#i am plagued by visions of this man

[nightreader133]

Gale except he is wearing concert black and he has reading glasses and he's leaning back in an armchair with one ankle over his knee and a floppy paperback with a cracked spine in his hand and he has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his eyebrows are furrowed and-

[narwhalandchill]

wait aint no fucking way an actual genshin loretuber even jokingly acknowledged the rabbit hole insanity that is childe 3rd descender theories what the fuck.

is it finally legal for me to break my self imposed silence on the subject without publicly and shamefully removing all my credibility on genshin lore. please please . this is a super fucking vulnerable moment for me guysssss

(under read more bc full disclosure 100% i Will embarrass myself here. this is NOT on my top of the line Childe Theories And Analysis That I Will Defend In Court Under My Legal Name if Questioned list please understand. this is way more self indulgent and wildly speculative for me as much as i do Genuinely see there being a ground for the theory to stand on. ik when im off to the deep end JKWDKJJKWDJKWD)

like seriously be Aware this WILL be a complete mess btw you have all been warned so like no refunds accepted. if youd like to keep an image of me in your head where i am even slightly respectable and realistic when it comes to my theories please stay there. in the light. where the sun shines.

......

...

so. you have chosen death. o7

ok firstly. YES i KNOWW childe 3rd descender theory is batshit stuff thats Why i havent said shit abt it all this time bc i do Not trust myself to be truly objective on the subject bc i Want the theory to be real so bad so its like of course ill readily disregard all other possible candidates for 3rd descender bc bias. and also see it as more plausible that ajax has sth to do w that and make connections more readily. than any lore enthused person existing without his continued rent free existence in their brain for the last 3+ years. so like. yes. listen. i Know i know its prolly not real. but also i must # speak my truth .

anyway the vid didnt even fully touch on all the like. shady fucking shit when it comes to the Curious coincidences. bc like. so firstly the star thing and connections w childe

so wei did bring up the whole . ajax is released on patch 1.1 called "a new star approaches" (and also polar star is his sig) . except like Theres More bc while i was researching random childe brain rot stuff (sadly dont remember/have a link to where i first saw it) . that title in CN is even more pointedly About ajax bc apparently its about a "guest star". and a guest star again according to that post at least is specifically considered an omen of bad luck in chinese astrology. a guest star approaching = a disaster approaching. like mayhaps a ginger guy resurrecting osial or something . huh . maybe ajax Is the guestpilled starmaxxer in that title. the approacherrrrrr, even

secondly. there are some well hidden references to ajax As A Star in the fontaine AQ too. bc the act III where we go looking for him after he goes missing is called "to the stars shining in the depths" except again i have found a source (yes no link to it saved once again my bad) that its titled "to the morning star in the deep water" in chinese. which is again star singular. curious

then theres the act III official description. that goes "the moment it seized its destiny, the star quietly fell from its lofty perch". and like idk abt yall but if its fontaine AQ act III and you ask me WHOS out there seizing their destiny of all things. It Seems Somewhat Plausible To Argue that its PROBABLY referring to the guy thats out there getting teleported to the primordial sea to face the creature thats Literally etched into the stars as his constellation. like . i have a very Difficult time trying to see the star that is seizing its destiny at this moment as Anyone but him reuniting w the narwhal for the first time in a decade and his 1st thought is to throw hands JKJKWDJKWDJKWDJK

(also. "fell from its lofty perch". fell from where. falling towards where. mayhaps even................ descending?????? if Seizing your destiny is taking your fate into your own hands.... a star that Falls from its perch.... that Descends after seizing its destiny....... Curious is all i will say. hey guys do you think your vision would mayhaps begin rejecting you if you start seizing ur own destiny and thus failing to follow the "duty" of predestined fate that same vision had bestowed upon you. guys do you think a star that seizes its destiny and falls from its lofty perch would get vision error 404. guys----)

also this is a smaller thing bc i think ascension mat theories are largely fringe and not that reliable (ning guizhong reincarnation "theories" ThoseWhoKnow) but i do think it can be acknowledged as a sort of. Extension to all these curious references to stars and being A Star when it comes to childe. he does use Star Conches for ascension . so like it can be a little extra on top of the other more serious more Professionally Certified star things hoyo is curiously attaching to him

so like . a star. a star also being a thing the traveler is repeatedly called. its so quirky that this pattern continues. so thats one thing

oh and also. if childes the non-descender (bc he clearly hasnt regained that status Yet) reincarnated soul of the 3rd descender.

