#his cloths shall haunt my dreams

[tired-truffle]

My Soul to Keep

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 2.9k

Chapter 1

Summary: "Or - and this couldn’t possibly be, well, possible - that was Viktor from Arcane, a TV show that had no right being so real. Nothing made sense and there was nothing you could do about it. You had nothing and no one. Only one thing was painfully clear; you were so fucked."

You wake up in the world of Arcane, inexplicably tied to Viktor. What will you do next?

A/N: This may be a strange concept, but I just couldn't let it go! It will be significantly less angsty than my last Viktor fic but there will of course still be some :) I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

The room was unfamiliar. Shelves of leather-bound books lined the walls, trinkets scattered around - at first glance seemingly random, but once you gave it more thought, their placement was nothing if not precise. A worn leather couch sat at the centre of the space, facing the shelves, two end tables on either side. A cozy, wine-red rug slipped beneath a coffee table stained with water rings, remnants of long-forgotten mugs. A modest kitchen sat off to your right, tiled with a plain off-white hexagonal pattern, and to your left—

A desk, cluttered with odds and ends, papers stacked high, but your gaze was drawn to the figure turned towards you. 

“This…is a first,” he said carefully, the words drawn over his slightly lopsided lips. He seemed almost painted in texture, smooth lines blended together, as did all of your surroundings. 

You blinked, once, twice, three times, but not once did that stop the man from resembling someone it was frankly impossible for him to resemble. 

How much of your spare time - and busy, if you were honest - did he take up in the form of a daydream? They haunted you, those bright amber eyes, his mouth quirked towards the beauty mark that rested above his lip, long and thin hands resting on his cane, and - oh, look, speak of the mobility aid and it shall appear. The sleek silver cane with red and gold accents rested against the desk beside him - where he still watched you with barely concealed intrigue, and a smidge of concern. 

“Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat around the lump that had formed. “It’s a first for me too.”

You stood, regarding each other like you’d both spoken some form of gibberish. A beat of silence, and your antsiness could no longer stand it. 

“So,” you drew out the vowel, “how did I get into your room, exactly? I assume this is your room, right?” 

“You’re correct, but I unfortunately have no idea how you came to be here. One moment I was alone and the next…” He - you refused to think of his name, it couldn’t possibly be him - gestured vaguely in your direction. 

“You had a random person appear in your living room,” you finished for him. 

“Precisely,” he said with a swing of his arm, “though if anything, I would not have expected that person to be, ah, see-through.”

Blinking three times did nothing to help clarify that statement either. Nor did four, or even five times. But you were saved from the most unintelligent ‘huh?’ you’d ever made in your life as you glanced down at your body. 

Seeing through yourself was not an experience you would have ever thought you’d get, but never say never, right? Your colours were muted, your clothes and skin entirely too…dim, blending in with the hardwood floor. With the hesitancy of someone sticking their hand into a box of unknown bugs, you slowly let your palms come to rest on your stomach - and the immense relief you felt when it was solid to your touch couldn’t be described. 

Another test was in order, and with the success of the first, you figured you might as well rip the Band-Aid off. You swiped your arm at the nearest object - the back of the couch - and you went right through it as though it didn’t exist. 

“What the fuck.” It felt like an understatement for the gravity of the situation you were in. “Please tell me this is a dream.” 

“My leading theory was hallucination, though I have never experienced one before so I have little data to base it on. I’d be ridiculed in most academic spaces for even suggesting such a thing without empirical evidence.”

You were pretty sure you’d both lost your minds at this point - or he was a figment of your imagination reflecting your insanity. You didn’t really like either option. 

“You’re, uh, surprisingly chill about all this.”

“Eh,” he shrugged, “it was bound to happen after a few sleepless nights. Such is the price of the pursuit of knowledge.”

If you were crazy, so was he. At least you weren’t alone. 

“But,” he continued, “perhaps this is a sign that I should rest.” 

Flipping his book closed with a definitive thud, he stood, cane balanced on his arm. He inclined his head. “You may use the couch if you’d like, but I hope for both of our sakes you’re not here come morning.” 

Without further ado, he slipped past you, opening the door to what was no doubt his bedroom, and shutting it firmly behind him. 

Silence rang in your ears, only interrupted by the soft shuffling sounds of him getting ready for bed. 

You weren’t sure how long you stood there for - long after the light had flicked off in his room - but when you finally moved to sit on the couch, you froze again. How were you supposed to sit on it if you couldn’t touch it?

It all came crashing down around you as that realization sunk in. Biting your finger to stifle your scream, you stomped your feet like a rampaging toddler without the satisfaction of colliding with anything physical. Fucking fuck this was crazy. This couldn’t be fucking real! You were drugged or in a coma or locked in some padded room somewhere and this was your mind trying to find some escape.

Or - and this couldn’t possibly be, well, possible - that was Viktor from Arcane, a TV show that had no right being so real. 

Nothing made sense and there was nothing you could do about it. You had nothing and no one.

Only one thing was painfully clear; you were so fucked. 

“Ah, I see you’re still here,” Viktor’s accented voice, rough with sleep, came from behind you. “I was certain that getting some rest would solve this.”

Finding out you could float had been the only plus of your night, and you’d taken to floating above the couch. Though you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep - instead, spending your time internally freaking the fuck out - at least you could kind of fly now. You’d have to test it further, but you hadn’t been in the right headspace for it. The last thing you needed was to break down mid-flight. 

You looked over your shoulder and your mouth dried out completely. Fuck, he was hot. His hair was slightly dishevelled from sleep - his shorter haircut, meaning this had to be Viktor from somewhere around the beginning of the show - skin pink and honeyed eyes bright. He wore a loose shirt that hung off his thin frame and a warm pair of fuzzy pyjama pants. He tilted his head to the side, thick brows furrowed as he watched you. 

“Yup, still here.” You waved awkwardly. “I, uh, I guess I could leave, if you wanted me to. I didn’t exactly try, just kinda hoped this would all…stop.” 

He frowned, considering your offer. “That’s not necessary, though you may leave if that is what you wish.” 

Your shoulders lowered, having tightened without your awareness. “I’d rather not, at least until I’ve figured out what this is, exactly.”

Viktor nodded, wiping at his eyes before making his way over to the kitchen and disappearing inside.

The bubbling of a coffee machine began, and he reappeared in the doorway, leaning against it and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’d offer you some, but seeing as you can’t touch it…”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” you said with a tentative smile. 

Once the coffee had finished brewing, he poured himself an obnoxiously large mug, and sat on the opposite end of the couch. You watched in both horror and awe as he poured an obscene amount of sugar into the drink. He stirred it, tapped the spoon on the edge once before laying it on the very stained coffee table, and taking his first sip. He must have burned his taste buds off ages ago to tolerate coffee that hot. With a contented sigh, he turned to face you. 

“Perhaps introductions would be a good place to start?” he offered, and you stared blankly at him. 

“You’re Viktor,” you said before you could stop yourself. To be fair, you hadn’t exactly slept last night, and you were still inordinately frazzled from all of…this. 

He raised an eyebrow. “You read my notes?” 

“Uh, no, I didn’t.” You glanced at the desk, papers haphazardly spread around. He didn’t sign his name on all of them, you were sure, but you hadn’t checked. 

“So you are a hallucination then.”

“I don’t think so. It’s, um, difficult to explain. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m here.”

He hummed, tapping a slender finger on his chin. “Given that I do not know your name as you know mine, would you be willing to share?”

What should have been an easy task turned out to be anything but.

You opened your mouth to speak your name, but what came out was a garbled mess of sounds, like static on a radio, but distorted and chilling. Your eyes widened in shock and you tried again, only for the same incomprehensible noise to emerge. Viktor leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concern and curiosity.

“Uh, hold on, let me try that again.”

Gathering your courage and clearing your throat, you attempted to introduce yourself one more time. To your horror, the same garbled nonsense spilled from your lips; twisted phonemes that bore no resemblance to your name. Panic began to rise in your chest, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

“Well, that was…unexpected,” Viktor said, eyebrows raised. 

You would have to agree. “I... I don't understand," you stammered, your voice working perfectly fine now. "I can't say my name. It's like something’s blocking it.”

Tentatively, you raised a hand to your throat, half-expecting to feel some alien presence there. But your skin felt normal, warm and familiar beneath your fingertips. 

Viktor set his coffee mug down, his full attention on you. "Fascinating," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Can you write it?”

You nodded eagerly, relieved at the suggestion. Viktor quickly retrieved a pen and paper from his cluttered desk, holding them out to you. Your hand passed right through them, and you both stared at the items, a heavy silence falling over the room.

"Right," Viktor said, "I had forgotten about that particular complication."

You floated down to eye level with the paper, concentrating hard as you tried to will your ghostly finger to make contact with it. Nothing happened. Frustrated, you attempted to speak your name once more, but the same garbled noise came out.

Viktor's eyes lit up with the spark of scientific inquiry. "Perhaps we could try something else. Can you spell it out loud?"

You nodded, hope rising and pricking at your tongue. "Okay, the first letter is-" But as soon as you tried to say the letter, your voice turned into that same garbled static. Your face fell, your hands dropping into your lap. 

“How are you at charades?” Viktor offered. You perked up, surely that would work. Charades seemed like a foolproof solution. With renewed determination, you raised your hands, ready to mime out the first letter of your name.

But as you attempted to form the shape, your arms suddenly felt like lead weights. They refused to budge, hanging uselessly at your sides. Confusion and frustration bubbled up inside you as you strained against the invisible force holding you back.

Undeterred, you tried again, this time focusing on tracing the letter in the air with your finger. Yet the moment your hand began to move with purpose, it froze mid-motion, as if caught in a bear trap. No matter how hard you willed it, your finger wouldn't budge an inch.

Viktor leaned forward, his eyes sharp with fascination. At least this was entertaining one of you. "What's happening?"

"I…I can't move," you said, your words tinged with panic. "Every time I try to spell out my name, it's like something's blocking me."

You made another attempt, this time trying to point to objects that began with the same letters. But as soon as you began, your hand froze, suspended in the air like a statue. The sensation was bizarre - you could still feel, still think, but your body simply refused to obey your commands.

After a few seconds, the paralysis faded, and you slumped in defeat. "It's no use," you sighed, only one last idea remaining. “Can you lip-read?”

“Not when your lips are covered by…some sort of mist?”

What.

“Where’s your bathroom?” you asked with the sudden urgency of someone who desperately had to pee - but you weren’t sure you needed to pee at all in this state. 

He inclined his head towards the bedroom. “Through there.”

You’d meant to thank him, but in your rush to get to a mirror, you weren’t sure if it was audible. 

Floating through the couch and to the bedroom door, you vaguely acknowledged his perfectly made bed and sparse belongings, and entered the open washroom. 

The lights were frustratingly off, and no matter how many times you passed your spectral hand through the switch, it refused to budge. That was going to get old very quickly. The morning sun shining through the bedroom window was all the illumination you were going to get, and it would have to do. 

You peered into the mirror, your heart pounding with anticipation. The reflection that greeted you was both familiar and utterly alien. You were translucent - though you knew this already - the tiles of the bathroom wall visible through your ghostly silhouette. Despite the ethereal quality of your appearance, you looked surprisingly normal - just tired and a bit worse for wear after your sleepless night. At least you weren't a vampire, though that hadn’t been at the top of your list.

Leaning closer to the mirror, you attempted to say your name once more. To your horror, as soon as you opened your mouth, a dark grey mist materialized, obscuring your lips entirely. The warbling static filled your ears, and you stumbled back, your incorporeal form passing through the shower bathtub combo.

"What the fuck," you whispered, your voice thankfully clear when not attempting to identify yourself. You raised a trembling hand to your mouth, but felt nothing unusual - the mist seemed to exist only in your reflection.

Dread left a sour taste on the back of your tongue. You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths you weren't sure you needed in this state. The familiar technique helped ground you, even if the air didn't quite fill your lungs the way it should.

Once you’d fought back the panic, you gathered yourself, smoothing down your clothes out of habit more than necessity. You had to face this rationally. Freaking out wouldn't solve anything, and you had a brilliant scientist waiting to help you figure this out - at least you’d managed to intrigue him.

With one last glance at your reflection, you turned and floated back through the bedroom. 

You emerged into the living room, where Viktor sat waiting, his long fingers wrapped around a fresh cup of coffee. 

"Well," you said, trying to inject some levity into your voice but failing miserably, "I can confirm that whatever's stopping me from saying my name is visible in the mirror. It's like some kind of weird, real-time censorship."

“It’s most unusual,” Viktor remarked. “If you are a hallucination, then why would my psyche refuse to give you a name?” 

“I’m not a hallucination.” You scowled, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m just a person who’s been dropped into a universe that should not exist and for some godforsaken reason I’m a fucking ghost!” 

Viktor stared blankly at you and you could see the gears turning in his head. “A universe that should not exist—“

But before he could continue that line of questioning, an alarm rang out from the bedroom. Viktor sighed heavily, downing the rest of his horrifically over-sugared coffee in one gulp, and stood up. 

“That is my signal, if I do not depart soon, Professor Heimerdinger will be most displeased with my tardiness.” Viktor made his way towards the bedroom and you clenched your jaw. “However, I would be interested in continuing this conversation when I return - if you are still here.” 

“Sure,” you offered halfheartedly. 

