#humans are so fragile man it's kind of terrifying

[lord-squiggletits]

A frustrating thing about media perceptions of violence is that there are a ton of ways I want to write Cybertronians experiencing war and violence in terms of "what are the physical limits they can take" but it seems less extraordinary than it actually is because media already tends to portray even regular humans in combat with improbable or impossible abilities.

Like, how can I say something interesting about "oh Cybertronians have more stamina in battle because they don't bleed [in my headcanon] which means getting cut won't inevitably take them out of a fight in a few minutes" except when was the last time mainstream action media ever took bleeding into account. What about the fact that Cybertronians can break limbs or lose them completely and just get a replacement put on, but human characters losing limbs or getting prosthetics are rarely shown getting physical therapy or anything that would come with losing a limb. Even something as basic as "Cybertronians can be in direct combat for hours without tiring" falls flat when so many media portrays human combat as this crazy thing where people have the stamina to do flips and shit for minutes on end which isn't accurate at all.

[pepprs]

like it’s VERY very important to not text and drive. and i understand how dangerous it is to do that and to be distracted at all in any way for any amount of time on the road. i know it’s important to learn about these stories and bear witness to them. but i just think. like idk. watching multiple of them every day for 10 days (with a two day break halfway through for the weekend) is realy… like idk. i think after seeing a couple you can get the point. i don’t want to sound dismissive or lackadaisacal and im scared im sounding like that but i just am so freaked out by all of this and witb every new horror they’re showing us it’s scaring me worse.

[betweenstorms]

Simon Riley was always leaving.

It was the only constant in his life, deployment after deployment, mission after mission, the door closing behind him with the weight of silence, like clockwork. It was as ingrained in him as breathing.

He’d told you from the beginning that he wasn’t made for relationships. He wasn’t the type to just settle down, not with the kind of life he led.

Simon Riley—Ghost was a soldier first, always a soldier before anything else. He was bound to the duty that pulled him into the abyss time and again. Because he was a soldier before a lover, before a companion, before a man. And yet, there you were, lying beside him, not quite lovers, not quite strangers, but something in between.

It wasn’t a relationship, but it wasn’t a situationship either. It was a careful balance. It lingered in the spaces where definitions blurred.

It had started as something undefined, a hookup, a shared space in the aftermath of violence, when the weight of the world seemed to press down on his chest. But somewhere between his departures and returns, something soft had taken root.

The late-night calls after deployments, the sound of his rough voice like a whispered poem in the dark, tethered him to you when he was miles away. His touch, when he was home, lingered longer than it should have, fingers brushing your skin as if searching for something he couldn’t name, something neither of you dared say aloud. And in those fleeting moments of reunion, when his hazel eyes found yours, you could see it—longing, a tenderness that spoke of something more, something that never quite fit into the boundaries of what you were, but hovered just beyond, waiting.

Still, he never stayed.

From the moment you first let him into your life, into your bed, there had been an unspoken understanding between you.

Simon Riley wasn’t the kind of man you introduced to your mother over Sunday dinner. He wasn’t the kind you built a future with. He had told you as much—not relationship material, he’d said in that low, gravelly voice of his, the one that always seemed to carry the weight of unsaid things.

But that didn’t stop him from coming back.

Maybe it was the way you laughed when you were trying to hide your nerves, the way you teased him lightly without ever pushing too far. Maybe it was how, in the silence of your shared moments, you never demanded anything more than his presence. Whatever it was, it tugged at him, an unfamiliar gravity pulling him closer to you when he knew better than to get too close to anything.

There was something about you that made him want to stay.

A pull he couldn’t quite ignore, an instinct deep within him that whispered it was okay to rest beside you. You made him feel human. And that was dangerous. That terrified him more than any enemy he had ever faced.

It was a cold winter night, the kind where the world outside seemed frozen in place, as if time itself had stopped. The two of you were lying under a heavy blanket, the warmth of your bodies a sharp contrast to the chill that clung to the windows.

Simon had a cigarette between his fingers, the soft glow of the ember casting a faint light across his scarred face. You were curled up against him, your skin pressed to his, naked and warm, though the intimacy wasn’t just in the closeness of your bodies, it was in the silence between you, the quiet acceptance of this fragile connection. You watched him in the dimness, the lines of his jaw sharp against the shadows, his hazel eyes half-lidded as he exhaled the smoke slowly, deliberately.

You’d asked him before to stay—jokingly, of course.

It had always been a game, a playful tease, because you knew he would never agree. He had always brushed it off, his silence the answer you always expected. He was good at keeping himself distant. However, something in the cold of the night felt different. You felt a shift in the air, a gentle tension that lingered between you like the first breath before a confession.

So, you asked him again, your voice soft but joking. “Would it be too desperate to ask you to stay? Just this once? Please.”

You didn’t expect an answer.

Usually, Simon brushed it off, deflecting with a grunt, a noncommittal sound, something that left the question hanging unanswered in the air. He didn’t do relationships, he didn’t do staying. It wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t built for it. So you thought he’d just ignore you, like he always did, maybe pull you closer and kiss the question away.

But tonight, he didn’t do any of that.

He exhaled slowly, the smoke slipping from his lips like a secret too heavy to keep. His eyes, usually so guarded, so unreadable, turned to you, and there was something different in his dark gaze—something softer, something almost vulnerable. His hand, rough and calloused, reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face, the touch so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine. He looked at you for a long moment, as if weighing his next moves carefully.

Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, he answered you.

He was going to stay.

It wasn’t a grand gesture, not a sweeping declaration or an outpouring of affection. It was Simon Riley in his purest form.

A simple nod, small but extremely significant, heavy with meaning that stretched far beyond words. It was a promise unspoken, a shift in the very foundation of who he was. His hazel eyes locked onto yours, and in that quiet acknowledgment, you felt the pressure of it settle between you.

For the first time, you felt the weight of his presence in a way that wasn’t heavy with the threat of departure. He was here, and he was staying, not because he had to, not because you asked, but because he wanted to. And that, more than anything, filled you with a warmth that outshone the cold night outside.

betweenstorms (next) (masterlist)

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 10

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.7k

Note : Thank you so much for all the love you all are giving this series! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“Give me Something I Want”

Wednesday.

In the days that followed Yelena’s ultimatum, Bucky felt a strange, quiet storm churning beneath the life he’d finally allowed himself. 

For the first time in years, he felt a sense of warmth, of peace—something he’d only dreamed about, something that had always felt out of reach. 

He had you. And he could feel the calmness like he hadn't felt before every time you looked at him, every time your hand slipped into his, every time you said his name with a kind of gentle joy he’d thought he’d never deserve.

Even after that little bicker on Monday night, you had found your rhythm again, choosing to trust him instead.

He’d spent so many nights alone, haunted by the weight of his own memories, terrified of what he was capable of, of who he had been. 

But you… you made him feel like he was worth saving. 

But even as he kissed your hair and let himself sink into the couch cushions, he could feel Yelena’s judgement hanging over him like a ghost. The truth clawed at him, the bitter memories whispering reminders of the damage it could do if found out, if you knew the version of him that had once pushed you away, that had built walls so high he didn’t know how to tear them down, could you still look at him with that same kind stare? Would you pull away, realising that you’d only seen a sliver of the man he’d been, that the rest was buried in regrets and choices he wasn’t proud of?

His mind flashed back to that moment with Yelena, her voice leaving him exposed, vulnerable. Her words echoed in his head, haunting him. 

But she didn’t understand— she couldn’t possibly. Because you now looked at him with love and adoration. He wasn’t ready to lose that, to lose you.

Thursday.

The next morning, he found himself watching you as you slept, the barest light tracing your features. His heart twisted in a strange, painful mix of love and fear. 

He would carry the burden of his past alone, if it meant he could keep the life he’d found in you. 

He kissed your forehead, his lips as light as a feather, making a silent promise to himself: he would protect you from the pieces of himself that might hurt you, no matter what it cost him. And if Yelena tried to break that fragile peace, he’d deal with her when the time came. But for now, he’d stay right here, holding onto this one thing that finally felt real.

As he lay beside you, he repeated it in his mind like a vow: She will never know.

Friday.  

The mission briefing room pulsed with red lights and bright screens, though everyone else seemed blind to it. 

Maybe you just weren’t used to it yet.

Around you, the team was busy with logistics, preoccupied with tactical details, terrain-view maps, and contingency plans. 

You felt Bucky shift beside you. He was always a watchful presence beside you, like a human shield. Across the table sat Sam, Clint, and Yelena, their expressions locked in concentration. Bucky, however, had hardly looked up. His gaze remained trained on the table, his fist clenched in a way that made the way that made your heart flip.

Sam lifted his eyes to meet yours. “You’re ready for this,” he said, his tone firm. “Your specialisation on ancient artefacts makes you the only one who can get close enough without setting off every alarm in the place.” He gestured to the screen, where a high-definition image of a weapon gleamed with an eerie allure—a golden blade encrusted in cryptic symbols, the metal gleaming as if alive, exuding a faint glow that seemed neither earthly nor entirely comprehensible to the human mind.

“Our intel says it’s magical,” Sam continued— he had consulted with Strange, and he didn't even seem too sure. “Or at the very least, powerful enough to be a real threat if it falls into the wrong hands. We need you to get in there, identify it, and secure it before anyone else does. Clint and Yelena will be on backup. They’ll be ready to extract you the second something goes wrong.”

You nodded, feeling the familiar buzz of adrenaline flooding your veins— one you couldn't tie to a memory. This was the kind of mission you’d trained for, the kind that made you a candidate for the Avengers in the first place.

Then you felt it—a small but telling movement. Bucky’s hand had moved, his fingers curling tighter into a fist, the hum of machine coiling around his metal arm. A worry flashed in the back of his eyes that held the barely-contained force of a storm. His eyes were locked on the photograph of the weapon, his entire body straightening as if bracing against a blow.

He finally spoke. “No.”

The single word shattered the room. The others fell silent, every gaze snapping toward him, the low hum of conversation extinguished as if a candle had been snuffed out. His tone was final. 

You blinked, thrown off by the bluntness he exuded.

What?

The single word spiked confusion, breaking through your focus. Bucky was rarely vocal when he was around the entire team— but  he was never like this. His expression was hard now, carved with an intensity that seemed almost primal, as though he could see the danger you’d face from a mile away.

Sam’s brows drew together. “What?” he started, his voice calm but tinged with caution. He had the terrain intel for you, every dip of the landscape, But Bucky’s objection was a territory none of them had mapped.

As you looked up, Bucky’s eyes were fixed on you now, as if he were silently urging you to see what he did—to feel the risk that he alone seemed to sense.

His jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might crack a tooth. When he finally met Sam’s demanding stare, there was a flicker of vulnerability, an urgency that softened his hard edges. 

“She’s not ready,” he said, in a rumble so low that a chill ran down your spine. “We haven’t covered everything yet. There’s more we need to work through.”

Clint leaned forward. The look on his face was half a challenge, half a curiosity. “Bucky, you were the first to tell us she’s ahead of schedule. Hand-to-hand, stealth—you said it yourself, she’s exceeded every target.” His voice was level, but a hint of irritation crept up his throat.

Sure, Clint might not have as much of a … hands on approach as Bucky did, but he oversaw your training, too.

And he knew you were ready,

Bucky shook his head. It was his human hand that flexed into a fist this time, the knuckles turning white. 

“I want more time,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “The mission should be postponed. That’s all I’m asking.”

Bucky radiator of the fear he was struggling to mask. 

“I trust your judgement, Bucky,” Sam’s arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowing. "But she’s proven that she’s capable. She’s kicking my sorry ass week in week out and you know she’s ready.”

“I just want more time,” He repeated in a rasp, his eyes darkening. 

Time. 

That was all he wanted. 

All he ever wanted with you.

More time, to fix every weak spot, to be sure you were shielded against every possible threat. More time to prepare you for the dangers you couldn’t yet see. More time to hold you in his arms before anything— this mission or Yelena— took you away from him.

But time was slipping away. 

Sam looked over at you, assessing, maybe even waiting to see what you thought. You’d been eerily quiet, a mixture of awe and nerves keeping you planted to your chair. This was your first mission briefing after getting back into training, after all. You hadn’t learned the cadence of these discussions yet, hadn’t learned the proper flow of conversation.

“One week wouldn't hurt,” you murmured, your voice steady, though a knot twisted in your chest. 

Bucky’s breath hitched as the words one week left your lips, echoing in his mind like a warning. The phrase cut through him, pulling him back to Yelena’s voice, low and sharp as she’d said it to him just days before: One week, Barnes. You have one week to tell her everything or I will.

He glanced across the table, his eyes landing on Yelena. Her stare was unrelenting, almost predatory. The corners of her mouth quivered in a faint, insincere smile, and her eyes locked onto his with a dark promise, a reminder of the ultimatum she had made—an ultimatum that only had two days left on the clock.

Bucky felt a dread gnawing at him, knowing that both clocks were now ticking down faster than he could stop it.

Sam glanced between the two of you. This time. His eyes were kinder, more understanding.

“Fine,” he conceded. “But only for a week. After that…” He gave a smile that reassured your confidence. “It’s yours.”

Relief surged through Bucky, though he buried it beneath a mask of calm indifference.

As the meeting wrapped up, everyone began to leave the room. As you stood to leave, you caught a look from Yelena, her face shadowed by a faint trace of sadness. She lingered by the door, though she said nothing. 

You looked down, an unexpected pang of guilt tugging at your heartstrings. You assumed that Yelena was disappointed in you, in delaying the mission.

You hadn’t meant to slow anyone down. You had trained relentlessly, preparing for a moment like this, but Bucky’s resistance had meant something to you. 

You had grown to trust him more than anyone in your fragile existence. If he said no, he must’ve had a reason.

—

When you were finally alone with Bucky back at your apartment, a tension thrummed between you. You turned to him, crossing your arms, unable to hold back the frustration and confusion threatening to bubble over. 

“I was ready for that mission,” you said. “I am ready.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. You could see the struggle in his eyes, a potion of protectiveness and love. “It’s… not that simple,” he replied reluctantly. His cheek ones flexed, and for a moment, he looked at you with a vulnerability that made you weak.

“Not that simple?” you echoed, pressing an explanation out of him. “I agreed to a week because you were worried, not because I thought I wasn’t ready. You’re always so… protective, but I need you to trust me.”