you know what. a dead star. if its massive enough. like perhaps massive enough in some genshin metaphysical fantasy way. to be a star that counts as a descender with a will that rivals a world. if a heavy enough. star. dies. you know. you know what they turn into---

[THERE IS A MAD GLEAM IN MY EYES. YOU HEAR BOSS MUSIC.]

Anyway Hello Dear Reader Of Mine Humble Blog Would You Like To Spare A Moment To Discuss How The All-Devouring Narwhal That Consumes Any And All Stellar Object Coming Into Its Orbit Also Known As Ajax' Reflection In Teyvat's Skies Is Essentially A Sentient Living Black Hole And How A Black Hole Is Formed When A Star Dies? No? Okay.

like wouldnt it be super fucking funny if the constellation of the dead descenders reincarnated soul is a creature that for all intents and purposes is a black hole. like. a dead star. wouldnt that be funny

and before you ask. yes i have thoughts that would make ajax & narwhal are soulmates slash halves of the same entity that remains fully compatible with the 3rd descender brainrot but i. will Not subject you people to that. theres "respectably self aware insane theory i indulge in but know the limitations of" and then theres "jens top 10 personal jenshin impact plot twist wishlist please fulfill mr dawei pwease i swear itll be peak" like ffs. it might seem otherwise given the words i am saying right now but i do have Some propriety

the divine halberd was shattered into NINE piece---- (GUNSHOT)

whoa. what a loser high on her own hopium i wonder who that was. good thing the snipers got her ass there

back to your regularly scheduled programming. obviously theres other things that would very conveniently be explained by this 3rd descender shit as well like. dead eyes. soul of a dead descender thats in Literal Pieces body wise. the dead star that carries a curse above ground upon first making contact with the truth of his being aka post abyss training camp post meeting his mirror imaged destiny in his narwhal. a curse like mayhaps bringing chaos whenever he goes. an incompatibility with the world. drawing everything into his orbit being the eye of the storm or perhaps... the Singularity???? the event horizon??? a source of endless unrest and disaster........ just like the curse of a gnosis TEE HEE .

anyway super funny how that goes. and then another thing wei didnt really. fully go into is naturally the

(DEEP BREATH)

3rd son of his family with 3 older siblings and 3 younger siblings 3rd limited character ever released with 3 names and the 3rd weekly boss with 3 phases each representing 3 unique sources of power (vision, delusion and foul legacy) a 3 petaled symbol aka the triquetra of riptide and six in-game constellations divided into 3 subgroups with 3 unique prefixes (foul legacy, abyssal mayhem, havoc in eng) 3 days missing from teyvat and 3 months spent in abyss is 3rd to wield foul legacy after surtalogi and skirk

also the first character to receive a 3rd rateup banner ANYWAY (also the possible. is the 3rd reincarnation of the original ajax thing. but yeas)

[Me When I'm In A Be Suspiciously Associated With The Number 3 Competition And My Opponent Is Childe Ajax Tartaglia]

isnt it just silly. how many times it comes up. Nobody talk to meeeee its so over

theres prolly some other things too that i have driven myself to madness with when thinking abt this but idr em right now and like . not like this is any manner of serious respectable theory anyway sooooooooo

anyway ill stop embarrassing myself now. like as i said i have been legally forcing myself into silence on this bc listen. i KNOW this is bullshit i KNOW im a deranged biased childe main who will do Anything just to cook up a fantasy version of genshins endgame lore where My Dude is at the center stage and gets to be a massive fucking deal yes 100% deserve to be disqualified on account of terminal stage blorbo bias when it comes to theories on the subject i just. the fact that this is the FIRST time i see Any loretuber person acknowledge the theory. i just had to come in here and let it be known that. Yes. ive been seeing this shit and thinking abt it SINCE 4.2 dropped since that stupid fucking note about forsaking the self and being reborn in the abyss as a holy infant or a primordial human or a descender and that somehow Thats called Ajax. of all things. its horribleeee it eats me alive

