#how strong are concrete anchors

[strawberrykidneystone]

unexpected protection

summary: this was not how the mission was supposed to go, but with sevika curling herself around you, it was hard to complain

a/n: i’m such a sap for sevika this is embarrassing

tags: fluff, canon violence, explosions mentioned, kissing

thank you for the request anon!!

ao3 version

you were supposed to keep an eye on isha while sevika and jinx fought with cait and vi. somehow, the little shit slipped down the balcony while you were busy watching the fight while trying not to bite your nails in worry and was now she was holding a gun to vi’s forehead.

you cursed under your breath and quickly vaulted down the wall with your gloved hand trailing down the concrete to slightly slow you down. sevika was definitely going to give you an earful after this. you landed close to the switch where the main explosive that the four of you had set up earlier was waiting to be flipped, and now seemed as good of a time as any.

yet no one moved a muscle, no one wanted this kid to shoot that gun. well of course until cait had shot the gun out of the poor kid’s hand. jinx had already decided to sacrifice herself and made you promise to take care of the kid, you were not going to break that promise.

as you turned your head to set the explosive off, sevika beat you to it and flipped the switch, quickly followed by a deep boom. jinx yelled out something that was quickly lost to the wind, a strong enough gust followed the blast that it was close to knocking you off of your feet. you watched as vi and cait were sent flying back, looking around desperately for your own anchor. the only reason you weren’t sent flying was because of your position behind a huge concrete block in front of you blocking the air from taking you away.

suddenly, you felt an arm around you that pushed you forward against the block. you recognized sevika immediately as she curled herself around you, pushing her body against yours while she clung to the wall with her mechanical arm. her flesh arm was wrapped firmly around you shoulders to the front of your chest. you hands came up and clung to her arm, shaking with the intensity of the wind trying to blow the two of you away. your heart was beating so loud that you could hear it in your ears and you hoped she couldn’t feel it hammering against her arm. you stole a glance at her face, needing to ensure that she was alright. she had her eyes closed tightly and was muttering to herself, it almost looked like she was praying.

shit, she was praying.

you took a deep breath and leaned your forehead against her arm, reassuringly squeezing your hands around her bicep. she dropped her head down to meet the crown of your scalp, you could feel her lips pressing against your hair and her warm breath puffing through her nose. it felt like she was burying her nose in your hair, but you just chalked that up to the strength of the wind jerking the two of you around.

you had never been this physically close to her before, only exchanging playful shoulder checks or nudges at best. now though, this felt oddly personal, very odd for sevika as she usually treated you with indifference most of the time. being this close to her felt so natural, her warmth enveloping you as it effortlessly radiated off her. you couldn’t tell if it was her natural body heat or if her mechanical arm was overheating, but you savored it regardless. sevika just felt… safe. she was always a rock you could count on, even after silco died, she let you hang around the last drop, trusting you enough to let you attempt to fix her broken arm. fine, you’d admit it, you had a huge crush on her. how could you not???

after what felt like hours, the wind finally subsided. you heard sevika’s mechanical arm unlatch from the block with a satisfying crunch. you let go of her arm and she surprisingly stayed crouched down in front of you, keeping her flesh arm planted by your head.

you wiggled around and faced her, as soon as you met her eyes the rest of the world began to melt away. you reached up and cupped her cheeks, eyes darting briefly to her lips before locking eyes with her once again. she pushed herself forward and crashed her lips into yours with such passion and ferocity, it nearly knocked you on your ass. you swung your arms around her neck and met her passion tenfold, pressing your lips so hard into hers that you’re pretty sure you forgot how to breathe. her flesh hand wrapped around your waist and gripped you so hard that her nails were digging into your skin while her mechanical arm lay dormant to the side. in this moment, there were no enforcers, no top side threats, nothing could bring you down from having sevika sliding her lips against yours so perfectly, you’d swear your lips were made solely to kiss her.

you broke the kiss when you started to feel so lightheaded you thought you were going to faint, a dazed smile adoring your face as you looked up at her. she looked frazzled, which was very unlike sevika, and was panting just as hard as you. she rested her forehead against yours and caught her breath while your hands tangled in her hair, still sweaty from the fight.

“i didn’t know how much i wanted to do that until i almost lost you,” she whispered with an unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome tenderness laced in her voice.

you giggled and shook your head, kissing her nose, “better late than never i guess.”

a half-smirk crept onto her lips and she snorted, looking at you with nothing but adoration in her eyes. as she leaned in to kiss you again, a dramatic groan sounded from the other side of the building.

“can you two stop making out? we have to go before the enforcers come back!” jinx yelled out from a higher ledge, isha clinging onto her leg.

“yeah yeah one second brat,” sevika snapped, with no actual bite to her voice. she pressed one last soft kiss to your lips before standing up, offering her flesh hand down to you. taking her hand, you stood up and laced your fingers with hers, and gave a quick nod to jinx.

“let's get out of here.”

[dahliakbs]

Overprotective Batfam making sure you get home safely in their patrol route! (Part 2)

Includes: Jason Todd and Tim Drake

Part 1

Masterlist

Jason Todd

Unlike the others Jason wouldn't walk alongside you or keep to the shadows, instead when he first saw you on his route he slowed down his motorcycle and offered you a quick ride home.

But what you thought would be a quick ride home was instead turned into a wild night you'd never forget.

You could feel the wind hit your face like a bag bricks as Jason continuously revved the engine.

The goons you'd been chasing had mistakenly crossed your path on your ride home, coming out of nowhere with a bag of money strapped to the back of the vehicle and a goon stood to the left of it. Probably protecting what you assumed to be stolen money.

"Um Mr.Redhoid you can put me off here" you'd taoped his shoulder to let him know but he simply ignored your statement and handed you a bloody crowbar.

"Since your here you might as well help me" he said and as soon as you heard those words you felt your soul attempt to leave your body.

Not out of fear of course, was this vigilante really allowing you to attack someone without receiving any repercussions?

You were starting to like this.

"Get the tires" he instructed to which you gladly got in position for.

When you noticed the distance between you and the vehicle closing in you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist and lowered yourself towards the the concrete of the road.

Anchoring yourself to his waist before swinging the crowbar above your head and striking the back tire of the vehicle, causing the vehicle to violently swerve off the road and crash into a nearby street light.

You could hear yourself let out a loud scream before an arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back onto the seat of the motorcycle.

"Was that a scream of joy or fear?" He quickly came to a stop before turning to face you.

When his eyes landed in your face it was safe to say that he was quite amused. Your pupils were blown wide while your hair was shifted wildly all over you face.

You'd seemed to be in some sort of daze which lasted for the rest of the night. Not even noticing when he dropped you off to your house and left you dazed on your doorstep.

Tim Drake

Honestly he didn't mean to follow you around like that. For some reason he'd found himself getting into the habit of walking you home every evening.

Even when there was something else he was supposed to be doing he still found a way to walk you home every evening and after a while it seems like you found out about his sleep deprivation.

You weren't blind, you could see how the large eyecbags that peeked out from underneath the vigilantes mask. You noticed how he slurred his words when talking or how he'd trip over his own feet when walking beside you.

He was very good at hiding it but after while you started noticing how tired he truly was and even though you wanted to help out in some way you just knew there wasn't anything you could really do.

You tried thinking of ways to help but they'd always lead you back to square one.

You of course picked up on the strong hint of caffeine that always stuck to him like white on rice but you weren't gonna gift him coffee. That would just feed into his problem do instead you came up with a better idea.

You'd start taking short breaks on your way home.

You'd take a seat on any bench you'd see in your way home, the vigilante following closely behind you and seating himself next to you.

Then you'd try and coax him into using your shoulder as a little pillow to try to get some sleep and without much resistance he'd give in and rest his head onto your shoulder.

And even though Tim never actually fell asleep during your little breaks he'd still sit still and allow himself to relax.

At least during those few seconds of peace he could finally relax for the first time in a while.

[b00kdiary]

Okay, you write the most delicious smut, so I think the plus-size reader is watching Cassian and Azriel spar and gets lost in her imagination about what they could do to her. And the duo finds out (maybe from Rhys), and one night at dinner, they offer to make her dreams reality. If you already have something like this in mind, please feel free to ignore it. I just think Az and Cassian would be down bad for a plus-size reader 🙂

Take it | Azriel & Cassian (I)

Azriel x Cassian x Plus Size Reader

Rhysand's playing Cupid and his meddling has you experiencing something you never would have thought possible.

Warnings: Mature content (18+) mild violence, mature language, illusions to smut (smut in part 2)

PART II

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

I knew I should have skipped training today.

From the moment Mor told me that she wasn't attending, that Feyre wouldn't be coming either and that I was alone with Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel- I knew I should have skipped.

Because now I was here, the scorching sun beaming down over my sweating skin, the barren wind a bare caress through my damp pleated hair- and my eyes unwavering upon the two Illyrian males before me.

Sparring.

"C'mon Azriel," Cassian taunted, hazel eyes gleaming with mischief as he danced around the Shadowsinger, his arrogant demeanour so at odds with Azriel's still, quiet form. "Don't tell me you're already tapping out."

Azriel smirked, the smallest tilt of his lips and I felt a shiver trace down the curve of my spine, watching as his powerful thighs rippled with every step he took, scarred hands angled out before him- waiting.

"And miss all the fun?" He mused softly, head cocking, a purely predatory move and the laugh that escaped Cassian was rough as if the banter between them made this all the more exciting.

It didn't usually affect me like this, I didn't usually feel such a strong, visceral response to the two of them. Yes, they were both unbelievably gorgeous and yes, I enjoyed watching them as much as any female did.

But it never affected me as much as it did right now, as strongly as it did from the moment I stepped onto the rooftop and greeted them. It had been hard to deny how my body felt then and it was even worse now.

Especially with them like this- shirtless, sweating, muscles rippling, powerful wings splaying wide, and taunts being thrown between them that made my thighs clench.

I pressed my back into the jagged wall behind me, anchoring myself down with the bite of the concrete against my skin, cutting in through the thin material of my legging and top. The shield I'd erected around me rippled, my emotions overwhelming my control over my magic.

Cassian grunted- raw and grumbling as he swung a fist out aimed for Azriel's rib but was swiftly blocked by a scarred hand shielding close to his tanned skin. Azriel gritted his teeth, his free hand slamming forward, palm connecting brutally with Cassian's shoulder, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

Cassian grinned, feral.

Azriel's eyes narrowed, tongue flicking out to moisten his lips.

And the wetness between my thighs grew and grew, the throbbing ache now incessant, so strong that no matter how hard I clenched my thighs shut it did nothing to quell the need. I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, my body thrumming the longer I watched them.

A deep grunt, a rough, taunting laugh, bodies colliding, wings erected high, sweat and blood over perfect tan skin, trailing down corded muscle and carved abs. Movement so fast that I forced myself not to blink in case I missed something, fighting so intense it was impossible to look away.

And a heat coursing through my body so forcefully I felt like I was going to explode.

'What do we have here?' A voice crooned through my mind, a voice like starlight and I jolted at the intrusion, 'The shield can hide the smell of your arousal, Y/N, but it can't hide the lust in your eyes.'

"Rhys," Cassian grinned, canines bearing to show the blood coating his teeth, and Azriel laughed softly as the male wiggled his brows, eyes upon our High Lord as he stalked in. "Care to join the fun?"

Rhysand smirked, a lazy sight, ringed hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks and my body grew hot, mortification filling me as his long legs brought him closer to where I stood. His violet eyes flash to me- knowingly.

"I think Y/N might be more interested in joining actually," Rhysand mused, his tone dripping with amusement and teasing, and I felt my eyes narrow irately as I glared up at him. "I'm sure she could take it."

My hands clenched as Rhysand's smirk grew, pearly teeth peeking through, seeing how my throat bobbed when Cassian and Azriel both glanced at me expectantly, panting.

"Alright angel," Cassian winked, and I managed a strained smile, feeling my cheeks growing unbearable hot- and Rhysand laughing through my mind. "You're sparring next."

'If only he knew that this wasn't the kind of sparring you were interested in,' Rhys taunted through my mind and I felt his claws racking down my mental shields, so strong I clenched my jaw to stop myself from snarling at him.

'Fuck off, Rhys' I sent a shock of my power through my mind and Rhysand's spine straightened beside me, though that smirk never once left his lips. 'I don't know what you're even talking about.'

'No?' He muses and I roll my eyes as his shoulder brushes mine, my body so stiff as I grab hold of my water bottle, my fingers shaking and weak as I uncap the lid. 'So, you're not having some very naughty thoughts about my General and Spymaster right now?'

'No,' I gritted out mentally, hating how I was falling for the bait, hating that he could see just how caught off guard I was. My eyes flutter as Azriel grumbles, shadows coiling around his lean waist and broad shoulders as he and Cassian circle each other. 'No, I'm not.'

Another rumbling laugh through my mind, a brush of Rhysand's shoulder against me, and the water bottle shakes in my hand as I bring it to my mouth, needing to distract myself desperately.

The mouth of the bottle touches my lip, the lukewarm water just barely tracing my tongue- and then my mind shifts.

And the images leak in.

Scarred hands cupping my breasts, toying with my hard nipples.

Canines scrapping my pulse point, my fingers curled around silken locks of dark hair.

I hear myself moaning as a head slips between my soft thighs, my eyes clenching shut as I rock my hips against the skilled tongue, back arching when another mouth finds purchase around my taut nipple.

I'm trapped between those two magnificent, corded bodies, massive wings shielding our nakedness- but I feel every touch, every kiss, every whispered praise as they worship me.

"Y/N!"

Another blink and the images are gone from my mind, replaced by the world around me again. And three pairs of eyes on me- all of them wide, unblinking, worried as they watch me.

"What happened, sweetheart?" Azriel breathes, chest rising and falling fast as he sucks in air, and I trace over the dark whorls covering his skin as I blink away the thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"I'm uh- I'm fine," I clear my throat, skin burning with heat and that embarrassment only grows when I spot my water bottle dropped at my feet, water already drying up on the concrete. Rhysand snickers as I swiftly reach down and grab it and my hands tremble as I hold it to my chest.

'You should tell them what you want, Y/N,' Rhys mutters through my mind and when I glance sideways at him, he merely smiles, bland and natural, as if he wasn't currently wading through my thoughts. 'They'd be more than happy to make it happen.'