He nodded, his human hand reaching out to touch your arm, comforting himself through the contact. His thumb traced gentle circles. “I do,” He hesitated, the admission heavy on his tongue. “I need you here. Just… a little longer.”

The honesty in his words softened your frustration. His hand tightened on you, his voice dropping to a raw, vulnerable whisper. “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

The words hit you hard, and for a moment, you stood there and shared his worries. You lifted a hand to his cheek, feeling the roughness of stubble under your fingers, his eyes flickering closed.

“Bucky,” you whispered, gently pulling him closer. Your arms slid around his neck, and you felt him relax almost instantly. A quiet sigh slipped from his lips as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“I’m here,” you murmured, your voice soft as your lips brushed over his cheek. “But sooner or later, you’ll have to let go.”

Bucky’s metal arm slid around your waist, his forehead pressing gently against yours. He held you like he was memorising every detail, the sound of every breath you took. 

Then his mouth found yours in a kiss that carried everything he couldn’t put into words. His hands moved up your back, tracing slow, warm circles that left a trail of heat along your spine. You felt his fingers graze your skin, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch sending shivers through you as he pulled you closer, pressing you against the marble counter.

Each kiss, each touch, was a confession, an apology, a plea. Still, you felt the distance he kept, a part of himself he still couldn’t share.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested on yours. His breaths were uneven, his gaze heavy-lidded with something that looked awfully a lot like grief. 

“I will,” he promised, his voice growing thin. “I just need more time.”

You nodded, brushing your thumb along his cheek, meeting his gaze with warmth, understanding. “One week,” you whispered back, a soft smile lifting your lips. You leaned in, kissing him again, your touch lingering, giving him the reassurance he so desperately needed

When you said it, your voice was soft, filled with warmth and reassurance. But in his mind, the words twisted, dragging him back to the way Yelena had said them—sharp and unforgiving.

One week.

Your tone was gentle, a promise. Hers had been relentless and ruthless, a threat. He couldn’t shake it, the way she had cut into him, a grim countdown echoing in his mind no matter how hard he tried to focus on you.

You sighed, breathing in his scent, wondering what he was thinking about.

Could you really blame him? Of course he cared. Of course he was worried. 

The last time you’d been sent on a mission, you came back with four years of your life wiped clean, whole chapters of memory erased like pages torn from a book. 

You didn't voice it, but you often found yourself wondering about those lost fragments of your life, the memories that had slipped through your fingers. What were they? Who have you been? 

Bucky had never given you straight answers. All he ever said was that before all this, he was your friend. But there was something in his eyes that suggested more. 

You wondered sometimes,  if the two of you had been more than friends before… Had you been lovers, too, the way you were now?

It was easy to imagine it, the way his body curved so naturally onto yours.

But he wouldn’t tell you, and his reluctance left you with an aching sense of being incomplete. 

Sometimes you wondered if losing all that time hurt him more than it hurt you.

Maybe the thought of reliving them, of watching you live without the memories you both carefully curated together, hurt him too much. 

And even if Bucky were to tell you everything—the names of places you’d been, the details of nights spent together, the whispers you might have shared—it would still be just that: information. Facts without feelings. 

No context behind what you did and why you did it. 

In that moment, his body leaned into yours as if he could delay time, press pause, keep the world at bay for just a little longer. 

But deep down, he knew this was temporary. 

He knew Yelena wouldn’t wait forever. Two days, maybe less, and everything he feared would come crashing in.

Even if he managed to talk her out of it, he had a week until you had to go on the mission.

—

Later that night, Bucky sat in the dim glow of his phone, eyes fixed on the unsent message he’d typed to Yelena.  

Can we talk?

He was planning to convince her, to beg her if he had to, anything to stop her from telling you the truth. At the very least, he wanted her to hold off for a little longer.

He had an excuse now—the mission. The argument was already forming in his head. “She’s going on a mission in a week,” he’d tell her. “Do you really want her distracted with all of this?” 

It was a flimsy shield to hide behind, but maybe it would buy him time. Maybe he could just keep buying time.

Because for you, he’d pay anything.

With a weary sigh, he deleted the message. 

Tomorrow, he thought, I’ll talk to Yelena in person, face to face. Maybe if she saw how much this meant to him, she’d hold her silence a little longer. Maybe she’d understand.

But as Bucky’s screen went dark, your phone buzzed in the other room.

You glanced down at your phone, surprised to see a message from Happy:

Hey! Had my assistant compile all the security footage of you from the last three years at the compound. You’re welcome to come by and watch it whenever you’re ready.

-to be continued…

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[multific]

All He Wanted

Assassin Predator x Reader

Warning: Smut

Part 2

Summary: Being at the wrong place at the wrong time was your speciality, however, you never imagined that a creature like him would take you.

He was a bad blood.

He killed his own kind.

Yet, he never even imagined hurting you.

His small, vulnerable human.

You were his prize. He won you after his completed mission. He not only killed the fugitive, got the weapon but also a little human.

You didn't even mean to be there.

But the huge alien got you and into a cage in a matter of seconds. You were on its ship as it started the engine and off he went.

You were terrified. This being was huge and ruthless. You could only imagine the things it would do to you.

When you arrived back at its home, it made you wear a collar. Which it showed you, it could shock you with. It was similar to the one the dog creature was wearing. You nodded, you understood what it might do if you don't follow its rules.

Why would it think you would run anyway?

You didn't know how to fly their ships. You didn't know what to do or where to go anyway.

With the collar around your neck, you stayed in its home.

The dog creature had an eye on you at all times. Even when its owner was out of the home.

---

He was made to kill.

A creature born to destroy and conquer. His purpose was to carry out the missions he was sent on.

Missions no one else wanted to go on. Which meant a lot given Yautja was a fearless kind.

And yet, he had a conscious of his own. A character.

He liked his dogs, well now he only had one, he liked to hunt and he liked to eat. He liked his bed even if it was a little small for his size. And he liked you.

His little human.

He was always very curious about you. Watching you as you moved around his home. He knew if you would try anything, his dog would stop you. Not like you were strong enough to do anything to him, but the idea still made him watch out.

It made him look up humans and behaviours, he learned a lot.

And if he had to be honest, many aspects excited him to no end.

One was that he learned humans were fragile. Which he saw when he was sent to Earth. But females were said to be able to handle pain a lot better than males. This caught his attention, so perhaps, because you were a female, you handled this situation a lot better than any man could.

It made sense why you didn't do anything to him when he was sleeping or why you didn't try and escape.

Another interesting thing he learned was that when he looked at your biology and his, he could easily deduce that you could potentially carry an offspring of his. Although it was never done before, and he thought you might die due to the infant, it was something that still interested him.

Possibly an issue would be the act itself, you were so small compared to him. Another would be the child itself, it could be that your body would attack his DNA.

It was so interesting, but he didn't want to test these things without knowing it was safe for you.

Then, something that people called, making love.

In his world sex was more like a fight. Yautja males fought females to prove they were strong.

In yours, sex was more like a pleasurable thing. Something to do when you were bored even.

And he liked that. He preferred this idea over the claws.

He also learned that human females were hard to charm. He learned about gifts, and courting techniques.

If he was honest he rather fight a female to bare a child than get those chocolate things... but if that is what you liked. He can create his own version.

And he also knew that because of how he was born no Yautja female would want to carry his child. He tried courting before, but always failed.

---

You had a love-hate relationship with your new life.

You liked that you weren't dead, and you got used to the huge alien's presence but you hated the fact that you were a pet.

Much like the dog you spend every night looking at, fearing it might eat you.

You were sure that if you let your guard down for a second it would attack.

You weren't sure how long you were on this planet.

You would say months, but time was different here.

The huge alien sometimes left for days, only leaving food behind.

During this time, you always ate silently in a corner. Then the dog-like creature decided one day, that he would sit down in front of you and watch you.

It didn't leave, but you slowly gave him the bones, which he appreciated.

You two started to grow closer.

---

Assassin arrived back at his home from yet another successful mission.

And the scene he found was burned into his brain.

It was you and his dog.

Sleeping.

You had your back against the wall as the dog's head was in your lap, one of your hands on its head as you both slept soundly.

This vicious killer tracker dog of his looked like your lap dog right now.

He didn't know if he should be amazed or not.

After all, the dog was to keep you in check when he wasn't around and yet, here it was, cuddling you. And in a weird way, this still counted as keeping you in check.

How did you manage to do that?

After that day, the dog became your protector. He watched as it moved with you.

Also, it didn't take long to figure out how you did it.

Food.

These creatures were easy, of course, you lulled one in with food.

But somehow, he didn't mind it.

Lately, there had been an uproar amongst the tribe against him.

Telling him how he wasn't natural, that he was made and so he doesn't deserve the Yautja title.

Others didn't like the fact that he killed another, calling him a bad blood. Even if he was only carrying out the mission he was told to.

So, he expected others to try and get into his home. Possibly to kill him or to kill the things he kept. He wasn't sure, but if the dog stayed with you, that meant at least you had some little protection if others were to come.

---

One morning, he gathered all of his things and left for another planet.

He choose a rather scary one but it was to keep the others away.

And they stayed away.

He had been there for a week, yet no one came looking for him. And he built a house, mainly staying on the ship to sleep, soon you were able to move into the new home.

This planet was different but not in a bad way.

He showed you many things to avoid, without words proving just how dangerous this planet was.

This planet had different seasons as well.

You realized it soon when after a warm day, winter hit. Or at least it was something you would call winter.

The wind was blowing and you noticed something that was like rain.

It made the home extremely cold. The fact that besides his bed everything was made out of metal didn't help your situation.

Your sleeping place, a single fur on the floor, was now wrapped around your shoulder. You were really really cold.

Freezing.

But both he and his dog were sleeping soundly while you were shivering.

You looked at him, sleeping in his warm bed and you were jealous. Extremely jealous of the furs and also for his thick skin.

He must have noticed you watching because the next thing you knew, he clicked, making you jump a little.

"I-I'm cold." you explained as you watched his eyes in the dark. He didn't move.

You started to turn away, deciding to find a corner and try to sleep. But a huge hand stopped you.

It pulled on the fur you had wrapped around yourself and made you turn back.

You locked eyes with him once more as he was now very close. He started to pull you closer until you were kneeling on the bed, the fur fell from your shoulders as he pulled you in.

He laid down and made you lay next to him.

Very awkwardly, you laid with your back against his side as his arm was under your head.

This truly made you realize just how huge this being was.

He could rip your spine out with one movement, and yet he didn't.

He just let you lay there as he placed multiple furs on you.

His body heat and the warmth of the furs soon lulled you to sleep.

Before you fell asleep you couldn't help but think just how strange he behaved.

A being as huge as him, yet he was careful and soft with you. Then he moved a little, making your head move up his arm onto his biceps, as his forearm was now resting on you, his hand grabbing at your thigh. He caged you in.

But if you were honest, never in your life have you ever sleep as well as you did on that night.

Next morning, you woke up in the same position.

You were even more scared to move. You though possibly he was in a haze last night so he pulled you in, but reality might set in now that he will wake up soon.

You didn't realize that he was awake for some time now.

He listened to your soft snores as you didn't even move an inch, you slept so well and so deep. He didn't even dare to move an inch, afraid he would wake you.

He just knew, from that day on, you would have to sleep with him always.

But he didn't communicate that, so that evening when you got ready to sleep on your usual spot, he scooped you up, as if you were a baby and put you into his bed.

This time, he slept on his stomach with an arm on your stomach. You felt like a stuffed toy.

You noticed he didn't mind you touching him. So, your fingers found his scales as you started to run random patterns on them. You enjoyed his slightly cold skin against yours.

It became a routine, you tracing his scales as he was falling asleep. He often made a noise, something that reminded you of a cat purring as he fell asleep.

How interesting was he.

A completely different species, and yet, you had a feeling he could be more human than some of the humans on Earth.

Sure, you were only a pet for him, sure he killed everything in his path as he pleased. Yet, he never hurt you.

Not even when he forced you into a cage so he could take you from Earth.

You fully expected him to hunt you or torture you, but he never. He treated you as if you were his most precious trophy he had.  

The next morning, you woke up and he was missing. Something that never happened so it made you worry a little.

You got out of the bed and walked over to the door. He stood outside, this is when you noticed a ship was about to land. He growled and it made you lock yourself inside the house you got the dog and crouched in a corner.

He will deal with this. He will deal with them.

He will keep you safe.

You heard growling outside, you heard the audible sounds of fighting.

He will have to win. He was big and strong right?

He can take a couple of them at the same time, can't he?

He could, but not without injury.

He sent back word, and asked them to leave him be if they plan on living.

He hoped it would scare the others enough to not come again? He couldn't risk it.

Once inside, he noticed you were in a corner, the dog in front of you protecting you. Exactly how he was supposed to.

And once again, he was on the run.

You were a bit sad to leave that house behind. You started to get used to the layout and the surroundings pretty well.

But you understood the situation.

During the flight, he moved you to the screen.

'We go, they followed. I will make sure this time they won't find us.' it read. You nodded at him, he handed you a device. 'Translator' he said.

"Thank you. For keeping me safe."

This time he nodded.

"Eat." said the robotic voice later when he handed you a bowl. You accepted and ate without any further questions.

Finding a new planet, which was mostly not filled with dangerous creatures was difficult, he knew he would be fine, but he couldn't chance you getting hurt.

But he managed to finally find one. After weeks of looking.

A new planet a new start.

---

He spent months on this home.

He made it bigger.

Which you noticed. He added more rooms.

"Why did you add so many rooms?" you asked one late evening.

"Offsprings." the translator said, it made you freeze. Of course, he would want to take a female. You should have expected this, after all, you were only a pet for him.

He noticed the sadness in your eyes.

"Why sad?"

"I'm not. Should I cook?" he nodded.

Of course, you would be sad. You were his pet, sure but at the same time, you wanted nothing more than to be his. So, to hear him talking about offspring you were sure he wanted to take a female now.

You cooked the meal and ate in silence.

"Are you not ready for offspring?" now this made you super confused.

"Me?"

"Yes. Do you not want offspring?" you blinked a couple times before moving a little.

"What do you mean?"

"I can prove I'm worthy male for offsprings with you. I hunt, I protect."