“Then I look forward to it,” Viktor said with a small bow of his head. He disappeared back into the bedroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. 

What had happened before you arrived here? Try as you might, you couldn't remember anything specific. It was as if your memories before materializing in this room were shrouded in the same misty darkness that obscured your name. Everything about your life seemed intact, except for what happened after you’d…fallen asleep?

Were you in some kind of coma, your consciousness projected into this fictional world? Or had you somehow slipped through the cracks of reality, tumbling into a universe that wasn’t your own?

Each possibility seemed more far-fetched than the last, yet there you were, a translucent spectre floating in the home of a character who should have been nothing more than pixels on a screen. How often had you wished he was real? Too many to count, to be sure, but you hadn’t meant it like this. To be stripped of everything you’ve ever known, your home, the people you loved, and carted off to a strange new world was disconcerting, to say the least.

But you’d have to go with it for now. What else could you do? Mope and cry in despair, probably, but that wouldn’t fix your problem. First things first, you had to figure out when you were. From there…well, that was future you’s problem.

A/N: How many times can I write 'fuck' in this chapter and not have it be too much? Who knows!

Updates for the fic will be once a month until I'm done with my dragon age long fic, see you all soon!

If you'd like to be tagged in future updates, let me know :)

[missmarveledsblog]

Not so solo after all ( fanboy x fan girl ( reader) )

summary : when our fanboy thinks he spending halloween without his girl she surprises him in more ways then one

warnings : it a day late soz but here is a halloween themed fic sort of goes with the fan girl fic i wrote but can be read alone , smutty but not smtty 18+

Fan girl

Halloween was a night of no judgment all nerd could dress as whatever they want and no one bats a lid only this was even better she was surprising her boyfriend given the two thought she was coming days later .  the flights overbook and misbooking of her own tickets til she was able to get last minute she spent the three hour flight perfecting her hair and makeup . she  had costume or costumes since she had a special one underneath , she was excited more excited than she’d been in a good long while . it was like a nerd like fairytale meeting mickey garcia , the fact the two had such similar  mindsets, both  so emersed in the nerd culture it was refreshing plus also exciting in more ways than one .  now she was sitting  in the car as nat was talking her ear off , a promise to do the female aviators makeup  before they headed to the hard deck .  she put her bags in as two enjoyed the emptiness of the house pulling the make up out  getting to work making nat the sexiest and scariest black cat ironic to bob saying he was going to be golden retriever suiting both personalities to a tea . 

“ so does fanboy know your dressing as his literal dream come through ?” the brunette smirked. 

“ nope he doesn’t even know i’m in san diego  , plus i send him like a million other costumes so” she giggled . 

“ but you know he’s gonna be han solo , i love it i can’t wait for him to short circuit it’s gonna be amazing” she rubbed her gloved hands together. 

“ i mean it’s skimpy leia costume but the real one is underneath”

“You didn’t … the bikini thing even hangman knows that one “ nat snorted . 

“ hey i mean it’s an iconic moment “ she shrugged . 

“ you might actually kill the poor guy you do know that?” 

“ i’m hoping he kills me or leaves me legless either is good  “ she winked . 

“ too much information but also get it “ nat smirked texting the guys she would be there soon just bringing a friend only for her phone to blow up from jake and rooster asking if she’s hot and a dibs wars soon spammed in the groupchat .  “ i didn’t even say if it was a girl or not “ she shook her head looking down at the phone . 

“ well pretty kitty lets blow them away shall we” y/n beamed . 

He tried honestly he did , it was hard not to be a downer when the one person who could fully appreciate the effort and accuracy of the costume wasn’t there or mainly he was just missing his girl and hadn’t  heard anything from in hours .  bob did tell him she helped with haunted house back when she was home so he understood she would be busy giving kids and teens the joys of the halloween spirit  but then again should he be listening to a man who looked like a golden retriever hybrid . 

“ hey come on lets have a good night “ rooster who was by far laziest of costume telling people he was tom selleck in magnum pi although it was his normal clothes. 

“ he’s all pouty missing his girl “ payback rolled his eyes dressed as blade   patted fanboy back rolling his eyes . 

“ i would too if my girl was hot as his .. what it’s truth “ hangman rolled his eyes dressed as cowboy ken doll  ascot and cowboy hat  suited him perfectly. 

“ we just need to distract him is all “ javy shrugged dressed as tarzan if tarzan was GQ model that was .  the boys tried their best cheering him up all banter and fun as he started to loosen up a little although he did check his phone and embarrassing amount of times or ignored rooster and hangman's dibs on phoenix mystery friend not that he cared much for it til the cheers and whistles erupted when the door or the hard deck opened  he didn’t bother looking up not once he was smiling at the screensaver selfie of them chilling and cozy wrapped up together. 

“ holy shit fanboy your gonna lose your little mind “ was all he heard jake saying as he looked up going to look at the man quick glance at the approaching figure before looking back and his jaw hitting that ground so fast he was sure it would fall off .  looking up he had to of die and went to a galaxy far far away when he took in the sight of the woman he fell hard and fast for .  he knew who she was a mile away although hers was more form fitting and short but she was the leia to his han solo . a quick and barely there hello  as he ran past nat on to grab his girl in his arms lifting her up  in his arms as she giggled . 

“ how .. what .. wow “ he beamed placing her down taking her in the white gown and her hair all scream both leia and sex appeal all in one . the white gown hitting tops of her thighs  and although it was still turtle neck ( hiding the collar ) , the chest of had a cut out section  show casing her cleavage and still concealing everything at same time ,  the belt was attaching to a corset , she made sure it was fitted to show enough and not ruin the surprise underneath . 

“ my mom’s friend gave me her ticket  since she wasn’t able to fly so i thought i would surprise you “ she  laughed as he kissed every part of her face. 

“Well darling ain’t you looking good to beam me up and take me away in the tardis “ jake winked as she looked personally offended  so did fanboy . 

“ the tardis is doctor who “ 

“ beam me up is star trek “ 

“ same thing right ?” he asked . 

“ even i know it’s not “ rooster snorted . 

“ let me get you a drink  princess “ fanboy turned his cheek hurting from the smiling taking her hand leading her to the bar to see both mav and penny behind the bar dress as sunny and cher . 

 The night actually truly starting  , he still couldn’t get over how lucky he was or the way he stood taller when he noticed people giving him a thumbs up when they saw her on his arm .  the fact she was dress as the first woman he’s ever had one an awakening to or been his major celebrity crush since he was little boy only made it hundred times better.  He couldn’t keep his hands off of her whether the touches were innocent or not so innocent .  Kisses turning more sloppy , more heated   signaling it was definitely time to leave .  a quick goodbye to her brother and there friends the two headed out into the night air  the whole time hands and lips not separated to lost in each other . 

The journey home was pretty much the same only the touches on her skin teasingly as he talk to the uber driver  purpose torturing his girl knowing it was driving her crazy , hand on  her thigh gliding up and squeezing the plus soft skin as he could see her side glance  biting her lip suppressing any sound that might come from those heavenly lips . sometimes  moment like this it was hard to believe she was his , this incredible goddess like woman that was his to have.  She was fighting it , fighting the desperate neediness that was dying to come out . when they finally arrived back at his place it was like she could thank whoever for finally cutting the torture . a quick goodbye to the driver and the two were gone almost running to the house.  Kissing his cheek , his neck suddenly the man didn’t know how to use a key so focused on  her touch he stood hover over the lock til she took them in her hands unlocking the door. 

“ i can’t wait anymore and been dying to show you my surprise” she winked heading off to his room dropping and pulling off her costume as he followed behind at this rate he was sure he was under some spell floating in the direction of his bedroom ready to be the solo to her leia .  then it all stopped  his breathing , thinking , shit he really died  and went to nerd central heaven .   it was perfect every part almost spot on accurate as he took in the browns , golds and blue of the lack of clothing .  like it couldn’t get better she took her bag clipping the chain to  the collar . 

“ the hair isn’t leia anymore but i think it still works “ she laughed as her hair fell from the buns sitting  messy and wild shit it really did . 

“ fucking  hell baby .. this was what was under your dress the whole time ?” he groaned coming toward one part of him didn’t wanna touch her , like she was mint condition couldn’t take it out of the box and another part of him wanted to tear the box to shreds and enjoy his present .  the soft nod  confirmed the answer to his question. Then it was like he came back to reality  and a fire breaking through pulling the chain pulling her to him kissing ever  part of her skin soft moans and whimpers falling from her lips pulling back looking into her almost black eyes , the rise and fall of her chest    and the curl of her lip  when she slowly fell to her knees  and  he swore his love was out to kill him tonight if it was it was working. That doe eyed looking up at him , hand going to his pant as he yanked the chain making her jolt forward ,  looking back up to see him smirking , coming to to his sense in a dangerous grin .

“ ready to see the galaxies baby “ he smirked leaning down  making her breathe hitch knowing she was done for but fuck was she  excited for it 

[disgraceful-writings]

Meant To Be

Chapter 6

Y/n and Aegon were born on the same day, with velvet eyes and white crowns. Y/n is sent to Oldtown by their mother to keep her pure. What happens when she doesn't return so? How will her twin react?

Y/n was laid in a field of wildflowers. The wind dancing through the tall grass and flowers. The sun kissing her cheeks. Suddenly, a tightness overtook her throat. She began clawing at her throat in an attempt to relieve the pressure, but it seemed in vain. When her vision went black, she rose in her bed, sweat dripping from her hairline. She gasped and looked around her room for reassurance. When she realized she was in her room back at the Keep, she relaxed a bit. Still, she decided to request some wine be sent to her room and put her housecoat on to speak to the guards. However, when she opened the door, Xavier was waiting for her. She screamed and stumbled backwards, crashing into the table. He lunged at her and his hand encircled her throat. “You will never escape me”, he whispered in her ear. 

The princess bolted upright to find a maid trying to shake her awake, “Your grace, are you alright?” Y/n pushed her hands away and tried to adjust her eyes to the morning sun. “How long was I asleep”, the princess asked, while the maid wiped her forehead with a cool cloth. “You slept through dinner and the night, your grace. Your mother asked we let you rest.” Y/n nodded and stood up to be washed of the sweat and dressed by the maids. Afterward, still shaken from her dreams, the princess visited her mother’s chambers. “Y/n, how are you, my love?” Alicent raised both arms to her elder daughter. Y/n sunk into her mother’s hold, “y/n? You look white as a ghost.”

“Mother…I-”, y/n was interrupted by a guard entering the room. “Your grace”, he bowed, “the maester has asked for you in the king’s chambers.” She nodded and looked to her daughter, caressed her cheek, “We will speak later, dear.” Alicent kissed y/n’s forehead and stood to follow the guard to Viserys’s chambers. Y/n watched her walk out of the room and sighed. Will he haunt her forever? She knows she is safe, her uncle made sure of his death, and now she is with her family. Her mother wouldn’t let anything happen while she is within her grasp. She decided to go to the Sept, maybe the gods will bring a sense of calm to her. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid”, Aegon gradually shouted in his chambers, kicking a candle stand over, then falling onto his bed face first. Why did he have to open his mouth? It isn’t like anyone was asking him to say those things, especially y/n. Y/n…he doesn’t deserve her. She’s too perfect and proper for him. He should just put an heir in her and stick to the whores of flea bottom. That’s all he’s good at. He looked over to the drawer that held his peasant clothes. Not that he needed them, with the white hair and all, and the whores always welcomed their favorite cock…at least the coin that had come with it. He rose from the bed and changed into them. Before climbing out of his window, he secured a pouch of coins to his belt. Tonight, he was going to do as he pleased. 

The prince made his way to flea bottom, specifically one of the more curious whorehouses. After fucking two women, he laid on his back with them cuddled up to his sides, feeding him and keeping his goblet full. He was curious of the woman on display, nude, and inserting the handle of a blade into herself. She was loud and fake, but that didn’t stop his mind wondering how y/n was in bed. “Shall I suck your cock, my prince”, one of the girls asked. He grabbed her by the throat and kissed her deeply, when departed, he whispered, “I’ll put a prince’s bastard in you.” At this she climbed onto his lap, lined him up, and sunk herself onto him. She let out a fake moan like the other girl had been doing, and Aegon huffed, putting his hands on her waist to quicken her pace. When she let out another exaggerated moan, he picked her up off of him and shoved her to the floor, where he stuffed his cock down her throat. 

“Now I don’t have to hear you”, Aegon grunted out, the sounds of her choking being music to his ears. When he finished, he pushed her off of him, collected his clothes, dropped a bag of coins, and left the whorehouse into the morning sun. “Always happy to house our favorite prince for the night”, the madam said as he walked out. He walked towards the Keep, however, he felt the need to go to the Sept. He had never cared for the gods, why would they be calling him of all people? At the last turn, he decided to go to the Sept. The room was dark and musty smelling. People shuffled around like they couldn’t make noise for fear the gods would strike them where they stand. Then he saw her, y/n was on her knees, praying to the gods. What would she need to pray to the gods for? 

Then he noticed the tear stains on her cheeks and the quiet sobs threatening to leave her mouth as she whispered her prayer.

Y/n heard someone walking in her direction and suddenly turned to them. Aegon. What is he doing here?

“Y/n”, Aegon looked puzzled, “are you alright?”

