens inside you, but doesn’t pull out right away as he struggles to catch his breath.

You’ll let him stay inside you as long as he wants. He deserves it.

“Lay next to me?” he finally asks. You sit up, hoping that your weight over him hasn’t caused him any further distress, and lift your waist off of him. He rolls over on his side, shifting his wings to a more comfortable position as he moves, and once he’s done moving, you settle into his arms. He nuzzles the top of his head under your chin and purrs weakly as he hugs you close. “Thank you…” he murmurs through his purrs.

It abruptly occurs to you that this is by far the longest time you’ve spent in his room over these past few weeks. “Husk? I’ve been in here for a while… should I le-”

“No,” he snaps as he squeezes you more tightly. “Don’t you dare leave…”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble with-”

“Get me in trouble. I don’t fucking care anymore.” His tail lashes as he speaks, not even weakness preventing his feline body from expressing its anger. “He can do whatever the fuck he wants. I’m still not letting you go.” His tail finally calms down as he settles against your body. “I don’t care if he kills me… as long as you’re with me… I won’t let him touch you, I’ll take the blame, I promise…”

No matter how afraid you are for him, you just can’t say no to his pleas. His first act of intimacy with you in weeks, and you were about to leave him in the lurch immediately after? What kind of monster would you be in that case? You already knew that he hates being left alone immediately after sex under the best of circumstances. Leaving him in a state like this could very well kill him via heartbreak.

Instead, you settle yourself into his embrace. His wing may not be able to keep you as warm as it usually does as he drapes it over your body, but you still feel so safe in its embrace.

You’ll do anything to make him feel just as safe.

“I love you,” you whisper, as you try your hardest not to think of this as the last time you ever get to hold him.

[thevikingwoman]

Meryta, busy in the midst of trying to help her friends get back from the First, takes a time to visit her lover Tansui. Unfortunately she finds him sick - but she doesn't mind taking care of him a bit. While there, she has time for reflection and maybe a few realizations.

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words: 2542 | Read on Ao3

I was recently out of commission with a very annoying cold, so of course I kept myself going dreaming up a sweet sickfic-trope scenario. I hope you enjoy some fluff!

Meryta Khatin x Tansui | Early shb patches | romance Rating: Teen. Fluff, romance, sickfic, food as a love language, feelings, swearing, black magic headcanons, minor black mage jobquest spoilers

Homesick

“You may want to skip out right away,” Rasho says. He’s sitting alone at his usual table, Tansui nowhere in sight.

Meryta lifts her eyebrows, and he explains: “Tansui’s sick in bed.”

“Should I worry? Can I help?”

“Nothing serious - a cold or something. But a sick pirate is a sorry sight if there was one.”

Worried despite Rasho’s reassurances, she finds Tansui’s dwelling. Maybe she can do something, and besides that, she did come to visit him in the short time that she has. She doesn’t bother knocking, gently pushing the door open. It’s dark inside, his curtains drawn and just a small oil lamp casting a dim light across the room.

“Meryta?”

Tansui sits half up in his bed, covered in a twisted blanket, his hair messy. “Is that you or a fever dream?”

He coughs, rough and loud, covering his mouth with a cloth and collapsing on himself.

“Tansui – I’m here, I – how are you?”

She rushes over, her hand brushing against his face. He does feel hot to touch, his brow sticky. The stale air doesn’t help either.

“Not worth much to see me such, sick as a dog. Good to see you well, though –” He coughs a little again, his voice strained, and falls silent.

“Shhh - spare your voice.” He opens his mouth as to protest, but she continues, no wish to hear that rattling cough again. It sounds painful. “And no matter, it’s always worth it to see you, Tansui.”

She tucks a bit of his hair away from his forehead, and he smiles carefully as he looks up at her. He looks awful, really, his lips dry and eyes unfocused.

Meryta gets up and opens the window in the kitchen – fresh, cool air will be nice. There’s a pitcher of water, and she pours a glass for him. He drinks all of it carefully, and she gets another.

“Are you hungry?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m not sure my healing can do much for a cold – but let me try.”

Day or night, the stars and the gates of the heavens are always present and heed her call. Her aether swirls through her, out of her, and over and into Tansui. She tries to find if she can heal or bring relief anywhere, anyhow, but she’s not a chirurgeon. Her healing is meant to close wounds and provide succor in battle, not cure the sick.

“Feels nice enough,” he says – but she’s not really doing anything. She shakes her head and withdraws her hands and her aether. He still feels hot, his skin sticky.

“Are you hot?”

He nods. “Yes. I felt cold earlier, but its too hot in here.” He kicks at the blankets.  She sorts them, but puts them back over his legs.

“You have a fever. You shouldn’t get too cold.”

He makes a noise of displeasure, and sticks his feet out from the blanket. Fine. There’s a bucket of water with a rag by the bed – someone else left it, and she dips and wrings the cloth. The water is tepid, almost warm, but she still wipes the sweat from his brow.

“Meryta,” he says, and kicks at the blankets, twisting them again. “So pretty.”

“You should rest, Tansui.”

“Too fucking hot.”

The tepid water is not helping, if only it was cold, or – perhaps she could create some ice? She frowns. The truth is, she doesn’t have that kind of control, her black magic large and destructive. It’s a nice thought, to freeze a bit of water, but she’s just as likely to have a hunk of ice take out the side of the building.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, and kisses his hair.

Meryta grabs an empty bucket and fills it with fresh water from the well. Then she walks off, out of the settlement and around the stone that supports Heaven on High, into the narrow piece of land between the rocks. The ground is sandy, coarse stubborn grass growing where nothing else will.

She places the bucket and stands back. She’s come a long way recently, the black magic proving a great outlet when she feels restless about her aether, worrying it will overwhelm her. But she’s not a technician, and she rolls her eyes thinking of Zhai'a’s admonishments. She does need to control it better, but it’s good enough for battle.

She blasts the bucket, the air freezing, and a block of ice forming around it, then shattering. The grass is covered in frost and ice shards. Not an indoors endeavor. But the bucket is full of ice, and with her goal accomplished, she heads back to Tansui.

He’s still awake when she returns, smiling and then coughing as she enters the room. The ice is easily cut into chunks – her control with the katana is no issue and the blade is sharp and pure. She dumps pieces of ice in the warm water and dips the rag in it. Much better.

“Mmm, nice,” Tansui whispers when she brushes it across his brow. She seats herself next to him. He has closed his eyes now, and she hopes it’s in relief. He sighs when she brushes the rag across his shoulders and his chest.

“That’s why you came, to put your hands on my chest,” he mumbles.

She can’t help but grin.

“A little lower, please.”

She drags the cool water across the top of his abdomen, careful not to make the whole bed wet. Tansui cracks an eye open.

“You could go lower still.”

She starts, and he winks at her.

“Ass!”

“Pirate.”

“You need to rest,” she says firmly, smiling broadly. It would not be useful to give in to his antics, but it’s good to hear them.

“This is helping?”

“S’feel good, yes.”

She returns to her task, and cools his brow again. Tansui’s head falls forward, and he sighs again when she runs the cloth along his nape, lifting his messy hair out of the way.  His braid is one big tangle from sleeping on it, probably tossing and turning.

“Scoot a little forward,” she says, kissing his shoulder. “Let me fix your hair.”

He makes a noise that she supposes is assent, and moves himself a little forward so she can sit behind him. She starts, gently undoing his braid and the tangles with her hands. His hair is soft, the purple and black strands parting for her with a little patience. She likes, loves, that he takes the time to dye it, the flash of brightness suits him, for all the Confederacy’s practicality. She runs her fingers through it one more time.