"What do you mean?"

"I want... baby with you. Do you not?" you looked at him as if he grew a second head or something. Confusion was a light word.

He wanted a baby with you? Would it even work?

"I don't think we can."

"I checked. Our biology can be combined. You can survive birth. I checked."

"Has it been done before?"

"No."

"Then how do you know that either me or the baby won't die?"

"I checked. I played scenarios, in each, even the worst, I could save you."

"Both me and the baby?"

He nodded.

Was it truly possible?

"I gave gifts, courting gifts. Hoped to win you over." Sure he did give you a lot of bones but you thought those were... toys for his pet?

Did he not see you as a pet? Did he really see you as an equal? As a female who can bring his children into this world?

Was that even possible?

Or were you just too hopeful?

Too naive?

Was he serious?

He was, you didn't know but Yautja didn't joke.

You nodded at him.

"You won me over. But but WAIT! WHAT?! How big are you?! You wouldn't fit me!"

"I checked."

"How did you check?"

"Human biology."

"How would your... thing fit me?"

"My...thing... not fully. But it could bring you pleasure if you practice." your head was spinning. Was he really saying this. "We need to stretch you so I won't hurt you, then you can take me and we can have baby."

"Fuck it, let's do it."

After all, what did you have to lose?

---

Of course, he had done his research. Every movement was calculated, and the main goal was not to hurt you.

You didn't dare to ask how he found the... stretchers.

You were no virgin but even so, as the size got bigger and bigger, you were nervous.

After a couple of tries however, you were surprised just how easily a size could fit you.

And soon, he was able to be inside you. Opening you up as you moaned in pleasure. He never made a wrong movement.

He was so gentle.

It made you feel as if you were made out of porcelain, he was so caring and kind.

He did bite your neck and back. Saying they were marks.

Not like you had others to show your mark to. But he liked to cover you in them.

Unfortunately, your baby had other ideas. While you couldn't wait to carry a little one, no baby.

You wanted to give up trying and just accept that it won't happen but your Mate had other ideas.

He blamed himself while you blamed yourself.

He thought the issue was the fact that he was created not born. But then why did all his scenarios all end with a baby?

He slammed the table, making you jump at the loud noise. He looked over at you from his screen.

You knew why he was agitated.

You knew how much he wanted a baby.

"On my planet... if a couple can't have a baby, they say it wasn't meant to be. It will happen on its own. We just have to keep trying and hope for the best." you said into the translator as he listened to your words.

"It is meant to be. I checked every scenario."

"Yes, but you didn't check the scenario in which the baby isn't ready."

"Infants don't have conscious. Can't make decisions like that."

"I'm aware, but as I said, we just have to keep trying, it will happen once. Would you be disappointed in me if I couldn't give you a child?"

"Mate can provide. Checked. You are able to provide. You cannot disappoint me."

You reached over and placed your hand on his.

"We keep trying. It will happen I know it." he nodded once.

---

Keep trying you did.

Then another wave of winter hit, and this planet was worse a lot worse than the one before. You were so incredibly cold, it ended up with you getting sick.

You couldn't hold anything in your stomach.

Your Mate had to check you with his devices and this is when he saw it.

A fetus.

Undeniably.

You looked at the screen when he froze and saw the baby yourself.

You finally did it!

You finally got pregnant!

But... why wasn't he happy?

You looked at him as his golden eyes looked back at you. He leaned over turning the screen to you. You nodded before he grabbed the translator.

"This is why you are sick."

"Yes, pregnancy tends to do that, but why are you... not happy?"

"Baby made you very sick. I don't think you can keep baby."

"What? WHY?" he didn't need a translator for that one.

"Baby makes you too weak. Both of you in danger."

"I'm NOT letting you kill my baby! I want this child, you wanted this child! You said you checked every scenario, every solution! How come you didn't know then?"

"Because in my scenarios, you were healthy, not ill."

"I just have a cold. It will go away in a couple days. Please don't... give me time, give me medicine."

"You could die."

"We tried so hard for this baby. I cannot lose them just because I'm ill."

"If it becomes too dangerous..."

"Give me a week." he nodded.

A week to get better, you cannot lose this little one. Your eyes were glued to the monitor in front of you. Admiring this little alien baby that you had inside you.

You must have gone insane.

No, you went insane when you realized that you actually had deep feelings towards an 11foot tall alien.

In a week's time, you did start to feel better.

But the Predator was surely disappointed in himself.

He was ready to get the fetus out of you the second he realized that it was making you more and more sick. Without thinking he would have done that.

He could have many children in the future, but there is only one You.

He checked you daily. He noticed you were getting better. And he also noticed that you smiled a lot more. You looked at the screen which he paused on the fetus.

No distinguishable features so far. But the little bean on screen already had you wrapped around their entire being.

Both literally and figuratively.

Your Mate kept a close eye on you. Even the dog became more protective as the baby grew.

Your small form changed a lot, he noticed. And he liked it very much. It was his greatest pride.

He always watched you on the bed, sleeping with your belly round, he felt like the proudest Yautja. He would stay up and just watch you, never once touching you, just observing as you slept. Ever so often you moved a little.

It was still winter, the harsh weather making you curl under the furs. He watched as one fell off of you, causing you to get cold as you soon woke up to get your warmth back.

You spotted him sitting in the dark. Although it wasn't unusual, you were very cold. You held your hand out to him as he stood up and walked over. laying down next to you on his side while you glued yourself to his side. You placed his arm on your belly.

He was huge, scary, murdered man and his own kind. And yet, this is what he wanted, a female and a child.

Part 2

More Yautja

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948​ @lxdyred​  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

             DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

[piratefishmama]

Just ONE chance | Part 1

Eddie Munson was only certain about one thing in his life, and that was that it was supposed to end in his twenties.

But it didn’t.

Thanks to a very dedicated swimsuit model with first aid training, a kick up the backside from Wayne, and a solid year long stint in rehab, Eddie Munson did not die at 23 years of age, when he fell, system full of drugs, into a pool head first from the pool house roof and didn’t QUITE stick the landing.

His head hit the edge of the pool, dyed the water a sickly red.

He still had the scar, he knew he was infinitely lucky that that was ALL he had, but that scar remained forever, buried beneath the mass of curls atop his head where they’d had to operate to reduce the swelling. A terrifying reminder that life was fleeting, and fragile, and god he could have died.

He could have wound up paralyzed, he could have wound up permanently disabled needing round the clock care, could have wound up as ANYTHING but perfectly healthy. Doctors said he must have had some kind of exhausted guardian angel looking out for him because a miracle was really all they had to describe it as.

Eddie gave a toast of apple juice to the terribly drab ceiling of his private hospital room, thanked his mother who’d long since passed for her life saving help because honestly who else would it have been, and then, after that kick up the backside from Wayne, not that it was needed but it was appreciated, he proceeded to fix his life.

Of course, the rockstar life wasn’t easily fixed, but he was a man on a mission. A man with a life he realised that he actually wanted to live.

Corroded Coffin hit fame early, they struck what initially appeared to be gold at some back ally dive bar in Indy, a guy, a fancy embossed business card, a label, words of promise like roses hiding thorns. It was all flashing lights and good times at first. They were thrust upon massive stages to crowds mostly paid to be there to make it look ‘packed,’ label never told them that, they’d told them they’d put their material out on the air and people had responded well, half-truths really. They had gotten the music out there, but the people hadn’t really come until those packed venues hit the magazines.

Everyone wanted to be part of the next big thing. The up and coming next big name in the music industry, already selling out shows!

They were stars, they were famous, they were puppets on strings being pulled this way and that, given alcohol and drugs and thrust into the limelight to dance a jig that’d keep them relevant, not for their music but for their mess.

How very entertaining a human can be when they’re not fully coherent, when they exist purely to make a mess of themselves.

He’d lost himself, his bandmates lost themselves, and only through him not dying did they finally realise that somewhere along the way things had gone so terribly wrong, only then did they finally realise that those perfumed words said in a dank bar back in Indy those years ago, were just well masked poison all along.

They spent two years of their lives after Eddie emerged from Rehab, two years and frankly way too much of the money they’d risked their very lives to earn, to free themselves from the web of legal bullshit their label had ensnared them in.

But they were free. Sure, some of their old material was lost, claimed by their old label, but a quick rerecord, few changes here and there and a solid re-release under their own, self-made label, Corroded Records, well. They weren’t too worried about the future after that. Sure, their old label attempted to slander them online, tried to spread awareness of how they’d paid their earlier audiences to attend shows, but the real fans didn’t care.

The real fans hit back just as hard.

Used that fancy lil internet gizmo everyone now seemed to have to spread awareness on the frankly abhorrent practices their old label had engaged in, practices they hadn’t only used on Corroded Coffin, but several other smaller, younger, vulnerable members of the entertainment industry.

It was a long hard slog to the top full of pains, addictions, rehabilitations, and recoveries. But finally, they had their footing. They were making new music. They were comfortable. They were happy.

It was a brand new, quickly evolving world, and thanks to those new world advancements, thanks to home computers, laptops, smart phones, tablets… the internet, they very quickly found they had a way to get their creations out to everyone from the comforts of a  home studios while they figured themselves out post nightmare. Dove into their roots, rediscovered themselves, thrived.

But survival didn’t come without its downsides.

Eddie Munson… hadn’t died at 23 years of age, but that didn’t mean he’d gotten to live straight away afterwards. Even as a clean and sober man, there were things he hadn’t done, things that’d just… taken a back seat on the list of priorities while the years had ticked on by during their long haul trek to creative freedom.

Life had taken a backseat. For him at least.

Gareth had found himself a girlfriend, and now fiancée in a girl they’d known of back in high school, but had only recently reconnected after they found out she was a back up dancer in one of their new music videos. Once Head Cheerleader, now professional dancer Chrissy Cunningham, the reunion had been adorable, and aired on TV in ‘behind the scenes’ footage.

Jeff had had an ongoing thing with the backup drummer they’d taken up at a gig when Gareth had broken his arm a few years back. Never having been able to talk about it publicly thanks to their old label.

And Dougie was engaged, fell ass over tit for their lawyers assistant, thankfully it was mutual. Their relationship was a whirlwind but soulmates were supposed to be like that.

Eddie was thrilled for them all, really he was but no matter how much he’d realised he’d wanted to LIVE after nearly dying… he still hadn’t really lived at all. He was still just… Eddie Munson, now thirty something rockstar. Single, sober, and honestly kind of sad.

So sue him if he watched a few slice of life things on the internet every now and then.

The bands accounts were thriving nicely with him at the helm, he got the hang of itquickly enough, adapted well as the technologies advanced, so much so that people accurately guessed very early on that it was him running the channel himself, rather than a social media professional. It was a nice distraction! Kept him busy, allowed him to watch silly little videos and find the occasional fan being adorable in their mentions, he loved his band accounts.

But his private account was his favourite.

Because of her.

He’d found her videos on the camera app within a few hours of signing up the bands account, and very quickly made a private one just to follow hers.

Was it weird? Was it a little stalkerish? From the experience could he possibly understand where some of his own fans were coming from when they stalked the bands socials? All of the above, yes.

But he’d found a goddess on his very first real adventure into the internet. He figured he ought to be cut some slack!

Stevie was her name, or Stephanie, but she never went by Stephanie. He found out very quickly that she was a mother through her morning makeup videos where she ranted about PTA mothers, from what he heard, Sally was evil and her potato salad was garbage.

He would have been more than happy to just watch. He followed the account on his private one very early on, and he’d have been content to just simply watch, swoon in silence, appreciate every little mole he could see on her without ever doing anything about it. He’d had crushes as a kid, he wasn’t a stranger to unrequited attraction, or even completely one sided attraction cause the other person didn’t know you exist, so it didn’t matter to him that she would never really know he existed.

He didn’t even comment on her videos. Liked them sometimes, but he’d never commented. Even on the one where she let slip that she’d been single for a while. He remained respectful.

That was… until the lunch videos.

Specifically, the little teddy bear thing she did with the rice.

He didn’t know what it was about that specific video, he’d watched a few of her cute lunch videos before, the sushi was adorable although not to Eddie’s taste, the ramen pots? Genius, Eddie had even tried to do that himself a few times, although the ‘soup’ never tasted half as good as hers looked like it would be, the little fruit animals? He actually, for a moment, genuinely wanted to eat fruit!

But he still kept his words to himself.

But that little teddy bear… nestled in a cushion of healthy greens with a small pot of home-made sauce on the side, it hit Eddie in a way he couldn’t really explain, he wanted that. Wanted someone who loved so hard that they went out of their way to make cute lunches for the person they loved the most. He wanted… the domesticity of it all. She didn’t just have what he wanted. A life. A lived life. She was what he wanted.

Everything about her, that he knew at least, that she was smart, creative, full of love, beautiful, but also pretty damn feisty if her inspired rants about Sally and her potato salad were anything to go by. He wanted her.

He typed a comment, hit send, closed the app, and turned off his phone. Certain that that would be it, she’d ignore his personal account, as she ignored everyone else, he’d get the urge out of his system, he’d feel sad for a little while after the inevitable ignoring, and all would be well.

If only he’d have just looked at the account he was on, before he pressed send.

Maybe it’d have protected his poor front door from the abuse it suffered a few hours later when Dougie finally realised he was at home, because really out of all four of them, Dougie really was the only one with the solid arm strength to really beat the shit out of his front door.

“EDDIE, OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!” Or the vocals to reach him all the way up in his bedroom where he’d very maturely burritoed himself after turning his phone off.

It’d been up for hours. Had he not turned his phone off, he’d have known immediately, because it wouldn’t have shut up, there were over fifty thousand likes on his comment already, over six thousand replies to it.

And the first video on his for you page was someone REACTING to it.

There were screenshots circulating. Stevie hadn’t replied to it, everyone ELSE had, but she hadn’t, deleting it wouldn’t do anything, but he did it anyway. The damage was done, the spotlight was lit and aimed. It was only when the others managed to get to his place and get him seated on his comfy couch, that he finally asked the most important question. “What should I do?”

“Well… we could blame an imaginary social media guy” Gareth offered, already expecting the following, “tell everyone it was just an oopsie?”

“Nah, everyone knows Eddie mans the account” from Jeff. “Maybe we just… silent treatment it, let it blow over?”