Y/n hadn’t noticed she was crying until he changed her thoughts. She turned back to the candles and said, “yes. I just felt the power of the gods come over me.” She wiped her tears with the backs of her hands. 

“I don’t believe you.” She looked scared and small to him. He decided to sit beside her with his back to the table holding all the candles. She looked into his eyes, but stayed quiet. His hand reached to wipe her cheek of a fresh tear, and she fell into him, sobbing. He just held her, not knowing what to do for her. 

When she had calmed a bit, she pushed herself off of him, “Sorry, I-.” She couldn’t finish her sentence, or she would cry again. She stood and started walking back to the keep. Aegon quickly rose and caught up to her quickly. Holding onto her arms, out of breath from getting up so quickly, “Y/n, what’s wrong?” She opened her mouth, however, no words could exit. She just stared into his eyes. Could she trust him? With her mind intact currently, she decided to get a proper look at him. He smells of wine and sex, he just came from flea bottom. Maybe he is as cruel and sick as the people say. “Prince Aegon, Princess Y/n, your mother has requested your presence”, the guard who had come with y/n said after receiving word from another.

Taglist : @watercolorskyy, @xitsemm, @d3nny,

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Masterlist

[bardsources]

𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 : 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕕𝕪𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕪 [ 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟠 ]

from the robert fagles translation.

❝ These men drive me mad. ❞ ❝ Now my life is torment. ❞ ❝ Look at the griefs some god has loosed against me! ❞ ❝ I’ll never forget the day he left this land of ours.❞ ❝ Zeus has torn away my joy! ❞ ❝ They’ll never wear me down. ❞ ❝ I have a name for lasting out the worst. ❞ ❝ Wine’s got to your wits? ❞ ❝ No fear in your heart? ❞ ❝ Do you always play the fool and babble nonsense? ❞ ❝ Lost your head, have you? ❞ ❝ I simply have to say what’s on my mind. ❞ ❝ You’re sick with pride, you brutal fool. ❞ ❝ No doubt you count yourself a great, powerful man. ❞ ❝ I’ll make you pay for your ugly rant! ❞ ❝ Some god has got your blood up. ❞ ❝ Get a grip on yourself. No more questions now. ❞ ❝ No man on the face of the earth could find fault with you. ❞ ❝ Your fame, believe me, has reached the vaulting skies. ❞ ❝ I am a man who’s had his share of sorrows. ❞ ❝ Come, tell me what sort of clothing he wore. ❞ ❝ Ravage no more your lovely face with tears. ❞ ❝ But dry your tears and take my words to heart. ❞ ❝ How Zeus despised you, more than all other men. ❞ ❝ Keep your tales to yourself. Leave the rest to the gods. ❞ ❝ I shall always remember it, that I know … even in my dreams. ❞ ❝ But one can’t go without his sleep forever. ❞ ❝ Bear up, old heart! You’ve borne worse. ❞ ❝ This worry haunts me, heart and soul. ❞ ❝ Show me the way, I ask you. ❞ ❝ Never let me warm the heart of a weaker man! ❞ ❝ We’ll never part, I swear, till we taste each other’s fists! ❞ ❝ I broke into sweat, my friend, when I first saw you. ❞ ❝ What a traitor I’d be. ❞ ❝ Now sit right there. ❞ ❝ No insults now, no brawling, no, or it’s war between us all. ❞ ❝ My father won it for me, so it’s mine. ❞ ❝ But clearly Zeus has foiled us. ❞ ❝ Your father would have been busy with your funeral, not your wedding here. ❞ ❝ How can a man fight off so many single-handed? ❞ ❝ But no more of your crimes against me, please! ❞

[verai-marcel]

A Curse and A Blessing (Astarion x Hearth Witch, AU, BG3 Drabble)

(I wrote this and realized there was no where it would fit in the current timeline of the fic, so it lives here as an AU)

"Welcome back—"

You put down your cutting knife and went over to the group, brushing your hands on your pants as you walked. Concern wrinkled your brow as you came closer.

Astarion was missing.

"What happened?"

"He's right here," Karlach said, pulling off her backpack and opening the flap.

A small white bat lay curled up on a pile of Astarion's clothes.

"What in the hells happened?"

The bat looked up at you and shrieked in a high pitched tone. You scooped up the small creature along with his clothes, and cradled them close to your chest.

Gale shrugged. "He rung that little feywild bell and talked to the pixie. Next thing we knew, he had been turned into this fluffy little thing."

The bat, ostensibly Astarion, hissed furiously.

"I'll take care of him," you said, wincing on your last word as the little bat clambered onto your chest and bit your collarbone.

Karlach raised an eyebrow.

"He's lapping at my neck, isn't he," you muttered.

She nodded, trying to hold back a laugh.

You waved them all off. "I'll handle this." You walked away, ignoring their snickers.

Entering Astarion's tent, you sat down. Letting the little fluffball lick your wound with his itty bitty tongue, you couldn't help yourself. You petted his soft fur. His body was a little bigger than the size of your hand, so you used two fingers to gently stroke him.

He suddenly stopped drinking and crawled down, resting on your bosom, and looked up at you.

"I'm pretty sure you're still aware of what you're doing," you said. "But since you make such a cute little bat, I'll allow it."

He made a soft squeaking sound and, settling himself on your chest, lay his head down and stared at you expectantly. After a few moments while you tried to figure out what he wanted, he reached out with one wing and flapped it.

"You want me to pet you again?"

He nodded.

Chuckling, you pet the little bat until his eyes slowly closed and he seemed to have fallen asleep.

Well, I can't go anywhere now that he's all cozy.

Then it occurred to you that pixie tricks only lasted an hour at most.

Wait, how long did it take them to get back—

Suddenly Astarion transformed back into his normal body, his weight crushing you.

And he was very, very, naked.

"Um."

"Oh." He let out a high pitched giggle. "Well, I suppose we don't need to look for a cure then."

"Um."

"Yes?"

"Could you... get off me?"

"Right, of course." He pushed himself up and rolled over. "You know, most people would have begged for the pleasure of having my naked body upon them."

"I'm not most people."

His expression changed from the flirty rake to something softer, more sincere. He reached and touched your cheek fondly. "I know, darling."

There was something a little melancholy in both his tone and his touch, and you wondered what it could mean as he put his clothes back on. You turned around as quickly as you could, but you still got an eyefull.

Well, that's going to haunt my dreams at some point.

When he was dressed, he held his hand out to you. "Shall we, my dear?"

You took his hand and let him lead you back out to the others.

[eggtartz]

✧ 9th October ✧

Reiner Braun // Therapeutic (f! civilian reader)

kinktober masterlist

warnings : angst with comfort, heavy spoilers, self blame, sunshine reader

reiner awoken from another nightmare, jolting from his bed as he looked outside his window. oh, the war is over and freedom is guaranteed (for now). as one of the formers warriors of marleyan, he has nothing but regrets of his past, having horrible dreams and nightmares of the people he has killed when he first wrecked the wall. he sighed and held his head, another day to live while being haunted by his own doings.

he managed to find silence in the city, looking for a quiet place before he dies peacefully because he inherited the Nine. he wishes to suffer as much as the people he has inflicted suffering on, punishing himself to a degree where he thinks he's unforgivable. he walked outside the small cottage that he has built, a lake where he spends his days spread in front of him. but today, he noticed a figure crouched down at the bay of the lake. strange, considering he was located far from society.

"may i help you?" he asked gently as you turned around, a basket in hand and a scarf on your head "hello! i'm assuming you're the owner of the lovely cottage? i'm sorry, i got a little lost while i was chasing butterflies and ended up here so i kinda don't know where i am" you smiled, trying to hide your clumsiness that ended you here. reiner looked at you and saw nothing but a ray of sunshine, a fresh air and nothing but a innocent woman. your eyes were shining with life while his was dead, how different were you two.

"yes, the town is downside of north" he said and you grunted "i'm so sorry.. could you show me? i'm horrendous at directions" you almost plead "if you don't want to, that's okay!" you smiled "i don't want to burden you further" he quickly said "it's okay, let me change my clothes. please, come in." he urged you to come in his cottage as you looked in awe "such a beautiful home! did you built it?" you asked as he vanished to change clothes "yes, from scratch"

your eyes almost bulged in surprise "you're so talented!" reiner's hand on his shirt's button stopped, no one has talked this tenderly to him. "I wished I could do a good job like yours!" your sincere tone was visible from behind the door as he tried not to cry from the comforting words so he cleared his throat and came out from the room "thankyou, you didn't had to say that. i'm sure you're also a talented woman. shall we?" he said, showing the door as you nodded and walked out, him following closely.

upon arriving at town, you turned to him with gratefulness in your face "thankyou! I didn't catch your name?" reiner almost flinched at your obliviousness. he was intending to lie, to let you in the dark about this identity but he has done that in the past. he won't do it again.

"reiner braun" he said, almost vulnerable but he saw you smiled "reiner.. i'm y/n! i hope we get to see each other again, until then. bye bye!" you went your own ways, bidding goodbye with a smile that left his heart pounding and for once, alive. the next day, he purposely came to town again (something he rarely does) for one specific person, you. he silently looked through stores, just a glimpse of you is already enough. at a dining cafeteria, he sat at a table alone while looking outside. he strangely misses you and wishes to see you again but caught no sight of you at all, it was difficult to not sigh. "welcome to- reiner?" he looked up and there you are. in your full glory and a uniform with that usual warm smile you always had that it shined through him. "y/n? i thought i lost you" he blurted as you laughed "lost me? i never left here" you smiled, his heart aching and yearning for comfort.

he grunted "uh, y/n. this might be.. fast but can i possibly ask you on a date tonight?" he said, trying not to stutter and leave a decent first impression. your eyes widened and gleamed with a specific excitement "oh! i'd love that, reiner!" he managed to smile, how he feels his heart is full again despite all these years of pain. decades of guilt. that night, he bought you dinner to a nice place where you two had good food. apparently, you came to marleyan using the planes, just after the rumbling. you mentioned how terrifying it must've felt for the people also for the people who has stopped them. reiner listened intently as he felt like barging in, saying that he's the armored titan. your spoon dropped "you cant- are you truly?"

"yes, y/n. i inherited the armored titan and is doomed to die for several more years. and i shall die with my titan powers" he said, a bit relieved to get it out from his chest. "reiner, you're so.. cool" you said softly, it made him flinch again. "c-cool?"

"i understand how you feel. i understand how it feels to live in guilt but reiner. you have limited time, will you spend these last years hating yourself?" you found a courage to ask him as his breathing hitched "i- y/n.. i.. i have done many wrong things.. unforgivable.. i'll be damned in hell for what i have done.. these.. powers.." he sniffled, looking down to his hands "these powers bares a heavy responsibility" dinner went awkwardly for the rest of the night however he can't help but feel much better than he usually does. he was able to speak about his guilts better and express himself better. things ended up back at your house where you welcomed him, something he hasn't felt for so long.

"please, make yourself comfortable" you said gently, taking off his coat for him and hanging it. "would you like something to drink? some snacks?" you asked gently "i think i had enough desserts but i can't decline a lady's offer" he softly smiled, looking into your shining eyes as you smiled "i'll bring out the cookies then."

fresh baked cookies are on the table as you placed two mugs of tea in front of him, sitting beside him. the silence was both comforting and confusing as you tried to dig on some words to initiate. "thankyou, y/n." you looked at him "for what?" he looked into your gentle eyes, found peace in your existence. "for showing me that.. that kindness still exists" he genuinely smiled and as you blushed "y-you're welcome" your cheeks were warm as he shifted closer to you, watching your lips. you noticed and also leaned to him when eventually your lips met. it was fireworks, as cliche as it sounded. reiner never thought something could be so soft, yet another person's lips. he found a steady pace on the kiss, placing his hands gently on your neck to guide you as you let him because it felt so perfect. so right.

when he finally let go, both of you were panting. you stared into his eyes as licked your lips "reiner, can i help you?" you asked, voice almost inaudible "help me with what?" you caressed his cheek "with the pain. let me take all your pain away, let me hold you" you said as his lips quivered. it was a moment of vulnerability as he hugged you, face buried on your shoulders as you caressed his dirty blonde hair. he sobbed, saying incoherent words all while your hands hold him, something no one has ever done.

not even his own mother.

your shirt is wet due to his uncontrollably sobs and you gently placed a kiss on his temple. "let your past go, reiner. let it go" you soothingly said.

one thing lead to another and you found yourself kissing the former warrior with tears staining his cheeks while you caressed his jaw. it was slow but meaningful as you bought him comfort and warmness. he found peace in you and he intends to stay here. your lips trailed to his neck and sucked the flesh gently as he swallowed his saliva, bobbing his Adam's apple. "y/n.. you don't have to.." he said with a strained voice, hands struggling to not grab your hips to ground on his crotch. he wants you to take your time even if it meant he had to wait.

you shook your head "it's okay, i want to" you said with lustful eyes that reiner gulped again. you slowly took off your top, revealing your undergarments "reiner, would you want me to continue?" you asked as he gripped your hips "y-yes.. do anything you'd like..." he struggled to gaze upon you, concerned that he'll bust the moment he does.

you two moved to the bed, hands tangled in each other's hair as you yanked his pants down. "y/n.. i.. i'm.. you won't go right? you'll stay right?" he was vulnerable and weak, a side he wasn't able to show all these years. all the pent up feelings were harbored as you smiled to him "never, reiner. never" you whispered, pushing your undies aside to sink on his dick. he groaned as you took a slow pace, hands tightly on your hips "so good.. reiner, you can hold on me.." you raised your hips, your pussy sucking his cock back like it was always meant to be there. like he was home.