“Do you want me to rebraid it? Or leave it loose?”

She prefers to have her hair loose when sleeping, but she knows he sometimes keeps it braided and she doesn’t know if it’s laziness or preference.

“I like your hands it in, Meryta.”

She’s more than happy to oblige. He should really rest, though, his shoulders slumped as he sits. She scoots herself further back, and leans against the wall.

“Lay down,” she says, hands gently pulling his shoulders, maneuvering them both until his head is in her lap. She resumes running her hands through his hair and across his scalp. “Rest.”

He closes his eyes and makes himself comfortable. Then opens his eyes again, looking up at her.

“How are you, Meryta? Are you here long? Tell me.”

“I can’t stay long, I’m afraid.” She tries to make time, after everything, but once again things start to seem urgent. “We’re looking for a way to get everyone back home. Their bodies and souls being apart is taking its toll. I worry – we’re working on it. We will find a solution, to carry their souls and minds across the void. But it has been a long time, especially for Thancred. I think he’s worse off than he lets on.” At least others share her concern. “It’s not my area of expertise, but I can help with the practical stuff.” Fetching things and people and fighting what she can.

“Mmm. You’ll all find a way. I’m sure of it. Problem solvers the lot of you.” Tansui has closed his eyes again. “And creators of them. What else. There’s always something else.”

She doesn’t admonish him on account of being sick, but he’s also right.

“Ryne – I did tell you about Ryne, did I not? She’s found something, in the empty place flooded by light. She’s going to try and fix things.” She explains, about the Empty and Eden and Ryne’s plans, and the change of aethereal balance they’ve set in motion. There’s a lot to tell and explain, her hands slowly caressing Tansui as she speaks. Her tail winds itself across his chest, she can’t help it. He catches it lazily, his hand holding it close.

She’s so proud of Ryne. The drive of her, to figure out who she is, and to fight for her world on her own premise. Not just fight for it, but change it. Create something, something big. If she can truly transform the landscape – and she will – it’s incredible.

Pulling herself back to the story, Meryta looks down on Tansui, who’s seems asleep now. Without rush or interruption, she really looks at him, and all the ways he is handsome to her. His skin tanned from the sun and sea,. the crow’s feet around his eyes His distinctive nose. His beard, scruffy and dark and a bit novel still. Of course she’s seen lots of people of many races with beards by now, but no au ra has them, prominent scales adorning the jaws on some people instead. Whichever you see in childhood still sticks with you. Same with his ears, soft and round. She holds herself back from tracing his ears and jaw, in case she wakes him, but she loves it. His features are interesting and wonderful and somehow now, familiar too. She doesn’t mind sitting here, while he sleeps; while he gets better.

Is this what love feels like?

She frowns. No use to think of now. Tansui is fast asleep, breathing steadily. She does not want to wake him, so she keeps petting his hair and closes her own eyes. Her thoughts turn back to Ryne.

Ryne’s a better hero than she can ever be, the force of her growing and healing her world. Meryta herself, she’s better at changing things through fighting. For all she’s done, the big things were not her actions. Aymeric is the one ended the Dragonsong war, his political influence and boldness bringing change. Hien and Lyse freed their countries, brought them out from under the grasp of Garlemald, their people following them. She’s a pointy tool, but when the fighting is over, other people are the true heroes. People like Ryne. Meryta is happy enough to fix both a sword and a plough, to make a pretty necklace or dig an irrigation ditch. She likes being a fixer too, but it’s in the small, mundane and physical ways.

She should check on the enclave soon, see how the rice fields are doing; the school too. And Charlemand’s infirmary. Good people, whom she can help in her own small ways. Her thoughts wander – to her friends back at the First, to her friends here she has missed. Back to Tansui, snoring slightly with a firm grip on her tail.

-

The next thing she notices is the sun filling the room. It’s morning, and she must have drifted off last night, trying not to disturb him. There’s a slight cramp in her shoulder from siting and sleeping, but it’s not too bad. She tries to move it, shuffle around without waking Tansui. She doesn’t succeed. He cracks his eyes open – at least they look more focused today. She rests her hand against his brow, and he feels less warm to touch too. His fever seem to have broken.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Morning.” He frowns. “Did you sit there all night?”

“I didn’t want to wake you. And I fell asleep.”

“Oh.” His cheeks color and she worries momentarily if he’s feeling feverish again.

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better, I think. Hungry.”

“I’ll cook you something.”

“No need, I’ll just – “

“Please, Tansui, I need to leave soon, but I can do this. You should still rest.”

She wriggles out away from him, and he sighs and shuffles in the bed to sit up.

“I’m not that infirm.”

She ignores him and starts in the kitchen. Rummaging around, she finds some cooked rice and eggs, and it’s fast enough to fry them up for a meal. Tansui hasn’t left the bed, sitting against the wall in it with his eyes closed. Still tired, no matter his protests. She crushes a bit of dried seaweed over the dish. Something simple should do.

Tansui accepts the dish, and she sits on the chair next to his bed to eat her own plate. While he is absorbed by the food, she can’t help but look at him, carefully from beneath her lashes. There’s something unhurried and undefined, eating breakfast together messily like this. She’s happy to see his appetite, and to make him food. She wants to share this with him, whether he’s sick or well.

“Thank you. He looks up from his plate, and then down again. “I’m sorry. I should have cooked, or –”

“You’re not well. And I’m happy to cook for you.”

“And it was good, but you’re – in my house and it’s… well.” He hesitates and shrugs.

“Well, it’s only fair. It’s not as if I have a home to invite you to.”

As she says it she wonders; where does she feel at home? Maybe she should find a more permanent place – once everyone is back. Somewhere she can invite Tansui. It’s an appealing thought, but fleeting for now.

She finishes her own plate, and cleans them both. Simple moments for the two of them. Her heart pounds in her chest. But for now, she has more duties, and friends to help. She can’t bring herself to leave quite yet, though, and finds something else to clean, her eyes drifting to Tansui ever so often.

“You don’t have to stick around, Meryta. I’m not much company.”

“It’s alright – I’m glad to see you – “

He reaches for her, and she sits at the edge of his bed, her hand in his. Easy.

“I do appreciate your care, looking like shite as I do, but I know your time is short. Better be back when I’m well again. Besides – loath as I am to admit it, I should rest more.”

“Promise me you’ll do so?”

“Aye.”

 She squeezes his hand, and they both smile, the moment between them suspended in time, filled with unspoken words.

It breaks when Tansui coughs, curling forward and letting go of her.

“Go save your friends.” He waves her off.

“Get well, Tansui. I’ll be back soon.”

“Yes. You will.” He smirks confidently at her, haggard as he looks. Then he leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. Her heart skips and heat flushes through her. She hopes she hasn’t caught his illness.

“Stay safe.”

 His words float after her as she slips out the door.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

A Life in the Hands of the Enemy -- Villain reluctantly saves Hero's Life part 3

Warnings: violence, bleeding, near-death experience, captivity whump, cruel Villain whumper

The next morning he woke up to a bright beam of sunlight shining in his face, streaming in through a nearby window.

Groggily, he rubbed his eyes, before jumping and letting out a strangled shriek when he spotted Amber laying on the couch, before remembering how she got there, and feeling a little embarrassed at his own reaction. He crept over and peeled away one of her bandages, noting that the wound had gotten noticeably smaller. Not by a lot, but not at a human rate of speed either.