“That’s not exactly fair on Stevie though, is it?” Chrissy piped up from where she’d perched herself on the arm of the chair Gareth was sat on. “She’s been thrown into the spotlight here and some of your fans can be kinda… intense.”

“She’s an influencer though, being in the spotlight is like her job.”

“Uh, no, Dougie. She’s not.” Chrissy argued “nothing she does is sponsored, she’s just… popular, and Eddie’s just given her a lot of unwanted attention. Eddie… you really should address it. Either say you were joking if you were, or… I dunno, own it. Be serious about it.”

“Were you joking?” Jeff stepped a little closer, into Eddie’s space, crouching down a little to his level. “Was this just little Eddie talking? Or—or were you serious? Like, she’s hot, don’t get me wrong—”

Gareth snorted, cutting him off “you think she’s hot?”

“I’m gay, Gare, I’m not blind. Eddie?”

“…An if I were serious? Would that be okay? I could hear a but before Garebear interrupted.”

“But, she does have a kid, right? She comes with a real little human being, kids are fragile, impressionable, opinionated, and rockstar lives aren’t kid friendly most of the time… I know we’ve cooled it down, and I know you’re great with kids, Ed but… are you prepared to like… have one? Like a whole ‘this is one I made earlier’ little kid with its own pre-built personality that you’ve made zero contributions to?”

“I made zero contributions to you shits too and yet you turned out alright” Eddie sniped right back, a little more defensive than he really had any right to be. “If it weren’t for me hunting this lil chubby cheeked fuck down after his first hellfire he wouldn’t even be here!” Eddie motioned to Gareth, who squawked in objection

“Hey! I’m neutral here leave me out of it!”

“Do you not think I could take care of one?” Eddie ignored Gareth completely, eyes on Jeff, who shook his head without any offense taken from the outburst.

“I think you’d be great at it, I’m pretty sure you’d be like, the first choice for godfather if any of us had kids, but I’m asking you… are you prepared to take one on right now, even if they might not like you very much at first, if she’s interested? Because that kid will come with her, there’s no ignoring that.”

He didn’t even have to think about it. Even though the godfather thing was something he’d undoubtedly circle back to later, his answer was an instant “Yes.”

“Then own it. You have our support to use the account to make a public statement, however you choose. See where it gets you.”

His public statement was a picture, a black square with big white writing on it. Just a big ol ‘WHOOPS’, captioned “I regret nothing. Just ONE chance, sweetheart, just one.” And then he opened their DM’s in the hopes that maybe.

Just maybe.

She’d message.

Part 3

[happy74827]

All I Wanted Was You

[Thor Odinson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Thor had always been there to protect you, save you, and love you… Until he couldn't.

WC: 3540

Category: Heavy Angst, Some hurt/comfort, mentions of Loki, Hela, and Heimdall {TW warning: Thanos and “evil squidward” — I know his name but I think Tony’s nickname is too iconic}

So I recently rewatched Infinity War, and of course watching Thor cry over losing literally everyone else he cares for in the first 15 minutes of the movie sparked my writer heart {finally} and after listening to Paramore we have this hot mess of angst (also why are all my Thor fics so angsty when he’s the definition of fluff?? I live for the drama I guess)

And just for the record, we don’t talk about the fact that I have thousands of requests and this isn’t even one of them 💀😭

『••✎••』

They say fear lies in the unknown. In the absence of facts and knowledge, the mind creates a world of illusions. If you believe your own fears, they become reality.

So what happens when the thing you fear the most is taken from you? When everything else falls to nothing? When the world is turned upside down?

You're left with a feeling that can only be described as the deepest pain imaginable.

You're left with nothing but your fear.

Your heart was racing so fast, and your breaths were short. You could feel every single muscle in your body tense up as the unnamed alien man dragged you further and further into the unknown.

The trip back to Earth, back to your sanctuary of a home, was nothing but a blur. After everything that had gone down within Asgard, including Asgard's destruction, all you could think about was your lover. Your other half.

Thor.

He was in pain, and not just physically. You had been separated due to his secretive, power-hungry sister, to where he’d left you alone with his kind-hearted people to find his father, only to disappear and leave you alone with the slaughtering of the Asgardians.

The people you’ve met that very day ended up slaughtered by Hela. Some took you by the hand, guiding and shielding you for protection against the God of Death and her henchmen. Others, you could tell, were more than just scared; they were terrified. The ones that were too slow or the ones that decided to fight back were killed within an instant.

You were no warrior. You were a simple, plain human who somehow caught the eye of the mighty Thor Odinson, and for some reason, he was in love with you.

So, while everyone else fought against Hela and her henchmen, you ran. Thor had left you there in assurance of your safety, thinking the search for his father with Loki, of all people, would be too risky for you, but in reality, you would have rather been with him. At least then, if you were to die, you could have been in the arms of the one you love.

Miraculously, you had survived the fall of Asgard and the escape from Surtur. You had no clue how. Maybe you were just lucky, or perhaps it was the grace of the Allfather. Even Heimdall, the man who saw everything, didn’t see you making it out alive.

But, when Thor had found you in the throne room cornered by some henchmen, it became a fact that Heimdall couldn’t see everything; after all.

The moment your eyes had met, the moment you heard the sound of metal against flesh, the moment his strong, powerful, protective arms wrapped around your fragile, vulnerable, weak form, and the moment his lips kissed the top of your head, you were safe.

Safe.

The only time you felt genuinely safe was when you were with Thor. His mere presence made you feel at ease. Like nothing could ever touch you or hurt you because he wouldn't let it.

He would protect you no matter the cost. He’d die for you, give his life for you, and go to the depths of Hell and back for you. He loved you, and that was something you could never understand.

Why would such a mighty god, a king, and a warrior want to love a simple human like yourself? A clumsy one at that.

You weren’t special in any way. You were ordinary.

But Thor, he was extraordinary.

The God of Thunder, a king and a warrior, a prince and a protector.

He was everything you were not.

It wasn't just the physical things that made him great, too, but the things that were inside.

Thor was a good man. A caring man. One who always thought about others and not himself.

Thor had his moments, yes, but no one is perfect. Not even a god. But the thing that made you love him, that made you want him, and the thing that made you feel safe was his heart.

That was the only part of him you could understand. The way he cared. The way he loved. The way he could make anyone smile. The way he could bring light to anyone's dark.

That's what makes a man a man. And that's why you loved him.

Even now, with one eye, a missing hammer, and a lost kingdom, he was still your everything.

And now you were reunited after being separated again. The only problem was the circumstances.

You and Thor had been in an intimate moment. The relief of having you back in his arms, the adrenaline pumping through your veins from surviving such a tragedy, had you both desperate.

He had pinned you against the wall, his hands brushing your hair away from your face to get a better look at you before he pressed his lips to yours in a soft kiss. He was always so gentle with you. The teasing and playful nips at your bottom lip were proof of that.

But the sudden sight of a ship out the large window you’d stared out of moments before the kiss broke your concentration.

Thor had pulled apart almost immediately, the feeling of his beard no longer tickling your face, but the heat of his breath and the sweet taste of his lips was still there.

It didn't take long before Thor was following your eyes, seeing for himself what had pulled you from him.

A sense of dread washed over you when you noticed how he tensed and his grip on your waist tightened. This wasn’t another Asgardian ship; no, this was something far more dangerous. You could tell by the look in Thor's eye, his non-missing eye.

Then, within seconds, he grabbed hold of your arm and yanked you out of the room. Your heart was pounding as you started yelling questions at him, trying to understand what was going on.

But, when he hit the button that sealed the room you were once in and shielded you within his arms, the panic started to set in.

That's when everything began to blur.

You remembered the sound of explosions. The tearing of metal. The screams. The smell of burning.

It all came crashing down.

Loki had come around the corner, and seeing his expression, it didn’t take much to realize what was going on.

If Loki, the God of Mischief and Lies, was terrified, then that meant something big was going down.

Thor was yelling orders, shouting commands. You could barely make out what he was saying, but you knew he was telling you to stay behind him.

Stay behind him.

Always stay behind him.

Then it changed to get the hell off the ship.

Then, to run.

Run.

Run.

Run.

The last thing you remember was looking back as you sprinted down the halls, seeing your love, your other half, the king, the prince, the protector, your Thor, fighting some creature with his bare hands.

His face was so determined. He wasn’t going down without a fight. You ran to where he had told you to go, the escape pods where Val was helping others into. You got there and saw her eyes. They were wide and full of worry.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

The sound of an explosion brought you back to the present.

Val grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you toward a pod. You could feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins and, your heart was racing so fast, and your breaths were short.

All you could think about was Thor. Where was he? Was he alright?

No.

He was not.

As soon as you entered the pod and Val had closed you in it, it was suddenly torn apart. The supposed sliding door had been ripped from its hinges.

The metal that you rested your back upon started to give, and the feeling of moving forward caused your heart to leap.

You were launched out and onto the floor.

It took a second to gain your bearings. You looked up and saw Val. She was fighting, and you were thankful to see her, but it was a short-lived relief.

The… thing she was fighting, the blue alien, grabbed hold of her and flung her across the ship. She landed somewhere near a pod and didn't move. You remembered screaming for her, but she didn't budge.

That's when the creature turned his attention to you.

You tried to move, but the metal that was supposed to hold the pod in place had you pinned.

You tried to pry the metal from your skin, but your weak and vulnerable body couldn’t break the bond.

The alien slowly moved towards you and, in a swift movement, had ripped the metal away.

He was so close, and you had no idea what was going on, who he was, or what his intentions were.

When you felt his large, rough, and cold hand wrap around the back of your neck, panic started to set in. You wanted to kick and scream, but all you could do was stare at the beast before you.

And thus, you were dragged away from the evacuation site and thrown into a separate area. You came to the conclusion that whoever this was, it seemed to be a metal bender or something similar due to his abilities.

All you saw was a demented blue face with squid-like features, staring down at you as he threw you around like a rag doll.

The fifth time he threw you, you landed roughly on the floor, causing your shoulder to make a loud crack noise and the pain to shoot through your body. Your hands landed on something soft, softer than the floor, and when you looked down, you realized the blue thing had thrown you into a room full of corpses.

But it wasn’t just any corpses. The one you had specifically landed upon had been the body of the man you had recently become close friends with, Thor’s friend, Heimdall.

Tears immediately pooled in your eyes, and your breathing became ragged. You tried to sit up and pull your body off of Heimdall in respect, but the pain shooting through your arm and back kept you frozen in place.

The lifeless eyes of the man who saw everything were open, and for once, he was staring at nothing. It was a haunting image.

The tears were now falling, and a sob escaped your lips. You wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. You wanted to scream and shout. You wanted to fight and claw at the alien that took until it bled. But all you could do was lay there, unable to move and weep.

Then, a voice caught your attention. It was deep, and it was coming from the alien that had brought you to this place.

His eyes were no longer focused on you, but they were somewhere else. He was talking to someone.

“Boss,” it spoke, his voice deep and gravelly. You couldn’t bear to look at the being. Not when you were face to face with the lifeless body of the gatekeeper. “There’s a human woman here. A pathetic one, no doubt, but one nonetheless. Should we end her? Or leave her to rot like the others?"

A silence filled the air, and you had no idea what was going on, who he was speaking with, or who was giving him instructions. You could’ve looked. You could have glanced up at the thing, and seen for yourself, but you too were afraid.

Your eyes remained glued to the golden ones that were once filled with light and wisdom.

There was silence, and then a loud, deep, thump. It had startled you, but it wasn't anything like the explosion of the ship, no, it sounded more like a boot or a shoe had come in contact with metal. But, it was loud enough to grab your attention.

You didn’t move. Your eyes didn't stray.

But, your body trembled in fear.

Suddenly, you heard his voice, and it sounded more terrifying than any sound that had echoed in the air prior. It was even deeper, and even more frightening than the other.

“I think not. We have use of her."

He had a deep and gravelly voice, but it was smooth. Calm. Almost friendly.

Then, a large, purple foot, appeared in your vision, and slowly, the purple being leaned down and stared at you. His gaze was strong, and piercing. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. You were too terrified to move, speak, or breathe.

Again, it wasn’t human. It was an alien. And a big one, at that.

He had no hair, only a helmet. His skin was purple and he wore strange looking clothing, including a golden glove that had both a bright purple stone and a blue one.

You’ve never seen such a creature before. You thought those dark elves were terrifying, but they were nothing compared to this man.

And for some reason, he was looking at you like you were an ant, and he was the boot that would crush you.

In fact, he was looking at you with pity, and it confused the hell out of you.

But, when his hand moved, and his fingers had touched the soft strand of your hair, you couldn't help but flinch.

The moment his fingers made contact with you, though, you heard a loud grunt. One that didn’t sound alienated or distorted. It was clear, and you could tell who it was, instantly.

Your head shot up, ignoring the pain in your arm, and the moment your eyes met his, everything stopped.

Everything.

It was Thor.

Your Thor. Your everything.

He was in front of you the entire time, and you had no clue.

The tears were falling. They were falling hard and fast, and you couldn’t stop them. And for once, it wasn’t because of relief.

Thor was encased with metal. His arms and legs were pinned by it. He was bleeding from his head, and he was covered in bruises.

He looked like hell and gave off the same energy.

He was struggling to free himself. That’s what the sounds were. The grunts, the heavy breathing, and the loud thumping. He was trying to get out of his prison to get to you. To save you.

The alien was staring down at you. His eyes were dark and intimidating, but his presence was even more so. He was the embodiment of terror.

Then, without any warning, he grabbed you by the throat.

It was an unexpected move. He had picked you up by the neck with just one hand. He had a grip so tight you couldn't breathe, and the pressure on your throat was unbearable.

You could hear Thor screaming. Yelling.

You could barely hear what he was saying. Your ears were ringing, and the pain of the hand wrapped around your throat was all you could focus on.

But, you could see him. You could see him perfectly.

You saw his blue eye and the patch that covered the missing one. You saw the stubble along his chin. The slight scar that was just below the patch. The wrinkles on his forehead.

You could see it all.

And the look of desperation and horror. It broke you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. It was too much.

Then, in the blink of an eye, you felt release.

You fell to the floor and started gasping for air. It was like the moment the alien released his grip on you, everything began again. The world, your thoughts, the chaos.