"I think I'm done for today, boys," I manage a small smile, as I turn to grab my training bag at my side, glad for the reprieve from their eyes, even if I felt them wholly on my back. "Too fucking hot out."

'Y/N,' Rhysand called through my mind again, and the teasing was gone- replaced by something sincere.

'They won't be interested,' I hiss back, a lump lodging in my throat as I turn toward the males behind me, still standing watching me. ' I'm not going to embarrass myself by saying something.'

"I thought you wanted to spar?" Cassian raises a dark brow at me, hazel eyes watching carefully as I walk past Rhysand, not sparing him a second glance. "I'll go easy on you if you're scared, angel."

"Didn't she kick your ass last time, Cass?" Rhysand snorted, and I watched Azriel's lips tilt into a full-blow smile, a breathtaking sight as Cassian rolled his eyes, grinning as he flipped off the male behind me.

'You're lying to yourself if you think they're not interested in you,' His voice made me grit my teeth, my back steeling as I inched toward the door. ' Why don't you just find out?'

"Don't rough each other up too bad," I chuckle, ignoring the ache in my chest as I glance between the three of them, ignoring Rhysand's claws in my mind, "Seeing your pretty faces is the best part of my day."

Cassian grins, winking fiendishly at me.

Azriel smiles, red tinting his cheeks.

And Rhysand just cocks his head- almost as if to say see, I told you so.

I turn on my heel, my smile fading as soon as my back is to them and I'm walking toward that exit.

'Drop it, Rhys,' I warn, letting him feel how utterly serious I was, 'I mean it.'

***

'You're lying to yourself if you think they're not interested in you.'

Rhysand didn't know how wrong he was.

It was kind of him, sweet even, to say that two males as beautiful and perfect as Azriel and Cassian would have any interest in me, any sexual desire- even if it couldn't be further from the truth.

Not when I didn't hold a candle to Mor, who they both wholly desired, whose face and body and beauty were incomparable, something that I couldn't have, have never had, not in a million years.

And not when in all the years I've known them, neither of them have ever looked at me the way they look at her- with true lust. No desire, no primitive focus, no carnal need, I was their little sister, the female they loved but could never love like that.

I swallow down that bitter dose of reality as I make my way through the silent corridors of the House of Wind, my heels clinking against the smooth floor, as I get closer to the dining room. There's no sound in the house, unusual for this time of day.

I run my hands down the soft silk dress I wore, the dark green material clinging to my waist before cascading down my thighs, stopping mid-calf. It was more effort than I usually bothered with for dinner with the court, but Rhysand had insisted.

'A special dinner' he had said in his note 'Never hurts to dress up and celebrate our family.'

But as I turn the corridor, pushing past the ajar dining room door- it doesn't seem like much of a celebration.

"Y/N," Cassian greets, smiling over his broad shoulder at me, the material of his black shirt melding perfectly to every hard inch of him. I take a few tentative steps into the room and his eyes grace down my figure, over the dress I wore.

"Hey Cass," I mutter, brow furrowing as I take in the two glasses of red wine, a third sat empty and clean beside them and only three chairs surrounded the oak table Cassian stood before. "Where is everyone?"

My body shivers when something dances around my right ankle, the touch unbearably soft and I giggle when I glance down, noticing the shadow that wreathed around my calf, inching higher up my dress.

"Feyre's cycle started so Rhys is looking after her," Cassian said, wincing in a way that told me he was thankful not to be a female enduring that kind of pain. An amused snort came from behind me, and I didn't need to turn to know that it was Azriel, could feel his quiet scrutiny and recognise it anywhere. "And Mor and Amren had some Hewn City crap to deal with."

"So much for dressing up and celebrating the family," I mumble taking a few steps forward, and when Azriel places his large hand on the small of my back, I feel the touch through every inch of my body. I swallow, glancing over my shoulder at him, meeting those bright hazel eyes.

"It's just us three tonight," Azriel muses lowly, and my dress feels like a non-existent barrier between his hand and my back, his scarred thumb brushing soft circles there. "Is that alright Y/N?"

"Y-yes," I mentally curse myself for the stutter, my cheeks blazing when Azriel's lip tilts into a bare smirk, his eyes glancing to Cassian and gleaming with something dark. I clear my throat, managing a strained smile, "Me and my two favourite Illyrian males, should be fun."

"We won't tell Rhysand you said that" Cassian winks and I grin as Azriel leads me forward, his hand still on my back, burning and igniting my skin, guiding me to the chair- he pulls it out for me, his touch gentle as he helps me take a seat and tucks me in.

"He's my favourite High Lord though, so it's fine," I tease, waving a dismissive hand and I try to force myself to be calm and at ease as Azriel and Cassian take the two seats in front of me, their powerful bodies so foreboding as they settle into the chairs.

"Feyre's my favourite High Lady, Mor's my favourite blonde," I prattle on, ignoring their intense stares as I fiddle with my hands in my laps, trying to babble through my unease. "And Amren's my favourite short, angry person."

"We definitely won't tell Amren you said that" Cassian snickers and I release a tight breath of relief when Azriel begins to pour me a glass of wine, his eyes locking with mine as he hands it to me- my hand brushes his and I swear something flashes through his eyes at the contact.

"Thank you," I whisper, and I don't waste a second before bringing the glass to my lips, my eyes fluttering shut as I tip my head back, the bittersweet liquid sliding down my throat, and I keep drinking until it's all gone.

I feel the tingle the alcohol induces instantly, fae wine so much stronger than the regular stuff and it's exactly the kind of buzz I needed right now, the kind that distracted me from the way my body felt when in the same room as these two males.

I bring the glass back down to the table with a clink and only then do I realise the tense silence in the room. I blink away the haze, and when my eyes meet Cass and Az again, I'm surprised by the look on their faces.

Their eyes are dark, wholly dark- and zeroed in on my lips, watching every breath and move with predatory focus.

"Is-is there something on my face?" I raise a brow, chuckling uncomfortably and when I lift a hand insecurely to my mouth, Cassian releases a tight exhale, shifting in his seat so that he's leaning back, long legs and strong thighs spread under the table.

"No, you're okay," Azriel shakes his head, beautiful face soft with contemplation, though the darkness never leaves his eyes, the emotion behind them that I can't seem to decipher as he stares at my lips still. "That's a pretty shade of red, is all- don't you think so Cassian?"

"Definitely," Cassian mumbles roughly in agreement, a lazy smile pulling at his lip as he takes a long sip from his glass, his tongue flicking out to lick off the wine gathering there- and the sight was more provocative than it should have been. "Red might just be your colour, angel."

"Thanks, uh- it was a present from Mor for Winter Solstice," I swallow thickly, fighting the urge to grab the wine bottle and chug from it. "She said it was one of the most popular shades, I can't remember the name, but I thought it was funny to call it blowjob red."

Cauldron, the air shifts so fast, so severely at those words- blowjob red.

The second I say it it's like the darkness in their eyes, the intensity of their stares, their teasing remarks, it all slots into place- and their shields come crashing down. Arousal, stark and powerful, so raw and filthy that my core ached in response.

"Is that why you wore it tonight?" Azriel spoke, his voice like death incarnate, so quietly violent that my thighs clamped shut at the sound, at the heat behind every slow word. The air caught in my lungs as he cocked his head at me, predator eying prey, "To have us contemplating the feel of your pretty, red mouth?"

Pretty, red mouth.

Cauldron, I must be dreaming.

My lips parted- surprised, and for a moment, all I could do was blink dumbly, staring between them with confusion creasing my brow. They didn't speak, utterly silent as they watched me piece everything together, but I could sense their amusement when my brow furrowed deeper.

"I suppose it's only fair, for you to paint your lips that distracting shade of red, to wear a dress that hugs every curve on your body, it's fair for you to taunt us so mercilessly," Cassian smirks and my eyes widen at every word, at the sincerity behind them. "Especially since it seems we unwittingly were doing the same to you this morning during training."

Training?

Oh, shit, shit, shit- Cauldron fucking spare me.

"Unless Rhysand was being an asshole and lied to us?" Cassian continued, but his words were starting to blur now, the thrumming in my head overwhelming my senses, making it hard to hear, making it hard to see, to speak. "Y/N, did he lie?"

He told them.

He told them.

Fuck, he told them.

"Hey, hey, hey-" I flinch, my knee slamming against the table when something brushes over my hot cheek. Still, I calmed my alarm upon seeing the tendril of darkness flittering past my eye-line, Azriel's shadows caressing my face, anchoring me down from the panic that was building.

"I don't-uh-," I shake my head, tears lining my eyes and I clenched them shut- I wasn't sure why I felt like crying…embarrassment? Shame? Insecurity? I guess I could pick one and it would be right. "I don't know-"

"We were hoping he wasn't lying," Azriel coaxed gently, and my burning eyes lifted to him, his lovely face was so sweet, so unfathomably kind that it forced me to take a stabilising breath.

"You were?" I question hoarsely, my throat as dry as sandpaper as I glanced from Az to Cass, something coiling in me at the sight of their perfect faces, their broad shoulders, their massive wings, and their attention solely on me.

"Angel, if we haven't made it clear how badly we want you right now, then we must be shitter at flirting than I thought," Cassian snorted and I couldn't fight the smile, the breathy laugh that escaped me at his words.

He grinned at the sight, Azriel too- as if something as small as me smiling, laughing, made their day.

'You're lying to yourself if you think they're not interested in you.'

Dammit Rhysand was right.

"Rhysand wasn't lying, he's an ass but he didn't lie," I say, releasing a long breath and this time, when my eyes lift to them, when I meet their gazes, I let them see exactly how honest he had been.

I tuck a strand of hair behind an arched ear, and I don't think either of the males is even breathing as I push out of my chair, the wood screeching against the floor before I rise to my feet.

My chest aches as their gazes instantly drop down my body- over my breasts, waist, stomach, thighs, over every inch of me.

"I'm going back to my room," I whisper, and both of them go utterly still, and their eyes sharpen, primitive, completely Fae, so strong that Azriel's shadows quieten, and Cassian's wings twitch.

"Would the two of you care to join me?"

__________________________________________

@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @loveareum @infintyfandoms @sarawritestories @eerievixen @nyotamalfoy

Part TWO and all its filthy smut !

Comment to be added to the tag list!

Taking requests!

[obsessedwithtoomanythings]

Anchor Up to Me, Love

Pairing: Alpha!Leon Kennedy x Omega!Reader

Warning: College AU, Knotting, Claiming Bites, Breeding Kink, Penis In Vagina Sex, Oral Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, But Leon saves the day, cause we love him, Possessive Leon S. Kennedy, Protective Leon S. Kennedy, Violence, just a lil, Leon S. Kennedy Being a Little Shit, Leon S. Kennedy is a tease. Leon S. Kennedy is a Sweetheart, I slept for 2 hours last night cause of this, bon appétit, bone apple teeth, Leon Kennedy loves eating pussy change my mind, Loss of Virginity, Unprotected Sex, POV First Person

Words: 3.3K

A/N: I wrote this in one afternoon, it was not beta'd at all. I pulled this STRAIGHT out of my ass. THIS IS NSFW. IF YOU ARE A MINOR, PLEASE GO AWAY. Title from Anchor by Novo Amor.

The campus was buzzing with hyper energy, the students littering the quad as the weather finally warmed up enough for them to comfortably rest on the green grass. My sneakers slap against the concrete as I take a deep breath in, the fresh air mingling with the student’s scents and I can’t help but feel a twinge of loneliness at the sight of the couples sprawled across the area.

I have spent half my life terrified of everyone - especially alphas - since my father’s warning when I presented. “You need to be careful, pup. Alpha’s only want one thing. You don’t want to end up like your mother - God rest her soul.” The fear it caused has definitely contributed to my self induced isolation. The scent blockers stir in my stomach, and I place a hand over my gut softly as I continue to head toward the library. I couldn’t afford the textbook, and thankfully the library had a cheap copy, but it can only be used in the library. I huff in annoyance as I mount the stairs. I step into the air conditioned building, skin prickling beneath my tee shirt. Should have worn a sweater.

The library is huge, 3 floors of walls lined with books, and the loner in me cries out in joy at seeing how deserted the stacks are. Having memorized the way already, I walk toward where they keep the textbooks and I run my fingers across the bindings until I come across where my textbook should be. I glance around to see if it was maybe misplaced before I head to the front desk.

“Hi, I’m looking for the Understanding Earth textbook for Professor Fieldman’s class?” I ask, and the woman behind the counter looks up with a small smile.

“Oh, that’s a popular one today. There’s a young man in blue who asked for it maybe 10 minutes ago. He should be in one of the study rooms, I think Room C.” The one with the windows. I nod, glancing down at my phone for the time. That paper is due in 12 hours. I’ll have to suck it up and ask if he’s willing to share. I head up the stairs, the hushed whispers of students giggling on the second floor catches my attention as I rub my fingers over my arms to warm them. The straps of my backpack are becoming more and more noticeable the longer the bag rests on my shoulders, and the girls’ voices become audible. “Wasn’t he adorable? He’s in my criminology class. His scent is intoxicating.” I scoff at their words. I walk toward the closed oak door before lightly rapping my knuckles on the varnished surface, and I crack it open as I hear a voice speak. Please be a beta. Please be a beta. Please be a beta.

“Yeah?” The door opens a bit more and that’s when I see him, strong hands hovering over the keys of his laptop, bright blue eyes trained on me as I stand in the doorway, my cheeks probably red from embarrassment.

“Hi,” I say before introducing myself with my name. “I know this is probably weird, but Professor Fieldman assigned a paper due tonight and I need some sources. Would you mind if I shared the textbook with you?” I ask, definitely speaking too fast as the anxiety crawls up my throat, tasting an awful lot like bile. He chuckles and that’s when his scent hits my nose. Those girls weren’t lying. He smells like pine and citrus, which you wouldn’t normally assume would mix, but something about the way it mingles as it enters my nose, my whole body flushes,, and I wonder if it’s because of him being an alpha or just him in general.

“I’m Leon. Leon Kennedy. And no, I don’t mind at all,” he says kindly, scooting his chair over a bit and pushing the textbook closer to the chair next to him. I should not sit next to him. His scent is already almost overwhelming and I’ve been in here for all of 1 minute. I find myself walking forward as I hear the door close behind me and I sit down in the black mesh swivel chair next to Leon. He gives me a small smile before I realize he probably thinks I’m a beta. My scent blockers should be enough. When is my heat due again? I vaguely wonder as I slip my backpack onto the floor next to me and pull out my laptop, opening the document to this stupid paper. “The paper on your favorite mineral and its multitude of uses?” He asks, glancing at my screen and I nervously huff out a laugh.