"can i be with you forever? marry you? make you the mother of my children?" he looked at you who's riding on his dick, hands steady on his abs for stability "yes.. i do want that" you smiled as he smiled as well, finally being able to find peace and happiness. he sat up, thrusting up to your warm cunt, hands slithering to your clitoris and you yelped "wait!" you squealed as he kept a steady pace with his thrust and his rubbing that you came with a moan while he kept thrusting. "thankyou.. y/n" he painted your insides white, holding you so you won't fall.

"thank you."

[bullyingfictionalmen]

The Painting That Never Was

Summary: Recently, you've been plagued by dreams of the sea. Of drowning. Of someone saving your life. You can never quite remember what happens in these dreams, much less what they mean. But a certain eccentric painter might know more.

Word Count: 3.3k

CW: mild violence, eventual smut, Rafayel myth and main story/anecdote spoilers

Read on AO3:

You feel it again. The relentless pull of the sea.

It tugs at your clothes, dragging you down and down into its cold embrace. You flail, you struggle. Ropes dig into your wrists and ankles. You yearn for the haze of light above the surface of the water, barely making out the bubbles that escape your mouth and drift away. Your lungs burn. Your eyes sting with saltwater. Your heart pumps frantically in your chest to distribute oxygen you can no longer take in. You are going to die.

Rather, you are going to be sacrificed.

In your panicked delirium, you start hearing things. The soft, airy lilt of a flute. A cynical, melodic laugh. You fight to open your eyes again, and a form seems to glow in the water before you. Sea-glass eyes, shimmering scales, a pale hand that reaches for your cheek. A voice, warm, playful, too clear in your dimming consciousness, demands something.

“Human, shall I spare your life? Then, become my follower. Give me… everything.”

~~

When your eyes snap open, the scene soon fades. Each vivid detail becomes a vague echo, a grain of sand slipping through your fingers. All it leaves you with is a peculiar swirl of emotions: fear, desperation, emptiness, longing. You know this isn’t the first time these images have haunted your dreams because, even though their contents elude you, the feeling you’re left with is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

Your phone pings, bringing reality into sharp focus, and you let out a groan, fumbling for it on your bedside table.

Rafayel: Miss Bodyguard, I need you or I might die

You: ???

Rafayel: a powerful foe has appeared

Rolling out of bed, you compose a text back as you scramble to put on your uniform. You haven’t known Rafayel all that long, know the flighty artist is prone to overexaggerating, but the thought of him in danger wins out against your skepticism.

You: Is it Wanderer? Where are you rn?

Rafayel: at the studio, dun think I can move help

Rafayel: starvation is coming for me

Rafayel: I keep forgetting to eat lol

Rafayel: I need you to fight it off so I can finish my painting

Your stomach drops, your shoulders relax, and you let out a long, annoyed sigh. You debate sending him an angry voice memo and chewing him out for scaring you, but instead, you shoot him back a sticker of a bird rolling its eyes.

You: make ramen or smth good lord

Rafayel: I can’t!! my inspiration will vanish with the steam T-T

You: you can’t finish your painting if you starve, yk?

Rafayel: awwww, are you worried about me, Miss Bodyguard?

You: I take it back, starve

Rafayel: nooooo you have to come over

Rafayel: bring chicken

Rafayel: hurry up

You: Rafayel it’s Thursday. Plus, the metaflux levels are all out of whack recently, I have

Rafayel: a duty to Linkon City

Rafayel: I get it

Rafayel: come after work, then. bring side dishes too

You: I won’t be done til 6, eat before then istg

Rafayel: oop k thx byeeeee

You want to be more annoyed, but you can feel a smile tugging the corners of your lips in spite of yourself. As dramatic as Rafayel can be, you can’t deny that his antics chased away that empty feeling the nightmare brought. Instead, excitement warms your chest. There’s lots of work to be done, but you know can face it.

~~~

“I know we’re swamped, but there’s a civilian in peril in Sector 37. Nearby units?”

Your body moves before your brain can catch up, boots crashing through puddles, uniform soaked through from the driving rain, and you find yourself rattling off your information into the comms without a second thought. You’re mercifully pretty close to the victim’s location—if the fifth call in eight hours could ever qualify as merciful.

The sky above is so dark it could be mistaken for the N109 Zone, only periodically lit by arcing flashes of lightning. Of course, it had to be during a storm that the meta-flux levels went haywire. There’s no scientific evidence suggesting Wanderers prefer to strike on rainy days, but it’s a pet theory of yours. Rafayel’s theory is that you’re just cosmically unlucky. Today, you’re tempted to believe it.

Your usual partner, Xavier, has been off the grid for the past week. It’s not that surprising—he tends to come and go as he pleases—but you do wish his timing was better. You could request backup, but the sheer number of attacks have spread the rest of the Hunter Association’s forces so thin that you wouldn’t dare snag a partner from a less-experienced recruit. That’s why you’re resolved to finish this alone.

The coordinates on your watch lead you to a run-down shopping complex. Most everyone seems to have evacuated, but as you approach, a shriek pierces through the din of the rainfall, sending a shiver shooting up your spine. You draw your gun from its thigh holster, peering through the doorway of a bookshop seconds before a desperate employee scrambles into view, breathing in haggard gasps and clutching his bloodied shoulder. You hear a cacophony of crashing shelves and tumbling books close behind him.

“Get down!” you yell, leaping in front of him and emptying a full magazine into the Wanderer’s chest, stopping it in its tracks. Its body glows an eerie purple, hulking, vaguely feline, with a deadly scorpion’s tail poised above its head. Its eyes sear into yours as it bares its fangs. Your heart thunders in your ears. Your bullets only seem to have made it angrier.

You make a split-second decision to trade your gun for the claymore slung over your back. It’s dangerous to shoot in such close-quarters, and since you can’t tell if the injured man behind you is able to make a run for it, your top priority is keeping the monster away from him. You heft the blade in a wide arc just in time to keep razor-sharp claws from raking across your face. A furious roar tears from the Wanderer’s throat as you draw back, but you steel your nerves, landing strike after strike as you search for weak points in its protocore shield.

You manage to keep the Wanderer at bay with a flurry of quick slashes, dodging its tail and teeth in turn, but you know this can’t last forever. The day’s exhaustion is starting to catch up with you, rendering once-fluid motions stiffer and slower. You barely manage to roll away from a massive paw, but your form is a bit off, and your left shoulder takes the brunt of your fall. Stunned, you can’t pull away in time, and the beast’s claws slice through your pants and into the meat of your thigh. You clench your teeth to keep from screaming, adrenaline surging as you kick the Wanderer’s face with all your might.

It staggers back, and you seize the opportunity to run your claymore straight through its neck. With a hiss, the Wanderer dissipates, its fading cry leaving only the sound of the rain and your heavy breaths. For a moment, you lean against your sword, doubled over, chest heaving, warm blood flowing down your leg. Now that you aren’t in immediate danger, your body begins to register how cold you are, how soggy. Your shoulder throbs, the scratches across your thigh sting and you wince as you stand upright.

“You… saved me. Th-Thank you…”

The trembling voice snaps you out of your reverie, and in a moment, you’re back in work-mode. As worn-out as you feel, it’s your job as a Hunter to make the people of Linkon feel at ease. “Don’t worry. You’re safe, now.” You muster a bright smile, and a flush of red colors the man’s cheeks. Your eyes dart to his shoulder wound, and you don’t waste any time fishing disinfectant and bandages from your first-aid kit. “Hold still, okay? This might hurt a bit.”

The man clenches his fists, but he doesn’t cry out, even as you clean him up and bandage his shoulder with efficient, practiced motions. You can feel him staring at you in awe the whole time, but you don’t mind it. He’s probably still in shock. “You were amazing. I thought I was going to die, but you… were so brave. Like a warrior-goddess.”

You glance up at him after tugging at the final knot, keeping your tone light and airy in spite of the jab of discomfort in your chest. “Just doing my job. Let’s get you to the hospital, yeah?”

You move to let him lean on you for support, but the man takes your hands instead. “Please, let me repay you somehow. I could buy you dinner—”

“If you want to repay me,” your smile doesn’t falter, but you gently pull your hands away, readjusting so he can lean on you, “stay safe and healthy. That will be enough.”

~~~

You intended to drop off the civilian at Akso and head straight back to meet Rafayel, but Zayne happens to catch sight of you in the waiting area and immediately insists that you at least get patched up before you leave.

“It’s not that big a deal, Dr. Zayne, you don’t need to—” you start to grumble, but Zayne’s hazel eyes bore into you with such intensity, and you notice little crystals of ice forming along the edges of his clipboard. Reluctantly, you take a seat on the examination table. “I mean… sure.”

“That’s what I thought.” The doctor lets out a long-suffering sigh. The smell of disinfectant prickles your nose as he tends to your leg. “Now, Miss Hunter, I notice that you treated that civilian’s wounds, but neglected your own. Why?”

You look away, sheepish. “I was running low on supplies. Today’s meta-flux was unusually high, so I’ve been running around all day.”

Zayne’s frown only deepens with this information. “Did you not think to let another team member handle it? Or, perhaps, to call for help if you were injured, instead of dragging yourself all the way here and aggravating your wounds further?”

You bite your bottom lip, eyes falling to your lap. “I’m sorry, Dr. Zayne.”

“I don’t want apologies.” Zayne closes the first-aid kit’s lid loudly. He brings a hand to your shoulder (the uninjured one, luckily) and waits for you to meet his gaze. “I want you to value your life. Please, be more careful. If anything happened to you, I…” He lets the end of his sentence die, and in the heavy silence that follows, you swallow the lump forming in your throat.

“I promise I’ll be more careful.”

Zayne doesn’t smile, but his expression softens. “Based on previous evidence, I don’t know if I should believe you, but I’ll take you at your word this time.”

You chuckle, glancing down at your watch: 7:00 p.m. Shit. You were supposed to meet Rafayel an hour ago.

You rush to his studio as fast as you can. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, but the streets are slick, and you’d rather not end up hurt again. The gate is unlocked as usual, and light seeps through the windows. Your phone died earlier in the day, so you have no way of knowing if he remembers you had plans. Your stomach clenches as you ease open the door. Maybe I got lucky and he was hyperfocused on a painting again?

The flicker of hope in your chest is snuffed out when you cross the threshold and catch sight of Rafayel, not perched at his easel, but sprawled out languidly on the couch. His long limbs are draped haphazardly, his head turned aside in prime sulking position. His phone has been tossed to the floor, and he doesn’t acknowledge you at all, even though you’re sure he heard the door close.

You take a deep breath. “Rafayel, I—”

“Still remember my name, I see. That’s a shocker.”

“Listen, I’m sorry.” You kick off your shoes, belatedly realizing that you forgot the chicken, the whole reason for your visit. “I kinda rushed over here. I was—”

“Yeah, yeah. Killing Wanderers, saving Linkon City. You know, you could’ve texted me. The news kept reporting on the severity of the attacks, for all I knew you could have—” Suddenly, Rafayel sniffs the air. He sits up abruptly, and when he catches sight of you, his sour expression morphs into a mask of worry. “What happened to you?”

“I-I’m okay!” You force a grin, but he’s already at your side, his eyes sweeping over your torn and dirtied clothes, your dripping hair, your freshly-applied bandages. “I just got a little careless in my last fight, that’s all.”

“You… How reckless. Aren’t I supposed to be the irresponsible one here?” Rafayel’s hand drifts to your hair, brushing a damp strand from your forehead. Then, feeling how warm your skin is, his palm lingers, checking your temperature.

“Wow, you’re self-aware now?” You let out a giggle, and Rafayel flicks your forehead with a frown. “What, do I feel feverish?”

“No idea.” He huffs, his hand running absently through his hair. “But you should hop in the shower and warm up anyway. Hold on, I’ll find you a towel and some dry clothes.”

“Really? I don’t want to impo—achoo!” You double over, barely managing to sneeze into your elbow. Rafayel lightly steers you toward the bathroom.

“Just accept my generous hospitality, okay, Miss Bodyguard? Turn the faucet toward the wall for cool water, and away from the wall for hot, got it?”

With no room to complain, you wash up gingerly, careful to avoid your gashes and to be gentle with your bruised skin. The hot water is a relief to your cold, clammy body, and you take your time, luxuriating in the familiar smell of Rafayel’s soap. It’s a gentle scent, subtly sweet and salty like an ocean breeze.

Rafayel has left a plush towel, sweatpants and a t-shirt folded on the sink, as well as a pair of fluffy socks. You smile gently at the care he clearly took in selecting everything. Naturally, his clothes are baggy on you, but feel comfortable and safe swathed in the soft fabric.

When you re-enter the studio, Rafayel is perched on the couch, arranging a spread of fried chicken and various sides on the coffee table. “You’re just in time, food’s here.” He smiles at you, and you don’t miss how his eyes linger a bit on the stretched-out collar of the t-shirt before he catches himself and hurriedly glances away, a flush of red blooming on his cheeks. “Dig in.”