It was all there, and you couldn’t keep up.

“I see it now.” You heard the voice of the alien say. Your vision was blurry, and your eyes were still stinging from the tears, but you could make him out if only a bit.

He was now standing, towering over you, but he wasn’t looking at you. No, he was looking at Thor; his eyes were focused on the god, which sent a chill down your spine.

When dealing with Hela, you find yourself recovering with confidence. She could’ve easily killed you with a snap of her finger, but when she demanded your name, you had spat in her face and gave a smile.

Even though Thor wasn’t there at that moment, you somehow knew he’d be coming back to put an end to her, and you would be safe. It was like a sixth sense that came and made you stop panicking and running.

And, even though he technically didn’t put her down, he still was your knight in shining armor. It was the same with the dark elves and even with Loki.

They were all terrifying, yes, but somehow, you knew that Thor would save the day.

Now, though, it was different. You weren’t scared or panicked; no, you were terrified.

The fact that Thor was trapped and was physically in pain, the fact that Heimdall and more innocent Asgardians were lying on the floor, dead, and the fact that Loki was missing and Val was knocked unconscious, it had all hit you at once.

You felt like you were suffocating, and it only worsened when the alien spoke again.

“I was questioning why a mortal was amongst a group of Asgardians, how such a fragile being could survive so long among gods. I wondered, but I see it now. You have been blessed by one, and the last, of Odin's children."

The alien's attention was back on you, and the intensity of his gaze had you trembling. He was staring at you, looking through you, and reading you like a book.

"What a pitiful yet fortunate creature you are."

It was like the oxygen had been sucked from your lungs, and when he moved, you found yourself flinching and scooting backward.

He had leaned down again, and his large hand had grabbed the side of your face. The feeling of his skin on yours made your skin crawl, and the urge to vomit was growing.

Thor wasn’t having it. He was thrashing about; the metal that was encasing his body was bending and stretching with each move.

His cries of anger and the desperation in his eyes were heartbreaking. And it was only shut up by the alien who had taken you. A piece of metal flew to Thor’s mouth and held it in place, preventing him from yelling.

More grunts and muffled noises could be heard from the god, but you could no longer see him now. The purple man was blocking your view.

But, despite that, he was still talking to Thor.

"It is a shame, Thor Odinson. I take pity on the both of you, and I apologize, for it seems that fate has not been kind to either of you. But, we must make sacrifices. It is unfortunate that your beloved had to be one of them."

Then, suddenly, the alien turned his gaze back to you, and his dark eyes bore into yours. He was staring directly into your soul.

"Fear not, small child,” he said, his voice sounding almost calm. “You will not have to endure the pain and suffering as I did.”

The words that left his mouth did not give you comfort. It was quite the opposite.

Thor came back into your viewpoint as the purple man had moved, and when your eyes met his, all you saw was a mixture of panic and despair.

Thor's expression had you feeling a type of way. You could feel your stomach sink.

You weren’t dumb. You were far from it.

You knew where this was going, and your mind was screaming, screaming for you to do something, anything.

Run.

Fight.

Scream.

Just do something.

But all you did was stare. Stare at the man that you loved. The man that loved you. The man who had saved you countless times.

But he couldn’t save you now, even when you cried out his name in a soft voice, that frail, humane part of you begging him with your eyes to stop this from happening.

To stop it from hurting.

He couldn’t.

All he could do was look at you, look as you were taken. Look as you were pulled away from him.

All he could do was stare and scream.

It was the loudest, most horrific sound you had ever heard. It was worse than the explosion.

It was worse than anything.

It was the cry of a man who had just lost the last thing that gave him purpose.

It was the sound of a god being torn to pieces.

And it was all because of you.

That was the last thing you heard. That was the last image that burned itself into your brain.

The sound of Thor and his desperate screams was the last thing you remembered.

Everything after that was darkness.

No memories, no thoughts, nothing.

Just darkness.

All he wanted was you.

All he needed was you.

And now, all he had left was the memory of you: that and his broken heart.

[bwabys-scenarios]

If reader was the sweetest person ever but started throwing low blows towards Kurapika (clan), acting sassy, being snarky, in an attempt to make Kurapika grow to not care about her, would Yan Kurapika forgive her? Would he be understanding/see through whats shes tryna do? I mostly wanna know how’d he “handle” blatant disrespect from someone he cares about or if he’d even take it and just let her go without being able to forgive her

warnings: choking, bruising

Kurapika is a smart man, he knows this isn’t how you usually behave. He’s studied you for months and spent so much time with you that he almost knows you more than you know yourself.

He’s read up on how humans react to captivity, knowing that you’ll have mood swings and bouts of depression or rage. Kurapika has planned for all of this, and prepared to eventually be insulted or degraded at some point.

Well… he thought he was prepared, but when you said that his clan was better off dead… he kind of lost it. Before you knew it, you were pinned to the ground with his hands around your neck, choking you.

“How dare you!”

His eyes were a harsh shade of scarlet, not the usual soft red you’d see when he let adoration get the better of him. No, now it was the color of blood red rage.

“You know nothing about my clan, HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!”

You choked out an apology, tears pooling down your cheeks as you clawed at his hands, trying to take in air and failing.

Kurapika wasn’t present, he was so overtaken by rage he didn’t even realize what he was doing. It wasn’t until you stopped struggling that he snapped out of it, his eyes going wide with terror.

“N-no…”

He let go, and you immediately took in a shaky breath, your eyes hazy from the lack of oxygen. Kurapika’s hands trembled in fear and shame, tears forming in the corner of his eyes as he noticed the bruises forming on your neck.

Shaped like his hands.

“My angel… oh, my love…” he choked out, gathering your weak body in his arms. “I’m so sorry, fuck…”

He rocked you back and forth, sobbing into your hair. Kurapika knew, he KNEW that you hadn’t meant what you said, and yet he still attacked you.

‘I’m such a hypocrite…’ he thought, his grip tightening around you. ‘I took her to protect her… yet I’m the one hurting her…’

Kurapika wouldn’t let go of you the entire night, as if he was terrified he’d lose you. He was so scared, he had lost every important person in his life, and now he had almost killed you, the person he loved with his entire soul, his entire being.

You were so fragile, your life so easy to snuff out with just a little pressure to your throat. He knew that, he understood just how much weaker you were than him. And yet he still put his hands on you, nearly taking away your life.

It was enough to make him more unstable than usual. Kurapika clung to you desperately for the next week, carefully tending to your bruises and being much more lenient with your little requests. He spoiled and pampered you even more than he usually did, and you slept with him every single night.

You never tried that method again… you never wanted to make Kurapika that angry, it was the worst experience you ever had with him. Even if it meant staying captive, you would much rather see the soft side of Kurapika than the one full of rage and violence.

And Kurapika was more than willing to stay the gentle, sweet man you wanted. He adored you after all… and he would never hurt you again.

He couldn’t take the knowledge that his own two hands caused you pain and fear… so he made sure to control his anger better… and you never mentioned his clan again.

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Thank you @shadowisles-writes for the moodboard!!

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

It was Elain’s ticket to the continent, shoved in his hands with such hatred, such force, that Lucien nearly ripped it into pieces. Surely some of her fury had transferred into the little slip of parchment and would curse him should he attempt to use it.

And yet, death at sea didn’t sound so bad to him right then. When she stormed off, tears streaking down her face, Lucien hadn’t felt anything for her at all beyond irritation. He didn’t believe anyone had ever tried to hold her accountable for even a moment in her life. It wasn’t entirely Elain’s fault she was spoiled—no one saw anything of value in her and viewed her as little more than porcelain. Fragile, broken easily, in need of constant protection.

Lucien hoped she took a tumble from the shelf she’d been placed on. Maybe, if nothing else, it would make her a little more interesting. 

She had a first class ticket, as it turned out, and her cabin was spacious. “Thanks, darling,” he muttered sarcastically before flopping himself down on the bed. He dozed off again, his dreams too bright and loud to be remembered when he lurched awake. It had been the stress, he realized, that had prompted this spontaneous, poorly considered plan.

When he peered out the rounded window, all he saw was blue water in every direction. Oh, Feyre was going to be so angry with him. Lucien considered, for a moment, turning himself around when he got to the continent.

His mind was cruel. Stretching over decades, he imagined himself finding Velaris a new home, making friends. Growing closer with Feyre, whom he genuinely loved and adored the way he might have loved a younger sister. It was a soft, easy sort of life. He and Feyre up to their same shenanigans. She could show him all the best places, they could gossip without someone hanging over their shoulder disapprovingly.

And just when he’d gotten comfortable and believed it was forever, he knew Elain would come crawling back, tail between her legs. Still bitter, but now stricken with grief, she’d want her family to care for her while she mourned. And Feyre, with her too soft, forgiving heart, would take her back without question. 

She’d meddle. Feyre simply couldn’t help herself. He didn’t blame her for it, but Lucien knew in a century, Feyre would be trying to shove Elain back into his life now that Graysen was dead and she had no other options. Feyre was incandescently happy with her own mate—she’d want the same for her sisters.

But Lucien…oh. He couldn’t forgive Elain for this. He didn’t care if she didn’t understand and was hurt and angry. They were mates and that meant something. Jesminda had died for it. And Elain didn’t even have the courage to tell him she didn’t want him without him forcing her hand. What kind of life was it, always playing second best to a ghost, besides? 

Maybe leaving was for the best. He’d write to Feyre—they could keep in touch—but he could start over. Prythian had never been his home, anyway. He’d only ever felt like it could be when Jes had been alive. After her death, he’d been merely existing. Everything reminded him of her.

Now there was Elain, complicating everything. What if he lost his mind one day—what if something slipped down the bond that shredded the last remnants of his sanity? Or what if merely became curious and went to see her, only to find her surrounded by children and happiness and love? What if she got everything he didn’t? It was better to have an ocean separating them. Better to just try and start over. Who cared if he was a High Lord son anymore? He could just be Lucien, for once. Maybe he wouldn’t work in courts or be involved in the inner workings, guiding policies and keeping rulers from being beheaded, and maybe, just this once, he wanted that. 

Lucien spent a week on that ship, mingling casually with others who, like him, were looking to start over. Some were visiting family or returning home and others had struck out in Prythian, their homes destroyed, and were hoping to get further away from the wars the suspected would keep coming. 

He talked to some of them casually, but mostly kept to himself. Lucien regretted, if nothing else, not bringing a change of clothes. He did his best, but by the time they arrived on the shores of Vallahan, Lucien’s clothes had a very particular smell to them. 

The smell of salty air was a balm for his still wounded soul. Lucien drank it in as he stumbled from the rocking ship onto solid, unmovable ground. He swayed for a moment, arms thrown out to regain his balance, and when he took those first confident steps, he leaned to one side like a drunk. There was simply no helping it, and so he tried not to let himself feel too self-conscious about it.

Lucien drank in the small port city he’d been dropped in. Already, he knew he wanted to move further into the interior—whatever the city was called was a little too small for his liking. He wanted to lose himself somewhere. Just be Lucien. He’d drop his last name if he had to, or invent one entirely. 

He was charmed, all the same, by the architecture that surrounded him. Everything was constantly being torn down and rebuilt in Prythian, their own styles often declared to be outdated. You’d find homes dated three centuries before in a particular style just down the road from palatial estates remade in the newest fashion. 

Here, everything had a more cohesive feel, which lent to an overall sense of community. Buildings were two or three stories made of red or sometimes white bright and typically steepled rooftops. Temples were taller, ominous buildings that loomed light over the rest of the city with spires that stretched like spindling fingers towards the heavens. 

Lucien was entranced, walking down streets of smoothly laid cobblestone. Brightly painted doors were thrown open, inviting people to come inside shops to browse. Patrons at local eating establishments sat beneath awnings, drinking and eating and talking with cheerful enthusiasm. Children played a loud game of ball nearby, kicking it around with their feet and yelling foul if someone used their hands.

“Looking for work, mister?” A voice cut through his wonder. Lucien turned to find a rather dirty looking man wearing a bloodstained apron. The local butcher, then, he surmised based on the smell and the large cleaver held loosely in one hand.

His father would die to see one of his sons engaging in peasant work and yet… “I am,” Lucien decided. “Though, I have no skill in butchery.”

The burly man, no older than four hundred if Lucien had to guess, eyed Lucien up and down. “You look like you swing a sword well enough. You’ll pick it up. Do you want work or not?”

Lucien glanced up at the building shrewdly. “Does it come with lodging?”

“You can have the top apartment to yourself. Pay is whatever you can sell after everything else is square—a fifty fifty split.”

That was far more generous than Lucien expected. Besides, work was work he told himself with an incline of his head. He had plenty of money, of course—he could have paid for somewhere outright and lived a more casual existence.

Working in the community would make it easier to live among them. They’d learn to trust him while he learned the customs and culture. He could fit himself in better before moving on. Lucien had time, he reminded himself. There was no rush. He’d live a dozen centuries more before his thread was cut. Why not, he decided? He followed the burly male in doors where the pristine shop awaited. 

“Since my wife died, I’ve been doing this all by myself,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his beefy neck. He was a solidly built man with a barrel chest and a thick, black beard. Piercing blue eyes took him in, as if reading the measure of Lucien and finding him worthy. 

“Tell me what you need,” Lucien replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m a quick study.”

In retrospect, after a day of trailing Bernard the Butcher, a name that made him chuckle just loud enough to earn a scowl, Lucien found he’d been well primed for this kind of work by his older brother, no less. Eris, who had never cared much for him, had occasionally taken him out of the house when their father was in one of his rages.

In the forest of Autumn, Lucien had learned to skin fish and deer. He’d learned how to cleanly get meat off the bone and which pieces were the best. He’d learned to render tallow from the fat and sharpen animal bones into tools or instruments or, when he was really young, little toys he buried outside the Forest House so Beron wouldn’t take them from him. 

Here, at least, the animals were already dead. Bernard contracted with a farm just outside of town that belonged to his sister-in-law and her husband. They came twice a week with hogs and beef mostly, and on fridays they brought chicken. On the weekends there might be fish, though Bernard said he left that to the fishmongers unless he had something particularly valuable, if only because he hated the smell.

Lucien thought that was fair. 

He spent the evening cleaning the back, scrubbing up blood with a long handled brush and then, when he wasn’t quite satisfied, on his hands and knees with a little scrub brush. Bernard was impressed.