“Yup. I went with obsidian.” I say as I look back at him. His eyes are like two pools of blue, oceans in their entirety and threatening to drag me under and drown me.

“Good choice. Quartz,” he points his thumb at himself with a small smile as he runs his fingers through his hair before training his eyes on his paper. We sit in comfortable silence for about 10 minutes before the first cramp shoots through my gut. I press a hand to the muscle, hoping pressure will relieve the ache before it increases. I tense up as I groan, dropping my head to the cool desk as my skin feels like it’s on fire. “Are you okay?” He asks, placing a hand on my back, and the warmth of his hand makes me release a very different kind of groan, which I try to muffle by clamping my teeth down on my bottom lip, so hard I may be drawing blood. Heat washes over me and I vaguely register that I am absolutely going into heat right here, next to this alpha I just met. I reach down for my phone to check, and that’s when I realize that I am a week early for my heat.

“I’m fine, I just need to go, I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I stand quickly, slamming my laptop closed much harder than I should before practically throwing it into my backpack, slinging the fabric over my shoulders before I feel a hand lightly wrap around my wrist, not restraining me, just… catching my attention.

“I’m sorry, I can go if you need the-” Leon trails off, his voice fading into silence as his eyes widen. “You’re an omega?” He asks, and I know my scent blockers aren’t very effective anymore. Not against a sudden onset of heat in the middle of the day. I nod smally, feeling tiny compared to this alpha, despite him still sitting down in his own chair. The place where his skin meets mine on my wrist tingles, sending sparks up and down my arm as I am suddenly extremely grateful that I didn’t wrap myself in a sweatshirt. I’d be sweating through it by now.

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, taking a deep breath while facing away from me, as if he’s trying to compose himself before he speaks again. “Sorry, you’re just… You smell amazing…” He practically rasps, voice dropping to a painfully attractive octave. “I thought you were a beta when you walked in. You shouldn’t be out this close to your heat,” he mumbles, still unable to meet my eyes.

“I’m not due for a week. Trust me, I intend to go home,” I explain, and he nods as he lets go of my wrist. Without another word, I walk briskly to the door. I don’t breathe until I’m out in the fresh air, trying to wash Leon’s scent from my nose before I begin to practically sprint toward the parking lot where my car is. I’m almost there when I hear whistles behind me. Oh no.

“Where you going, pretty ‘mega?” My hands shake violently, slick pouring into the center of my panties due to the incoming heat, and I hear several sets of footsteps behind me. There are at least 3 of them. A cold hand lands on my shoulder and I yelp, dropping my keys to the tarmac as tears brim in my eyes. The alpha spins me around as his friends snigger behind him and his hard body presses me against the nearest vehicle, hands roaming over my jean covered thighs as the hot tears pour down my cheeks. His scent is vile, aggression and sweat wafting off of him in waves, and his nose runs along the column of my throat. “You smell so good, baby. How about you let me take care of your little problem?” His voice is gravely and harsh, tongue licking up my neck to taste my sweat. “God, I’m gonna knot you so-”

“Get the fuck off of her.” A voice says, and it takes my mind only moments to realize it’s Leon.

“Fuck off, finder’s keepers.” I squeeze my eyes closed so tightly that harsh colors flash across my darkened vision, and my hands push against his cotton tee shirt pointlessly.

“Then how about this?” The weight is gone, ripped from my body and I open my eyes to see that Leon has physically ripped the guy off of me and I watch as his body collides with the vehicle next to us, the white metal slightly dented from where his head hit before Leon’s fists tighten in his shirt, pressing him into the truck. “Touch my omega again, and you won’t be leaving unless it’s in a body bag.” Leon lets him go and we both watch as the alpha runs away, followed by his lackeys. If he had a tail, it’d be between his legs.

I sink to the ground, knees pressed to my chest and my hands press into the dark concrete. “Holy…”

“Are you okay?” Leon is there, crouching at my level. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” I shake my head, hands twitching, begging me to reach out and touch him and I can’t stop them as one lands on his shoulder.

“I just want to feel safe... Can you hold me?” I whisper, and it’s only seconds before his palms skim along my bare arms. Feeling like I’ve been shocked with straight electricity, my gasp escapes as I shift to press my nose into his shirt, the blue cotton/spandex mix beneath my lips driving me up a wall and rushing more slick into the gusset of my panties.

“Of course.” His words are soft, fingers carding through my hair in soothing motions. His lips are soft as they press to my temple and I clutch his shirt tightly in my fists. “What do you need?” He asks, making sure to address me by my name.

“You, alpha…” I whisper, desperation in my tone. “Please…”

“Fuck…” Leon mumbles, nodding and accidentally brushing his nose through my hair, and he groans. “Okay, come on.”

The kisses are all tongues and teeth, lips connected as teeth nibble at the already plump flesh as the door opens. Thank god he has an apartment, cause Dad would never let me bring home an alpha for him to fuck me through my heat. The room smells overwhelmingly like him, air fresheners be damned. Palms on hips, slipping into the waistband of denim, untucking shirts, fingers dancing across skin and I tug on the hem of his light blue shirt, silently pleading for it to come off.

“Need something, sweet girl?” He chuckles, a teasing edge to his voice. A whine slips from my lips into his mouth and he pulls back to press our noses together, foreheads in contact as he looks into my eyes. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Off, please, Leon.” Well, he said words. I managed that. He peels the fabric from his chest, my eyes raking over the exposed muscles and soft flesh.

“Eyes up here, ‘mega.” His finger slides under my chin, bringing my eyes to his as our lips collide again before parting to remove my own tee shirt, dropping the cotton onto a pile on top of his. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers under his breath. Before I can process the movements, my feet are off the ground before I feel the weight of the couch beneath me as he tugs on my waistband. “Can I taste you, ‘mega? Please?”

“Mhm,” I hum through my bitten lip, teeth pressing into the tender flesh as I help him remove my tight jeans, my panties flying somewhere in his apartment as he buries his mouth against my cunt without further question.

His name leaves my lips in a squeak as my fingers thread through his dark blonde locks, tugging the strands lightly as his tongue laps at my sex. Growls rumble from his chest as he sucks gently on my clit, the suction forcing gasps and moans from my mouth; I look down and find those intoxicating blue eyes locked on me, the wet sounds coming from my center absolutely lewd. How do people live without this?

“Do you want my knot?” The question should require more thought. More attention.

“Yes. Please alpha, need it.” Leon stands, lips and chin coated with my shiny slick, and I watch as he licks the fluid off his lips before using his fingers to wipe off the remainder before sucking them into his mouth. Oh fuck, that’s hot. Nimble fingers undo the buttons of his jeans, tugging the zipper down tauntingly. “Leon.” His name comes out as a frustrated groan, and I’m gifted by the sweet sound of his light chuckle.

“Patience is a virtue, sweet girl.” I groan, a small laugh of my own filling the air as he comes up to kneel between my thighs, the skin of my ass pressing against his thighs as he leans forward to rub his cock along the length of my core. “Fucking shit, got the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, ‘mega. Have you ever had a knot before?” He asks, rolling his hips so his tip bumps against my clit and I shake my head no. “Have you ever had sex with anyone?”

“No…” I admit, hands coming up to press against my hot cheeks.

“That’s okay, ‘mega. Do you want to keep going?” I peek between my fingers to see his soft smile. He is willing to stop for my comfort. “I can make you come in other ways if you don’t want-”

“I want your knot, please Leon.” My hips cant on their own accord, rubbing against him and his groan quickly dissolves into a huff of laughter, the sound filled with affection and gentleness.

“Okay, baby. We’ll take this slow, okay?” His head nudges at my opening, pressing the head in. The slight burn doesn’t last as my body adjusts to him, his arms caging me in on both sides of my head filling each of my senses with nothing but Leon, Leon, Leon. It continues like this, him pressing his length pressing in an inch or two before he pauses, huffy breaths puffing against my face as his peppers my face in soft kisses, my hands cupping his jaw and nape of his neck to feel some semblance of balance as he splits me open. I have nothing to compare it to, but he feels pretty big to me. Finally after a painstakingly long time, his hips press forward, flush with mine, and we both release shaky pants at the sensations.

“Please move,” I whimper as my hands shift to dig into the firm muscle of his shoulders, dull nails leaving crescents in his flesh.

“Anything for you, my sweet little omega.” The sweet words are quickly drowned out as he begins a leisurely pace, and I can feel the drag of his cock against my walls at every movement he makes. Kissing is futile by this point; We’re practically just breathing into each other’s mouths. His pace begins to steadily climb, faster and harder as his deft fingers rub soft circles over my bud, my head thrown back in response to the new sensation. “Does that feel good, sweet girl?” I nod before his earlier command rings through my ears.

“Yeah, Leon… Feels so good.”

“Such a perfect little omega, my omega.” The possessive tone sends a wave of heat straight down my spine as he continues. “That alpha touching you earlier… God I wanted to rip his throat out…” Hips slapping harder against mine as my moans grow in pitch, his name practically the only coherent sound that can be heard from my lips.

“Yours, alpha. All yours.” The blonde nuzzles into my neck, teeth grazing across my sweat slicked skin. He speaks, and it takes a nip to my ear to realize he’s speaking, my focus being tugged between the wet sounds of us meeting, his teeth on my neck, his scent in my nose, and his dirty words in my ears.

I want to claim you.

Fill you til it spills from that tight little pussy.

Want my babies, sweetheart?

Knock you up, god you’d look so pretty carrying my babies, ‘mega.

I nod blindly, barely unable to form words anymore as I’m so fucked out, so cockdrunk.

“Yes, please, fill me. Want it. Want you.” I groan in protest as he pulls out, emptiness bringing tears to my eyes before his gentle caress causes me to peel my eyes open to meet his. I’m greeted with a new sight. This isn’t just Leon.

This is my alpha.

“Present for me, ‘mega.” I nod, flipping over so my knees press into the scratchy fabric of the couch, arms resting on the arm rest as my body arches for him practically unconsciously. This is how it feels to find your mate. Callused hands trace the skin of my back, rubbing softly over the skin of my ass before his tip presses against my opening again, sliding in much easier than before, the wet slick aiding in creating a smooth glide and I practically feel him in my throat as he resumes a fast pace. Mumbles of curses fall into the air, sweaty skin pressing to my back, giving him access to whisper in my ear.

“I want you to come for me. I’ll give you my knot if you do.” The rough tips of his fingers return to my clit, rubbing much faster circles as the band in my gut pulls tight. “Come for me, omega.” That’s all it takes. I come with a yelp of his name, followed by a chorus of ‘alpha’s mixing with ‘Leon’. He growls, leaning forward to press the expanding ring of muscle into my pussy as his teeth sink into the flesh of my neck, locking us together in every sense of the words.

Gentle hands maneuver us to our sides, his warm body spooning as he grabs the blanket from the back of his couch to drape it over us as the sweat on our skin rapidly cools in the now chilly air of his living room.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, lips pressing soft kisses across my exposed flesh, and he sounds almost guilty. I nod sleepily, reaching back to run fingers through his hair with a chuckle. “Something funny, cutie?”

“I don’t think sharing the textbook is gonna be an issue anymore.” At my words, we both burst into a fit of giggles, panting breaths as I turn my head to press our lips together before I gasp, hands coming up to my mouth.

“What?”

“My dad is gonna kill us.” I admit with a nervous laugh.

“Nah. I meet parents like a champ.” His face practically drips with confidence and I chuckle.

“Oh really?”

“Oh yeah. Look at my face. This is the face of ‘I’m absolutely not sleeping with your daughter’.” The laughter is uncontainable now.

Oh yeah. Definitely.

Tags:

Leon: @house-of-kolchek @bonnibuckets @athanasia-day @muffimtv Everything: @chaosandbubbles @kassiekolchek22 @akiramoon8088

[theoxenfree]

NIGHTFALL

elk god x ranger!reader | wc; 759

no one dared to question why you chose the night shift; it was simply superstition that it was better not to ask. but, you were always in good company.

warnings; brief mentions of gore, ritualistic/cultish stuff, some lore things that may be confusing if you aren't aware of the series, roughly proofread

repost from 2kmps ➔ theoxenfree. would love to know if you guys would be interested in a full story!

No one dared to ask questions of you when you had volunteered to take up the lonesome night shift at the ranger’s station.

Workplace superstition wasn’t one to discriminate, whether that meant you were tweaking a bullet out of someone's chest in the operating room; sterile gowns splattered with carmine like a rorschach inkblot, adrenaline dampening the noise in the room while the surgeons honed into that sweet spot of impenetrable focus, or you were reclined in a creaky wooden chair, prodding agitatedly at your phone screen with a thumb because the service had turned to shit for the fifth time that night.

The reason why you were so adamant to burden the staggering quietness of the Atticus Forest behind aluminum walls that'd amplify the whispering winds and long claws of trees’ appendages trying to gain purchase into the metal went unchallenged, incurious—if no one knew why, they would be spared of knowing about you, bonding with you, catching your eye and expected to act in sympathy if you were to ever change your mind about the arrangement.

You, however, used the cover of nightfall, the endless shroud of darkness produced from a sprawling canopy of lush treetops to roam freely, uninhibited by the daytime shuffle of campers and hikers and other rangers scouting the trails for no-good-doers.

Every night you wandered out some ways from the station, somewhat nettled by the fact you were leashed from going far from the radio, needing to standby in case of contact, and whistled tunefully. It was a sweet sound that aroused the owls and sleeping doves, sometimes the tree frogs would chirp after you, suddenly turning the vast, placid place into a euphony of colorful sounds.

Only when the forest was at its noisiest did he come out from hiding. He did not know shame or fear of the sun, nor quail at the concept of walking among humans, but he preferred to share the forest with the untamed creatures and your company alone.

“Orruth,” you greeted the lumbering thing as he came away from the trees; the gray of his skin, and gleaming white elk skull were a seamless blend in the inky black all around. “Are you in the mood to walk tonight?”

He did not speak any human tongue, not any that you were aware of at any rate. You were no linguist, but the things he said couldn’t have been mistaken as latin nor some other dead language from forgotten empires and cultures buried by concrete and gentrification. They were guttural, strong echoes that anchored you with awe, overwhelmed by power, the unfathomable words of an ancient who always tried so desperately to converse with you. There could never be a middle-ground between what he said and what you understood because you were never meant to know.