[sundaemuddysucks]

tdwt courterra is soo fucked up. ive been thinking abt it all day. picture this

ok courtney and sierra have like. No fucking reason to interact in tdwt despite being teammates bc i think out of all of them, sierra freaks out courtney the most bc courtney is like. Super judgmental right. and sierra has more interesting people (in her mind) to blog about. and i think sierra wasnt a very big courtney fan (she wasn’t ever really super obsessive abt her + she didnt seem to care that much abt duncney). but that all changes after the whole gwuncan shitstorm. Remember how sierra was the only one who actually sympathized with courtney and voted with her for gwen. yeah. heather did try to comfort courtney but imagine courtney realizes Hey i probably. should not rely on heather for comfort. so instead courtney decides to (very hesitantly) start hanging out with sierra since she’s her only teammate that isn’t a gwen sympathizer or a bitch (in her mind). at first she just kinda spends a lot of time bitching to sierra abt “gwen is such a bitch ohh my god i hate her so much” which actually kinda gives them common ground (sierra is also an aggressive gwen disliker and thinks boyfriend stealing is wrong etc etc) and courtney feels really validated which is special to her bc to me she is the type to be invalidated a lot when she expresses dislikes/concerns (since she is autistic. i mean look at her. and at least in my experience being autistic ppl never take you seriously when you complain about shit) so actually having someone enthusiastically agree with her and not judge her for the. odd things she says (like cmon she sang an entire song abt wanting to maim gwen) is a big deal. courtney is in a pretty emotionally vulnerable state at that time since yk she just got betrayed by her only real friend and cheated on. she starts crushing and shes like Man what the hell this sucks. and she hates herself a lot for being attracted to sierra of all people bc 1) internalized homophobia 2) sierra is. Sierra and 3) courtney realllllly doesn’t want to let herself get attached to anyone (especially a girl) bc of the fact that gwen just straight up stole her boyfriend. so while courtney has all that going on, sierra is having Thoughts of her own. the pedastal shes kinda been putting cody on starts to crumble bc she’s like What the hell. how in god’s name is he supporting GWEN right now!! and it’s kind of dawning on her slowly that she might not have a chance w/ cody if hes still so adamantly crushing on gwen. so sierra is feeling Troubled. and she vents to her new friend courtney about it. courtney listens bc she does really appreciate that sierra made her feel heard so even though sierra sounds. crazy. she still feels obligated to return the favor. sierra is like man idk if cody loves me after all 😭😭 and she rants on and on abt how ohhh cody is still crazy over gwen and he doesnt really pay attention to her and hes been trying to vote her off etc etc. which makes courtney kinda empathize with sierra (which is a strange thing to her granted the fact that she previously wrote sierra off as being Fucking Crazy) since in a way courtney is kinda in the same situation with her whole feelings abt sierra. sierra is still obsessing over cody. you see the parallel. anyways courtney does kinda feel bad for sierra so she comforts her and shes like yeah gwen really does suck (she’s probably also like “we should shove her off the plane” or something) but maybe its just time for you to let go of cody. and in courtneys mind she also telling herself “i need to get over whatever the hell im feeling for sierra this is Weird and Bad” or whatever. anyways sierra agrees and shes like ok 🤗 we are friends now. courtneys like sure whatever.