“I’ve never seen this place look so clean,” he admitted. Lucien was a little disturbed by that given the stained, wooden counter and the lingering smell of rotting blood in the air. There was nothing that could be done for some of it, though in other places he found that a little injection of gold might make things just a little nicer.

He’d worry about that later.

Lucien was given the keys to the apartment on the third floor, which he could access directly from the shop. He simply locked up for the day and walked the five steps to another door, slid the key into the lock and tramped his way up. Bernard was on the floor beneath him which Lucien half liked, though he supposed if they ever had a quarrel, it would make his down time deeply uncomfortable.

The apartment was empty save for a lopsided certain hanging from the living room window, once white but stained brown from dust. It was good, though, he decided. It had solid, sturdy bones. It struck him, right then, that this was home. The enormity of his decision suddenly settled in his stomach, filling Lucien with a mix of panic and excitement. He’d left. After years of thinking about it but never having the courage, Lucien was gone. His past was nothing more than a ghost haunting the edges of his memory rather than a monster with vicious teeth always hovering just behind him.

Lucien took a breath before making his way back down the steps. It was mid-day, closer to dinner than the evening, which meant just enough places were still open. He made purchases, having drawn a promissory note on the gold back in Prythian. He’d need it all transferred which would take time, but most stores allowed him to purchase items on credit. That was a relief because he needed a whole new wardrobe, though perhaps not as fine as he was accustomed to. Lucien purchased one nice outfit, just in case, and left everything else for the everyday wear. He made orders for furniture to be made and cosigned himself to sleeping on the hard floor until it could all be delivered.

And as he walked, he noticed an empty store front at the corner of the block with  peeling white letters that read The Fox and The Fawn. Peering through the dirty window, he saw it had once been a pub of some sort before it closed.

A strange yearning surged through him. He wanted it, though he couldn’t say why. While Lucien had experience with butchering, he had none with operating his own business. Standing there, nose nearly pressed to the glass, Lucien promised himself if he were still around in six months, he’d damn it all and take on the lease. 

It was too soon, though. Lucien decided to put it in the hands of fate—though fate had never been terribly kind of him. If someone else scooped it up, well, that was his answer that he wasn’t meant to stay and continue on with his original plan.

Lucien slept on the floor that evening after cleaning the interior of his apartment. He woke well before dawn, exhausted and aching, and made his way down just as Bernard did.

“Ready?” the man asked, looking as well-groomed as he ever was. Lucien rolled the sleeves of his black shirt and took a leather apron from the hook in the back once they were inside. They worked before they opened, cutting the meat they’d hung the day before now blessedly drained and ready to go. 

Some of Lucien’s cuts were sloppy—too much fat or too slim—and it took him the better part of that early morning to get good at it. He learned that in Vallahan, tea was more of an evening drink and here, everyone drank coffee grown in the warmer parts of Rask. It could be sweetened much like tea with milk, sugar, and cream, and a whole industry had sprung up around it. Lucien learned the bakery a block down sold coffee in every form imaginable, with flavored syrups to match the seasons. 

Lucien found himself obsessed with it. Every morning he’d wake up twenty minutes early and make his way down before the lines got too long. He ordered everything, one at a time, so he could try a variety of drinks before settling on his favorite. He learned he liked it a little darker, though still sweet, and hot even if the weather was warm. 

He also liked the lemon and coconut muffin they sold, and by the time Lucien had been there a month, the pretty, red haired barista had his order waiting for him before he got to the counter.

“Good morning, Lucien,” she said, flashing him a lovely grin.

He’d wink back. “Good morning, Odessa,” he’d say in response. He liked her—he wanted to take her out. 

And he didn’t want anything serious. Lucien couldn’t offer any female anything because he knew the moment they learned he had a mating bond, they’d scurry off. They’d assume that the female was going to come back eventually and he’d leave. No matter how Lucien argued that Elain was never coming to claim him, he knew, all the same, that they’d prefer a male without as much baggage as he was dragging around. 

He’d always wanted a wife and children. That was, perhaps, the most cruel part of Lucien’s reality. He’d dreamed of it as a boy—how he’d do it all differently. How his children wouldn’t cower when he walked through a door, how his wife would smile brightly, unbruised and in love. All he’d ever get were the fleeting moments in between. Casual, and little more. When he closed his eyes, he used to picture Jes in that role of wife and mother. It seemed a betrayal of her sacrifice to choose another female. 

Now, though, his mind betrayed him. When he closed his eyes at night, he saw Elain in that role. Smiling as children tugged at her skirts, watching him with a bemused expression while he chased after a newly toddling babe ambling toward the street. 

He hated her for that. Hated her even more than he’d hated her after her cruel words because she’d be someone's mother, certainly, just as she’d be someone else’s wife. Not his, though. Never his.

And despite everything, instinct made him want her. Some nights his teeth ached from it, mouth flooded with blood as he bit down to keep himself from roaring like an animal. His nails would bite against his palms, legs shaking from the urge to rectify what was happening between them. Sometimes he played out vivid fantasies in which he kidnapped her and took her to some secluded cottage where no one would ever find her. 

By the time Lucien had been in Nidraos for six months, the impulse had lessened. Sometimes it still pulled him from sleep, but it wasn’t such a battle to get himself back into bed. He simply forced himself to relive her final words before he went back to sleep. 

After a while, he stopped thinking about her day to day at all. He no longer cared how she spent her time or what the human lord did to her. Lucien had slipped back to a place in his mind where he could simply be. He found himself in a place with true seasons not dependent on the kings magic. The whole system seemed to function much like the solar courts in Prythain, though those here seemed to pass the magic along via their very lineage and not the chaos of the land. There was no Calanmai—though a host of other holidays often delighted Lucien. So many were centered around the joy of children and family, which should have made him miserable.

Bernard, who must have known Lucien didn’t intend to stick around forever, brought him to his family’s Solstice Gathering where everyone had a gift for him. Lucien hadn’t expected that and, upon realizing there were gifts for him, wrapped in pretty gold paper, had caused him to choke up though he thought he did a decent job swallowing his emotion.

Lucien couldn’t remember the last time someone had given him a gift. 

The empty storefront remained empty for six months, and then a year. Lucien had hesitated at the six month mark. He was comfortable. Happy, even. He should have known, then, that someone from his old life would come calling.

And call she did in the form of Feyre Archeron. He saw her one morning on his way out of the bakery, steaming cup in his hands. Snow had begun to fall gently from overhead as another winter came to the small, seaside city. He’d bundled himself in a warm coat and hat and was thinking about the chickens waiting for him when he saw her, looking strange and out of place in the middle of the city square. Lucien was certain Feyre hadn’t come alone, though it certainly looked as if she had.

That meant Azriel was lurking somewhere, just out of sight to give Feyre the illusion of privacy but close enough that he could slaughter anyone who threatened to harm her. Nevermind that in his year living in Niadros, the worst crime he’d seen had been a child stealing a neighbor's cat and refusing to return it. The local mayor had been forced to step in, providing the girl with a new kitten in exchange for the grumpy looking thing. 

It struck him right then at how militaristic Prythian was.

Lucien didn’t miss it.

Feyre saw him, face splitting in a blinding, beautiful smile. Lucien’s chest ached at the sight. “Fey?”

“There you are,” she said, jogging over as her blue cloak trailed in a puddle of water. “I was starting to think I’d never find you.” She threw herself against him, typical Feyre-style, for a bruising hug. Lucien didn’t mind, burying his face in her hair. “Missed you,” he grunted out, the words not beginning to cover it.

“I got your letter…and the request for your gold to be sent over. Rhys did all that,” she told him, slipping her arm through his. A few folks watched curiously, and he knew there’d be rumors about yet another female. He’d have to explain Feyre was truly just a sister—he couldn’t let those sorts of rumors swirl around, even if they bolstered his reputation as an unapologetic rake. 

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s the same,” she replied, which eased some of his worry. “I saw your mother just the other day.”

Lucien had done his best not to think of her in the last year. “Is she well?”

“As well as she ever is,” Feyre murmured gently. “I told her you were happy, and that seemed to lighten her mood.”

Some of the grief he felt eased. “Good.”

“Will you tell me what happened?” Feyre asked suddenly, pausing in front of a frozen statue of a mermaid. In the summer, water poured upward from her fingertips, causing it to rain against her bronzed hair. Local children would dart away from their parents to splash inside while others tossed in coins hoping a wish might be granted. 

“Ask her.”

“I tried, but she and her husband,” Feyre sneered the word, unaware of how the word stabbed Lucien right through the stomach with jealousy, “have forbidden all faeries on pain of death.”

“They could try,” Lucien mumbled, wishing they would, if only so Rhys might mist the bastard laying with his mate. 

“She’d decided to play out some fantasy in which she’s still human, I suppose. She was apologetic in her letter, true to form, but she won’t go against him. What happened?”

Lucien desperately did not want to rehash it, so he shrugged his shoulders. “We exchanged some words. They were unpleasant.”

“And then you left.”

“And then I left.”

“Lucien, if she said something—”

“It was more than just her words,” Lucien told Feyre with a sigh. Snowflakes had begun to gather on her lashes, sparkling softly in the early morning light. “One day she’ll come crawling back and you won’t have it in you to hold this grudge.”

“I hold grudges just fine,” Feyre disagreed. “She never had to love you to stay with us but she chose…I don’t know what she chose, honestly. But it hurts me.”

“I know it does,” Lucien replied, not needing to tell Feyre it hurt him, too. What more could he say on the subject? Elain was selfish, he’d told her to her face—he was certain she’d framed it as some revolutionary act of putting herself first without acknowledging that her whole life, Elain had always come first. 

“I wanted you to stay. I was hoping for a friend who was only mine. Things…” Feyre took a breath, looking around.

“Feyre,” Lucien all but whispered as he stepped closer, “did something happen?”

She bit her bottom lip before smoothing out her expression. Liar. She was such a liar. Lucien knew it because he was a liar, too. “No, nothing happened. I just miss being able to talk to you, that’s all. Everyone else—I love them, of course, I love them so much, but…they’re Rhys’s friends and family first. And every once and a while I remember that.”

“What happened?” Lucien asked her, holding her by the tops of her arm.

She wasn’t going to tell him. Whatever had happened that had brought her to him, she was remembering that he’d left her, too, and only sent a letter as an afterthought. 

“Nothing,” his sweet liar told him, as if Lucien hadn’t spent a year living with her while she practiced lying to his face. “I just miss you, that's all.”

“It’s driving me crazy,” Lucien confessed, still holding her still. “I can’t…I can’t be that close to her. Some nights, an ocean doesn’t feel far enough. She made her choice and I’m trying to live with it.”

“He’s going to die—”

“Could you forgive Rhys?” Lucien asked, catching how Feyre winced. Maybe Feyre could. Maybe she’d overlook it, but Lucien didn’t think he could. 

“Are you happy?”

“I am,” he admitted, looking around him. “I didn’t mean to stay, but I like it here. I have friends, a life, I…I’m happier than I was before.”

Feyre took a breath. It was clearly the opposite of what she’d wanted to hear.

“I’ll go back if you ask me to,” Lucien added, because he would. “If you need me, just ask.”

She shook her head. Selfless to the very end—no matter how badly she missed him, Feyre wouldn’t make him go. “Stay. You deserve something good, Lucien, even if it means I don’t get to see you every day.”

She flung her arms around him, squeezing so tightly his ribs groaned in protest. “Don’t come back.”

“You have a place here anytime you want it. High Lady be damned.”

She laughed, and Lucien swore a shadow slithered over those clear, blue eyes. He doubted governing was what Feyre truly wanted in life, though he wasn’t going to say it to her. She was young and, perhaps more tragically, a people pleaser. Her mate wanted her to be his equal in all things and so she would be—without complaint, even if it made her miserable.

Lucien had seen it all before. How long before she was here with him and they were running away again? Never, likely—she’d make it work. Still, Lucien wondered what Rhys could have possibly done to bring her all the way out to him hoping he’d come back.

“Whatever it is you’re waiting for?” Feyre said as she untangled herself from his arms, her expression resolute. “Don’t wait.”

Lucien pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Tell that mate of yours I’m watching him.”

She smiled, well aware it was an empty threat. Still, he knew it made her feel a little better. He promised to write more often, and maybe visit the next Solstice, if only to see her for her birthday. And Feyre wished him well again before she vanished into the crowd.

And Lucien turned to that still empty storefront.

He signed the lease that day.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Series Masterlist

*Click here to be added to taglists.

Chapter 6

Warnings: Allusions to abuse, Reader’s poor mental health

It was nearly dusk when the three of you finally reached the prison gates. You had awoken a few hours earlier but remained quiet, only taking breaks when the men did. You didn’t want to bother them, especially Daryl, with anything trivial. Everything already seemed so fragile. 

Your first experience with a walker had been terrifying. You didn’t know what you had been expecting but seeing a rotting human face beneath the water’s surface just as its slimy fingers had wrapped around your ankle was not it. You had been so scared that you hadn’t had the sense of mind to watch it being handled. 

Now, still cradled in Daryl’s arms, you had a front row seat. There were several of the dead shuffling around the gates, making sounds that had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. Rick was carefully circling Daryl, making sure none of the corpses managed to get too close while the gate slid open. You assumed the archer didn’t set you down because you were unable to defend yourself. You did feel mighty safe where you were. 

Once the gate was closed and locked, your legs were lowered until your feet touched the ground. There were a few people there, and every eye was on you. Absently, you took a step back and placed yourself just behind Daryl’s shoulder. 

“Who’s this?” A woman with shorn silver hair asked. Her hand was on the handle of a knife on her belt, but her expression was kind. 

“This is Y/N.” Rick supplied, hugging a young boy against his side. The action made the large hat on the kid’s head tilt, and he gave a look of annoyance as he corrected it. “Daryl did some… bargaining at one of the places we visited so she was allowed to leave.”

“Allowed?” The kid asked, watching you with a curious expression. 

“S’a long story.” Daryl huffed, beginning the trek up toward the main building with you right on his heels. There were people in the tower you passed, mere silhouettes in the dimming light, but Daryl waved after a man’s voice called out in greeting. Aside from that, the outside was void of people. 