So, he whined instead, lowered his hulking form close to the ground for you to reach his face. You felt the fissures in his long nose, how dry and brittle the bone felt under your fingertips and observed the glowing pupils within hollow sockets staring back at you. Apart from his arms and legs, which were long, sinewy, and gray, his head floated mysteriously by a thick vapor you had ever shied from touching and he seemed to not want you to touch.

“I heard a complaint about a fire about eight kilometers away. I'm hoping it's just a few campers thinking they're above the law of the land, but we can never be too sure.” You explained this while he tucked the flat bone of his nose into your chest, mindful of the sprawl of his antlers as you adjusted to petting him around the eye sockets. “We keep finding animals—gored, disemboweled, almost ritualistically at some campsites. If your old followers keep this up, they may try to ban people from camping out here at all.”

He would probably like that, you thought in hindsight once he had had his fill and pulled away from you. In his own tongue, he tried to say something else. It remained indecipherable to you, but you could have from how he nearly flattened his body to the ground that he was offering you a ride.

“Just try not to throw me into a bunch of tree branches again, yeah?” you sat on the broad shelf of one of his shoulders, arms wound in the network of forks and beams of his antlers as he rose to full height, walking onward off the trail and through the trees towards distant piles of smoke.

[cookinguptales]

So I've talked about this a little bit in the past, but like... to me, the biggest tragedy of this substandard turning for Guillermo is that he's clearly always associated vampiric transformation with personal growth.

One thing that's always struck me about both Guillermo and Nandor is that both of them have this odd fixation on a nebulous "better" version of their lives that they should be living, and that fixation is so strong that it prevents them from fully living the life they already have. They both have a tendency to be so focused on how green the grass is on the other side that they forget to water their own lawn, if you get me.

Nandor has pretty obviously been on a quest for meaning since at least the first season (due to his crisis over Al Qolnidar no longer existing and his descendent dying) and he has a strong tendency to ignore all of the meaningful things that already exist in his life so he can pursue a fantasy of something better. He constantly throws aside the good things he has because he believes there must be something better. And in so doing, he often loses what he had to begin with.

Guillermo actually does things fairly similarly, except while Nandor is looking externally for something to enter into his life and give it meaning, Guillermo's fantasy life is focused more purely on his sense of self, with the anchor of it being vampiric transformation.

Guillermo has always looked at vampiric transformation as being the magic bullet that will make him good. It'll make him stronger, faster, more powerful, sure. But it's not just that. His entire sense of self-worth is attached to this. He doesn't just want physical power; he wants social power. He wants emotional power.

When Guillermo becomes a vampire, he won't get bullied anymore. When he becomes a vampire, he'll get respect. He'll be smart, strong, sexy. He'll be loved. He'll be able to love himself.

He'll be better.

Guillermo has always unabashedly put all his eggs in that basket. He's always just waited for someone to come bestow worthiness on him. But it's also circular logic, y'know? He'll become worthy once he's a vampire, but he'll also only become a vampire once he's worthy.

He has to earn it, and he'll never be happy until this growth, this vague sense of superiority, is earned.

That's really not how self-worth works, though, is it? No one can give that to you. No one can magically make you all the things you've always wanted to be, and no one can magically strip you of all the parts of you that you're ashamed of. And all the praise in the world won't mean anything to you if you don't believe it.

Guillermo, as he's gotten further away from being a vampire, has actually started to gain all the things he has intrinsically associated with vampirism. He's stronger. He's faster. He's more powerful. He's sexier. He's more confident. People respect him. People accept him. He's been able to start to reclaim his sexuality. He's starting to be able to be himself, and that self is both alluring and dangerous.

But none of that came because of anything he's done to try and earn his worth. It was all accidental; he's been so focused on this fantasy version of himself that he didn't see the way he was growing, changing, and developing in his own way.

Guillermo can't see that he's already grown up to be his childhood fantasy of himself, y'know?

So now he's gone and used all this newfound power and confidence and cunning to finagle himself a bite. But it didn't work. And it didn't make him feel the way he thought it would.

Because it's always been a fantasy. It's always been something to work toward. It's always a version of him that can't exist because it's nothing concrete, it's just the nebulous idea of being better.

Moreover, it's not just a power fantasy, though it certainly is that. I think the key to it here is that Guillermo has really come to associate this changing with acceptance. Not just anyone's acceptance -- Nandor's acceptance.

Along with all the other parts of the fantasy, Guillermo has fantasized about Nandor changing him because Nandor thinks he's worthy. It symbolizes all the longing he's ever had for acceptance and respect and acknowledgement and love and desire. Nandor's really become the center of all that for him, mostly because Guillermo is stupid in love with him. And since he circumvented Nandor's acceptance when he claimed a bite from someone else, he's really missed out on a major portion of what he was fantasizing about in the first place.

No one in the vampiric world is accepting him. If anything, they're pushing him away even more now that he's upset their social balance. No one thinks he's sexy. No one thinks he's cool. No one loves him, desires him, respects him. He still hasn't gotten the acknowledgement that he really wanted all along.

It was never just the powers. It was the fact that Guillermo hated himself. He hated his nebbishness, his weakness. He hated the way he couldn't fit in, not with his peers or his family or his religious community. He hated his timidity and his shyness and his submissiveness. He hated the way he was pushed around by everyone -- and in fact, he wanted to do the pushing.

And he thought that getting bitten would fix all that overnight. But it didn't.

So now even though he's gotten the bite he's always fantasized about, he's still deeply unhappy. And some of this really is the lack of physical power, which he's associated with social power. But I think more of it is that he always thought that a bite would change him on a fundamental level. But he has to come to terms now with the fact that he's still just Guillermo.

He can never be anything but himself. And Guillermo hates himself. He's embarrassed by himself. He's ashamed of himself. The idea of never being anything but what he already is is unbearable to him.

Then you add the fact that he doesn't feel like he "earned" this transformation, he never did get the acknowledgment from the person he needed it from most...

Guillermo was bitten and he still doesn't feel worthy. That's the root of it. He doesn't feel like the bite made him worthy and he doesn't feel like he was deemed worthy of the bite. So the bite itself? Yeah, that's worthless, too. Just like him.

Guillermo is struggling with the death of a fantasy here, I think, and struggling with idea that he might only ever be himself. And all he has to impress those around him, especially Nandor, is that self. And he doesn't feel like that self is enough, especially now that he might have fully alienated Nandor in particular.

God, I just. I really want Guillermo to come to accept who and what he is. I want him to see his own strength and his own power and his own beauty and realize that it didn't have to be bestowed upon him by anyone. It's not just his bloodline, it's not just the master he serves. It's him! It's in him! It's intrinsic! It's good!

It's enough!

I want him to be so proud of himself, because I am. My beautiful little murder machine. He's awful and I love him so dearly. ;;

God, I just want these two idiots to look at each other and realize that what they already have is enough. Nandor already has the love and acceptance he's been craving. Guillermo already has the power and worthiness that he's been craving. They already both love each other. They just need to stop being dumbasses for five minutes!

(But now who's lost in a fantasy world? lmao)

[eupheme]

“you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me.” Or “I can’t get enough of you” / “Does that feel good?” Prompts for Edward Deegan, please :]

ahh I can’t tell you how excited I was to get a Deegan request!!! I tried to do a little something with each one you listed - they were so good, thank you!! 💖

— only you (and you alone)

edward deegan x sole!survivor!reader

rated e | <1k words

prompts: “you're mine, & i take care of what belongs to me.”/“I can’t get enough of you”/“Does that feel good?”

tags: tiny bit of cabot slander (sorry), references to ghoulification, soft smut, feelings, PiV - an exploration of deegan's feelings towards sole!reader

Maybe, in the old days, he might have been embarrassed. The bare mattress on the old, creaking bedframe - he knows you both have memories of finery. Of what romance should be, what he could never give you - still thinking you deserve better, in the silence between dusk and dawn.

Edward Deegan has seen much, in the long years he's walked the Wasteland. There wasn’t a lot that surprised him anymore - not in the two hundred and some years that had passed since this all began.

Miles trekked across the Commonwealth in those early days, until his skin burned with radiation. Skin tightening, sloughing off.

Those now-blurry days of sickness, where he had begged for it all to just end. Only to come out on the other side - forever changed, and forever living.

Forever bound to the Cabots, with all their family secrets. As loyal and fierce as a old dog, after everything they've done for him.

With you in the picture, though - that dedication tips towards something that resembles real affection.

Because tonight, he's glad for his own room - that narrow space, tucked away in the basement. It sometimes felt so small, with the wide breath of his shoulders. All that shed armor piling up at night against the trunk in the corner, pieces creeping across the cracked concrete.

Suffocating, compared to the vast house and the sprawling floors, hidden rooms. All that empty space, untouched for decades.

Edward had never said anything. He had always known his place, and it wasn't his to question. Never even occured to him to think about it, until one of your early, off-handed remarks had him bristling. An urge to defend his employers, until he realized your comment had been wrapped in concern for him.

But if his room had been bigger - if for some reason, the house had been his for the night - then he wouldn't be so wrapped up in you now. He likes the way you cling to him, laid out bare beneath him on his bed and looking like you belong there.

Edward had always been good with hunches, but he still can't believe the luck that had led him to meeting you outside Bunker Hill. How he had been curious, and then pleasantly surprised - again, a rarity - when your reputation held strong.

When you had stuck around, after.

And then once more, when you had boldly stepped over the line of hired help, and became something more.

Always so good at following orders - and you do so here, too. Lips parted on a sigh as you answer his commands.

“Does that feel good? Tell me, doll.”

He always wants to know, and you always answer.

“Yes. So good baby, don’t stop-”

Now, with the walls closing in, your moans echo. Music to his ears, his own sounds bitten back and swallowed, so he can hear more of yours.

How they fill the small space, surrounding him like your embrace. The strong grip of your soft hands, where they anchor against his shoulder, the curve of his neck. Clinging to him as he grinds himself deep into the tight clench of your cunt.

Making every second count.

These visits too few and far between. His loyalties lie here, his trips outside governed.

You’re already stretched thin, making a name for yourself. But you always end up finding your way back here, if only for a night.

Maybe, in the old days, he might have been embarrassed. The bare mattress on the old, creaking bedframe - he knows you both have memories of finery. Of what romance should be, what he could never give you - still thinking you deserve better, in the silence between dusk and dawn.

Things he won’t say out loud, because he can already see your expression - the anger held in the pull of your brow, the narrowed slit of your eyes. A look so often thrown at others, but so rarely at him.

You had never batted an eye at any of it. Of his arrangement, of him.

If it was good enough for him, if he was there, it was good enough for you.

Always enough.

And as he brings his mouth down to yours - he feels how your heart mirrors his. Pounding beneath your skin, under the careful press of his thumb where his broad hand spans your throat.

Your lips greedily meeting his, hips rocking to meet the grindof his hips. Sighing with the soft swipe of your tongue against his, pulling back to murmur soft words and praise and his name - all things that will have to keep him until next time.

He’s never owned much, but tonight you’re his.

And he always takes care of what belongs to him.

His fingers swirl against your clit, tight circles that have you moaning into his mouth. Thighs tightening where they hook around his hips, urging him deeper. Your nails biting into the meat of his shoulders, pinching with each pound of his cock.

His cheek brushes against your nose, as he allows himself to want.

Committing to memory the sound of your cry as it breaks - pitching high, as you tremble beneath him. A warmth that starts somewhere behind his ribs before it pools low in his belly - feeling the way you flutter around his aching cock for the second time that night.

He’ll aim for one more before sunrise.

“I can’t get enough of you.”

It’s a confession - murmured quietly into your hair, unheard as you drift back down.

And just this once - he wishes for something more.

ahh anon thanks so much for sending this in! I love him & was so excited to get this!! 💖 and thank you so much for reading!!

[missholloween]

29 and 34 from the headcanon ask game for owen pretty please?

29. Quirks and personal habits

One of my favorite Owen-isms from the show is how he plays with his hair <3 The little comb he has in the reveal scene, how he takes off his hair from his face when Spies are forever (song) finishes... I like to think Owen prefers how he looks with longer hair even if it often gets in his way and ends up being annoying most of the time. Still, cutting it isn't an option, so it would lead to a slightly tedious and longer than he wishes hair routine. Curt often mocks him for it even though his would be longer and more tedious, but when they're short of time he'd lend Owen a hand with it.

As a whole though, I see Owen as someone with very strong routines and ways of doing things, and he wouldn't like changes to said routines. This applies to spying, with specific way of debriefing or a concrete order for his mission rundowns, but it would also apply to his day to day life. Curt and him would clash in their first meetings for this, as Curt would see his habits as annoying obsessions rather than something that keeps Owen anchored and help him clear his mind.

34. Feelings about themself

I don't think Owen thought much of who he was before meeting Curt. As someone whose childhood/adolescence was world war ii, who probably lost his family on said war if he had any link to them and then started working for the United Kingdom's secret service, I don't think Owen had a really strong identity.

I think he would start working for the UK's goverment really young, probably a teen spy during wwii or during its immediate aftermatch. This would provoke spying to be one of his core traits, but also an easy way to define himself. Owen would enjoy being a spy: as he said in the reveal, he has a spot on aim and an interest in foreing politics. But by being a spy, he could forget who he is suppose to be to become whoever is needed on a mission, be the hero the world needs. By being a spy he wouldn't have to care about how he's feeling or his interest in men, as those feelings could be burried by whichever identity he had to take that week.

All of that is, of course, until he meets Curt. Quoting Hadestown, when Owen fell, he fell in spite of himself in love with Curt. I think Owen would've had a couple flings now and again by the time he meets Curt, some on missions, others in a certain kind of bars, but he never would've felt something so intense, so... Sincere. During their relationship, Owen would notice that Curt is not only interested in the physical parts of intimacy, but also on the emotional side. Curt would try to see who's Owen beneath his different masks, and to Owen surprise, he would not know it.

Their relationship thus would allow Owen to not only discover who Owen Carvour is as a partner, but also who Owen Carvour is, not as a weapon for his country or an experienced actor, but as a person. I think this would scare him at first, reason why he would have avoided looking inwards at all. However, as their relationship grows stronger and he gets used to this "being a person" thing, Owen would like it. I don't see neither Curt or Owen as being the most romantic people ever, but they would do their best two gay spies in the 50s could do. After a while, Owen would get use to knowing what his feelings are or what he wants, being able to picture himself as something other than a spy. They would be mostly daydreams, thinking of retiring with Curt and both of them having a calm and quiet life. Curt would make sure of reminding him how impossible those dreams are, as he wouldn't be quite fond of the idea of stop being a spy. But Owen would take care of them... Until the fall, that is.