Shoot, I forgot she has accelerated regeneration! He cursed silently to himself, trying to shake off the sleepy head fog. She was still far from healed, but he still worried. If she woke up, it could prove to be a very dangerous situation for him.

But I know just the place for you that will give me a lot more peace of mind...

Zack carefully slipped an arm under her legs and behind her back, picking her up and carrying her downstairs to the basement. One of the rooms there was surrounded by solid concrete. Perfect for holding a dangerous person like Amber. He usually used the room for torturing information out of people, or leaving them in isolation until they went mad. But this time would be something different.

He kicked open the door and set Amber down on the cold floor in the middle, where a single metal ring was bolted to the floor. Attached to the ring were two chains that led to two restraining cuffs. Unbreakable. Unescapable.

He locked the first metal cuff onto one of her wrists, when she let out a quiet, pained groan, making him freeze. Several heartbeats passed with no further reaction, and Zack put the other cuff on before backing out of the room. He returned a moment later with some blankets that he wrapped around her to keep her from freezing, before leaving her be.

The next day he checked on her, and found that she hadn't moved an inch, still out cold. He wondered if she might be faking it, and approached her with caution, nudging her arm with a foot. No response. Then he lifted an eyelid and shined a light into it. Still nothing.

Yep, super unconscious.

Zack tapped his chin thoughtfully, pondering how he might be able to get her to wake up faster. He was ITCHING for answers, his mind buzzing with questions. Then, an idea struck him. He left the room and returned with a small syringe of pure adrenaline.

He tugged all the blankets out from around Amber and put them out of reach. If this worked, he didn't want anything around she could use to try and strangle him.

Once the area around her was clear, he pushed the needle into her arm, slowly pressing the plunger down to give small amounts of adrenaline at a time. He didn't want to overdo it, because too much could easily kill her in such a fragile state as she was. And then he'd never get the answers he so badly wanted.

He had emptied roughly half the syringe when Amber finally twitched for the first time. He held his breath hopefully, withdrawing the needle, and shortly after, her eyes cracked open, peering dizzily up at the ceiling. She blinked slowly, dazed and disoriented, as her gaze tried to focus itself.

"Ahem." Zack cleared his throat quietly, instantly snatching her attention. She spooked when she saw him, immediately trying to jump to her feet, before crashing back to the floor with a sharp cry of pain, clutching at her injured side. She scrambled away from him before the chain linking her cuffs to the metal ring snapped taut, and she couldn't retreat any further.

Amber's face was twisted with excruciating pain as her breathing quickened, wide eyes darting wildly around the room for an escape, appearance not far from that of a cornered animal.

"W-Where am I? What's happening?" She choked out.

"You're fine, I'm not going to hurt you... as of now," Zack said, rolling his eyes at her reaction. He walked a few steps toward her, and she visibly flinched, pressing further against the far wall, shrinking in on herself as though it would make her disappear. She coughed weakly, and a small amount of blood spattered the concrete next to her.

Zack kneeled down to her level, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Now... I have a few QUESTIONS I need to ask... you will answer them, or things could get very bad for you, very fast. Understand the rules?" He didn't give her a chance to answer before he plowed onward.

"Firstly, who was strong enough to do this to you?" He gestured to her blood-stained skin, the many bandaged injuries across her body. "In all of our fights, I could barely leave a scratch on you. Did you bite off more than you could chew making new enemies?" He mocked condescendingly.

Amber glared defiantly at him, but he still noticed the haunted look in her fiery golden eyes, the shudder she tried to suppress. Then she averted her gaze, remaining silent.

Zack leaned in closer, letting his voice drop low and dangerous. "Are you going to make me ask again?"

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

[th3w00ds]

Sharper Headcanons

Sharper's a regular human

Although now, due to an experiment gone wrong, he got his arms and his legs replaced with a mix of metal and his own flesh, basically prosthetics

Very advanced ones, as he's a scientist and inventor and made them himself

He can feel through them, and they usually look exactly like regular limbs

That stays true even if others touch them, though you could probably feel the wires and circuitry in his arms/legs if you pressed down hard enough

Even though they do have machinery in them, they do still have human flesh and tissues

Hence in Take Me Anywhere where his body and the wires/circuits seem to be one whenever he's injured

Because, well, they are one

Sharper has a tendency to get hurt on accident a whole lot

That damages his prosthetics and exposes the circuitry underneath them

Which to him hurts just as much as a wound of whatever caliber it is would hurt to a normal human

A master at inventing and chemistry

In fact, once he had a whole company

It was called Sharper Industries. He unfortunately shut down his company after getting very addicted to his own invention: The Sharper Industries Immersion Tube, and the Hallucina-Puff Memory Gas that allowed the tube to work

Sharper hadn't completely made sure that the Memory Gas was perfected before he started producing and selling the Immersion Tube to the public, hence the "Excessive exposure to HPMG may damage some to all brain function" warning on the product

The reason Sharper got so addicted to it was after his ex-girlfriend, Jessica (whom he was on good terms with before her passing) died in a car crash during a storm while going to visit her family

Sharper, even with all his life-altering and potentially life-saving inventions, couldn't save her

Due to all his guilt about the accident and his belief that he could've done something to change it, he obsessively enters an Immersion Tube that he had installed at his home

Just to see her again

Over and over and over and over

Sharper couldn't stop thinking about Jessica and what he could've done to help her, even if he was the head of a wealthy company and, by all accounts from everyone around him, "needed to move on," Sharper couldn't

Not yet

His addiction to the Immersion Tube ended up nearly killing him

Sharper realized this due to his worsening health, worsening immune system, extreme memory issues, frequent migraines, flashbacks, and emotional instability

So he stopped using his Immersion Tube, and shut down his company. At the time it was just an extended leave, but without their founder, the company started to fall into disrepair quickly

By the time we see him in Take Me Anywhere, he's gotten over the majority of his addiction to HPMG

Although Sharper still goes occasionally have withdrawal (I have no idea if this is how addiction works so if I get anything wrong I apologize)

What Sharper hasn't gotten over however is Jessica and her death

At that time, he is now attempting to create a "perfect version" of HPMG in his personal lab

Well

More abandoned warehouse which Sharper has repurposed into his home and current laboratory

Yeah he just kind of found it abandoned, moved his stuff in, and was like "Alright this is my home now, I can conduct my research without interruption!"

Sharper hasn't gotten extraordinarily far in his perfect HPMG research, but has certainly made lots of progress

There was an unexpected side effect of one of his test versions of his altered HPMG

When he took it, all the injuries he had at the time were healed immediately

No matter the severity

While it worked wonders for physical injuries, it didn't work so well for mental ones

He is very, very determined to get there one day, to the perfect version. If not for him, then for Jessica

@nwtbobsessedemo @bondoes-art @themoonisrotting @colourfulmes @nightshade-error @flaming-dolph16

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane's Pets Chapter 101: Funeral

TWs in the tags

Previous

Masterlist

Next

Kitty knows that showering right now is probably a bad idea, but they feel gross covered in vomit and sweat. Whatever. None of the doors here lock from the inside; if anything happens Bunny and Puppy won't have any trouble getting to them. They grab a new outfit to change into and toss it onto the bathroom floor before undressing and stumbling into the shower. They don't turn the light on and find that just being in a darker room helps them feel a bit better.

They know they're not being fair to Bunny and Puppy. But at least they can think that, at least their head is clear instead of full of fog. They hate that right now the only way to think clearly is to not fix the problem making them lash out, but there's nothing else they can do. Being drugged again isn't an option, and it's better to be themself and be mean than to be nice but not themself. 