The archer opened a large metal door and held it, letting you pass through before following. There was no one just inside but you could hear conversations and movement further ahead. You didn’t seem to be heading for that though. You were guided up a small set of stairs to someone’s living area. Considering Daryl pulled off his vest and draped it over the railing, you surmised it was likely his. 

“Wait here. M’a see where Rick wants ta put ya.” 

You sat down on the mattress, pulling your knees to your chest. “Could I… I’d like to stay with you.”

“Ain’t gon’ happen.” He replied instantly. There was no bite but sounded resolute. 

“Please?” You pressed, hugging your legs tighter. “I don’t want to be with strangers.”

“Lady, I am a stranger!” Daryl yelled, jabbing a finger into his own chest. His shoulders fell when you flinched almost violently, reining in his exasperation with a deep breath. 

“Yes, but… you paid for me. Bought me, fair and square.” You wiped angrily at your eyes, cursing yourself for not holding your composure in front of him. This was not what you were taught. Big Jazz would have flogged you. It was clear to you that you continued to push your luck with Daryl. Eventually, his intentions would be made clear. Maybe he just liked to play with his food first. “That means that you’re the closest thing to…family that I have.”

That made something in his chest hurt. “That’s why ya need ta be with them.”

“But—”

“Ain’t nothin’ else ta say. Wait here.” He snapped, turning his back on you before you watched him disappear down the stairs. 

You sat in the corner of the cell assigned to you, knees pulled to your chest, making yourself as small as possible. It reminded you so much of your cage in the back of Big Jazz’s club. This one at least had a bed, but without a customer in it, it felt wrong to use it. 

Even more confounding was that the cell door had been left open and a sheet hanged in the open space. “For privacy” the woman called Carol had told you.  She had brought you fresh clothes, guessing your size and worrying once she saw you again that they might swallow you whole. They laid in a neat, folded pile on the mattress. A bowl of warm stew was offered but you had turned your head, too nauseated from the anxiety clawing at your gut to even think of eating. 

Carol had offered to help you settle in, even suggesting she brush your hair. You had just stared at her, confused at her kindness when you knew she was above you in every way. The girls at the club would never offer such consideration. Some had been nice enough, but given your ‘history,’ they mostly chose to use you as a scapegoat when things would go wrong for them. 

Carol had been fully dressed, from her shirt and camisole to her booted feet. It was a wonder Daryl let her get away with that. That led to the thought that maybe Daryl wasn’t actually the man in charge. You’d have to tread carefully if that was the case. Any of the men could be leading and you couldn’t slip up like you had so many times in front of the archer. 

“Y/N?” Carol called from behind the curtain. “May I come in?” You pulled your legs impossibly closer and didn’t answer. “If you don’t answer, I’m going to assume it’s okay for me to come in.” She added in a no nonsense tone. Fear churned in your belly, so unsure of this new place and its inhabitants. You felt as though you were walking on eggshells already and no one seemed to be giving you any real direction. “Coming in.” The sheet lifted and Carol ducked below it, looking to the bed first before eventually spotting you in the corner. “Now, what on earth are you doing over there?”

She crouched to your level but didn’t advance any closer. “Did you not want to get changed? I only wanted to wash the clothes you have and return them to Daryl but that can wait until tomorrow if you’re more comfortable.”

Your fingernails were digging into the sides of your legs, your face drifting lower and lower behind your knees to hide from her. She seemed kind, but looks could be deceiving in the world you lived in now. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Carol shifted to sit on the floor, cross-legged. Her piercing blue eyes seemed to be sweetly picking you apart, analyzing you with a calmness that made you even more uncomfortable. “Alright.” She finally said as she climbed to her feet. “When you’re feeling more settled in, we can talk. I think you might find we have a lot in common.” 

Taking two steps, she paused. She pursed her lips and picked up the pile of clothing. You thought she meant to take items back but she simply placed them on the small table across from the bed. With slow, deliberate movements, she turned down the blanket and fluffed the pillow. “Goodnight.” She smiled that soft smile and lifted the blanket, letting it fall behind her. 

You waited what you thought might have been at least a couple of hours, well after the prison had gone quiet. With practiced silence, you snatched the blanket from the bed and pulled the sheet aside. No one seemed to be awake. Your bare feet hardly made a sound while padding across the ledge and down the stairs. You couldn’t stay in that cell a moment longer. Consequences be damned. 

Daryl opened the door to the cellblock with seasoned care. The sun was barely up. Most everyone would still be asleep. He had caught a couple of hours after Carol had come to collect you, then he took the night watch to have some time outside to just think. His head had been a mess ever since you came tumbling into his life. Well, technically, he had put you there. 

He didn’t regret it. You deserved to be free but you were now in a world where therapy and support groups didn’t exist. He had brought you to a prison full of traumatized people, hoping someone could help you get your head on straight. Hope. Did he really hope for anything anymore? It hadn’t really got him anywhere. 

Still, he hoped you would settle in with the people there. He hoped you had found some sort of comfort with a small meal and an actual bed. He hoped you had slept well your first night. For someone who didn’t dare to hope, he was sure throwing a lot out there for you. 

He didn’t even realize he had stopped to stare down toward the cells during his thoughts of you. Ready to slap himself, he scrubbed a hand over his face and then through his hair. Carol would have come to him if there had been any problems. The archer shook his head and continued toward his perch, ready to forego breakfast and get some actual sleep. If his brain would just shut the fuck up. 

He climbed the stairs as quietly as possible, even as he heard the tell tale sounds of others beginning their day. They could all do without him for a few hours. Maybe if you were informed he was sleeping, you’d feel compelled to stay closer to the cells and not wander into his personal space. 

Once again, hope had failed him. As he brought both boots down onto the metal floor of his perch, his shoulders slumped and he let his head drop back with a sound that could only be described as a frustrated groan. 

You were there, curled up on a blanket below the foot of his mattress. Sound asleep. 

[elizabeth-holland24]

The Beast Within - Chapter 4 (Part 1)

Content Warning: Mentions of blood, there is yelling and two fights, Curses, Magic, Regret, Angst, some fluff. I think that's everything, but please let me know if I've missed something!

The night was thick with an almost suffocating stillness, the kind that seemed to press against the stone walls of the castle and seep into its very bones. Mausi felt it in her chest as she was escorted back to her room, her steps heavy and her thoughts even heavier. Dinner had been an unusual blend of camaraderie and sorrow, the enchanted staff eagerly sharing pieces of their pasts. They had once been vibrant, human, full of dreams. Now, they were trapped, prisoners like her, tethered by a curse she couldn’t yet comprehend. Her mind reeled with conflicting emotions: anger at Jake—at Hangman, as they called him—for holding them all captive, and a strange ache of pity for the same man. Who was he to condemn not only her, but everyone else to this fate? The flickering light of the sconces cast haunting shadows along the corridor. As they approached her door, Mausi slowed, glancing over her shoulder. The west wing. The mysterious west wing, which the staff refused to speak of and everyone had explicitly forbidden her from entering. That alone made it irresistible. She feigned a stumble, muttering a quick apology to Bradley, who was guiding her. As it turned to help, she slipped quietly down another hallway. Her breath quickened as she approached the wing, the air growing colder with every step. The grand double doors loomed before her, their carved wood warped and cracked with age, an ominous contrast to the rest of the pristine castle. She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the iron handle. Why does this place feel different? The doors creaked open with a groan, revealing a space that was in complete disarray. Dust blanketed the floor, furniture lay overturned, and torn curtains swayed with the wind. The moonlight spilling through shattered windows illuminated jagged shards of glass and splinters of wood. The air was heavy, carrying the faint scent of decay and forgotten memories. As Mausi stepped further inside, her eyes landed on a large, tattered portrait leaning against the wall. She crouched down, brushing away layers of dust and cobwebs. The image that emerged stopped her breath. It was a young man, perhaps in his late teens, with soft features that spoke of kindness and unguarded joy. His eyes, though painted, seemed to meet hers, stirring something deep within her. She couldn’t place it, but he felt… familiar. A strange sensation tugged at her, like a melody half-remembered from a dream. Who are you? she thought, her fingertips grazing the canvas. But before she could dwell further, her gaze was pulled to a faint glow deeper in the room.

She rose, drawn to the light like a moth to a flame. It led her to a balcony, where she found a glass dome standing alone on a pedestal. Inside, suspended in its own quiet radiance, was a single red rose. Mausi’s breath hitched. The rose shimmered faintly, as though alive, its delicate petals untouched by time or decay. She reached out, her hand trembling. There was something achingly beautiful—and heartbreakingly fragile—about it. The urge to touch it was overwhelming, as if by doing so, she might uncover the answers to questions she didn’t even know she had. The moment her fingers hovered near the glass, a feral roar ripped through the silence. “What do you think you’re doing?” Mausi spun around, her heart slamming against her ribs. Jake loomed in the doorway, his monstrous silhouette illuminated by the moonlight behind him. His green eyes, usually sharp and mocking, now burned with a mix of rage and fear. “What did you do?” he growled, striding toward her with dangerous purpose. “I-I didn’t touch it!” Mausi stammered, stumbling back. “I swear!” Jake reached her in two long strides, his clawed hand wrapping around her wrist with terrifying ease. She gasped as the tips of his claws dug into her skin, sharp enough to sting. “Do you have any idea what you could have done?” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. “You could have damned us all. For eternity.” “I didn’t do anything!” she cried, struggling against his grip. “Let me go! You’re hurting me!” Her words seemed to cut through his rage. Jake’s eyes flicked down to where his claws pressed into her wrist, a thin line of blood beading on her skin. The sight froze him, his grip loosening as a new emotion flickered across his face—horror. The scent of her blood hit him, sharp and metallic. He recoiled, as though burned, releasing her entirely. But he couldn’t stop the shame from flooding through him. “Get out,” he growled, his voice breaking slightly. “Go. Now.” Mausi didn’t hesitate. She bolted, clutching her wrist as she fled the room, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. The castle seemed to come alive around her, its enchanted inhabitants urging her to stay, to not venture into the night. But she couldn’t stay—not after that. She grabbed her coat from the entry hall, ignored the pleading voices of the staff, and slipped through a narrow side door into the freezing winter night. The cold bit at her cheeks as she mounted Philip, her horse, and urged him into a gallop.

Part 2

A/N: So I had to divide into two parts again. I had a bit of inspiration before going to sleep. I also wanted to distract myself from the Bengals vs Chargers game. I'll edit and clean up the post better tomorrow. Also thank you so much for the love and support on this story. Don't forget to comment, like and reblog, so I know if you are enjoying it. I might do a tag list if you guys want. But yeah, I think that's all. Thanks for reading <3

[edandstede]

i found ofmd not long after i’d come out as a gay trans man. i came out after years of knowing i was and deliberately repressing it, refusing to poke it or acknowledge it, terrified of it. i didn’t want to see it. couldn’t be me, if i ignored it it would go away. like stede, i would cry when i thought nobody could hear me. it was so lonely, shutting that part of myself off, and coming out just to my own close circle (not family at this point) was the scariest thing i’ve ever done.

this show… fucking hell, this show. it held me gently but firmly and told me in no uncertain terms that everything i knew about being a man was wrong, that i could be who i wanted to be and it was never too late to grab it with both hands. it helped me work through things in my head, consider myself in new ways, forced me to reflect. yes, i could be authentic, i could be flamboyant, i could wear what i want, i could be tough, vulnerable, effeminate, silly, a bit of a loser even. i could cry, i could try and fail and try again. i could be messy and human and deserve happiness and love. i could shape my life into something that truly makes me happy, and i could do it all with a family of my own choosing. i could be free.

it took this new and fragile existence for me, something i was still bricking it about, and reminded me of the utter joy of being queer and stepping into yourself properly. of community, belonging, expression, self-actualisation. i didn’t even realise how much i needed ofmd until i had it, and i could scarcely believe it was real! this brilliant gem, full of eccentricity and poignancy and just brimming with love, so much love, from every single direction. it was a breath of fresh air, just like it was for so many others. there’s never been anything quite like it and any future queer media like it has big shoes to fill.

i just turned 28, i’m finally out to my family as trans, i’m ready to send off my deed poll to change my name, i’m crowdfunding for top surgery and i’m in the process of being referred to a GIC. this show’s kindness, its unwavering love towards people like me, it bolstered my courage and bravery SO MUCH and i’ve taken steps towards getting the life i truly want that i never dared i’d take. i want to be myself, i want to stop holding myself back, i want to do things i’ve never been brave enough to chase before. isn’t that amazing? my life is finally an adventure i can’t wait for. and i’ve received so much love and support from all of you too - you’ve donated to my surgery fund, you’ve sent kind messages, you’ve connected with me about being trans. for all the negative stuff i’ve come across in this fandom, there’s double the amount of love and i’ve felt it first-hand.

i truly am not the same person i was before ofmd and that is so fucking brilliant, i couldn’t be more grateful. i’m heartbroken that, as of now, ofmd won’t be returning to us. but it has touched my life in such a special way, written on me in permanent ink, you might say. and i just think it’s a really lovely thing nobody can take away, this lasting impression. i’ll always carry ed and stede and the crew in my heart, even when the revenge is nothing more than scrap wood and old fabric.

:•) 🏴‍☠️❤️

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Shrink Arinn and give to Shae :)

Shrink Ray

CW: tiny whumpee, demon whumpee, captivity, experimentation, lab whump, shrunk, tail whump, broken bones, dislocation, caretaking, pain medicine, passing out, open ended

----

"What a rare one you are," the self-proclaimed scientist muses. He looms over Arinn, who is now mere inches tall and lying terrified on the lab table.

The man takes the demon's tail between his fingers in a way he probably considers gentle, but to Arinn it's like being clamped in a vise. When he cries out and tries to squirm out of his grip, it only tightens. Brittle bones snap like twigs and Arinn wails at the top of his tiny lungs.

"Where to put you..."

To Arinn's horror, his captor lifts him from the table. Even at this size his weight is too much for his fragile, broken tail. It pulls taut and pops as several joints dislocate at once. The pain makes him dizzy and for a moment he forgets to breathe.

By the time he is set inside a tank, Arinn is almost hyperventilating. He can't move his tail, can only feel it throb and twitch on the ground. A shadow falls over him when the man puts the enclosure's lid back on and locks it tight. Then the whole room darkens as he turns out the lights and leaves.