One of the (many) reasons I think Owen's motivations work so well is because when he falls, he loses absolutely everything. Yes, he loses Curt, probably the only thing he trully cared about, but he also loses spying, his profession, what he does. Curt betrays Owen by not going back and leaving him to die at the bottom of the staircase, but so does the MI6 by not rescuing him. Owen has nothing to cling back to after surviving, as everything he clinged to had abandoned him. The Deadliest Man Alive is the easiest way out: with Chimera he has a purpose, he can get his revenge against the system and the person that betrayed him, but he also can wear a mask to do his job.

The DMA mask is so interesting, as Owen literally becomes someone else, he gets a way to escape the hatred and anger he feels not only towards Curt or spying, but also towards himself. For opening up, for trusting someone as careless as Curt to take care of himself. I think after the fall Owen would like to be as far away from who he is as possible. The Owen we see in the reveal is someone very different of the person we see in a1p1 because of the fall, of course, but there's also a clear lack of sincerety on the way he acts during his monologue: it is theatric, it is dramatic, but it is also artificial. Owen probably hadn't shown his real face to anyone for months, maybe years, and he has forgotten how to play himself. Because he thinks that Owen Carvour really died at the bottom of those stairs all those years ago, and that whatever he is, the broken remains, the hatred, the anger, is something else.

However, in the last moments of his life, Owen discovers that his heart, as breaten and hurt as it was, had continued beating despite of himself. When Owen dies, he dies as the fool who still loved Curt Mega.

[mlm-writer]

Till Death Do Us Part (John Kennex x GN!Reader)

Pairing: John Kennex x Detective!Gender Neutral Reader Rating: Mature Words: 871 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 3 - Inevitable death: We will die, let’s say the things we were always too afraid to say Note: researched death by CO2 poisoning for this lmao Tags: slow death, angst, fluff, love confession and Dorian is mentioned a lot

Blood started to cover the rubble as you clawed at it, your hands splitting open at the effort. A strong arm wrapped around your middle, your colleague pulling you away from the chunks of concrete. It had been a trap all along, a long chase that ended in an old metro shaft underneath the city. It was a miracle that you managed to run into a corner, where a large concrete pillar created a safe space, but you were alone and too far underground to call for help. 

“Give it a rest, that shit is not moving,” John grumbled as held you tightly, trying to keep your hands from reaching for the rubble again. 

“Are you just giving up, Kennex?” You hissed at him. 

“Think about it. We have limited air and disturbing the rubble could very well lead to this pillar crashing on our head. Dorian will realise we chose to go against his advice and follow up on our lead. He’ll go after us, trace our steps, and find us.” 

You let out a disheartened chuckle. “It’s funny how you went from hating all androids to absolutely adoring Dorian.” You shook your head and took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. 

“Well don’t order a wedding cake yet. Dorian stuck his finger in my coffee.” You laughed and leaned back against John. With his grip loosened, but arms still around you, this almost seemed like a romantic moment. “ I uh… can let you go now if you’d like,” John offered when he realised what your current predicament looked like. You shook your head, settling in just fine. 

“Not how I envisioned our first long embrace, but this will do,” you sighed. You wanted to be embarrassed at your honesty, but also felt like you were getting too old to be bashful. 

“We’ve been pussyfooting around this for a long time, huh?” John agreed, his arms shifting around you to a more comfortable position. “Fucking will they, won’t they bullshit.” You laughed at John’s observations. He was right. You two happening was a long time coming and this whole situation was just the perfect opportunity to get closer. You couldn’t wait for Dorian to dig you out and find a new couple, instead of just two dumbass hothead detectives. 

The next hours were actually quite nice, filled with kisses and reminiscing, stories of each other, gossip in the office. You and John could talk about your whole lives, but as the third hour started to hit, you were yawning more than talking. Both of you knew what it meant; the oxygen was running out. Neither of you had much faith in Dorian left, but neither one of you mentioned it. 

“If I could get a do-over,” John started, his words interrupted by a yawn, “I’d tell you at Rudie’s birthday party to skip the cake and come get some real food with me.” You smiled against his chest, arms tightening around him. 

“You were still madly in love with An…” A yawn. “With Anna back then.” John sighed, commenting on how stupid it was. You were silent for a minute, death looming over you. “It hurt me to see you with her. Even back then I was in love with you. Sometimes I…” You yawned. “Sometimes I wonder if I could have spared you so much pain if I had just confessed to you before it all happened.” 

John leaned down to give you a kiss on your head. “We could’ve had so much mind-blowing sex,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood, before you spiralled into the endless pit of what-ifs. 

You slapped John on the chest. “I’m serious,” you reprimanded him. You both yawned. “John, if we survive this, let’s take a week off and catch up on lost time.” He hummed in agreement, eyes slowly falling closed. “Hey, stay with me!” You slapped his face gently, but hard enough to anchor him back in consciousness. 

Your name left his lips in a strained voice, like he wanted to cry, but didn’t. You looked up at him, glistening eyes meeting your watery ones. John sounded exhausted with each word he spoke next. “I may not always have loved you, but I can definitely say now, till death do us part.” Tears fell from your eyes as you laughed at his cheesiness. 

You wiped your eyes and face, sniffing and yawning. “You dumb fuck, I will turn into a woeful ghost and we’re visiting your favourite noodle place together as ghosts. Let’s haunt that place forever.” You expected a chuckle, but when you opened your eyes again, John’s were closed. He was still breathing, but you wondered for how long. You kept staring at his peaceful face, taking it all in, until you couldn’t hold up your body anymore. You snuggled close to him, letting his warmth calm you as the other plane of existence gradually claimed you too. 

It was days later when Dorian managed to find the pile of rubble you were under. Another day for help to finally make it through the collapsed tunnel. They found you under that concrete pillar, bodies laid together like the ancient grave of a couple. 

If androids could cry…

—————

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS

Likes do not help exposure!A comment in tags or replies can sustain a writer for months!

[wordy-little-witch]

Oh God Oh man oh jeez

Okay so. Angst. But like.

I'll put trigger warnings for it but this occurred to me at work and I'm just losing my MARBLES but-

TW for mental health issues, SH topics, hurt/comfort

Buggy growing up on a pirate ship probably lead to more than a few bad coping mechanisms- add in the sense of inferiority, his general anxious demeanor, etc, he probably hid a lot of things, even from the people he trusted most- especially from the people he trusted most.

Buggy likely had anxiety attacks or panic attacks fairly often - at first, it was handled with care, but when it became a recurring theme, some started finding it troublesome or obnoxious. When Buggy got to a certain point, he'd slip away to handle it on his own.

The only ones who really noticed or even cared enough to follow after him were Roger, who rarely COULD follow, Rayleigh, who was also often involved in the fall out, and Shanks, who would try but couldn't always get to him. Eventually Buggy, losing his shit and alone, accidently gets hurt during one of the attacks, either by nails or smth else. And suddenly things start... feeling solid. Less blurry, less frantic. Everything narrows down to the sharp-sting-hot lines and the red on his skin.

It becomes smth of a crutch to him.

He takes to wearing wrist bands, gloves, he is a bit more feisty about privacy, but very few clock something being wrong. Only Roger, Ray and Shanks feel like something is slightly off. They notice things going missing, they see how Buggy flinches sometimes with certain movements, but there's nothing concrete. There's red flags but they can't see the flagpoles to chase them back to the source.

Buggy gets in the habit of cutting young.

And then suddenly there is a Devil Fruit on board. A map, a chance, a fortune - he loves this family but he feels they don't love him. He isn't LIKE them. He's not strong like them, fast like them, he's just... Buggy. He's always just been Buggy, and Buggy has never been enough.

He plans to steal away in the night, under cover of darkness, leaving the crew short some money, sure, but they won't have the added weight of himself. He is just an anchor to them.

But Shanks finds him.

Shanks startles him.

Shanks slaps his back, tries to cheer him up, and the fruit goes down his throat, the magic explodes in his stomach, he gets angry, so so so angry, he is seeing red and he's raging and he's falling and-

And he's drowning.

Oh.

It was a real devil fruit.

Well... one way or another... he wanted to leave.

Shanks jumps after him. Shanks saves him. Buggy is soaked, cold, coughing and dizzy, and Shanks is beside him, is warm, and he's tempted, so tempted to lean into it and so he does-

And Shanks is pulled away. He opens his eyes, and the crew is there. Someone had wrapped Shanks in a towel, was fussing over him, someone was cheering for his "bravery" and Buggy-

He's cold.

He staggers to his feet, dripping, and he stumbles towards his room. Roger tries to stop him, grabs his shoulders, but Buggy is dripping with more than just sea water even though the steady streams are just as salted, so he pulls away and he runs.

He dives into their room, grabs his knife, his knees hit the floor and he moves and-

He lost the fruit.

He lost the map.

He lost his whole hand just now too.

No pain, just a split over his wrist, surreal and impossible and he can't- he can't breathe, he- what-

He drops his knife, the hand reattaches and he curls into a ball, hands burying in his hair, and he cries - silent as the grave, he is sobbing, hiccuping and sniffling, pulling his hair and he can't, he can't he can't-

Arms wrap around him, big, warm, the scent of sea air and rum and spiced strawberries, and Buggy clings to his captain as he simply shatters.

Roger sees the scars on his limbs, but he doesn't respond beyond hugging Buggy a little tighter. He doesn't react as he helps Buggy change, as he wraps his kid in his coat and holds him close, as he stares at the far wall and wonders how long and why and why didn't I know?

He doesn't say anything that night - not to Buggy at least.

He does talk to Rayleigh.

He leaves both of his sons curled up together in his own bed, tucked in with his own coat, and he meets Shanks' eyes, nods to the hardened little fire burning within them, a silent conversation of look after him and I Will echoing in the wooden walled room, and he goes to the only other person who will understand the rage, the fear, and they hug one another in silence.

Buggy is not okay. He hasn't been for a very, very long time, but they refuse to let him slip through the cracks, even if they have to chisel their way down to him themselves.

And this? This action, this choice? It changes EVERYTHING.

[rahuratna]

Hi! I woke up this morning unmotivated and wanting to stay in bed for longer (because I finished JJK season 2). But then you replied, and I literally jumped out of bed this morning with renewed energy to make breakfast and go for a run 🫶

The part where you mentioned about a sense of belonging was so good. Like, for me, it brings up the question of to what extent did his cult make Geto feel like he belonged? Was he able to find some sort of twisted fulfillment out of it? This is where sometimes I wish it wouldn’t be up to the audience’s interpretation. Like a concrete answer would be very nice.

I think it would be very interesting to compare the dynamics between Gojo and Geto versus Geto and his followers. Geto was like a moral compass to Gojo since Geto was the one who convinced him why he shouldn’t kill the cult members applauding for Riko’s death. But afterwards, it seemed like Gojo didn’t need Geto by his side more. Not just in terms of having someone strong to fight alongside with, but also for moral guidance. While Geto was losing himself, Gojo continued to fight with a clear purpose: to get stronger so he can be able to redeem himself with what happened to Riko and allow others to have the opportunity to truly live. To elaborate off of your idea of Geto wanting a sense of belonging, perhaps a fraction of it was also a desire to be needed. Gojo no longer relied on Geto for moral direction, or that’s what it seemed liked on the outside as they grew apart. Contrast this with Geto’s followers relying on him for protection and purpose, and it has me thinking about the subtle nuances between belonging and being needed (excluding the monkeys). Of course it’s also important to consider the difference of relationship between best friend and best friend versus cult leader/parent figure/guardian and follower. It makes me wonder…

Was Geto able to find a similar meaning with his um… cult… like with his former friendship? Even though Gojo and Geto’s differences grew wider, was possible to still salvage their rifted friendship? And if so, would Geto have been happier or worse off staying… could he still find connection with Gojo and the others if he had opened up, or would he still have lost his original sense of purpose no matter what…

So many what-ifs. I haven’t read the manga (yet) but I’m planning too. Though I’m not sure if I can emotionally handle it LOL. Tears will be shed 😭 I think there are so many characters to explore more in depth, like Megumi and Maki. Thank you again for these lovely conversations! 💞💞💞

Hello! Finally got a chance to sit down and answer this little gem of an ask. Your thoughts on how Gojo didn't need Geto as his moral compass after a while really hit me somewhere. That rings so true, when I really stop to think about it.

Their relationship was one of mutual respect, but also a type of co-dependency, without either of them really knowing it. Growing out of the shackles of that need for support, of a friendship that provided an anchor in normality, must have been such a common, but heartbreaking thing to happen in the world they inhabited. We see a similar theme with Nanami and Haibara, except in that case, Haibara was removed from the equation with a shocking permanence and Nanami never recovered fully from the effects.

When I think about the experience of growing up and into the world you inhabit, of losing the innocence you only recognize when you're older, I find that there are a few other prominent moments in my memory that define this. One of them is coming to an understanding, for the first time, that there are certain things that you will always have to face alone, and you will have to learn how to face them with dignity, if not bravery.

My experience certainly isn't universal, but in some way, it helps me understand Gojo's process of growing into and integrating into the world of sorcerers, becoming the 'strongest', willingly donning the mantle of a weapon of mass destruction to be fired in directions he assumed partial control of. It was sad, but small wonder to me that he missed his friend's growing isolation and depression when he was so focused on this form of self-development.

I personally don't think Geto ever found the same level of trust or companionship. He certainly had the complete trust and faith of the members of his group, and seemed to cultivate that air of found family, but he seemed to have an air of loneliness about him, a veil between himself and the world, thinly disguised as scorn and hateful prejudice.

While I'm still reading the manga myself and learning more about his character, I feel like Geto's path was a tragic, but inevitable one. Even if his friends did identify his growing depression and attempted to help him, they would not have had the answers to the issues that plagued him, in a way that was totally unique to his personality and view of the world. I think the rift between him and Gojo would have shown itself sooner or later, even if he didn't become a curse user. They would still have been exceptionally important to one another, but probably inhabiting different spheres and ideologies within the same world.