They shower quickly, to avoid worrying Bunny and Puppy any more than they already have. The shower is way louder than normal, anyway, so they don't want to keep it on longer than necessary. Luckily, they don't have any seizures in the time it takes to get clean, so they quickly get dressed and head out to the living room, leaving their dirty clothes on the bathroom floor.

Bunny and Puppy are talking (well, Bunny's talking and Puppy's writing) in the living room. They brought the drawer up, which is nice. They did what Kitty suggested!

Kitty collapses onto the couch and says nothing, ignoring Bunny and Puppy's stares. They should apologize, but any answer to that apology would make them angry all over again, so they keep their mouth shut.

The plan might take a bit longer than anticipated; Kitty doubts their ability to get packed and knows there's no way they can hike to the nearest town until the withdrawal has run its course. 

"...Kitty?" The worry in Bunny's voice makes them want to punch something. "Me and Puppy… we were thinking of burying Jane's body. Does that sound good?"

Kitty gives a thumbs up.

"Do you want to join?"

Kitty shakes their head.

"Um… can you stay in the backyard with us anyway, so we can keep an eye on you?"

Kitty groans. It's a fair ask, they know that, but they want to stay here! And Bunny is so– he just–

There's no rational root to this anger, but knowing that doesn't change anything. They grit their teeth and force themself out the back door. After a brief moment of hesitation, they lie in the grass. It's really uncomfortable, but so is everything else. At least it's still dark outside.

"...Thank you, Kitty." 

They just have to get through this. The shaking and the nausea and the anger and everything. They try to just focus on their breathing. In and out, in and out. Just make it to the next breath without screaming, and the next one, and the next one.

Withdrawal can't last forever. They'll get through this.

~~

Luckily for you and Puppy, a shallow grave has already been dug. Neither of you want to dig it deeper, so that's all Jane gets. Now that your hands are healed, you can help Puppy bury Jane.

Puppy is crying again. You don't know if she's upset about Jane or Kitty or something else, and you can't really converse while her hands are occupied with the shovel.

You look at the pressure sores on Puppy's face. Fuck! You forgot about those after you failed to heal them! Stupid, stupid Bunny, how do you keep missing things that are so obvious?

"Let's… I'll go get some bandages and stuff for your face. Do you have any other injuries we should take care of? I don't… I'm worried I wouldn't remember, I feel so scattered lately."

Puppy points to her neck. There are pressure sores there, too.

"Oh, right. Anything else?"

Puppy shakes her head.

"Kitty, is there anything you need?"

Kitty groans and shakes their head. You set down your shovel, quickly go inside, get the necessary supplies, and come back out.

Puppy stops burying Jane's body for a bit to let you clean and bandage her wounds.

"Okay, so… we're going to bury Jane, then… then you go talk to your criminal contact? And me and Kitty get packed if we, uh, can… and then when you get back you get packed, and we sell stuff… am I remembering it right so far?"

Puppy nods.

"After we do that… are we going to the hospital?"

Puppy looks at Kitty and shrugs. That makes sense. If Kitty refuses to go, you and Puppy probably won't go either, and at least for now it looks like Kitty won't go to a hospital.

"Okay. We'll just… see how we're doing after we've sold the stuff. Should we… Kitty was right that people will ask questions, we'll need some kind of story eventually–"

Puppy shakes her head and gestures at Jane's half-buried body.

"Right. One thing at a time." You pick your shovel back up and get to work.

Puppy starts humming a soft, sad song. The kind you might hear at a funeral. She's still crying, but at least she's not crying salt directly into her wounds? That's something.

You wish you could comfort her, but Jane dying is the best thing that's ever happened to you, and you can't put yourself in her shoes enough to even know what could be comforting. You also know that there's sometimes nothing anyone can say that will be comforting, that's how you felt about a lot of the people who tried to comfort you after your dad died. 

"I wish I had something comforting to say." You finally settle on. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."

She sniffles and nods, then goes back to her humming.

~~

Puppy hates that she can't hate Master. It's just part of the spell, it must be. Her misery is the price they had to pay, and it was worth it, so she'll just have to grieve Master. It's nothing to do with Puppy being messed up, it's just the spell.

But Bunny wouldn't have asked her to do it if she wasn't able to feel this way even a little bit beforehand.

It's not like Puppy ever thought Master actually cared about her beyond wanting to get the most entertainment out of her as possible. What is there to miss? What is there to grieve? Why does she feel so awful?

She can't figure it out, no matter how much she thinks about it. None of the affection Master gave was anywhere near as comforting as affection from Bunny or Kitty, so it can't be that she's missing that affection. She cared about Master, pitied her, but wouldn't that make her happy on Master's behalf that she finally got what she wanted?

It's a waste of time to think about this. It doesn't matter. No matter what the answer is, nothing changes. What she should be mulling over is whether she should die or not.

Bunny and Kitty need her. They need her, but she hurts them, she makes their lives worse, so what should she do?

It would hurt them horribly if she died. She knows that. At what point does that pain become less than the pain she causes by being alive?

Maybe once they're stable? Right now they really need Puppy, she has information and resources they don't. Once they don't need those things, she'll just be a burden, so even though her dying will hurt them it will end up hurting them less than if she'd continued living.

Satisfied with her plan, her mind starts wandering– hitting immediately on the loop of things she's going to get punished for that's been going in the back of her mind. Taking off the collar. Taking off the muzzle. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Speaking. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Writing. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Drinking water. Not throwing up the water. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Drinking water again. Not throwing up the water. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Not throwing up the water. Writing again. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Not throwing up the water. Taking off the collar–

Master is dead. She repeats that to herself, over and over again, but the loop continues, getting longer with each iteration. Every second she doesn't put the collar back on is another infraction, another thing Master will punish her for. Every second she doesn't put the muzzle–

She tries to focus on burying Master. Almost done now. 

If she could speak, she might give a eulogy. Talk about how she loves Master and misses her and doesn't know why because Master was awful. How she's still so afraid of her, despite knowing she's dead. How she was just a scared kid and Puppy hates that there wasn't anything that could be done to help her besides killing her. How Puppy thinks she would be the same as Jane if she was stuck as a twelve-year-old for that long.

But she can't speak, and writing her eulogy would be a waste of time, so she doesn't say anything.

Soon enough, Master is completely covered in a thick layer of dirt. Puppy looks over to Bunny's garden. They're leaving anyway, so picking some flowers won't be a big deal, right?

She picks some flowers and makes a small bouquet, then lays it on Master's grave. The sun is starting to rise.

It's done. Time to move onto the next thing, until the others don't need her anymore.

"So… do you want to go now, or wait a bit…"

Puppy looks over to Kitty. They're trying to pull blades of grass out of the ground and struggling because of how badly they're shaking.

Puppy goes inside, gets her paper and pencil, and starts writing out instructions on how to get to the nearest town in case Kitty becomes unresponsive. She's worried that by then it will be too late, but what can they do when Kitty will refuse care for as long as they possibly can?

She's writing without permission again. She could stop at any second but she doesn't, she keeps going. More gets added to the loop at the back of her mind.

Bunny comes in a few minutes later, Kitty walking stiltedly and grumbling to themself behind him. They quickly collapse onto the couch and cover their face with their arms. Bunny heads into the kitchen.

Once she finishes the directions and a poorly drawn map, she adds I should be back by tonight at the very latest. Probably earlier, but there's not really a good way to tell time here besides sunrise and sunset. If the sun sets and I'm still not back

She can't think of anything to write. If she doesn't come back, Bunny and Kitty won't have many options.

use your best judgement. She finally settles on. Bunny and Kitty will probably know more about surviving with little to no money than her, anyway.