The moment he is gone Arinn hears the patter of tiny footsteps approaching. Through his blurry vision he just barely makes out a figure kneeling beside him.

"Are you okay?"

Arinn can't answer. He gasps and reaches a trembling hand for his tail, wanting to hold it, soothe it, keep it safe...

His cellmate gasps too.

"Oh...that looks bad..."

Fingers that aren't his own touch Arinn's tail and he shakes his head urgently, whimpering "ah - please d-don't - it h-hurts..."

The touch disappears with a soft 'sorry!' from its source.

"I'm Shae," says that same little voice. "He caught me, too. What's your name?"

Arinn takes a few deep breaths. "Arinn."

"Hold on, Arinn...I have something that will help..."

Footsteps fade away again. Trembling, Arinn curls up on his side and watch as the little creature hurries into a fake, decorative cave-like structure. Inside sits half a pill. Shae chips some of it off with a sharp pebble and collects it into a cup the size of a thimble. Arinn closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again Shae has returned to his side.

"Can you sit up? I have medicine. For the pain."

Slowy, carefully, Arinn props himself up and leans back against the wall of the tank. He glances down at his tail and touches it gingerly. Then he looks at Shae, taking in his weary but kind face for the first time. Something about him eases Arinn's frayed nerves. He hands Arinn the cup full of water mixed with the crushed pill.

"It's human strength, so it's strong," he warns.

"Good," Arinn breathes. He drinks the whole thing in just a few gulps. Panting, he wipes his mouth on his arm and leans his head back against the glass.

Shae sits beside him and folds his hands in his lap.

"You'll be okay. He doesn't hurt us on purpose...usually. He just...collects us."

Arinn tips his head to one side to look at him.

"How long have you been here?" he asks.

"...too long." Shae pulls his knees up to his chest. "I don't even know what season it is."

"Spring."

"...then, almost a year."

Arinn feels sick at the thought. This is only one tank of many that take up shelves lining the whole room. He looks around and can make out other small figures in most of them. Some peer back at him from their own prisons, their gazes hollow and hopeless.

Alex will find me, he thinks. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on that thought, forcing himself to hang onto it no matter how impossible it seems.

Soon the medicine kicks in, bringing sweet relief. All the tension eases from him. He starts to droop to one side, and Shae catches him and eases him into his lap. He holds Arinn as he falls asleep.

[grizzersmamma]

Son of Zmei | Fae AU | Nikto x F!Reader | Part 2.

Overview: Nikto confronts Mr. Petrov & Reader gets a visitor who drops some new information.

A/N: Second part babyyyyy! I’m on a roll now. Shorter than the last part, but the next one should be a bit longer. Continuation of my little Nikto fic based on the Fae AU by @ghouljams​

Warnings: Murder, Arson.

Series Masterlist: Here

CoD Masterlist: Here

Prev Part | Next Part

The man kneeling at Nikto’s feet is quivering like a leaf in the breeze, head pressed to the floor in a deeply exaggerated bow. It does little to quell the simmering rage that burns just under his skin, leaving him to huff out a plume of smoke in his agitation. Clearly, this pathetic excuse for a human doesn’t understand what kind of situation he’s in.  

“Mighty Zmei, forgive me for failing you,” the irritating cretin pleads, “allow me to try again, I can do better!”

He can’t help the growl that rumbles out of him, one of his lips curling to show off his pointed canine. “You offered a life, willingly given, in exchange for your own,” he hisses, starting to circle the human, “you think I cannot take a human if I desire one?” Petrov jumps at his sharp tone, mouth opening and closing silently.  

“O-Of course not, I-”

“You think I am a fool? You would try to deceive me? To break your word by offering the life of another who has not agreed?” His words get louder with each passing syllable, sharp teeth now on full display in a horrifying snarl.  

“Never, All Powerful Zmei! I could never hope to trick someone so wise!” the coward grovels, stinking of fear.  

The black shepherd dog snaps it’s jaws at the man’s face and the raven, perched on one of the chairs, caws angrily. The animals are growing restless at the clear disrespectful behaviour of the human, goading Nikto into action. “We have given you a chance to repay us, the deal is off.”  

It seems Petrov has some spine, for the man straightens, “merciful Zmei, to throw away the years of work I have dedicated to you, it would-it would be foolish!”

The heads of all three dark figures, man, bird and dog, all snap to glare at the human. “We are no fool!” their voices join together, speaking as one entity. Their bodies have begun to shift, twisted and drawing together, the lines between the three different creatures growing blurred. “We require your services no longer.”  

Minutes later, Nikto, the dog and the raven stand together in the street. They watch as the house belonging to Petrov burns steadily, flames casting dancing shadows across the nearby houses. The smoke does not bother them, nor the heat.  

Eventually, they turn to leave.  

The raven flies off ahead, while the man and dog walk. “Return to the female. She is oblivious, too fragile to be near so many Fae,” he spits the word in disgust.  

“Would such a weak creature be a suitable mate?” the dog replies, an exact copy of Nikto’s voice.  

He simply snorts, “we are strong enough for the two of us,” he says simply. The two part ways, Nikto to return to their home and the dog to return to his duty protecting their newest prize.  

When the sun rises, you wake with a large, furry body pressed up against you. It startles you, until you recall the events of yesterday. You had been exhausted after returning home, emotionally and physically drained from needing to walk so far back to your home after enduring such a terrifying encounter. The dog had refused to leave when you’d tried to shoo it away and, reluctantly, you decided to allow the canine into your home.  

It would be wrong for you to abandon the poor dog after it had followed you all the way back to your house. The man who owned him was a creep, but you couldn’t find it in you to leave an innocent dog out in the street where anything could happen to it.  

The dog in question wriggles about slightly to get comfortable, kicking you with big paws while whining loudly. Clearly, he was unhappy with you disturbing his rest, because he rolls over, putting his back to you with a rather dramatic sigh. It’s admittedly rather adorable, even if you don’t recall inviting the animal into your bed. The blanket you’d put on the floor for him is untouched, clearly not good enough for the massive ball of black fur.  

“You need to go home, buddy,” you mumble, stroking the animal’s silky fur. You know it’s not safe to have an unknown dog in your home at all, let alone sharing your bed, but you get the feeling you aren’t in any real danger.  

This thought is confirmed when the dog turns its head to try and nose at your fingers, offering them a small lick.  

When you finally gather the strength needed to get out of bed, the dog is more than happy to follow after you, hopping down from the mattress and onto the floor with a loud thump. It treks through the house, patiently watching while you complete your morning routine.  

You don’t have any dog food in the house, so you offer him some leftovers from your dinner a few nights ago after ensuring there isn’t anything poisonous to dogs in it. He doesn’t seem to mind the food, snapping it up at rapid speed.  

Not needing to be at work (and not planning on going back), you’re sitting comfortably on the living room couch, a warm drink in hand, while your canine companion takes up the rest of the couch. You had attempted to tell him not to climb on the cushions, not wanting dog hair shedding all over everything, but your words fell on deaf ears. So now, you sit on the furthermost cushion with the dog resting its huge head on your thigh.  

After a little bit of Googling on your phone, you believe you’ve figured out what breed the dog is. He’s huge and fluffy, clearly built for a cold climate and likely a livestock guardian dog of some kind. It took a while, but you managed to narrow it down to a Caucasian shepherd thanks to the abundance of pictures on Google Images.  

He’s sweet, but you’re not sure you’d be able to afford to feed such a huge dog, especially now you’re abandoning your job. It would be best for you to drop the dog off at the local vet. He’s probably microchipped, and if not, you’re sure they’ll be able to track the owner down. Such a huge dog is probably fairly memorable to someone who will know how to find his owner.  

You’re startled from your peaceful morning by a knocking at your door.  

The dog leaps to his feet, scampering to the front door with a snarl on his face. He starts barking, pacing back and forth. You’re a little anxious to try and get between the dog and the door, but he thankfully seems to back off once you draw close.  

When you pull the door open, you’re met by a police officer. “Good morning, miss,” the man seems anxious, glancing warily at the massive dog growling at him from behind you.  

“Hi,” you greet slowly, unsure, “is there something I can help you with?”

After confirming your identity, the man sighs softly, offering you a sympathetic smile, “I’m very sorry, but I’m here to inform you that your employer, Mister Petrov unfortunately passed away last night.” You blink at that, swallowing nervously, but the man must not notice, for he continues, “there was a fire at his apartment block.”  

“Oh... that’s horrible...” you’re not sure how to respond to that, stunned.  

Were you responsible for what happened? Was the strange, masked man, Nikto, responsible? A nervous sweat breaks out across your forehead.  

“A lawyer will be around shortly to discuss the assets afforded to you.”

“The assets?” you asks.  

“Ah, yes, it appears Mister Petrov left you some of his assets in his will, miss,” the officer smiles, oblivious to your internal battle. He offers you a brief farewell that you numbly return before leaving you once more to your own devices.  

The dog offers you a bark, nudging at your side when you continue to stare after the officer’s retreating form, snapping you out of your stupor. With a deep sigh, you step back into your home and close the door. You gently lean your head against the door, taking a moment to collect yourself.  

When you turn around, the dog is staring at you intensely.  

“What?” you ask him with a snort, as though he could actually respond to you.  

“You are a strange human,” the dog says.  

You faint on the spot.  

[liskantope]

Did I just make a half-joke in my last post about the 2010's brand of aggressive internet feminism being dead? Have I mentioned more than once in recent posts that the I consider it a happy development that the TERFish ideology seems to have siphoned away a lot of the visible "women are fragile because men are so terrifying" mentality in more mainstream feminism? Well, that was before I read the below post that is apparently making the rounds in the last few days about the "bear test" and the oh-so-nailed-it commentary on it claiming that the "bear test" illuminates exactly two fundamentally types of men:

This "bear vs. man" question is obvious to me a rhetorical sleight-of-hand playing on a convenient arrangements of cultural emotion-based ideas of what bears symbolize and how protective a man is supposed to be around his daughter having men in her life and so on. Treating it as a serious thought experiment leading to an obvious conclusion about the patriarchy or something would be annoying enough, but first post has to inject that familiar gleeful smugness about how the simple question is guaranteed trip us men up and expose our toxic mindset for all the world to see and illuminate the writer's perfect black-and-white view of gender relations. (It reminds me of the question designed to trip up atheists: "You're walking down a dark street at night and see some shadowy figures coming your way. If you were to discover that they are people who just came out of a Bible study, would that make you feel better or worse?" Except I think that old pro-religion argument, much as I've always hated it, actually rests on firmer ground.)

As for the follow-up social media post, it's nice to know that, as a man who sincerely believes probability-wise that the bear in the woods is a lot more dangerous to my hypothetical daughter than a randomly-chosen man is (an assessment supposedly no woman holds), I am now properly classified as one of those men who is more dangerous than a bear, or (to a more charitable reading) one of those men who is providing cover/excuses for / not doing his part to stop the men who are more dangerous than bears.

(I doubt very much that there's actual data around on chances of a young woman being attacked in the woods by a human man or chances of being attacked by a bear, but I'm willing to change my prediction if I learn that most species of bear ignore humans who wander into their midst like 99% of the time or something like that. Which would cast doubt on most cultural treatment of bears, of course and also kind of undermine the punchline of the "test".)

[the-courage-to-heal]

A personal message:

About a month ago I attempted to take my life. I took an overdose of dose of pills intentionally. I want to share the story of what I went through. When I arrived at the hospital a nurse told me I could keep my phone “if I didn’t cause trouble” I called my Mom and softly cried. I was told

“I thought you said you wouldn’t cause any trouble”

 I came to realize trouble meant making any noise. I immediately offered to quiet myself. That wasn’t good enough. I was told that I was not allowed to have access to my cell phone anymore. Despite the fact I apologized for crying, and immediately said I understood and would quiet myself.

The nurse advanced on me and attempted to wrestle my phone from my hands. Apparently you are allowed to physically assault somebody if you are a nurse. I want to emphasize all I did was offer to quiet myself immediately. I apologized for crying. That wasn’t good enough.

By this point I was incredibly triggered. I said I wanted to leave, and for good reason this is obviously not something you can do after attempting suicide. They were right to call in people to restrain me. However, these people would have never been called in if the nurse had shown me a shred a basic human empathy, decency and kindness. she enjoyed inflicting pain upon someone who was vulnerable.

What was wrong was them continuing to restrain me to the point I was severely bruised. I can only document in photographs what was done to me.

I fought at first, but very quickly submitted. A man held my face down into the mattress. I told him I couldn’t breathe. He kept holding my face down until I was hyperventilating, and about to pass out. I kept saying I could not breathe. They didn’t believe me until I was hyperventilating and in the process of suffocating. I was genuinely terrified they were going to suffocate me. Right when I was about to lose consciousness they finally released me.

However, my torture was not done. They tied my hand up above my head. I explained they were tearing muscles. I spent at least 10 minutes sobbing and begging them to tie me up n a way that wouldn’t physically harm my body.

They finally relented when I pointed out that tying a persons head above their arms was a form of torture that the Romans inflicted upon people they crucified. That is what it took for them to stop torturing me. They could have done whatever they wanted to me. 

I heard the same nurse abusing another patient the next morning. She told a man involved in a drunk, driving accident.

“Your problem is at the bottom of a bottle”

I looked at the nurse who was watching over me and said,

“That is cruel, they are mentally ill. Their problem is that their pain is now hurting other people. Not at the bottom of a bottle.”

That is beyond cruel. She might as well have told him to kill himself and make the world a better place by decreasing the surplus population.  I met somebody who is the living embodiment of Ebeneezer Scrooge.

If I learned anything from this experience, it is that strength has to come from within yourself because nobody will give a sh*t if you don’t care about yourself. People use you, and abuse you when you are most vulnerable.

“Help” exists for those who can pay for it. Everyone else is just surplus clogging up the system.

I have not posted a photo of myself for a very long time. I have been overwhelmed. I have neglected this blog. But I want to use my voice so other people can hear what I went through and maybe it will help them to continue going when all hope seems lost. The United States has an appalling system, that punishes the mentally ill. People dealing with suicidal ideation are human beings. They are no less deserving of respect and kindness. The most fragile among us deserve the greatest protection. Not to be feasted on by crows pecking at their corpse. I hope at the very least I have created a safe space with this blog.