At the end, I think Geto was alone, just like Gojo, and that Gojo knew this when he found him. Even though it sounds pretty bleak, I don't think Geto found that place even within his cult, but I do think they soothed his torment in some small way. They may not have allowed him to realise his dreams (unattainable as he probably knew they were) but he did face his death, with readiness, a form of dignity. And he probably did it for Gojo, who was the one he wanted to see most at the end.

[cuubism]

that idea about dream having once had wings is living in my head rent-free so have some hcs for the other endless & wings

imo destiny wouldn’t have wings. he is chained to his book, to reality, to the future and the past. he is a force that supports the laws of nature, rather than denies them. he is fixed in a way that dream & death are not. he does not have wings because he is the walls that keep us from flying, the ceiling hanging low over our heads. he is the limit, the boundary, the end. he has no flights of fancy. he is what is, not what can be. destiny does not have wings. 

death has wings, of course. it’s partially because we imagine her as the angel of death, come to bear us away to another world. death is an ending, a reality, like destiny, but the line between life and death is permeable (albeit in only one direction) in a way destiny’s lines are not. death is what brings people to another world. she guides us, lifts us up, brings us comfort at the end. death as the anthropomorphic personification is not only an ending, but a beginning, and it is the sound of her wings that conduct us from this place to the next. she is a doorway, a path, a light at the end of the tunnel. death has wings. 

and then dream. of course, dream. he is a literal flight of fancy, defined as that which is not, the essence of unreality. he is not limited by what is, he is free, he is dream. of course he has wings. 

later, he does not, but i think you’ve done a far better job talking about that than i ever could. 

desire is nebulous, hard to pin down. they are not concrete, they are emotions, they are everywhere & everywhen. if you shut them up, shut them away, they will destroy you, because they cannot be caged. desire has wings. 

despair… she is her twin’s darker shadow, their balance, the falling to their flight. desire lifts you up, whispers that there is freedom above if only you try. despair tells you that there is nothing up there, and you couldn’t reach it if there were. all that is left is to sink, to let the water weigh you down and to drift. to fall. to slumber in viscous tar that will not let you free. despair does not have wings. 

destruction is anchored in reality, in carnage, in ruin. he is a crumbling, a falling, a flame. he does not fly because he is inevitable, because he is not meant for such graces. but he wants to fly, longs for it, wishes hopelessly to escape the destruction he wreaks like a bird that flutters out of a window the moment before the whole of it tumbles to ruin. when he paints himself, he adds wings. 

delight flew, long ago. her wings were myriad colours and full of light. she was the rainbow at the end of a storm, the glint of a smile, the shimmer of light on glass. she flew with purpose, with luminescence, with glory. the flutter of a heartbeat, the uplift of joy. delight had wings. 

delirium does not. she drifts, unmoored by gravity or by reality, separated from everything more sharply than dream ever was — even dream must obey the line drawn between the waking and the dreaming, but delirium simply floats through such boundaries. she is disconnected, a speck on the wind, a hallucination, her movements unpredictable and bound by no laws. delirium is a ghost, and needs no wings.

i love these so much, thank you! particularly the idea of destruction painting himself with wings. i'm trying to decide if i want to posit desire having wings sometimes, my thoughts on it won't fully form... but desire as a concept can be so fickle, so on-and-off, that i wonder about their wings being so too. i really like your headcanons :)

add dream losing his wings to the list of Fucked Up Things That Messed Up The Endless As A Family, particularly if having wings is like an Endless thing at least for some of them. strong headcanon that it's just Not Talked About since dream won't speak of it after how things went down with destiny and nobody really knows how to address it anyway. if it's brought up it's usually desire being a dick about it (though deep down they actually do feel sympathy for dream, plus the fear of this happening to them too). everybody very functionally ignores it and dream doesn't mention it for 5 billion years 👍 nothing like NOT grappling with the sudden knowledge that you can be permanently changed against your will. it's fine

anyway this reminded me of how morpheus is sometimes depicted with wings in art. such as

In the Arms of Morpheus, W. Reynolds-Stephens

Morphée, Jean Antoine Houdon

Morpheus, Jean-Bernard Restout

you get the gist 😂

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑺𝑨𝑳𝑽𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 | 2 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of DEATH, SLAVERY, WARFARE, KIDNAPPED, GORE, VIOLENCE, BLOOD!!!

Prologue - PROMISE| 3

People with good intentions make promises.People with good character keep them.

•◉◓☆◓◉•

        "Jiro, I understand it is a lot to take in, however, believe me, I'm not being absurd," I asserted, my tone firm, attempting to anchor my words in the certainty of my validity. His eyes widened, freezing in place like a statue. The revelation hung heavy between us, the suspense thickening with every heartbeat. My heart quickened, anxiety bubbling as the silence lingered, but I allowed him the time he needed. His mind seemed to grapple with a whirlwind of thoughts.

The night air, crisp and cold, caressed my face as I let out a slow exhale. Jiro blinked several times, finally breaking his silence. "Elaborate," he demanded, his voice maintaining its monotone stoicism and carrying an undertone of curiosity. His strong mentality and Jiro's willingness to engage and to take the time to understand rather than dismiss me outright impressed me.

"I cannot die, age, or get ill," I explained, meeting his gaze with sincerity. "Are you truly immortal? You cannot die or be injured?" Jiro questioned, skepticism creasing his features.

"I can be injured; however, I can heal my wounds."

Jiro's disbelief morphed into a slightly irritated skepticism. "Heal? Recover from injuries? That sounds unbelievable," he stated, his doubt etched in the furrow of his brows. I felt a twinge of irritation, but I kept my composure, understanding his reaction was typical for people to react to this. "I'll show you," I declared, narrowing my eyes.

My hand reached for the hilt of my sword, moonlight dancing off the glistening blade. I drew the sword and brought it to my arm, taking a deep breath before slashing it. A sharp grunt escaped me as blood flowed from the deep wound, painting a stark contrast against the night.

Jiro flinched, taking a step forward in concern. His movement halted as he watched my injured arm knit itself back together, the deep wound on my arm mended, the skin sealing seamlessly, leaving no trace of the injury. No scars remained, and the blood on my arm dried up. It was my concrete proof, a display of my immortality.

"You're immortal, and I've seen things, but your arm... it's like you've never been injured." Jiro's words hung in the air, his eyes tracing my arm—no scars, no sign of infection. Curiosity and astonishment danced across his features as he tentatively asked, "How... I apologize, Major, for asking this... How old are you?"

"Around a million years old by now," I answered truthfully. His eyes widened in disbelief as the revelation sat heavy between us; Jiro, sensing the authenticity in my response, delved deeper into his inquiries. The questions flowed, and I was grateful for his lack of negative reaction, thankful that he sought to understand my history and experiences.

Once, we were merely soldiers—distant, unspoken. Now, as a commander and a soldier, we had progressed from one-word sentences to bearing our deepest secrets, truths, and histories. Our bond, forged in the crucible of shared vulnerability, grew with each passing day.

My feelings for him lingered, unspoken but palpable. Amidst the chaos of war, our souls resonated. Jiro, a special presence in my heart, left me questioning the nature of my feelings—companion, ally, friend, or something more?

"I've sworn to protect you; I forever stick to my word. You can trust me," Jiro's words broke through the silence, a sense of the loyalty he held for me. His stoic exterior crumbled, revealing a devotion that warmed my immortal heart.

Days rolled on, reshaping our understanding of each other. We were no longer the cold, calm, and emotionless combatants. Instead, it was two souls bound by shared brokenness, finding solace in shared pain. My growing feelings for Jiro became undeniable, pushing me to make another promise of my own.

I would bring him home alive.

The day of confession arrived. Tomorrow, my squad and I would be thrust onto the front lines. The weight of the impending battle hung in the air as I confessed my feelings to Jiro, my heart thudding with anticipation.

"Major, or let me correct myself... [First Name], I love you too. You've captured my heart in ways I never expected," Jiro admitted, his usually stern voice softening, a new vulnerability emerging. We were no longer concealing ourselves in the shadows, an immortal Major and my Second Lieutenant soon-to-be lovers once the war concluded.

Or so I thought.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

        The acrid scent of gunpowder stung my nostrils, blending with the cacophony of explosions, screams, and gunfire that reverberated across the battlefield. Our march towards the impending clash was accompanied by the rhythmic thud of hooves against the grassy terrain.

My steed, sensing the tension, emitted a soft, throaty nicker, prompting my hand to soothe its anxiety with gentle pats on its muscular neck. Tension hummed in the air as we approached the frontline, the first squad already unleashing a storm of bullets ahead of us. We were the second squad, poised and waiting for the signal.

"Major."

Jiro's voice, a steady anchor in the cacophony, drew me back from the brink of my thoughts. His steed paced alongside mine, and as our eyes met, looking deeply into his black eyes. I responded calmly, "Yes?" Our gazes briefly connected before he shifted his attention to the troops on the horizon.

"Let's end this war."

Jiro's words resonated, and a prideful smirk played on my lips. "Right with you, Second Lieutenant Griffin," I affirmed. A surge of yells and screams erupted, cutting through our conversation. I surveyed the battlefield, the charge of the enemy signaling the commencement of the battle; my smirk transformed into a wild grin as I drew my sword with a metallic scrape, and I raised my voice with a tone of authority.

"My men, we will end this war—for justice, for freedom, for righteousness, for our people! Give them a bloody war! Charge!"

As my rallying unleashed their war cries, I flicked the reins, urging my horse forward into the fray, the blade in my hand poised and aimed at the oncoming enemy, charging into the tumult alongside Jiro with the thunderous hooves of our charging horses.

Adrenaline surged, my heart pounding in tandem with the excitement of destruction. The chaos brought an odd satisfaction, a joy that swallowed sorrows and fears. I swung my sword with ruthless precision, severing heads, my horse galloping with a rhythm matching the chaos of war. 

Blood sprayed the grass and soil as I galloped across the battlefield, thrusting my sword into another foe, impaling them, and dragging them alongside me as my horse galloped across the battlefield. I pulled their rifle from their grasp. The sword returned to its sheath as I lined up the rifle.

I steadied my body, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The world blurred as I aimed and pulled the trigger again, the deafening sounds of firearms, explosions, and screams merging into a discordant symphony of war.

Suddenly, a bullet pierced through my ribcage, sending me plummeting from my horse to the hard ground below. My steed bolted away, startled by the sudden blast. A soft moan escaped my lips as my hand clutched the searing wound.

Immortality or not, the pain was real.

Despite the pain, I could feel the odd sensation of my skin knit itself back together; the bullet spewed out as the pain faded away. With a gritted jaw, I pushed myself off the ground, rolling onto my belly and gathering my strength. I steadied myself, fingers tightening around my own rifle.

I squeezed the trigger; the crisp click and the thunderous bang echoed in my ears as I fired at the enemies. I reloaded and a shout came behind me, snapping my head around. An enemy swung his sword toward my neck, reacting on instinct with a swift roll; I blocked the blow with my gun, a clash of metal meeting metal.

With a surge of strength, I pushed him away and ended him with a lethal shot. My grin widened as my eyes scanned the battleground; the advantage was in our favor, but a gut-wrenching shout of my name interrupted my thrill. I turned to see Jiro, meeting his desperate gaze, his hand reaching out in warning.

"Out of the way—"

His words were swallowed by an explosion that erupted before us, sending a shockwave that flung me through the air like a ragdoll, pain reverberating through my body as I collided with the ground. Groans and grunts escaped me; my ears rang, my vision blurred, and my body fought to regain composure.

I scanned the carnage, the scent of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood lingering in the air. A glance down revealed my leg missing, but the pain was temporary. It regenerated, leaving me barefoot. Standing up, the ache on my face disappeared, replaced by a realization that sent my heart plummeting.

Where is Jiro?

My eyes darted frantically, the aftermath of destruction and death staining the landscape. Panic clawed at my throat, my heartbeat thundering. My voice trembled as I called out Jiro's name, but my voice caught in my throat as my eyes found him.

Jiro's lower body was gone, his upper half mutilated, desperately clinging to life, blood spewing, organs exposed. His attempts at silence only yielded small whimpers, grunts, groans, and moans of anguish. My feet carried me toward him, knees sliding across the blood-soaked ground and beside his battered form.

"Jiro!"

My voice, loud and desperate, hitched in my throat. My eyes widened at the nightmarish scene before me. The joy of destruction is replaced by a tidal wave of terror, fury, despair, and shock. My hands trembled as I touched his face, tears clouding my vision. Blinking them away, I tried to focus on the horror before me, the warmth of my tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Jiro, Jiro, don't close your eyes. Please. Don't. Leave me!"

My plea echoed through the chaos of the battlefield; desperation etched into the tremor of my voice. A maelstrom of thoughts whirled in my mind of possibilities on how to ease his pain, how to save him. Jiro coughed, blood escaping from his lips, tracing a crimson path down his chin. His once vibrant, stoic black eyes, now clouded with fatigue and anguish, met mine.

I closed the distance between us, hovering inches from his face, feeling the warmth of his fading breath. Each labored exhale pulled at my heartstrings, a harsh reminder of his fragile life. He was still a mortal.

"[First Name]..."

Jiro uttered my name, his voice a mix of groans, weakening with every passing moment. Tears cascaded down my cheeks, landing on his face and mingling with the dirt and blood. "Jiro, it's going to be okay. We— I—" My words choked, my ability to speak faltered, his feeble hand finding its way to my cheek. A faint smile, a rarity that carried the weight of emotions and purity, graced his lips.

"I love you..."

His final words hung in the air, and with them, the light in his eyes dimmed, his body becoming limp in my hands. The battlefield's clamor faded into a muffled backdrop—gunfire, explosions, and distant screams were drowned out by the pounding of my heart. My breaths were erratic, time seeming to pause as I struggled to process the reality unfolding before me.

In my immortal existence spanning a million years, Jiro Griffin had been my first love, the one who made my heart flutter like no ally, companion, friend, or comrade ever had. Now, he was gone, taken from me in the brutality of war, his life extinguished within my helpless hands.

I promised myself I would bring him home alive.

I failed.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Years drifted away since the echoes of war had faded, and I had immersed myself in a life dedicated to salvation and justice, mirroring Jiro's unwavering pursuit of his goals and the liberation of the enslaved. I located Jiro's family, liberated and now free; his mother bore the familiar features that tugged at my heart, a poignant reminder of Jiro's death.