Bunny comes back into the living room with a water bottle and some granola bars. "Take these, please. Don't go… wherever you're going and back here without eating or drinking anything."

Puppy nods and takes the supplies, fully planning on dumping them somewhere in the woods. Bunny looks at what she's written.

"...Okay. Is your… criminal contact in this town you gave directions to?" 

Puppy nods.

"Alright. If you're not back by sundown, we'll come look for you."

She frowns, but she can't really argue. She told him to use his best judgement, so it's up to him.

She gives Bunny a goodbye hug and writes a quick If I never see you again I want you to know I love you both. Then she sets off, out the door and into the woods.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else, or if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @thecosmicmap @quins-whump-stuff

@fuckcapitalismasshole

[thesightstoshowyou]

I would LOVE a scene of Asa treating Cricket's wounds!!!!

YES ME TOO THANK YOU FOR THIS

~~

Warnings: Knife play, bondage, blood, descriptions of wound care and medical supplies

There are moments, few and far between as they are, when Cricket wonders if the Collector’s blood lust will finally win out over Asa’s self-control. When the knife digs a little too deep and glittering eyes lose all traces of humanity, true fear takes root and the sliver of control she possess slips from her grasp. Air freezes in her lungs and muscles seize in anticipation of the killing blow….

But it never comes.

His exhale rushes across her skin, the ever present scent of cigarette smoke stinging her nose, and the blade withdraws. Crimson drips from the handle and wets black nitrile. Cricket releases a shuddering sob and terror drains away, a dull buzz taking its place.

Dirtied gloves snap off, and with them goes the Collector. Like the changing of the guard, new nitrile squeaks when Asa interlaces his fingers. In his eyes is the familiar, cool apathy. Back to business.

Her arms—bound with wire and pulled taut over her head—are freed enough for her to work feeling back into them, but not enough to interfere with his duties. When he cups her cheeks, the warmth of his hands is palpable even through the gloves. Hair soaked with tears and sweat is brushed away from her face as Asa begins his assessment. His dark gaze appraises skin color and pupil dilation while his thumb tugs her bloody lip down to make sure her teeth didn’t shred it too badly. The routine of it has become a weird source of comfort.

Asa pauses when he gets to the deep gash stretching the length of her sternum. It burns a white hot line down her chest and she doesn’t have to look at it to know it will scar. Wet warmth leaks freely from the wound and pools in her collarbones until little rivers of crimson spill onto the gurney under her back.

After several moments of silent appraisal, Asa retrieves a handful of gauze and presses it firmly to the cut. Cricket winces, but fights the urge to curl in on herself. He must stop the bleeding and she must stay still for him to do so.

“Good girl,” he coos. The way goosebumps prickle along her arms at the sound of his rough voice makes her eyes burn with fresh, unshed tears. No matter how bad it hurts, no matter how fearful she becomes, her body is forever devoted to him.

Swift tapping reaches her ears and she glances over to see Asa flicking air from a syringe. The vial on the tray tells her the clear liquid within is Lidocaine. He’s going to stitch her up, then.

Cricket clenches her eyes shut as the needle descends. Several sharp pricks precede burning medication, but soon all discomfort in her chest melts away to nothing. When she feels the tugging of surgical needle and suture, her eyes crack open.

Above her, Asa works diligently, his motions fluid and practiced. She turns her head away and lets her gaze focus and unfocus on the drab, yellowing wall. Soon, scissors snip excess thread and something that reeks of antiseptic is sprayed onto the closed wound.

Last is her throat. The little superficial cuts under her ear are cleaned with soap and water and slathered with Vaseline. The deep, aching bite mark on her shoulder requires a bit more dabbing and leaves her skin raw and red. Cricket barely registers their sting over the other hurts.

Finally, finally her arms are fully untied. Effortlessly, Asa scoops her up off the table. She lets herself be moved, overwhelming fatigue settling deep in place of adrenaline. Limply, her legs hang over his arm as her head falls against his firm chest.

He’ll put her to bed now. Tomorrow, the Collector will bathe her and feed her and treat the wounds he inflicted. She’ll be granted some respite for a week or so, while she mostly heals. Then the whole ordeal will begin anew.

Asa tucks the blankets in around her shoulders. She doesn’t adjust her position, too afraid to pull her new sutures loose. Eyelids drooping, she whispers, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Goodnight, Cricket.”

[crepuscularqueens]

writing pattern tag!

Rules: Share the opening of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

thank you so very much for tagging me @dr-lizortecho :) <3

would you come out and die for me

It wasn't that Sam didn’t understand what he was getting himself into. Okay? It wasn't that. He wasn’t naive or stupid. He’d read the files, he’d pieced so much of this shit together himself, spending long sleepless nights poring over accounts and linking events and blurry photos and making educated guesses that got proven right the more they dug up.

someday my pain will mark you

It starts with a fight. An argument, the pale, thin man’s incessant nagging wearing yet another hole in the thin skin Logan has over his temper. It never takes long for him to grow aggravated, to snap at the other man, but today proves different. Caliban usually needles at a point until he gets a reaction, then withdraws, but today he stands up to Logan’s temper and serves it right back.

when i walk into a room, i do not light it up

Quentin was trying to be mature. That’s what this was all about, he was an adult, as were all his friends and exes and half-way sort-of maybe-kinda-if-you-look-at-it-sideways exes, and they could manage being civil to each other. He was trying to show that he could move on from the absolute disaster he’d created, show up to a party with all of his friends and act just as he always had. In Q’s case that meant moping in the corner sulking and watching everyone else have a good time. Nothing out of the ordinary here.

i bit the fruit and all heaven broke loose

Silver did not expect Flint to come find him after what happened in the tavern in the sense that he was anticipating the captain’s arrival. Howell was tending to his leg, the barely healed wound irritated once more from the actions. But, Silver found, when he heard Flint’s steady footsteps approaching, he was completely unsurprised that the man would be at his side at a time like this.

perfect

“It really is the perfect paperweight.” Stede’s voice was pleased, a little hint of wonderment despite what could have been viewed as a complete disaster and waste of their time. Ed could see Stede balancing the petrified fruit on the tips of his fingers out of the corner of his eye before setting it on his desk. It had been fun for what it was, despite it all, and Ed could not help but be fond of the other man. Lucius’ words kept rattling around his head, that bizarre little man over there likes you very much, round and round they went, finding all different angles to come at him from.

held by you (felled by you)

Once the tears start coming, Edward’s knees pulled up in the bathtub, a blanket protectively over him like a shield from the reality he has to face coupled with the dark memories of his past, they don’t stop. Not when he’s taken from the grip of his painful memories, and not when Stede offers his immediate, unthinking forgiveness, that’s for certain.

take your sword, run me through

It’s not the initial wound that really hurts, you know? The blade punching through, slicing clean, you hardly feel it for what it is. Coming back out, now that’s never going to be quite as effortless and neat. Hurts like a bitch. But the care afterwards? Fuck, now that’s the excruciating part. Ed took a greedy swig of some of the expensive stuff Stede had in his quarters as the man tended to the wound with slightly shaking hands.

he kisses me softly to wake me up

The night was not quiet or still, because there was never a night that could be quiet and still on the sea. Strangely, that was something Stede adjusted to quite fast, the constant movement in and around his ship, whether it be tame and gentle as a mother nursing a child or wild and vengeful, he never found he had much trouble falling asleep on the water. So, it wasn’t the movement of the ship on the water that woke him on this particular night. But something had.