“I really am sorry I couldn’t bring this stuff myself,” you plop down, swiping a pair of disposable chopsticks.

“How will you make it up to me?” Rafayel cocks his head cutely, batting his eyelashes.

“Hmmm. Open up,” you pick up the most succulent-looking piece of chicken and hold it toward Rafayel. He gratefully leans toward you to accept it, taking a dainty little bite. His eyes sparkle with approval and he takes the rest from your chopsticks, swiping a thumb over his lips after he’s done. You find yourself spacing out a bit, focused only on how soft and shiny they look.

“Your turn,” Rafayel grins, holding up a bite for you.

“I, uh…” Truthfully, you’ve never been one to let other people feed you. You couldn’t say why, but it usually strikes you as a bit awkward, if not cringey. But Rafayel is looking at you so expectantly, so cutely, even, that your hesitation melts away. You lean in and take the chicken, only realizing how hungry you were as the juicy meat and the crunchy, savory skin seem to melt in your mouth. You eagerly take a second piece for yourself, munching happily. Then another.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Rafayel chuckles as he watches you eat.

“Stop staring,” you complain, turning away from his probing gaze.

“You can’t say that. What if my artist’s eyes are gathering new inspiration? Do you want to be the reason my dreams die?”

“Oh, no! Rest in peace, Rafayel’s chicken-themed painting. We barely new ye, but your premature loss shall forever remain a wound on our hearts. Rafayel, will you say any words in remembrance?”

Rafayel clears his throat. “I’ll only say that the Painting That Never Was represents one of the most harrowing tragedies in this world—a love unfulfilled. I may never again feel such a spark as I did watching my bodyguard enjoying her chicken. It’s a regret I’ll take to my watery grave—”

“Alright, enough of that.” You lightly shove at his shoulder, and Rafayel giggles.

You fall into comfortable chatter as you both enjoy your food and fill your stomachs. Outside, the rain has picked up again. It isn’t long before exhaustion crashes over you, eyelids heavy, breaths slowing and deepening as you lean against Rafayel’s shoulder.

I should probably go home, you decide, but you aren’t even sure if you said it aloud or it’s just a thought surfacing in your sleep-addled brain. I don’t want to impose.

“Sleep, now. You’ve worked hard today.”

Who’s that? Sounds familiar. You can’t really tell, but the voice warms you up like ginger tea as cool fingers glide across your cheek. You nuzzle closer on instinct, letting out a contented sigh. I guess it’s fine.

~~

Once he’s sure you’re asleep, Rafayel’s mischievous mask fades. His expression is solemn, almost dour, as he gathers you in his arms and takes you to his bed. He’s extra-careful as he tucks you in, arranging the pillows and comforter gently and accounting for your injuries. When you are safe and snug, he lets out a long breath, shoulders slumping. He kneels next to the bedside and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get a grip on the emotions roiling in his chest.

It's her job to hunt Wanderers. She can take care of herself. She’s strong, fast, intelligent. She’s not going anywhere this time. Still, she could call me if she’s in trouble…

He raises his head, lets his gaze linger on your peaceful expression as you sleep. Your lips are parted slightly, hair mussed. You look and act exactly as he knew you. Smell the same, too. He knows that you don’t remember anything from back then. To you, he’s just some eccentric weirdo who started clinging to you not long after your first meeting. Part of him hates how selfish he is, daring to get close to you instead of simply protecting you from afar. Rafayel is a wanted man—you would probably be safer if he kept his distance. But he can’t help it. Maybe, it’s his Lemurian sense of loyalty. Or maybe, to his core, he’s always been a selfish being. A being who would damn the whole ocean for the love of a single human girl.

Ping.

Rafayel’s eyes dart to the phone he left in the living room. His stomach wrenches when he reads the notification. It’s from a man known as Sparrow, a contact from The Nest.

Sparrow: We have a tug on the line.

Rafayel: Which bait?

Sparrow: Your little Deepspace Hunter.

Rafayel’s blood goes ice-cold. His eyes drift to the window, as if whoever is currently after you might be lurking outside, huddled to escape the driving rain. He flinches as another notification sounds.

Sparrow: We actually have a few interested parties. Her name keeps appearing along with mentions of the Aether Core.

Rafayel: Don’t waste my time. I need names.

Sparrow: Can do. For a price.

Rafayel: Name it. Just come out with it.

There’s a long silence, and Rafayel curses under his breath. Maybe he showed his desperation too plainly. A rookie mistake. But, then—

Sparrow: Alright. We can get into the gritty details later, but there are three names that come up time and again.

Sparrow: Xander Sciences, the Ever Group, and Onychinus.

[auto-theist]

Dear Commander.

cross posted on ao3

Erwin,

I find it hard to write this with the formality you expect. We are at war, no longer with mindless titans but with true intelligent invaders. I understand you intend to protect our people but I do question the certainty behind your actions. Are we certain that this ends with the beast? Can we guarantee that Eren is the ending we want to place our faith in.

I should not speak selfishly as a soldier. I understand my position is to simply follow your orders. I have full trust in your words just as I have for years, yet deep down I feel a sense of dread that I cannot escape. For once in my years of work with the scout regiment I wonder if this really is the smartest move. We lose so many soldiers daily that I question when their lives will stop ending in vain.

Perhaps I am out of line in saying this, you can reprimand me accordingly as you see fit, but I wonder when enough will be enough for you Erwin. Will it be standing on the parapet surrounded by cheers of success, or will it be the cruel fate of damnation as failure greets you with death by its side. I cannot allow the latter to occur. Your readiness to give for the cause of humanity is strong and admirable but these men cannot act without you in the lead. I cannot act without your orders.

Captain Levi Ackerman.

Scout corps.

Erwin

I never received a reply to my last letter. Even now I shall not receive one. Guilt eats away at me nightly for what I failed to do. If I were not fighting for your honor I would have abandoned humanity long ago. They informed me of your passing. I wish they were wrong, I would have rather you hated me than left.

My selfishness seems to be my curse. To love you was the worst thing I could do. My existence proves itself to once again be fatal to those I care for. In all these years I had grown too comfortable, and had found you immune. Now I lay here restless, unable to sleep as the screams echo in my head.

I acted selfishly in your parting as well. I saw their eyes, the fear when I had gotten ahold of the serum. I could have very well brought you back, it's how humanity could have continued to thrive instead of fighting the war we waged. I couldn't bring myself to. I could not lose you again, as for such I hold no regret for the choice I made.

Armin seemed the rightful choice at that moment. He held the same calculating look, the determination in his spirit. A part of me feels as though you possessed him, that your soul echoes in his eyes. I can't fight the grief I feel when he stands the way you used to. A mirror image of your beliefs, I trust his leadership just as I trusted yours.

I have never felt such conflicting guilt before, the grief of missing your touch. I no longer can reside in our room. I've instructed the cadets to not move a thing. It's the only way to truly feel your presence. The empty cup of coffee you had finished still sits on the desk. The books you had pulled for your nightly reading are still at the foot of the bed; the same place they were left when you eagerly explained them to me that morning. Your night clothes are left in the hamper, yet to be washed. Your smell clings to the room and suffocates me in an emptiness I cannot explain.

On nights where I am silent enough I can still hear you, mumbling to yourself about plans, checking on numbers. Others I can hear you saying “I love you”. Those nights truly make me question if you're really gone.

I told you to give up. To stop chasing your dreams. To die already because you were destroying yourself. I wish you had not taken me so literally. I miss nights by your side, the warmth of your touch, the soothing echo of your voice as you would read. It has been years since I've felt sick from grief. I had grown accustomed to the sadness of death.

You haunt my every step, my every move. I was so reliant on your guidance that I fear a part of me died with you. My selfishness is to blame. I am to blame. I cannot find the words to apologize. Deep down I do not regret not saving you. I could not live with myself if I were to watch you die again.

I've asked them to bury you with my cover. Hanji made threats to dissect them if they failed to. As humorous as they were, I could not bring myself to smile. Perhaps joy is the part of me that died with you. I'm not upset about it in the slightest. Of all the things you could take I would want it to be my heart. It has always been yours commander. In return I have taken your cover. It took time to get used to moving in the extra fabric. My movements were sloppy, I hope more blood wasn't placed on my hands for my faltered movement. I could not part with it. Your scent on the fabric is bittersweet, encouraging me in battle and haunting me in rest.

I have given my all to the scouts. I have given my all to humanity. I have given everything I am at your request Erwin. I feel as though I'm lost without your command. Every order as comforting and sure as the embrace we used to share. Suffering came with the job. Suffering was so common, so normal. I wish you had suffered long enough for me to at least say goodbye.

Captain Levi Ackerman.

Devoted partner.

[what-have-i-unleashed]

don't feed the hungry spirit

inspired by my dream-eater nightmare post. another horror story for you guys for spooky month :3

(note: my rushed writing again, also the characters here are probably ooc because it's based on my own personal au for them lol)

👻🎃👻🎃👻🎃👻🎃👻🎃👻🎃👻🎃

sans couldn't sleep. it's nothing new actually. dreams, bad and good, always plague his slumber. just like the voices of the dead, or the dust and blood that sticks to his clothes. but just like the living, sans has to sleep eventually. and no matter how much he delays it, the darkness claims him every time. and that's when the dreams start ravaging the his mind again.

but one day sans remembers a folklore he heard as a child. about the dream-eater.

call for the dream-eater and he shall eat your nightmares.

what a silly tale only children would believe... but it doesn't hurt to try, does it?

so sans, in a chilly night, alone in his bed but not his head, prays for the dream-eater to come.

and the dream-eater does come, much to sans' surprise.

he's a figure in the shadows, refusing to come into the light. all sans can see is a turquoise eyelight staring back at him. for a moment, he thinks it's just another of his imagination.

"you call for me, mortal?" the dream-eater's voice ricochets in the room and pierces through sans' skull like a ringing bullet. sans can do nothing but nod. the formless voice chuckles.

"you offer me a delicious meal. i'd be a fool to refuse it."

and so, it is the first night sans has a peaceful dreamless sleep.

but it doesn't mean this is the end of his nightmares. countless resets. countless killings. countless deaths. again and again. in a cycle he cannot stop.

so he asks for the dream-eater. again and again. and the dream-eater consumes his nightmares. again and again.

"do you know why they call me the dream-eater?" the dream-eater asks sans one day. sans is lying prone on his bed, idly watching the shadows inching closer to him, until he can feel the freezing cold emanating from the dream-eater.

"it's because i eat not only nightmares, but also dreams," the dream-eater continues. the turquoise light travels near sans' own eyelight. in this close distance, sans could see the flowing black tar covering the deity. he could smell an earthly smell.

"do it," sans says, apathetic. "my dreams. i don't need them anymore."

the single turquoise eyelight crinkles, as if amused.

"with pleasure."

and so, night after night, the dream-eater comes to sans without any summoning from his end. as if that permission is enough for the dream-eater to come to his room, his house, his universe. sans feels... better, or at least he thinks he is. there is no more nightmare or dream plaguing him. and isn't that what he wants? no more haunting voices. no more distractions. just him doing his job. day in, day out. punctual and efficient like he's never been before.

but now, living his life and repeating his tasks again and again feels like a waking dream. he moves like a ghost in his own life. he still experiences insomnia - a habit he cannot break. reality and dream now blur together - it's like he cannot wake up from all of this.

"i won't come here anymore," the dream-eater says one day. sans is sitting among the echo flower field, looking up at the false stars, as the dream-eater hovers behind him. a dull sense of panic and alarm flares in him as he hears those words.

"what do you mean?" he asks, not as frantic as he hopes.

"i have no more use out of you. all you nightmares. all you dreams. all your hopes. i have eaten them all. you're but a husk now, empty of life that i could take."

"if you go, then the nightmares will happen again."

"that's right."

sans stares at glowing lights above him. everything feels so far away, yet so close.

"... what do i need to do to make you stay then?"

sans feel something touching his shoulders. he doesn't flinch away, but it's a surprise and and relief that the dream-eater is actually real at all.

"work for me. i have no use for you as you are now, as my food source. but i can have some use out of you as a murderer."

"... can i still come back home if i go with you?"

"maybe. maybe not. such is the life of a wandering ghost. you never know where you'll end up next."

"... can i have some time to think about it, then?"

"take your time. i'll expect your answer the next time you call for me."

and so, sans lies in the flower field, alone. he has a feeling what his answer will be. funnily enough, he finds out that skeletons can still cry after all.

[by-speaker]

Haunted Hose (ENG. VER.)

Prompts by @raven-cincaide-words

Missa and Philza had moved into their dream house, a beautiful Victorian gothic mansion. It was old, it was mossy on the outside, the door was falling off its hinges, and it was missing a couple of panes of glass in the windows, but it was all theirs. 

‘Are you excited?’ asked Phil to his boyfriend, parking his big torino in the driveway, ’It needs a couple of repairs, but it's all ours.’ 

‘It's literally my dream house,’ Missa said with a big smile, ’I really can't believe we were able to buy it.’ 

Phil laughed and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, ‘It looks like it's haunted.’ He said laughing. 

Missa punched him in the arm, ‘don't say that shit.’ The Mexican shrieked. 

Philza rubbed his arm, ‘Alright, alright, no more haunted house jokes.’ He said with a laugh 

‘Come on, let's get in.’ 