The haunting image of his mangled, half-body persisted, replaying like a relentless reel in my mind. As I visited Jiro's grave, nestled beneath the same tree he once spoke of, I felt the weight of our shared past. His words reverberated in my mind, the promise I made to free his family etched into my purpose. It wasn't easy delivering the news of his demise, but I had kept my word, ensuring their freedom.

At least, in that aspect, I hadn't failed.

The tree, hidden somewhere in the woods, was a sanctuary where Jiro escaped his nightmares and his pain. A childhood refuge where he had carved a drawing, leaving a lasting mark on nature. 'It's somewhere down South, in the woods. Can't remember exactly where, but one day, I'll find it. Carved a drawing on that tree, once,' his words echoed, and the nostalgia of our shared moments engulfed me.

Memories surged, the echo of our time together filling the air. I longed for more, a stolen kiss, shared embraces, moments that could have been, drowned in the misery and despair that followed his loss. Drowned in grief, I could have perished in the same explosion that claimed him. My immortality spared me, a curse of the anguish of never finding peace or release.

The cocktail of misery, despair, and mixed with anger, and the frustration of my immortality had been an arduous mix. The early years were a tumultuous storm, with decades merging into centuries. Yet, I found solace in the ongoing fight for justice, in the battles that needed my intervention, and in the lives, I continued to save; his legacy of justice became my guiding light.

Centuries had unraveled since the 19th century, now in the 21st, and I roamed the earth, an eternal wanderer in pursuit of healing and coping. My goal was simple: Happiness would find me if I pressed forward, navigating through the tapestry of time. Healing and coping defined my existence.

I never knew the things that the choices I made, and the paths I treaded would lead me to my downfall.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

        In the shadows of the moonlit night, I found myself navigating the desolate field in Morocco, a chill wind whispering through the air. The mission was simple—or so I thought—to eliminate the human traffickers and rescue the hostages. Victor Arrenberg, the man who had this mission, had heard of my skills, but not my immortality which I was thankful for, and I had remained an anonymous assassin.

My expertise honed over decades, if not centuries, as an assassin. Gripping my pistol, I approached the designated room with caution where hostages were supposedly held. I had successfully eliminated all the traffickers inside the building as I entered. As my eyes scanned the empty space, confusion gripped me until realization dawned—this was a setup.

"Oh, fuck m—"

A string of curses barely escaped my lips before a barrage of gunfire tore through the silence. Bullets tore through the air, each impact sending shockwaves of pain through my body, jerking with every hit. Darkness enveloped me as I crumpled to the floor, a bullet lodged in my skull. The last flicker of consciousness echoed with a question.

Is this it? Will I truly die?

●

●

●

Yet, life surged back into my veins. I gasped for air, the world slowly coming into focus. The excruciating pain subsided, and bullets spewed themselves from my bullet holes, my fingers reflexively curling around the pistol that had slipped from my grasp. Lying on the cold, dried-up bloody floor, as consciousness returned, I rose unsteadily. I became aware of the voices around me—shock, wonder, and fear echoing through the air.

"Oh my god."

"Reload! Reload!"

"I can't believe it."

Soldiers, their faces etched with disbelief and fear witnessing a resurrected scene. Without hesitation, I attacked, leaving a trail of carnage in my wake. Blood painted the room as I mercilessly took them down, my wounds healing with each passing second. My eyes caught a surveillance camera in the corner; a single shot reduced it to shards.

I was fucking set up.

It didn't take long for them to locate me. Captured, my eyes met Victor, the man behind the act. He, it seemed, was no ordinary mission coordinator but a scientist with an agenda. His scrutinizing gaze swept over me, leaving me with an unsettling sense of being an anomaly, something beyond human.

The unnerving sensation of cable handcuffs biting into my wrists intensified with each tightening grip from the soldiers flanking me; they knew the consequences of releasing me. My eyes locked onto Victor's intense brown gaze, a mix of hunger, curiosity, and astonishment.

"Together we shall do great things. What they are yet, I know not, but they shall be the terror of the Earth."

His words reverberated, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. The prospect of becoming a symbol of terror, a monstrous being, triggered a snarl of disgust. Memories of accusations from the 1690s resurfaced briefly, dismissed but not forgotten. Victor, sensing my reaction, cleared his throat, attempting to change the narrative.

"Or rather the savior of Earth... Can we take the cuffs off?"

One of the soldiers, a subordinate of Victor, shook his head. "No, we cannot, Doctor." Victor's gaze shifted from his worker back to me, his lips curving into a friendly smile.

"Ah, I see. My apologies. Let's get off on the right foot, shall we? I am Victor Arrenberg, or call me Dr. Arrenberg, the CEO of BioThera Corporation. Our work here is all about saving people and unlocking secrets to discover answers. All for science!"

Excitement laced Victor's words, his smile widening with each passing moment. He strolled toward a table, talking animatedly with his back turned to me, not knowing what he was doing as I became cautious.

"I have seen the evidence that one of my subordinates showcased, but I prefer my evidence to be indisputable."

Suddenly, he spun around a small knife in his hand for a letter opener. He lunged at me, jabbing relentlessly. Groans escaped my lips, and I bit down hard to suppress any audible signs of pain. Victor paused, withdrawing the knife, his eyes reflecting amazement at my resilience. The pain lingered but faded, my regeneration weaving its charm.

"We bought a cancer drug on the market last quarter. It's already saved hundreds of thousands of lives. Yet, in its development, it killed a quarter of a million lab mice. Now, I didn't ask for their little permissions. I'm not gonna ask for yours."

Dread sank in as his words resonated. A chill crawled up my spine, my breath hitching in my throat, my heart sinking. As he continued speaking, closing in, his eyes filled with wonder, excitement, and an unsettling eagerness, and his grin widened.

"There's genetic code inside you which could help every human being on Earth. We're morally obliged to take it and I want to discover the secrets of your immortality!"

"What?"

I muttered in disbelief, my attention shifting to one of his workers producing a small bottle that looked like an injection. Panic surged within me as I struggled against the soldiers restraining me. "Wait, what's that?! Hey! Wait!"

I exclaimed, attempting to break free. A sudden shock jolted through my back, electricity seizing my body as I was forced to my knees. The worker approached, injecting the syringe into my neck. The sensation faded, darkness enveloped me, fear the last thing I felt, the uncertainty of my fate haunting my last conscious thoughts.

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: January 14, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑺𝑨𝑳𝑽𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 | 2 NEXT CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑨𝒀𝑨𝑳 | 4

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theanimekid]

The Blood that binds us and the blood that destroys us

Klaus Von Reinherz x Blood Mage Reader

synopsis: being a blood mage in Hellsalem's Lot is a difficult life, trying to keep your identity a secret is even more complicated when joining a group of supernatural beings protecting humanity.

Warnings: Blood, Angst, kidnapping, murder, but it gets fluffy til the end

There are days you wish you could forget forever, days that can haunt you for the end of days. Your life was peaceful, hanging with your closest friends, the sun shining bright in the sky, the sky a perfect light blue, clouds streaked across the day. It was all perfect. That was... til the world turned red. The sounds of laughter were replaced with the sounds of death's silence. A monster appeared before you, Horns blazing with rage, eyes of hunger for flesh, and the features a half-human half-ram. He stood above your withering corpse. And offered you a deal you won't forget. He spoke in his perilous; and inhumane voice, " I ask of you, human. Thee shall bear witness to the reality that seats her. Shall you live with unspeakable power or die a meaningless death, not avenging the lives of those thee shall be close to you?" He asked with an offering claw hand to you. Carrying the cross in hand with the eye of a devil. With the once of your life, you reached your hand to the devil's cross. " And shall yee bond is offered, and a new mage is chosen, Yee shall by the anchor, and yee shall be your side till death rings."

And that's how your new and unspeakable life of a blood mage began, whispered among folklore and myth yet walks this very world in secret. Or at least try to. You arrived in Hellsalem's Lot, where monsters and humans coexist, and the closest to the alter world. You held your coat tight as you and your two associates trekked through the busy and loud streets, with a little boy with glasses and a tall skinny man with white clothing and a cocky attitude. " Are you sure you don't have a boyfriend? I mean, I can do a lot better-" Zapp said with a flirtatious smile; on his face. Leonardo stepped on his foot, making Zapp scream in anger and pain. " Would you stop trying to get your way with her?! It's obvious enough she's not interested in a pervert." Leo defended. It's adorable how Leo always defended you against Zappp whenever he has seen the chance to. Libra has been like family to you. They're kind and welcoming. Especially Klaus, your boss, the sweetest out of all.

You stopped walking for a second and turned to Zapp. " Tell me, Zapp, how long are you gonna keep this up? Cuz I'm bout inches away from slamming your head down into the concrete while Leo stands and laughs at your sorry ass." You lightly threatened. Your hand proceeded up into a deadly fist. Zapp quickly raised his hands up high in defeat. "Alright, alright, I give!". Your hand returned to its natural state. Sighing as you continue to your destination. The boys followed you side by side. Having a casual, not destroying the first thing they saw, a day off. The three of you were having to converse through the street. Till Leo came to a stop. His body stood still, vibrating off his body. He was shaking. What could he possibly be looking at? You and Zapp stopped and turned to Leo with questioning eyes. You spoke out foremost with concern, " Leo, is everything ok-" "Y/n, behind you!" He shouted in fear, pointing at a shadowy figure behind you. Before you could respond, the threat snatched you in its arms, you fought back, but it was too strong. He knocked you out unconscious. Zapp tried to use his Blood Dipper Style, but he threw him across the street. He ran off with our body on his shoulder. Leo stood there in shock, he was too fast to him to notice. Zapp got up from the group turning his head rapidly to find the monster, then he turned to see Leo still standing. " Leo, go, and inform the others! Tell them Y/n got kidnapped, and the monster's in pursuit." He nodded and pulled out his phone.

" Wait, Y/n's been what?!" Steven got up from his seat with his eyes open. " Y/n got kidnapped by some monster, and Zapp is in pursuit of chasing it," Leo said behind the phone. " Alright, we'll meet up with you soon just hang on." Steven quickly hung up and ran into the office. Klaus and Gilbert were both in there at the time. "Klaus, there's been a situation!"

Your eyes felt heavy, suddenly but slowly waking up to your new surroundings. Everything around you was red, the sounds of chains clinging from both sides, blood spread across the floor like paint splattering on a wall. Your body was chained against the ceiling, dangling you in the air, and the bruised pain; still remained on your cheek. Your eyes focus on what's in front of you, a black door open with a very unpleasant screeching noise. You cringe at the sound echoing to your ears. Two figures approached you, one with one big eye and dressed like a ninja, and the other was big in size, with veins in every muscle.

"Could this be the one?" the one-eyed ninja asked while his sharp blade honing at your throat. " Of course it is! when she walked past, the aura around her kept changing… like something dangerous was living inside; of her." The giant, muscular monster explained. The one-eyed ninja sighed, pinching his nose. " It better be. Otherwise, it's gonna be our heads." He turned his attention towards you, approaching you slowly while the blade was still at your neck. " Me and my… Associate have some inquiries for you, amongst the emergence of a devil that happened a long; time ago." He said, " Now you answer honestly; you'll get to walk out of here with your limbs attached; don't we will have to resort to more…" He grazed the blade at your stomach, and with one sharp strike, you screamed in pain, blood dripping from the thin, sharp cut.

" At this point, if I were you in this situation, I'd answer honestly." The other monster replied. " You're locked up here with us, and no one to come and save you." He finished with a crooked smile on his face. You had your head down, and hopelessly, you quietly laughed. " Oh? Something funny?" The one-eyed ninja asked, leaning his ear closer. " I'm not locked in here with you… you're locked in here with me…" Your voice became a menacingly frightening voice, and the air around you shifted in a small tornado. The one-eyed ninja took a step back, repeatedly diverting back, and his body began to tremble. Something terrible is happening, and they both know it. " Hurry up, and sound-" The sound of flesh splattered on the floor. The one-eyed ninja lay dead with his body parts separated. The muscular monster started to quiver. He looked around to see you freed from your restraints, your body covered in blood and metal sharpenings, Horns poking out the side of your head, blazing a dark pink hue flame. You have ascended from the bottom and stared deathly daggers at the muscular anomaly, your cold, vampiric eyes fired at him. "Let the massacre begin…"

Klaus and the rest of the Libra team have found the coordinates where your kidnapper had taken you. Klaus wasted no time when he got the green light. Before this, Klaus was deeply concerned about you when Steven told him about the situation, not only because you were his partner. It was because he started to have feelings for you. Since the two of you locked eyes, he could've sworn that his heart was doing backflips. But as usual, he didn't show it. Ever since then, there were times; when he wanted to get close to you. To learn more about you, your favorites and dislikes, the type of music you listen to, anything about you fascinated him. When you're not working or on your day off. Klaus always invited you to have tea with him. Or to go out and have lunch with him. He'll hardly pay attention to your story cause your voice existed just… immaculately. But till now, his heart is hurting, aching for your safety. And he's not alone. The rest of the team is also worried about you. Leo looked up like a mother. And now, he'll do anything to get you back safely.

The car stopped at the location, and everyone got out, ready to take on what was inside. But, the explosion took everyone aback, seeing the injured monster crawling out of the wreckage. The fire cleared as you walked out unfazed, and your arm blade flashed a sharp glow reflecting the injured monster. Instinctively your sword plunged into his chest, crashing into the dirt. The team stilled, eyes filled with dread and shock. The side that no one should see was out in the open. Everything told in myth was true, that you are a blood mage. Body covered with the markings of your enemies, your mind went fuzzy, slowly collapsing to the floor.

You open your eyes yet again, except surrounded by four white walls. I'm in a hospital... You got up from your bed. Sitting you against the pillows. You sighed remembering the actions that occurred. You wrapped your legs laying your head on the top of your knees. Damnit... it happened again... why of all times... The attention changed when the knock on the door was heard. You straightened yourself up and dried off the remaining tears on your cheek. "Come in."

The door opened quietly, and the bouquet of flowers was the first to see, waving it in front of you. "May I come in?" The man behind the door asked. You smile warmly, you know that voice, " Yes, you can." Klaus opened the door completely, walked in, and closed it behind him. He approached with his bouquet in hand. Sitting next to the bed, he gave you the flowers and sat in the chair. His hands folded in place. You knew right then it was about that. " How long was I out?" You asked.