we bleed holy water

The evening had a cold crisp bit to it, a breeze rustling the scatter of fallen leaves on the pavement, sliver of moon hiding behind a thin veil of cloud, and Natalia was on the hunt. Through the scattered trees that meandered down the hill they were waiting on, a small group of grad school students were walking together, laughing with good spirits at a joke one of them told. Bucky could tell when Natalia had her sights set on someone she liked, a worthy prey, a trophy. It’s not that he’d ever been disappointed in her choices, it's just…

Shores Begging For Big Moons

It was hot and dry on this goddamn planet. It was always hot and dry on these planets, too close to their suns, relying on imported water and food, settled impractically on a rock that wasn't suited to support life on its own. Sam had grown up on a planet that was humid and teaming with greenery and life, when it wasn't entirely waterlogged. He hated being stationed on these outlying planets, far from SHIELD command and full of less than savory characters. Part of the deal of being on interplanetary rotation, which Sam had asked for a couple years ago, knowing full well what he was signing up for. But all the same he couldn’t wait to get back to base, spend a little time on a planet whose atmosphere wasn't thirty percent dust. Steve never seemed to mind being stationed out in these places, Sam couldn’t understand it.

no pressure tagging @sambambucky and um. anyone else that wants to for real you are tagged now if you want to do this <3

[randomfoggytiger]

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part VII): Childhood Damage in Herrenvolk

Tena Mulder does not directly influence the events of the episode; but her relationship with Mulder branches into all the other characters' lives in the episode: Mulder's perseverance and desolation, Scully's courage and faith, Jeremiah's empathy and assistance, Skinner's stalwart support and withdrawal, and CSM's machinations and wheedling. Her presence is felt by all through the conduit of her son, who whips everyone into active service to save her life; and, when he fails, is brought back from the edge of the grave by the one man who should hate her and her coldness and yet still risks his neck to save her life (as worthless as his neck is.)

Herrenvolk

Mulder, desperate to save his mother's life, (accidentally) abandons Scully to the Alien Bounty Hunter while chasing Jeremiah Smith, begging him to turn back-- 

“I need your help! My mother is dying,” he pleads. 

Jeremiah relents; but first detours them to the Syndicate's bee fields, revealing that it is run by worker clones of Samantha and a little boy (would have been interesting to find out whose son that was in connection with the mytharc.) Mulder, in turn, grips the closest little girl to him, clinging to a vain thought of healing and redemption if he can AT LEAST bring her back to Tena. Then Jeremiah would heal her, she'd have her little girl again (or close to it), and they could have some semblance of peace. Of course, none of this is rational and would only bring more dissatisfaction and pain; but Mulder is not thinking logically when guided by desperation to make this sick, sinking feeling go away.

He loses everything-- again-- when the Alien Bounty Hunter catches up with them, chasing off Jeremiah and killing the little clone while Mulder lies prone, unable to help as his 'sister' screams once again.

Having to relive that trauma, Mulder then has to go back with his mother's last chance having been ripped from his grasp.

During his absence, Scully has kept personal watch over Tena, calling in reinforcements with Skinner so that nothing would happen to Mrs. Mulder. She knows that Mulder’s trust in her is absolute; and uses this mission to protect him as much as (if more so) his mother. 

When Mulder returns to the hospital, his devastation is complete. He simply mumbles “I can’t. There’s nothing.” to Scully’s exclamations, 

heedless of her words while numbly trudging forward to find his mom. He doesn't notice Scully shoving Skinner aside, 

and barely registers her gentle steering away from the wrong door 

while pronouncing him “in shock” to their boss so that he would give them space to recalibrate. 

He fumbles single-mindedly into Tena’s room, 

the reality of her deathly-white face leaving no room for doubt. 

“She’ll never know,” he says with stoic conviction as Scully wraps him up in Tena’s second blanket. 

“She’ll never know,” he repeats, softer, heartbroken, after Skinner shuts the door to give them privacy. 

Scully has never seen Mulder this broken-- having been abducted and unconscious for the Duane Barry-One Breath arc-- and stares, struck, as he slowly transforms into a wounded little boy in desperate need of comfort. 

He leans her direction, wheeling towards her strength; 

and Scully carefully scoops him down to her shoulder, folding Mulder into an enveloping hug.  

Mulder goes willingly; finally, finally wrapped up in the complete security, love, and care that he had lost with his sister’s abduction (having to provide it in spades for his family while being given very little in return-- even by his affectionate mother, see here.)

This is also the first time Mulder has broken apart in front of Scully. He cried for the first time when he believed she was dying in One Breath, he cried being reunited with Samantha and then losing her again in End Game, he cried at his father’s murder in Anasazi, and he cried when Tena’s health had started to decline in Talitha Cumi. But despite Mulder’s emotional vulnerability, he had yet to break apart in Scully’s arms. Mulder doesn’t have to be the strong one now: Tena is fading, and Scully can slink through his cracks and fully pry open his shell to reveal and soothe his internal anguish-- and she does. She holds him up when he shatters in grief, not squandering his vulnerable trust. It's a precious gift he has given no one else.

Tena continues to die; 

and Mulder resigns himself to her fate. It’s Scully that insists “As long as she’s lying here, you can’t give up on her. I don’t care what the doctors say.” (And INCREDIBLY telling part of Scully, especially in light of her experience in One Breath.) She fights to keep Mulder's perseverance from flagging, trying to give Tena the same chance that he gave her on her own deathbed.

“I had one chance and I let it slip away,” he mourns. 

“You don’t know that, Mulder. You can’t blame yourself for what you could only hope. 

Mulder’s desolation of One Breath is back-- a haunting return of those horrific feelings of hopelessness and loss descending swiftly. 

His melancholy is broken through momentarily by recalling drone Samantha and the beautiful fields she lived in, describing it like a paradise to his attentive partner. 

But his brief mirth fades: “I’ve seen too many things not to believe.”

Mulder finds no comfort in the Truth: it’s something he pursues as a means to an end, trying to grasp the devil and pull away his pitchfork. The future, the answers, the final solution-- he is not chasing them for fulfillment; he is chasing them to prevent other Samanthas from being taken and other Tenas from having to die without their daughters. 

Scully agrees, but pivots: “I’ve seen things, too. But there are answers to be found now. We have hope that there’s a place to start. That’s what I believe.” 

Mulder pushes back: “You put such faith in your science, Scully. 

The things I’ve seen science provides no place to start.” 

It’s here that the foundations of Scully and Mulder's relationship changes forever, highlighting how much Scully has grown as a person: “Nothing happens in contradiction to nature. Only in contradiction to what we know of it.”

He shares a private smile in recognition of her seemingly simple statement, amused;

but her wisdom (though he can’t accept it now, at his mother’s bedside, after failure) slowly sinks in, ultimately settling into Mulder’s consciousness and creating a permanent change there. It begins to change how he approaches not only their work and dynamic but also his family, his past, his future. It transforms Mulder into taking Scully with him on ditches, needing her science to prove both of them right; it transforms him into backing her up to Diana in The End (“She’s a scientist, she makes me work for it.”) and the world at large. But most importantly, it gives him a permanent and concrete foundation to build his hope on, transforming him into a pendulum that always swings back to her beliefs because science proves to him over and over and over that, no matter how corrupted the world becomes, science cuts through all of the obfuscation and clears a path for the truth. It becomes his religion by proxy, an outcropping of Scully herself (like Scully’s faith becomes a morphed version of her religion and Mulder’s convictions.)

Scully continues-- “...That’s where the hope is.” 