They both got out of the car, and headed for the entrance, the door was sealed with some boards, but there was a piece of wood missing from underneath.  

‘We have to replace the door,’ Philza said after pushing it open. 

Missa laughed, but ran into the hallway, the inside of the house was not dilapidated, in fact the inside was in almost perfect condition, the house had belonged to an old woman who had made sure her house didn't fall apart, but because of her age she couldn't do much about the outside. 

‘Well, it could be worse.’ Missa said. 

‘Yes, you're right.’ Said Phil, ‘it could be haunted’ he said, making ghost sounds.

‘Don't joke about that any more,’ the Mexican shrieked again, ’you respect the dead.’ 

‘Sorry, sorry,’ said Phil giving him a resounding kiss on the cheek, ’Now what? Shall we clean up or eat first?’ 

‘Mhmmm, let's clean up, I'm going to order for lunch, Chinese, or pizza?’ 

‘Pizza is a good idea,’ said Phil, ’I'll start with the kitchen, you clean up the living room and the 2 of us do the bedroom?’

‘Yeah, that’s alright,’ said Missa giving his boyfriend a quick kiss and going to clean the living room. 

So they both started cleaning, Missa had made sure to check every nook and cranny of the old living room and had even lit a summary, to make sure there were no evil spirits or bad energies in the house. What looked a little out of place were the toys and clothes that were drying, plus the fireplace looked like it had been used recently.  

Strange, very strange.

‘Phil?’ he shouted to get his boyfriend's attention, ’Did you see this when you came to see the house?’ 

Philza walked into the living room, he was wearing that green scarf he used in his hair when he cleaned, ‘Oh, yes, those things were here, apparently the lady looked after the orphans that fell into the lake near here.’ 

‘Oh,’ said Missa sighing, ’I thought… don't forget it.’ 

‘Ghosts?’ said Phil with an evil grin on his face. 

Missa frowned, ‘Don't joke about that.’ He said, taking the broom and finishing sweeping, ‘Are you done with the kitchen?’ 

‘Almost done.’

The sound of a boat whistle startled them both, ‘I think it's the pizza.’ 

They both laughed, Philza went to get the pizza while he moved the coffee table closer to the couch. Missa smiled as her boyfriend came dancing in with two boxes of pizza and a bottle of ice-cold glass coke in his hands. 

‘Dinner’ said Phil, in the same tone as Maui sings it in the Moana movie.  

‘Thank you’ said Missa receiving one of the boxes. 

‘You're welcome’ said Phil with a smile, plopping down on the couch. 

Missa sat next to Phil on the couch, both eagerly opening their pizza boxes.

‘Mmm, smells delicious,’ Missa said, taking a slice. ‘Nothing like pizza after a day of cleaning.’

Phil nodded, his mouth already full of pizza. He swallowed and said, ‘Definitely. Hey, what do you say we start unpacking the boxes tomorrow? We could start giving this place a more personal touch.’

‘Sounds perfect to me,’ Missa replied. ‘I've got lots of ideas for decorating. Remember those pictures we bought at the flea market?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Phil said, taking a sip of coke. ‘They're going to look great in the living room.’

As they ate and chatted, a subtle noise came from the back of the house. It sounded like someone had tripped over something.

Missa stopped mid-bite. ‘Did you hear that?’

Phil cocked his head, listening. ‘Probably some animal outside. Maybe a raccoon or something.’

‘I guess,’ Missa said, not entirely convinced. ‘Tomorrow we should check to see if there are any entrances we need to seal.’

‘Good idea,’ agreed Phil. ’We don't want any unexpected visitors.’

They continued their dinner, discussing plans for the house and sharing anecdotes. From time to time, Missa glanced toward the hallway leading to the back of the house, as if expecting to see something. But everything seemed normal.

As they picked up the leftovers from dinner, Missa kept looking down the hallway. 

‘Everything all right, darling?’ asked Phil giving Missa a hug from behind, ’you look, scared.’  

‘Yes, everything's fine, querido,’ Missa said giving him a kiss on the cheek, ’Shall we go to bed?’ 

They both went to sleep. The next day, they both went downstairs for breakfast for reheated pizza and a cup of coffee, but their pizza was gone, and their living room was a mess. 

They attributed it to the raccoons, until it happened again the next day, and the next, and the next. 

On the fifth day, Missa and Phil looked at each other with concern as they observed their living room once again in disarray.

‘This can't be raccoons any more,’ Missa said, picking up a cushion from the floor. ‘Raccoons don't open refrigerators or leave biscuit crumbs everywhere.’

Phil nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘You're right. This is…weird.’

‘Do you think someone is breaking into the house?’ Missa asked, her voice tinged with concern.

‘It's possible,’ Phil replied. ’But I don't see any signs of forced entry. Besides, why would someone break in just to make a mess and eat our food?’

Missa shuddered. ‘I don't know, but it's creeping me out.’

Phil hugged him. ‘Don't worry. We'll figure this out. What do you say we set up some security cameras? Then we'll know what's really going on.’

So they did, they bought cameras and installed them, it turned out their house wasn't haunted or infested with raccoons, there were kids in their house, their house was invaded by two little kids at night. 

[goldeneyedgirl]

I would sell my body and soul for more of that demon Jasper fic :)))

Ask and ye shall receive, Anon. Also, I'm no longer accepting intangible essences in this economy because I'm pretty sure selling your body and soul will be the cost of a studio apartment soon.

I have a very specific vibe I want for the follow up, and right now, it's just not quite hitting it correctly, so this is a very early drafted scene. The 'Meet the Cullens' scene might pop up at Ficmas if I can get it right. I just need Jasper to be the right balance of 'I was imprisoned for long enough to be disorientated by the modern world', 'PTSD, my only friend', 'I am haunted by my demon self that wears my skin', and 'I have hope for the future.' And I cannot wait to do more world building with what Maria has done, and what Alice has learnt.

It's a short piece but I hope you enjoy!

--

The worst part is that he has to sleep.

He has to dream.

Neither he nor Alice know if that is because he needs to heal, or if that’s the burden of being changed. Alice promises to research it for him, but right now he doesn’t care. He resents it, yes, that his body demands something as base as rest. But of all the pieces that he’s been left with, sleep is the least of his problems.

(What does he dream of? Torture and torment. The flaying of skin. Burns that furiously eat right down to the bone. Words carved and muttered, read from books written and bound in old skin reeking of all the death and hands that have touched it. He dreams of complete hopelessness, of grief and betrayal and rage. And when he wakes up, it’s still in the back of his mind, always nagging at him.)

Sometimes it takes him hours to remind himself that he’s free. That he could walk out the front door and Alice wouldn’t stop him. Or rather, she’d run after him to make sure he was okay, that he had clothing and shoes and he didn’t need to eat. And she’d make him promise that he knew he could come home again.

(It wouldn’t be the first time. He hates that she doesn’t sleep. He hates that she hunts and butchers for him. He hates that when he looks at her, such a beautiful girl, he knows he could offer her anything, promise her anything, and she’d follow him anywhere. He could crush her heart in his hand, and she’d still smile at him and ask him if he was okay.)

//

“Jasper, can I ask you something?”

He tenses up when she says that; he’s been waiting for it. The price of all she’s done for him; the first aid, the housing, hunting and butchering, clothing, digging him out of that church. She’s just like the others, despite her promises.

“What?” His voice is cold and harsh, and he’s already preparing for the words that come next. Already planning on leaving her in pieces on the floor and let her put herself back together.

“I think we need to start working on your wings.” For a moment, the words make no sense to him because they aren’t what he expects. And then he’s taken by how gentle her words sound. How the worry skitters all over her. She’s actually concerned about him.

He hasn’t transformed back right, he’s known that for a while; his shoulder blades jut out unnaturally and he cannot get them to flatten. He’s gotten use to it - the mattress on his bed is soft enough that it’s not uncomfortable, and most of the clothing Alice has acquired for him are loose enough not to matter. He hadn’t given it much thought - his body has felt foreign to him for so long that another thing is nothing.

The idea that she’s been worrying is confusing.

//

He’s never been this close to someone in this form without being able to kill them. And yet Alice is so calm, as if every single instinct isn’t telling her to run.

She smells sweet, like he’s buried his face in flowers, with the sharp tang of something akin to ink. It’s nice in a way that he hasn’t had in a while. Alice really is extraordinarily pretty, her eyes are the most intense shade of warm gold with eyelashes that fan gently against her cheek when she blinks, and her pretty pink lips that twist into a frown as she examines his wings.

It’s a mystery to him why she bothers with the likes of him. From what she’s mentioned about her former coven, he assumes that she could be living in luxury. Be married to some bookish vampire gentleman who opens doors for her and…

He’s feeling warm and he’s not sure why, as her fingers trace the sinew of his right wing carefully. She’s wearing an old t-shirt knotted at the waist that leaves one shoulder completely bare, and the tiniest pants he’s ever seen on a woman. Practical for hunting, he’s certain, but nothing that he’s used to at all.

The jokes she made when she found him echo in his mind and he wonders if she was truly willing or if she was just nervous; she’s made no other allusions to… physical intimacies since that night. In fact, she’s been extraordinarily kind but kept her distance as he’s recovered. Not once has she crossed the threshold of his room; she launders the clothing, and brings back the flesh and blood of animals for him to consume, and generally leaves him be unless he seeks her out.

This cannot be all she wants from him - a grudging housemate. He doesn’t understand, not at all. He wants the truth.

The stitches are slow, as Alice carefully lines up each tear precisely, and this is a terrible intimacy. He flexes his fingers, trying to resist grasping her hips as she works, almost like a muscle memory. He does wonder if she’d even allow him to put his hands on her like this. When he looks like a demon, the worst of the monsters. But she hasn’t flinched away from him yet.

“Are you doing okay?” Her voice is soft, a warm puff against his face with that honeyed scent of her venom.

“Yes.” His voice is short, clipped, and she doesn’t speak again. Just keeps sewing. The pain is negligible to what he’s experienced in the past, and he reminds himself of that.

Finally (too soon) Alice pulls away. “Okay, that’s the first round done,” she says. He doesn’t even bother to look at her handiwork as he lets the transformation fade, so that he can at least meet her gaze.

“We’re going to have to break the humerus to reset your shoulder blades correctly,” she says. “It’ll hurt.”

The words are simple and he wants to scoff, but he knows. The wings are sensitive, and the bones dense. Breaking them in a special pain he’s lived through once.

He grunts in acknowledgement as he shrugs back into his hoodie.

“Let me know what you want to do.” She sets aside the sewing kit and for a moment he wants to. He wants to ask her to sit with him and talk about nothing - about her old coven, about what the closest town is like, about places she’s been. He wants something simple, something easy. He wants to bury his face against her, and breathe in flowers and ink and the sharp, toxic honey of her venom. He wants…

Alice smiles at him sadly one last time before she slips away, giving him the space she expects he wants.

[youngstarfishphilosopher]

SHOULDN'T HAVE STAYED HOME

A consept New Haunted mansion Au I've been cooking up of What would happen if Addison did kick Alistair out at first, but then changed his mind and allowed him to stay at the Manor.

Warnings ⚠️: Murder, Mention of Physical and Verbal Abuse, VERY Heavily Implied Child Abuse

Have you heard of the Crump boy. Alistair, I believe he's called.

Always such a quiet and respectful young man, though more often than not always on edge.

Orphaned at sixteen: His mother dying when he was only nine. His father Addison found with only a body and no head.

Some believe the boy was the one who did it. Who committed the murder of his father.

For It was clear to anyone that the boys father was often less than kind to the poor child. And in return the boy showed some form of anxiety and withheld resentment towards the man.

But only the servants knew the truth.

Only they knew the terrible mental state of the poor boy. The trembling boy they had found over the corpse of their cruel master: the dead man's head detached from it's neck.

"I've done it . . . I-I have slayed the beast . . ." The boy had spoken in a hushed tone as he gazed upon his handwork.

His eyes were swollen and puffy as they were drowned by tears which fell out of his sockets.

His hands and clothing were covered in crimson blood.; fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of an axe.

" No longer shall its dark, black claws reach out to me in my dreams . . . No longer shall they cut and bruise my skin . . . Drag me by my hair . . .

No longer shall it use its wicked tounge and cruel language to degrade me close to tears . . ."

What happened next was simply allowed to happen by the willingness of the staff who had been overworked and abused just like the poor child had. With their old master's head hidden away under the manor as his body was buried.

And since that day, no servant had accused the poor child or had made his simply unforgivable crime known.

For they all held onto some form of the same hatred and resentment to the father. Just as the poor child had.

[blorbologist]

Hold court among the sweetbriars

Gen / mild Feywild spoilers / 6.7k / Syldor/Elaina prologue that's mildly shitty but not completely

Once upon a time fox-woman-dreaming, or the fox-wife, left her ungrateful husband when he bemoaned the musk about her paws. What they never tell you is of what happened after: to her foxcub twins, and the cursed castle they found deep in the briarwoods.

For @percahliaweek day 5: Fairytale / Class

Chapter 1/2: To tame a fox

--

There was once a great and splendid manor within the deepwoods. Wealthy in every way, including in magic. In it lived a lonely man of great pride, who left it empty each day to tend to business in town. Each evening he returned to find it just as empty without him. He had lived long as such - it suited him fine. 