"Three weeks straight, the doctor said you need to be bedridden for a while before returning to work," Klaus answered. You sighed and laid back on the pillow, staring at the white ceiling. "Y/n... Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, turning his gaze to you, Here comes..." I.. didn't want anyone to worry about me, let alone... to get wrapped up.. in my damnation" You started to break down, and Klaus consoled you, rubbing your back gently. " Shh, it's okay-" " No, Klaus, it's not." You sniffled," You all saw what I'm capable of, the type of disaster I'll do if I'm not in control... or worse..." He hugged you tighter but not crushing you." No, you are in control, and I trust you to be." He said warmly. Damnit, why does he know when to use the proper words... You shakily soughed, burying your head into his chest. " I just don't want anyone to be frightened of me," You admitted. Klaus took your face and took it to his gaze, staring deep into his green emerald eyes. " I'm not. Yes, we were shocked at first. Despite that, not enough to be afraid. If you had forgotten," He lightly chuckled, " This is Hellsalem's Lot. Every abnormal being, myth, and monster is normal to us. It's nothing that we haven't seen before." He finished. You gave him a small smile.

" You're right, I guess..." Klaus leaned his head in closer. Closing the gap between you, and gave a long, small kiss. You were shocked at first but gave in. welcoming his loving embrace. A loud cough drew your attention to the skinny figure standing at the door. Steven stood there with his cigarette in his mouth and leaned against the door frame. Klaus stopped the kiss and turned towards the window, too embarrassed to even look at you because Steven also knew that his boss had feelings for you. " Well, forgive me for interrupting, but the others won't stop nagging about when the time to come in. Zapp and Zed are also arguing, so it's best to wrap it now." You chuckled nervously, a pink tint flowing on your face. " Uhh, yea, can you... give us a second?" Steven sighed. It was already hard enough to deal with the others since you had been in a coma for weeks. You turned to Klaus, " Dinner and a movie?" He smiled back, his face feeling red. " Til you get out of the hospital."

[save-the-spiral]

Hi! Absolutely love your school quiz (I got Life btw which is me to an absolute tee) and I just wanted to know if you'd consider publishing all the results since I'm a curious bean and want to know what the other school results are 😅

(link to quiz) (i recommend others take the quiz because this has spoilers for the answers)

hello anon,

I figured out how to log back into Uquiz because of this ask.

and hooo boy. some stats. first off: I made the quiz 2 years ago. god, i was 19. innocent, a darling, a babe in the woods. uncancelled, free.

Grand Total of quiz takers: 1,326! buncha nerds! many of them are myth wizards, apparently!

Now here are your Answers for the Quiz!

STORM:

“That which can be imagined, can be achieved.”- School Motto, Wizard101

Storm wizards, known as Diviners, are creative and strong willed, though easily distracted at times. They have a tendency to be dramatic, but that makes them even more fun as companions. They are electric, and powerful, and wonderful people. They are diverse in their interests, but all follow the same motto of achievement, of having a concrete object to show their progress as wizards.

ICE:

“… with Persistence, Victory is assured.”- School Motto, Wizard101

Ice wizards, also known as thaumaturges, are intelligent. They can become perfectionists, and can be almost too self sacrificial in their role. They can be unyielding, not changing their ways in this deep need to be right. Their closed off and curt nature leads to an isolation. To melt the walls around an ice wizard's heart, to be let in to those deep emotions and memories, is something rare and to be cherished.

FIRE:

“If the Mind is like a candle, the Heart is like the sun.”- School Motto, Wizard101

Fire wizards, or Pyromancers, are passionate and wild, impulsive. They rush in on instinct as opposed to what logic would dictate. They are, down to their core, good. They are trying their best, even if it means they burn out. Their passion can manifest in a number of ways, many detrimental, but having a network of friends to anchor them can lead to a very powerful leader.

DEATH:

“Timor mortis conturbat me.” (The Fear of Death Confounds Me)- School Motto, Wizard101

Death wizards (necromancers), are morbid and fond of dark humor, as long as it doesn't make light of the tragedy of their school. They have a hard time connecting with other schools of wizards, because of their personality, but also the fundamental understanding of the Spiral that they cannot share.

MYTH:

“To control the Future, one must look to the Past.”-School Motto, Wizard101

Myth wizards, Conjurers, are very control driven. They are imaginative and have a deep investment in history, whether mythological or human, and they try to learn from the past as best they can, because the cyclical nature of time vexes them the most of any school. They can also have visions of the past, present, and future, through many different mediums, but most of all through dreams.

LIFE:

"As we have been Created, so must we Create."-School Motto, Wizard101

Life wizards, Theurgists, are kind people. Their magic derives from the body, keeping themself and others whole. They can be almost parental at times in their protectiveness, though they tend to feel helpless in the face of grave danger, only able to pick up the pieces and heal afterwards. When only around other life wizards, they can become vicious and competitive in their usefulness, a secret hierarchy few outsiders know of.

BALANCE:

“Eye of Newt, and Toe of Frog, Wool of Bat, and Tongue of Dog.”- School Motto, Wizard101

Balance Wizards, Sorcerers, do not draw upon magic in the traditional sense of the other six main schools of Ravenwood. There is no internal or external draw, but from the magic itself, the elements of each school understood in such ways that they may become one whole.The most flexible of the schools, they meditate and try to understand many things other take for granted. This may lead to an almost condescending view of other wizards at times, for they are never willing to understand the balance of the Spiral.

STAR:

“Your path is illuminated by the light Yet darkness lets the stars shine bright.” ~J.L.W. Brooks (School Motto)

Star wizards specialize in auras, enhancing their own magic in order to more effectively defeat their foe. While an accessory school in game, it is believed that they are prone to distraction, fond of glitter, and rather giggly at times. They can be vicious, can fight as well as the next wizard. They will fight until the end, until the last star dies out, and even they will not know when that is, and they will not stop.

SUN:

“The strength of the Sun will show our inherent capacity for truth and transformation.”-School Motto, Wizard101

Sun Wizards are primarily leaders, an excellent figurehead and rallying point for others. Their magic is used to enhance their spells in battle, enchanting or mutating the inherent magic in the spell cards for just one encounter. These wizards do not crumble under pressure as others may, they are strong and inherently hold onto that strength in order to guide and pull their allies through to the other side of a difficult situation.

MOON:

“The moon is a transformation that shows where change is necessary.”-School Motto, Wizard101

Moon Wizards use their magic to polymorph into other creatures or beings, changing their spell deck and statistics mid-battle. They must have a strong sense of self and grasp upon their own identity in order to continue to utilize these magics and remain who they were originally when they polymorph back. They have so many secrets they fear sharing, but when they do it is the ultimate form of their trust, and they bond with friends for life.

SHADOW:

"It is unstable and difficult to control." Wizard101.com on Shadow magic.

Shadow wizards are few and far between. The backlash the magic inflicts upon its wizards is difficult and painful, but a fair way to rebalance the Spiral after using this reality bending, strange magic. Shadow wizards are capable of great things, but in that greatness, there is no indication whether it shall be for the good or the harm of the worlds and peoples of the Spiral.

[kyousystem]

Advanced-Level Backgammon: An Outsider's Guide - Problem #2

Problem #2

White opted to run one of their back men with an opening 64. Black missed the blot but nevertheless has a strong roll: 33. How can Black make the best use of it?

Our list of potential moves includes:

13/7(2), making Black's bar point.

24/18(2), bringing both of Black's back men up to White's bar point.

13/10(2) 6/3(2), making two points on Black's side of the board to antagonize White's second back man.

24/21(2) 8/5(2), making an anchor on the 21-point (the Silver Point, as I call it) as well as making the 5-point.

24/21(2) 6/3(2), anchoring on the Silver Point and developing Black's inner board with the 3-point.

24/21(2) 13/10(2), anchoring on the Silver Point and making the 10-point in Black's outer board.

8/5(2) 6/3(2), closing two of Black's inner board points in anticipation of making a hit.

13/7(2), on its face, looks like the natural choice for this roll, and many players might be tempted to play it automatically. It gives Black an immediate 3-prime and blocks White's second back checker, not to mention bringing a total of 10 checkers onto Black's side of the board, giving them strong attacking potential. Indeed, the main weaknesses of this play are less about what it does and much more about what it doesn't do that it could (and should):

It doesn't give Black an advanced anchor, meaning White can still freely bring down builders (including their escaped back man) to develop their board.

It doesn't close any points in Black's inner board, weakening Black's attacking prospects: even if Black managed to hit a builder next roll, for example, White would almost certainly re-enter immediately.

It doesn't actually make a good priming structure, as the 3-prime built by this roll is fairly inflexible and will be difficult to extend in the next few turns without either slotting (risky), stripping the midpoint (very undesirable), or rolling lucky doubles (which you should never bank on).

In addition, with White's second back man still sitting on the ace-point, the only way Black can point on White's head is by breaking the bar point, leaving Black vulnerable to return shots and taking two checkers out of play; and needless to say, hitting loose isn't an effective strategy with only one inner board point closed. Ultimately, this move is deceptive in its appeal and is something of a newbie trap, so we would do well to avoid it.

24/18(2) also seems like a natural, reasonable reply—since White has almost escaped one of their back men, Black can "mirror" them by bringing out their own back men—but it's too passive, missing the valuable opportunity presented by this roll. Specifically, in choosing to run, White has foregone developing their board, which means Black has a chance to get a powerful lead in development. Making this move, however, does not accomplish that goal: Although White's bar point isn't necessarily a bad point to hold, there are once again other points Black could make instead that are more immediately useful and don't give White an opening to consolidate their position without falling behind. For that matter, with White now having only one checker in the back compared to Black's two, Black should pivot to a more offensive game plan (i.e. attacking or priming) to prevent White from escaping the second one, thus making this defensive move yet more ill-advised for this position.

13/10(2) 6/3(2) is a better development move, unstacking the heavy 6-point & midpoint and creating new points in both the inner and outer boards in the process. Although this move has the right idea in that Black should play more offensively, it tries to be both an attacking play and a priming play at the same time, and ends up being a weak choice for either strategy. In more concrete terms, holding the 10-point gives Black's position more of a blocking character, as that point is chiefly useful for building primes, but the 3-point and 10-point are too far apart to be used in the same prime and thus don't work well together. Conversely, making the 3-point, a point relatively deep in the inner board, is a good start for an attacking position, but the checkers on the 8-point and 10-point are too far away to be used in conjunction with the 6-point's spare to attack White effectively, meaning Black would have to either hit loose (despite only having two inner board points closed) or spend a few turns bringing in more checkers (giving White ample opportunity to escape). Additionally, it leaves White's outer board largely uncontested, making it easy for them to bring down builders and develop their position, and most likely safety their escaped back man in the process.

24/21(2) 8/5(2) is yet more promising, giving Black a valuable advanced anchor on the Silver Point while also making the ever-important 5-point. Black's anchor puts pressure on the outer board, complicating White's plans to develop their position by threatening to hit any builders they might bring down. Black had to give up the 8-point to make the 5-point, however, leaving them with a blot on the 8-point and a rather imbalanced distribution of checkers elsewhere. It'll take a few rolls before Black can use this position to launch a solid offense, during which time White could very well escape their second back man, possibly hitting Black's blot along the way (6 rolls hit: 61, 52, 43; 16.7% chance of hitting).

24/21(3) 6/3(2) improves even further upon the previous candidates, again grabbing the Silver Point but making the 3-point rather than the 5-point. The 3-point is considerably less valuable overall—it's harder to use for priming compared to the 5-point, 4-point, or bar point, for one—but it's just as useful as any other inner board point when it comes to attacking! Moreover, Black can make the 3-point without having to give up another point in the process, instead unstacking the heavy 6-point and ending up with a better checker distribution afterward. With that being said, it'll take time to bring in the extra men needed to start an attack or to fill in the sizable gaps in Black's structure, once again giving White an opening; so although this is a reasonable play (particularly if Black is looking to play safely), it'd be best to examine the remaining moves in the list.

24/21(2) 13/10(2) is the strongest and most versatile entry in this series of "anchor and unstack" plays. Unlike the 5-point and 3-point plays, making the 10-point has no real drawbacks, giving Black a strong outer board point that they can use for priming and attacking alike! Additionally, Black having the 10-point makes it that much more difficult for White to escape the other back man, since it both blocks the checker's movement and gives Black another number with which to hit should White bring their man forward. Between the offensive potential of the 10-point and the security & control offered by the advanced anchor, this is a very strong play indeed, doubly so if Black is looking to play safe!

8/5(2) 6/3(2) cranks the aggression up to 11, immediately closing two inner board points! This play may seem questionable in light of some of the points discussed above, such as wanting to control White's outer board, giving up the 8-point for the 5-point, and White potentially hitting Black's blot while escaping, but this play manages to compensate for all of these factors:

Black having three inner board points closed to White's one means that White MUST play passively, even without Black sitting on the Silver Point. After all, if Black gets a hit in the next few rolls and White dances (9 rolls fail to enter: 66, 65, 63, 55, 53, 33; 25% chance to stay out), Black can double White out.

Giving up the 8-point is unfortunate, but the strength of closing the inner board points (and making most of a 4-prime in the process) more than balances things out, not to mention that the leftover blot is still useful as a builder for the 4-point or bar point.

Having the 3-point closed as well as the 5-point cuts the number of shots White has at the blot from 6 (61, 52, 43; 16.7% chance to hit) to 4 (61, 43; 11.1% chance to hit), and furthermore White would be tempted to use one of those rolls elsewhere (i.e. make their 10-point with 43)—not to mention the risk to White should they hit loose in Black's outer board without safetying the other blot (leaving 16 shots for Black, or a 44.4% chance to hit).

Excepting match scenarios where Black wants to avoid risk as much as possible (e.g. DMP or with a big lead in score), this is the strongest choice.

Answer

8/5(2) 6/3(2) is the best move overall, though 24/21(2) 13/10(2) is also acceptable.

24/21(2) 13/10(2) is the best move if Black is well ahead in the match, though 24/21(2) 6/3(2) is also acceptable.

8/5(2) 6/3(2) is the best move if White is well ahead in the match.

24/21(2) 13/10(2), 24/21(2) 6/3(2), and 8/5(2) 6/3(2) are all strong at DMP.

Key points

Don't play passively during the opening.

Making your bar point is not always a good play.

Don't underestimate the power of outer board points.

If your opponent runs in the opening, build your board.

Holding an advanced anchor hinders your opponent's development.

Rollouts

Money game:

7-point match, score 0-0:

7-point match, score 5-0 (Black leading):

7-point match, score 0-5 (White leading):

7-point match, score 6-6 (DMP):