Mulder turns back to his mom, his mood dipping. 

He silently rejects Scully’s wisdom for now, unable to accept this perspective while his guilt, fear of failure, and anger drive him to more pessimistic thoughts. 

For a brief moment, he whips his head skyward, ready to rail at the clouds or God or whoever he thinks is listening.

It’s an element of his childhood that Mulder still retains: the innocent Mayberry Town, the little sister with bologna sandwiches, the big church with the stained windows and wooden pews he can take his kid sister’s picture to and weep in. There’s an agnostic bent to his character that washes away his atheistic practices, by turns ready to scream at God for injustice or accept any help that he can give (ex. Scully’s cancer.) He mocks the religious because they seemingly accept the horrors of life as “God’s gift”; and he cannot, will not do so. But in moments of greatest pain, he lays the guilt at God’s feet, even as a rapid-fire, unconscious tick.  

He catches himself doing so--

a self-conscious smile flitting across his face--

before deflecting to melancholic apathy: “I feel I came so close.” 

Scully empathizes: “I feel it, too.” 

He turns in disbelief--

but Scully further emphasizes: “I know it.” 

Mulder can accept this; and they move on to other mytharc topics.

The last scene involving Tena is her healing at the hands of the Alien Bounty Hunter. 

CSM calls him in as a last-ditch effort, trying to conceal his own feelings by laying his own anguish at the feet of Agent Mulder.

The Alien Bounty Hunter looks curiously between Tena and his (loose terms) employer, weighing the importance of this woman’s life against the "don't do anything public" policy of the Project.  

CSM puts his best foot forward: “You see, the fiercest enemy is the man that has nothing left to lose. And you know how important Agent Mulder is to the equation.” (This is the same reasoning used in One Breath and later in FTF-- though the Consortium disregarded their own advice in that circumstance. It's hogwash.) 

CSM swallows convulsively as the Alien Bounty Hunter weighs his words; 

and watches, awestruck, as Tena is healed. 

She wakes, the first person she turns to see is CSM. And she is not happy about that.

Imagine waking up from a stroke-induced coma, hoping to turn to see your precious son who has been caring for you all these years... and being greeted by your ex-side piece. What a rude awakening.

In Conclusion

Tena Mulder indirectly affected the events of Herrenvolk through her conduit: Mulder. He carried her with him in every decision he made and every emotion he felt-- ditching Scully, seeing the Samantha clones, desperately clinging to any chance at a normal life and a happy ending, dissolving into apathy and bitterness, and being held back from a healthier mindset by his childhood trappings-- all are imprints of the childhood and habits he picked up from his mother’s care (or lack thereof) after his sister’s abduction. While she loved him and cooed at him and hugged him, the brunt of emotional care and dependence landed on Mulder’s shoulders, leaving him struggling to carry both of their loads into adulthood. (This leads to her ultimate selfishness in Sein und Zeit by depriving him of a final absolution-- and, even further, a final goodbye.) 

Herrenvolk is an important episode for Mulder in the vein of One Breath, Colony/End Game, Anasazi, One Son, Sein und Zeit/Closure: all of his most pivotal character moments have been forged from failure and inability to do anything. Nothing that he could have done would have prevented his sister’s abduction, Scully’s abduction and coma, the loss of his clone sisters, his father’s death, his mother’s stroke, the end of the world by the hands of the Colonists and Syndicate, and his mother’s suicide. Failing is pivotal for a character as driven and persistent as Mulder-- when beating down walls, bashing open doors, railing against God and the universe to get his answers and the Truth avail him nothing, he must learn to sit still to understand the elusive answers just out of his reach (the main point of The Unnatural.) He learns over and over that most answers won’t be given; and finally accepts that and lets go, resulting in him seeing his sister’s stardust spectral form to celebrate his peace. (We’ll get to that in a future essay on Tena Mulder and Closure.)

Thank you for reading!

Enjoy!

[empressofthelibrary]

Wound, secret, break for whoever you want

I already did two of these for Bailey, so we'll go with Gavin for this.

wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

Gavin's reaction to small physical wounds would give you the impression he's a crybaby and a drama queen. He's the type to fuss over a stubbed toe or papercut, but when shit really goes down -- and it does, the man lives in Gotham -- he's surprisingly quiet. He'll try to leave the worst injuries up to his lycanthropic healing, withdrawing and tending to the wound himself.

As for nonphysical wounds, well. Gavin considers himself a pretty carefree dude. He lives in the moment, going with the flow. The horrors can't touch him if he never acknowledges them, right?

...Right?

As for severe wounds: Gavin came out to his parents when he was in college, telling them he wasn't a straight woman, but a gay man. He knew they wouldn't take it well, but... He still wasn't prepared for them to react that badly. It hurt, and he hasn't seen or spoken to them since.

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

I'm not sure. Gavin's a pretty open book. He's careful who he tells about being trans, obviously, and who knows about his deal with Neron. But for the most part? He doesn't care a whole lot about what people think. He has very few people he lets in, but those people get his full and complete trust and loyalty. No secrets from them.

If there is anything he's hiding from everyone, he's hiding it from me too, at least for now.

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

Gavin is difficult to visibly upset. He's the sort to laugh and quip his way through a fight, instead of yell and bear his teeth. And he tries hard to avoid the kind of deeper connections that leave him vulnerable -- if he keeps people at a distance, they can't put a knife in his ribs. The man keeps his emotions buried under several layers of masks and locks and mazes. He's got a soft nougat center in there, but it's under, like, a jawbreaker.

It would take a clear betrayal from someone he trusts to really hurt him. Realizing that he let someone in, and he shouldn't have.

The expression on his face starts as confusion -- head tilted, sure he's misunderstood something. And then realization dawns, turning to disbelief. Then, for a moment, agonized heartbreak.

And then the mask falls in place again. Gavin smiles, his canines already long and sharp. "...Of course. I should have expected this. Ah well, can't be helped."

He'd rather drown the emotions that result than process them. But when the distractions stop working, he'll vanish into the woods or some pocket dimension or something. Scream and howl for a bit. Just until it stops hurting. And then he'll head back home, and pretend nothing ever went wrong.

[mistwraiths]

3 stars

The Last Hours has to be the most dramatic, messiest, frustrating trilogy CC has written so far. It's funny to me particularly since I didn't like TID much nor do I like Will Herondale or Tessa, but I don't remember being particularly so frustrated. Chain of Thorns is a better book than Chain of Iron in my opinion, it doesn't feel as long and boring as COI did. But there is still FAR too much unnecessary drama and miscommunication to this series.

For me there was only three characters I loved very dearly and were rooting for the entire time. Grace Blackthorn, Alistair Carstairs, and Christopher Lightwood. I loved Grace from the beginning and I will defend her with my dying breath, I loved every part she had in this book. Alistair has come a long way and I loved his character arc. And then, tragedy struck.

I KNEW someone was going to die. There's always a death of the main group, I knew it was coming. My money was on Matthew. It honestly made sense to me that he, being one of the unconnected to another character except for James, along with him suffering through withdrawals and going to Edom where he was not expected to go. It would have been a bit poetic since James' father Will had experienced something similar. But instead, CC kills off Christopher Lightwood.