 

One day upon his return, he found his home tended to in his absence. Floors swept, carpets beaten, spiders evicted of their corners, and even a fire spat merrily in the hearth.

 

Weary of the tricks of fey - for he was one of their number - the proud man left a small gift upon the doorstep and went to bed.

 

The man was proud, not simple. Thus it was that on the second day he marched back home at noon, not nightfall, to catch what trickery was afoot. 

 

As he glanced upon his door his eye caught upon bright red fur. A fox! A fox had come a-slinking, to steal from his pantry! In a rage the man stormed in, throwing open the door to glimpse only a tail as the fox slipped away.

 

Now the shutters had shed their dust, too, and his clothes had been mended with hairfine thread. Not a loaf of bread out of place neither. 

 

Upon the third day the man did not leave for his work. Instead he followed foxtracks and gamepaths round his land, unable to find where the creature nested. 

 

Returning to his manor in defeat, the man found no fox pilfering his icebox. Instead, to great surprise, he found the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She tended to a rich meal upon the stove, and on a peg hung a foxskin.

 

"I am to be your wife," she said plainly. "I wish to be the woman of this house and mind it and mend it as my own." 

 

Overcome, and pleased the woman was already so studious in her duties as to snare and skin the vermin, the man took her indeed as his wife. And, for a time, they were happy.

 

She tailored his clothes and polished his shoes and dusted the cabinets, and fetched water from the brook and weeded the garden, and kissed him sweetly and laughed of his days and took him to bed each night. What a lucky man he was!

 

But in time the proud man found a musk about his home. In his meals, his laundered clothes, his wedding bed. Something he could ignore, as he once ignored much. However, grown accustomed to his tidy home, he complained of this to his wife, and so bid her to rid their home of this odor.

 

Oh, beloved, how fanged was her frown!

 

"The musk is mine, o husband dear," she said, "and if after minding our home so well this is my thanks? Then I am gone." 

 

Without another word she bounded to the door, finding the foxpelt on its peg. Her fur draped over her, for it was her fur, whiskers to tail, and the vixen vanished without a backwards glance.

 

I am sad to say the story does not end here. This man, lest we forget, was proud, and lonely, and thought himself no fool (though perhaps he was one). 

 

With a handful of magic and a burlap sack, he sought out her den, and returned home with foxkits two, scruffed and wailing. 

 

And so the manor was no longer empty, but it was just as lonely a place as before.

 

--

 

There was once a great and splendid castle within the deepwoods.

 

A different palace to the tale before: white as snow and old in its history, richer still in all things. Yet it sat just as empty and just as lonely. Briars ribbed its outer walls and within soot stained the upholstery. Haunting its halls was a young man, white as the stone and ghosts both. His name was long and tedious and grating, and so we shall call him Percival.

[Keep reading on AO3!]

[nicolettesdreamworld]

Bound by moonlight - part 2

So i decided to make it a few-part mini series. I might make more series revolving about these two because there are so many alternative universes in which Nicolette and Klaus are in love and I love them in every single one of them lol

“I have to go,” Nicolette said suddenly, her voice tense as her fingers moved deftly to braid her blonde hair. It was a practical act, but Klaus couldn’t help noticing the way the golden strands caught the morning light.

Klaus groaned, leaning back against the armrest of the couch, his lips curling into a half-smirk. “And just like that, you ruin the moment. Must you be so dramatic?”

Nicolette shot him a glare, grabbing the hem of the shirt he’d lent her—a shirt that hung far too loosely on her frame. “I’ll mail you the clothes or something,” she muttered, already heading toward the door.

He chuckled softly, his voice dropping to a velvet murmur as he called after her. “Shall I stock the fridge for your next visit, then?”

She paused mid-step, turning to face him with a stern look. “There will be no next visit.”

Klaus pushed himself to his feet, his movements unhurried, like a predator who knew the chase wasn’t over. His eyes locked onto hers with that disarming mix of amusement and intensity. “You may try, love. Try your hardest to reject this… to reject me.”

His voice softened, but the confidence in his words cut through the air like a blade. “But it doesn’t change the truth of what we both know. When the full moon rises again, you’ll find yourself here. At my doorstep. Drawn to me, as if by some unseen force.”

Nicolette’s jaw tightened, her resolve flickering for the briefest moment under the weight of his words.

“Keep dreaming, Klaus,” she said, spinning on her heel.

As she walked out, Klaus smiled to himself, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Oh, I will, love. But don’t be surprised when my dreams become your reality.”

A month had passed, and Klaus hadn’t seen her. Not a single glimpse. He didn’t even know her name, which meant there was no way to find her. Not that he’d tried.

Why would he? She was just a girl.

Who was destiny to tell him what he should do? He was Klaus Mikaelson, for bloody hell’s sake. The big, bad hybrid. The one who couldn’t be killed. The one who inspired fear with a mere whisper of his name. He wouldn’t bow to anyone—least of all to something as intangible and fickle as fate.

And yet...

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t silence the whispers of her in his mind. The way she had looked at him, her blue eyes burning with defiance. The curve of her smile, the softness of her voice. Her hair, her skin—everything about her lingered like a ghost, haunting him in the quiet hours.

But Klaus Mikaelson did not pine. He did not yearn. He was above such trivialities. Or so he told himself.

When the full moon arrived, though, there was no ignoring the subtle flutter in his chest. He brushed it off, told himself it was anticipation—an instinct to prepare, nothing more.

Still, he’d gone out of his way. He’d picked up the best cuts of steak he could find, though he’d told himself it hardly mattered to a wolf. He cut them into neat, bite-sized pieces, just in case. He’d even taken the time to set up the guest room for her, not wanting her to sleep on the couch again.

He told himself it was nothing. He was simply a good host. That was all.

But when the familiar scratching came at his front door, Klaus froze. His heart, traitorous and unbidden, hammered against his ribcage.

He inhaled deeply, willing himself to exude calm as he crossed the room. “It’s just a wolf,” he muttered under his breath. “A guest, nothing more.”

Yet, as his hand reached for the doorknob, a slow smile tugged at his lips. No amount of reasoning could disguise the truth.

She was here.

And he’d been waiting.

The smile vanished the moment he opened the door.

Her pristine white fur was smeared with blood, matted and torn in places. She staggered forward before collapsing onto the porch, a pitiful whine escaping her throat. Klaus’s chest tightened as he knelt beside her, his sharp eyes tracing the jagged claw marks and bite wounds that marred her coat.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice low but laced with urgency. Without hesitation, he scooped her up, cradling her injured form in his arms.

Her blood stained his shirt, but he didn’t care. He carried her to the guest room, laying her gently on the bed, her labored breaths the only sound breaking the silence.

Klaus bit into his wrist, the sharp sting barely registering as crimson blood welled to the surface. He pressed his wrist to her snout, his tone soft yet commanding. “Drink, love. It’ll heal you.”

She whimpered, turning her head away.

Klaus frowned, his patience tested but his concern outweighing his frustration. “Don’t be stubborn,” he muttered. “You’re hurt. My blood will fix it.”

Still, she refused, her blue eyes half-closed but resolute. He exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath before retreating to the bathroom. He rummaged through the cabinet until he found a first aid kit and returned to her side.

Tending to her wounds was no easy task. Her fur made it difficult to clean the injuries properly, and her occasional flinches didn’t help. But Klaus was nothing if not determined. For over an hour, he worked meticulously, dabbing away blood and carefully disinfecting each cut.

When he finally finished, he leaned back in the chair he’d pulled to her bedside, his gaze softening as he studied her. Her breathing had steadied, though her injuries still made her look far too fragile for his liking.

Reaching out, he gently ran his hand over her head, smoothing down the soft fur between her ears. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you again.”

Her eyes flickered open briefly, just long enough for him to catch a fleeting look of gratitude—or was it trust?—before she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

Klaus leaned back, his fingers absently tracing patterns in the blanket. For the first time in centuries, he found himself hoping that fate—annoying and insistent as it might be—knew what it was doing.

Klaus spent the night in the armchair by the bed. He’d considered leaving the room, but the thought of her in this vulnerable state kept him rooted in place. Still, he wanted to respect her space. He knew she wouldn’t appreciate him sharing the bed uninvited, no matter how noble his intentions.

Even in the chair, sleep eluded him. Every whimper, every subtle shift of her injured form jolted him awake. He found himself watching her intently, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of distress.

It was in one of these restless moments that he witnessed the transformation again.

Her white fur melted away, her form shifting and elongating until the wolf disappeared entirely, leaving behind the woman he’d met a month ago. Blonde hair spilled across the pillows in disarray, framing her pale, delicate features. Her brows furrowed, as if she were lost in a troubled dream, and as the sheets slipped slightly, the deep, angry gashes on her back came into view.

Klaus’s chest tightened at the sight. He leaned forward, his movements careful and deliberate, and reached for the blanket. Gently, he pulled it up, draping it over her exposed shoulders and hiding the wounds from view.

For a moment, he hesitated, his hand lingering near her hair. Her breathing was steady now, a soft rise and fall that gave him some semblance of peace.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, though the words were spoken more to himself than to her.

And as he leaned back in the armchair, his eyes never leaving her, he knew for sure that something far greater than chance had brought her to his doorstep—wounded, fierce, and utterly unforgettable.

Klaus stayed by her side for hours, unable to tear his gaze away. Every time her brows furrowed, he leaned forward, his fingers brushing lightly across her forehead as if to smooth the worry from her dreams. Every time she shifted and the blanket slipped, exposing even the smallest patch of her skin, he tugged it back into place—not just out of respect but because the thought of her being cold unsettled him.

Still, when the first rays of dawn crept through the curtains, Klaus wasn’t there.

Nicolette stirred, a groan escaping her lips as pain shot through her body. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the unfamiliar room. Panic flickered briefly in her chest until her gaze landed on the note on the bedside table.

She reached for it, her movements slow and deliberate, and read the scrawled words:

You came by last night. Something had attacked you. You’re at my house. You don’t need to worry. —Klaus

She exhaled softly, relief mingled with confusion. Her eyes drifted around the room again, landing on the neatly folded bathrobe at the foot of the bed. Biting back another groan, she pushed herself forward, pain rippling through her back as she reached for the robe. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to slip it on, tying it tightly to cover her bare skin.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called, her voice strained and hoarse.

The door creaked open, and there he stood—Klaus, carrying a plate piled with eggs, bacon, and sausages. His expression was unreadable, though his movements were deliberate as he approached and set the plate down on the bedside table.

Her blue eyes locked onto his with a defiant glint.

“Eat,” he said simply, his voice calm but firm. “You need the strength.”

For a moment, she hesitated, her pride warring with the gnawing hunger in her stomach. Then, with a quiet huff, she picked up a fork and began to eat.

Klaus watched her intently, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression softening just enough to betray his relief. “Good,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Nicolette glanced up at him between bites, her brows furrowing again. She wasn’t used to anyone caring, let alone someone like him. And yet, as strange as it felt, it didn’t feel entirely wrong.

Klaus settled back into the armchair, his sharp gaze never leaving her. He rested his elbow on the armrest, leaning his chin against his knuckles, a faint crease forming between his brows.

“Do you remember anything about last night?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with a quiet urgency.

Nicolette shook her head, her blonde hair brushing against the robe’s collar. “I never do,” she admitted, her voice soft but steady. “I don’t think any werewolf does.”

He nodded slowly. Of course, he knew that. The curse of the wolf, losing oneself to the beast every full moon. But even with that knowledge, his mind churned. He couldn’t stop wondering who had done this to her. Who could hurt her like this?

“You look like you could use some sleep,” she said, attempting a small joke to deflect, though her voice faltered slightly. The pained expression she tried to hide didn’t escape him.

Klaus tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smirk. “What’s your name?” he asked, ignoring her attempt to shift the focus.

Her hand hesitated mid-air, a piece of bacon poised on her fork. She studied him, her blue eyes searching his face. She knew exactly who he was, what he was. The danger that came with his name was practically legend.

But somehow, deep down, she also knew he’d sooner die than lay a hand on her in harm.

“Nicolette,” she said at last, her voice steady despite her hesitation.

Klaus leaned forward, the faintest flicker of relief softening his expression. He tested the name silently on his tongue before speaking it aloud.

“Nicolette,” he repeated, his voice low and deliberate, like a promise.

The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of her fork against the plate and the occasional crackle of wind against the windowpane.

“Rest, love,” he said after a while, his tone softer than before. “We’ll talk more when you’re feeling stronger.”

She nodded, though she didn’t entirely trust herself to speak. As he leaned back in the armchair, his watchful eyes lingering on her, Nicolette couldn’t help but feel that something about this man—dangerous as he was—made her feel safer than she’d been in years.

Nicolette set the plate on the bedside table, her appetite fading as exhaustion crept in. She leaned back into the pillows, her body sinking into the soft mattress. But even as she settled, she didn’t close her eyes. Instead, she kept watching him, her piercing blue gaze steady and unyielding.

Klaus noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“I cleaned all the wounds I could find,” he said after a beat, his voice calm yet deliberate. “But we should probably bandage you up properly. Unless, of course, the human version of you is less stubborn and you’ll let me heal you with my blood.”

He arched a brow, his tone both teasing and coaxing, though the concern in his eyes gave him away.

Nicolette shook her head, her jaw tightening.

“I thought as much,” Klaus muttered, leaning back in the armchair with a resigned sigh. His lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smirk. “Stubborn as ever, I see.”

She didn’t respond, but her lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if she took pride in her defiance.

For a moment, silence filled the room, a quiet tension lingering between them. Klaus’s gaze flickered to the gashes on her back, visible just beneath the robe’s collar. His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, his mind clearly still on the injuries she refused to let him fully heal.

“You know,” he said, his voice soft but edged with that familiar hint of charm, “it’s not weakness to accept help, love. Even wolves need a pack sometimes.”

Nicolette gave a quiet huff, her eyelids drooping slightly as the exhaustion overtook her. “I don’t have a pack,” she murmured.

Klaus tilted his head, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Perhaps not,” he replied, his voice a murmur, almost to himself. “But you’re not alone now.”

Her eyes closed then, her breathing slowing as she drifted off. Klaus leaned forward slightly, his gaze lingering on her as if silently vowing to ensure her safety—whether she liked it or not.

Whenever Nicolette woke, Klaus was there. Whether seated in the armchair or leaning casually against the doorframe, his sharp eyes were always watching her, ensuring she drank enough water and ate enough food to regain her strength.

By evening, after hours of persistence and a steady stream of charm, he finally convinced her to let him bandage her wounds.

The damage to her body was worse than he’d initially thought. The claw marks and bites had torn deeply into her skin, leaving angry, jagged reminders of whatever had attacked her. He worked carefully, his movements deliberate and precise as he applied ointment to her back, stomach, arms, and legs.

Though he couldn’t deny his curiosity, he was careful to avert his gaze from anything she didn’t explicitly allow. Respectful, yet ever the enigma, Klaus managed to balance tenderness with his usual self-assured presence.

“You look a bit like a zombie,” he said, breaking the silence with a playful smirk as he secured the last bandage.

Despite herself, Nicolette smiled, a faint laugh escaping her lips. “That’s one way to make me feel better,” she said, her voice tinged with dry amusement.

Klaus leaned back, the corner of his mouth lifting in satisfaction at her reaction. “If it makes you smile, love, I’d happily insult you all day.”

Her smile lingered, but her expression grew more serious as she leaned against the pillows, her eyes flitting toward the window. “I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I’m strong enough,” she murmured.

Klaus stilled, then leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “I quite prefer you in my hair, actually,” he replied smoothly, his smirk deepening as his blue eyes met hers.

She blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected flirtation, and felt heat rising to her cheeks. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head, though the small smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

“We need to figure out how to keep you safe,” Klaus said, his voice low but resolute as his eyes lingered on her.

Nicolette lay back against the pillows, one of his shirts hanging loosely on her frame, the sheets drawn up over her legs. She met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and weariness.

“I got into a fight, I lost. It’s not a big deal,” she said with a shrug, though the wince that followed betrayed her bravado.

Klaus’s expression darkened, his brows furrowing as he leaned forward, the weight of his presence filling the room. “You could have died,” he said, his voice firm but edged with something deeper, something raw. “That is a big deal.”

Her blue eyes narrowed slightly, and she turned her head away, as though avoiding the intensity of his gaze would somehow lessen the weight of his words. “It happens,” she murmured. “We heal. We move on.”

“If people knew you were my mate, they wouldn’t—” Klaus began, his tone firm but earnest.

Nicolette cut him off sharply, her blue eyes blazing as she sat up straighter against the pillows. “I’m not a thing you can declare as yours,” she snapped, her voice cold and unwavering.

Klaus froze for a moment, caught off guard by the steel in her voice. Then, as if recovering from the blow, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Is that so?” he drawled, his tone laced with mock amusement, though his gaze betrayed a flicker of hurt. “And here I thought I was offering you protection, not possession.”

Her jaw clenched, and she folded her arms, wincing slightly at the movement. “It’s the same thing coming from someone like you,” she retorted.

Klaus chuckled, low and dark, the sound filling the space between them. “Ah, love,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You mistake my intentions. Declaring you as mine wouldn’t diminish your strength. It would warn others not to test it.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but the weight of his words stopped her short. His gaze bore into hers, the intensity of it both unnerving and captivating.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles, Klaus,” she said finally, her voice softer but no less determined.

“And I don’t plan to,” he replied smoothly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “But I’ll be damned if I let anyone think they can harm you without consequence.”

Nicolette exhaled slowly, her posture relaxing slightly. “This doesn’t mean I’m yours,” she muttered, though her tone lacked its earlier bite.

Klaus tilted his head, his smirk returning, this time with a hint of mischief. “No,” he said softly, his voice like a caress. “But it doesn’t mean you’re not.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is your pain?” Klaus asked, his tone casual but his eyes watchful as he leaned back in his chair.

“The sound of you breathing is pissing me off, so take a guess,” Nicolette shot back, her lips twitching as if suppressing a smile. Her tone wasn’t biting; it was the kind of jab meant more for her own amusement than his annoyance.

Klaus smirked, unfazed. “The sound of my breathing pisses you off even when you’re not in pain,” he quipped. “So I’ll ask again—on a scale of one to ten, how bad is your pain?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t entirely hide the warmth creeping into her expression. “Like a four when I don’t move,” she admitted with a sigh, “and an eight when I do.”

Klaus nodded thoughtfully, his smirk fading into a softer, more serious expression. “Then you’d best stay still, love. Can’t have you making it a ten just to prove a point.”

Nicolette gave a small huff, her gaze narrowing slightly as she shifted against the pillows. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Always,” he replied smoothly, his smirk returning in full force. “Especially when it comes to you.”

[mintchoccy]

UNTITLED P.7

it's been a while since I wrote in my series. let's continue the fun, shall we?

pale.

a pale woman, walking in the dark hallway illuminates the surroundings. the light you once kept to yourself is now haunting for your dear life. she doesn't care if who will die, or who will be killed, but one thing is for sure, the last person she wanted to see before she turned herself in the authorities is you.

Dahyun was once your ex-girlfriend for almost 3 years. once a star in the night, one dreadful mistake destroys all of the dreams you both planned for the future.

right after the game, after you make an outstanding performance against top teaam in the conference, you spot her with someone being a lovey dovey on your back. however, Dahyun didn't realize this action of hers until she returned home.

"weird, this is the first time he doesn't come home," said Dahyun who has no clue that you left her already. she then scanned the the entire bedroom and the apartment for your signs, but no to avail.

Dahyun kept finding someone existent of you until she finally gave up, until she realized that the cabinets are open, which those are yours. she scanned every single cabinets, finding it clean with no traces or clothes left behind by you.

"What the fuck? He called me that he'll be late home, but not taking all his clothes out with him!" Dahyun shouted. in a turn of events, she tried to follow your scent but that smell was long gone, no longer in possession of the tofu.

Leaving with no choice, she went to a familiar place you might go to comfort yourself- the gym. After a couple of minutes, she saw that the signage was closed, she didn't realized it's a middle of midnight tonight. She then leave the place and another place popped into her mind- your own apartment.

Opening the door, she sneakily rest herself into the couch for a few minutes, blanketing herself with the comfort of your own home.

"Ahhhhhhhhh, there is no real place like home, and that home is your beloved-" Dahyun stopped as the place was lit up.

"Who the- DAHYUN? WHAT THE FUCK??" is all you can say.

"Oh hello baby, mind me why you left in our apartment?", she replied. You can't answer back as the it would be a salt in the wound, but Dahyun realized her mistake of bringing someone instead of him.

No hesitation, she grabbed you, pinning to the wall. Dahyun is now clouded with jealousy and possessiveness.

"I don't care sweetie, but this ends now. You are mine and mine only!"

[virusinfected-memes]

TIK TOK SENTENCE STARTERS, PT. 5 ;

85 starters. CW: cussing, sexual themes, violence. Some starters are just random quotes from Tik Tok creators, some starters are from Tik Tok trends that have popped up over the past year or so. The original sources of these trends are from various memes, shows, songs, and other popular media. Feel free to change words and pronouns as needed! [PARTS: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4]

"Alright, on your knees, mortal scum! You stand in the presence of _____!"

"Always remember: you may not be able to change the past, but you can still ruin the future."

"Am I ever gonna get it?"

"And if you call me a bitch, make sure to put 'sensitive' in front of it."

"And I keep my side of the street clean. You wouldn't know what I mean."

"But I can't forgive you."

"But I don't want to stay in the middle."

"Can I get a kiss? And can you make it last forever?"

"Come out and haunt me."

"Did I mistake you for a sign from God?"

"Don't be ridiculous, _____. Everybody wants this."

"Don't try to find me."

"Do you ever just have this deep seated desire to bother people? I have clown blood."

"Do you think I'm fragile?"

"Do you wanna dance, baby?"

"Everybody wants to rule the world."

"Get in, sparkle farts! We got chaos to spread!"

"Help me make the most of freedom and of pleasure."

"Honey, I love you. I think you're a terrific girl. But you have clothes like a fucking dickhead."

"I can't take Benadryl because I owe the Hat Man money and I don't want to see him."

"I didn't know I could love something this much until I laid my eyes on you."

"I don't ever wanna see you and I never wanna miss you again."

"I don't need to be fixed. I need to be rebuilt."

"If you touch that again, I shall kill you right now. Do not touch this! This is a 'no touching' zone!"

"I got nothing to lose."

"I guarantee I gotcha'."

"I have not behaved one single day of my life. Not one single day have I behaved and I'm fine."

"I just can't say goodbye."

"I just heard a butt-curdling scream."

"I know that violence is not the answer, but... Yes, it is."

"I know you see me looking at you on the daily."

"I know you want me."

"I love that Netflix was like, "OoOoh, we're gonna reduce your quality to 480p if you don't pay us more!" Like, bruh... I come from the land of 144p Naruto episodes cut into sixteen parts on YouTube. 480 is luxury. 480 is bouge."

"I'm absolutely a danger to my own mental health."

"I'm comin' back for you, baby."

"I mean, look at this thing! I can't imagine a more beautiful thing."

"I mean, what if I don't want to live the way you live?"

"I might be broke as hell tomorrow, but that's alright, 'cause I'm that bitch today."

"I might kill my ex. Not the best idea."

"I'm in a trance lately."

"I'm not going to nap. I'm just going to rest my eyes and clench my teeth for a little while."

"Im not like other girls. I'm worse."

"I'm one of those witches, babe."

"I'm sorry, but I'm just thinking of the right words to say."

"I'm the love witch. I seduce men with my spells, my potions, my eyes, and my body."

"I'm tired of working on myself. I will now be unapologetically insane."

"I never make the same mistake twice. I make it, like, six or seven times."

"In my dreams, I'm making you pasta and nothing bad has happened to us yet."

"I said I wasn't gonna be judgmental, but fuck it. I'm sick, I have an excuse."

"I think I like when it rains."

"It's already too late for you to try and run away."

"It's me. Hi. I'm the problem, it's me."

"I want to get on my broomstick and fly away with my kitty to another city to work on my witch powers, then live with a pregnant woman who owns a bakery and start a delivery service."

"I want to go to there."

"I was at about six there. You don't wanna see me go to ten."

"Mortals, behold! The glory of the kill is mine!"

"No, I don't think you understand. I'm obsessed."

"Normalize being a sleepyhead. It's okay to be eternally trapped within the realm of ancient dreams."

"Nothing ever lasts forever."

"Not working out? Not eating right? Fucked up sleep schedule? You aren't depressed. You're on your way to achieving tremendous arcane power. Become the wizard you were meant to be."

"Oh, you think the b-word's offensive? You should hear what I say in the Call of Duty lobbies."

"Okay, I don't know how you went this long without knowing this, but there are people out there who create original Sonic the Hedgehog characters, and often those characters fuck."

"Okay, well, what you said was some bullshit. That's what it is."

"Okay... Why'd you have to fucking bring that up?"

"One kiss is all it takes."

"Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why."

"So you're telling me if I killed your family, you wouldn't be my friend anymore?"

"Take a swing. Here's my neck."

"The next time you feel lazy, remember that laziness is a puritanical myth based on the sin of idleness and is used to oppress people into forced labor."

"There are currently no bug-dragon dual type Pokémon, but I wanna share a few insects that I think would make good candidates for being the first."

"They keep on asking me who is he."

"What are you gonna do with that? You gonna hit me? Better make it count. Better make it hurt. Better kill me with one shot."

"Whatever I've done, I did it for love."

"Which was more culturally significant? The Renaissance... or 'Single Ladies' by Beyoncé?"

"Who wants to look simple when you can look stunning?"

"Why do I keep getting attracted?"

"Why don't you sit right down and stay a while?"

"Why do we keep telling people who aren't freaky that they're vanilla? Vanilla is the freakiest flavor. Like, look at ice cream, for example. It goes good with all of the toppings. Vanilla doesn't care who you pair it up with, so long as they get on top. I aspire to be as slutty as vanilla is. Also, if you are a slut, what flavor of ice cream are you, bitch? Pistachio? Neo-political? That's fucking disgusting."

"Will I get over it? No. But life goes on."

"Yeah, I'm gay. Good at Yu-Gi-Oh."

"Yes, I am doing blasphemy! Yes!"

"You better fix my entire life, you little shit."

"You can't keep me waiting."

"You might play the same games as me, but I play them in a far worse and more unskilled way than you ever will."

"You're just being cynical."