I was shocked and furious, and I could have possibly accepted it better if it felt like any of the characters grieved or felt something for more than a page or two and then a half-hearted mention later. You're telling me that someone they've known their ENTIRE LIVES, someone who was so kind and genius, that you can't spare more than a mention here or there or GIVE GRIEF FOR HIM ON ACTUAL PAGES?? Instead, I have to read a whole intermission chapter on someone grieving TWO CHARACTERS WHO ARE ALIVE AND MADE A CHOICE (one they didn't have much choice but still) TO GO TO EDOM??? It felt like a slap to the face, an insult to the character. Grace and Christopher deserved to be a science nerds together. Of course the magic sword conveniently couldn't help heal and Lucie's powers to talk and raise the dead conveniently only worked on specific circumstances.

Okay, now that that's out of the way, let's discuss other things. The whole Belial plot felt super weak to me. He wants to possess James to walk on earth and become King of England?? Sir aren't you a fallen angel?? A Prince of Hell? Shouldn't your goal be more I WILL KILL SHADOWHUNTERS AND BURN THE EARTH or something?? Belial was also just all talk. He hardly ever really felt like a THREAT. Like oh shit this guy is going to SLAUGHTER people. I did like the part of him burning through the hosts because that felt horrific and violent and proper Prince of Hell stuff. Also the whole traveling to Edom's capital was very boring.

The whole Cortana sword having some paladin bond to heal the wounds it creates felt so ridiculously contrived and stupid to me. I can get behind a healing sword. I can get behind the sword only healing its paladin. But only healing the wounds it creates is so silly and only felt necessary to have this plot finished with the HEA intact. I knew James wouldn't die since we learned that he's alive to see Will pass away from old age. But honestly??? I think it would have been a very good ending if he had died. It would have had an impact.

Cordelia was overall a very average heroine for me, I don't think she's particularly my favorite mostly because of the drama and lies and miscommunication and pride/fear of being pitied. For the life of me, I don't understand why Lucie and her became parabatai. What deep friendship do they have because we certainly see no evidence of it. I did like James and Cordelia a little better when all that nonsense was finished, but again they don't have chemistry to me and their bond seems only physical to me.

I think I was a bit irritated that I'm being told after the bracelet is broken and done having been a plot device for two books, that it has had all these effects that we don't particularly get to see. Most everyone didn't understand James being in love with Grace but like... Grace was also secluded from everyone and they knew he spent summers with her. That to me personally isn't enough evidence to say "the bracelet kept you from considering it". Like I would have liked to see some examples of them thinking about it and becoming fuzzy or distracted or something. Also, we don't really get a chance to see James BEFORE the bracelet so telling me it utterly changed how he was/acted gives me nothing if I never knew him in the first place??

My heart goes out to Matthew it does but again, it very much felt like he didn't have much of an importance to the whole story. Which again, begs the question why wasn't he killed. It just blows my mind that Belial just allowed him to stay.

I actually really loved Jesse in the first two books but not only was he kind of boring and pushed to the side in this one, his attitude towards Grace really pissed me off. Jesse more than anyone should know how awful his mother could be and Grace was a CHILD and had to live with her. When she tells him everything, he reacts so poorly. Like, of course he can be upset, but GRACE IS YOUR SISTER AND A VICTIM. Like??? It made me so angry. Even Cordelia had better grace than her own brother.

I'm happy that Grace, Alistair, Thomas, Anna, and Ari get to be happy. Justice for Malcolm Fade in this book. I understand the whole interrogation thing with Tessa and Will and the others keeping such huge secrets. We know the truth that they are well-meaning but no one else does. There is a huge favoritism and lying doesn't give anyone a reason to trust. Would it have caused tension to be truthful? Yes. But it would have allowed trust and good faith. But of course obviously it all happened very conveniently to get everyone authoritative and Jem out of London and The Silent City so no one could stop the kids.

Overall, this book at least felt like everything was moving forward at a better pace and it was an okay ending.

[elithilanor]

Blood Red: Favourite piece of dialogue from your wip

Yes, I am not-so-sneakily trying to get bits more of your HaldirxOFC WIP. If you didn't get me hooked on this ship like crack then perhaps I wouldn't have to do this. ;)

Ice Blue: Ship trope you think is overused in writing

Forest Green: Of your main five characters, who is a tea, coffee, water or soda person?

Please and thank you!

Hello, hello, Mellon! Thank you for judiciously supplying me with asks because I love them!

Blood Red

So I’m just going to give you most of the scene that I had already teased for you instead of my favorite dialogue because I think that’s what you’d prefer so hope you don’t mind ;)

“Cirán, you cannot be serious!” Haldir exclaims as he struggles against the other elf’s hold preventing from marching back into surgery.

“You would leave my brother in the hands of an apprentice with this?” His voice is tight in outrage.

“Chief Marchwarden!” Cirán snaps. “She’s recent to us here in The Golden Wood, but not to her skills. Marchwarden,” their voice then softens, “Haldir, please, Rúmil is in good hands with her. She recognized the symptoms as soon as the rider came and has been preparing the whole hours since. Please, let us work.”

Haldir bites his tongue as he watches the unknown elleth cut open the dressing he’d wrapped himself around the jagged wound on his brother’s chest and side and begin flushing it with a mix of clean water and a pungent brew of dark herbs, only some of which he recognized.

Haldir takes a shaky breath and reluctantly nods before forcing himself to step back and off to the side. He clenches his jaw and sits in the chair provided by Cirán before the healer goes back to assisting with the work ahead.

Haldir, The Lady’s voice sounds clear in his head, startling him from his thoughts. Celeborn tells me the patrols have destroyed the orc holdout responsible and are bringing in the poisoned blades to the healers for inspection. Expect them in the hour. I have already let Nestál know, as well. How is Rúmil fairing?

Haldir closes his eyes and takes a short moment before responding, attempting to will away some of the latent adrenaline and underlying panic in his body.

No worse than before we set off, my Lady. The new healer apparently has seen something similar before and she’s taken the lead in his healing, he responds.

Ah, slight amusement and warmth filters through their óswanë link. Yes, I imagine she has. She pauses before adding.

Haldir, rest. Let the healers take care of Rúmil. Orophin is on his way in from the south outpost, as well. You take care of our people well, let them help you. Take this time to be with your brothers, we’ll hold steady until you return.

Haldir flounders for what to say and his hands clutch at his own over cloak now torn in three separate places and soaked through with his own brother’s blood. He wants to argue but knows he can’t. There is nothing for him to argue against, except perhaps his own stubbornness and sense of duty.

Of course, my Lady. Thank you.

Be at peace, Marchwarden. Today has been a dark day, but all will be well. She soothes before withdrawing from his mind.

Haldir sighs and begins to compile a list of all the reports he’d need to complete and patrol routes they’d need to revise. He rubs his temples and settles in the chair for the long vigil he knows he has ahead of him.

Ice Blue: Tropes that are Overused

Miscommunication

Friends to lovers, especially childhood best friends to lovers. Esp esp if it’s they grew up in the same household but aren’t related. You’re emotionally related like ??!

Enemies to lovers, but like snarky enemies/frenemies to lovers. Real enemies to lovers is Some Good Shit.

Men being toxic but still getting away with it because they’re “protecting” a person (esp women) from something they didn’t understand and they end up being “right” in some way. Gross -10000/10

Love triangles - just make everyone queer and/or poly; solves all the goddam problems imo. (This is why I like Iron Widow so much) But I mostly hate this because the woman is a Plot Device and not a good one or she seems like the bad person because two men both decide not to leave her alone which is bs.

Bonus tropes I LOVE: found family, there was only one bed/room, hurt/comfort/whump fics and the wound stitching and begging those not to die that comes with it, holiday fics

Forest Green - Of your 5 Main Characters who is a tea, coffee, soda, water Person

I technically only have one OC rn. Can you throw me some characters you’d like me to comment on? ❤️💚