then sierra (with courtney’s encouragement) starts to let go of her obsession w cody which is great BUT she starts fixating on courtney in the process. her tendency to idolize people starts to come back up when courtney is helping her get over cody and everything. sierra is thinking Wow courtney is sooo nice and sweet omg,, and i relate to her sooo much like we feel the same way abt gwen and everything,,, (and also the autism symptoms but i dont think sierra would consciously pick up on that. she just notices the little things like them both having sensory issues [which isnt canon but in my head it is. ok.]) so now sierra has a weird obsessive borderline crush on courtney. kinda like how she was with cody but less extreme since sierra actually recognizes courtney as a person to a degree since shes had a chance to actually interact with courtney face to face and get to know her personally instead of by stalking her. rather than being really invasive towarss courtney she just Really wants to be around her and she’ll agree w/ anything courtney says/does even if it doesn’t align with her own thoughts. anyways back to courtney. courtney is still realllly fixating on how badly she wants gwen voted off (imagine all this goes down before picnic @ hanging dork. that or gwen is still here after that episode for whatever reason. idk. Gwen is here okay. the episode timeline doesnt matter) and sierra is kinda encouraging this by validating all her weird violent thoughts abt gwen. courtney gets her idea to start throwing challenges and sierra helps her w/ it (sierra probably doesn’t agree w throwing challenges but she also. fucking hates gwen AND shes inclined to agree with courtney sooo). they bond more over trying to get gwen eliminated (throwing challenges + trying to get heather to vote w them) and courtney starts to think of sierra more and more fondly. she sorta enjoys the attention she gets from sierra (even though it is Not Good) bc yk. people tend to not really like her. and again she is Extremely Vulnerable rn. and she starts feeling okay with putting her trust in sierra even though when she did that with gwen the trust got broken, bc sierra helping courtney get gwen eliminated and really clearly disliking gwen for what she did kinda shows courtney that sierra and gwen are Very Different and sierra wouldn’t betray her. so courtney’s weird crush feelings start picking up more but since she trusts sierra shes less violently opposed to it. still not a fan but she doesnt hate the idea. right. so sierra is like officially detached from cody and fixated on courtney atp. for whatever reason she thinks its a good idea to tell courtney she has feelings for her which freaks courtney tf out bc a) shes kinda oblivious and didnt realize sierra liked her in that way b) courtney is still Conflicted about her relationship w sierra and c) she just got out of a several month long relationship. Uh oh. but given that courtney isnt completely against letting herself like sierra, shes pretty close w her now, and shes really enjoying the attention she gets from sierra, in addition to the fact that she thinks getting in a relationship would make duncan jealous which she wants to do, toxic yuri wins and courterra is real ❤️

from there idfk how itd play out just know that they would break up quickly (it lasts like half a year at the absolute maximum..[this might seem like a long time but im a lesbian. 6 months is nothing to me when it comes to relationships]) violently and sorrowfully.

in conclusion: courterra. can anyone hear me.

[frosteee-variation]

merry day after cabinet man death day!!! here is a completely normal video to celebrate

[tamedstray]

❤️‍🔥🔥

Send me a ❝👀❤️‍🔥❞ for how my muse would react to having a erotic dream of your muse, or ❝❤️‍🔥🔥❞ for a drabble about an erotic dream my muse has had of yours ☼

He eases into a dream about the Lavender Woods. After all, in his dreams, Vigor can safely explore the mystical forest without disturbing it or it's inhabitants. His mind conjures a vivid landscape, rich with tall wildflowers and ancient grasses that gently sway in the breeze. Tall trees surround the little clearing, offering himself a moment's privacy, only to soon spot Ahri from across the field. Instinctive fear soon fades, after all, though he is still wary of the fox spirit, she had proven amiable company so far.

      His imagination takes the opportunity to admire her, meeting her with the same wit she used on him. Banter soon turns playful, charming, revealing a side to himself he had thought lost. Though, unlike his years in high society, his alluring words are genuine towards the fox spirit.

      Her stare, even when merely imagined, is almost strong enough to stir Vigor from his dream. He is frozen in place as she draws closer.

      Suddenly, Ahri pushes him into the ground. Banter turns into whispers. Whispers turn into kisses. Kisses turn into bites on the tip of his ear and neck. With untamable passion, Ahri tears off his clothes, leaving rips and scratches in her wake. In contrast, Vigor carefully lets her clothes gently fall from her form. As she whispers promises of pleasure, her honey-sweet voice reverberates through his body. Soon enough, Vigor surrenders to her command as Ahri straddles his face.

      A dream of a dream, because even if it were real, he'd never believe it. The warmth of the early sun makes his bare skin flush, yet the morning breeze makes him quiver, a pain not eased by the aching anticipation. Her soft tails flick and dance over his torso, incited by her ecstasy as they gently brush over his skin, teasing him.

      Ahri grips his hair, pulling him closer, inviting him to feast, but he will never be full. Vigor holds her by the hips as his neck arches with pleasure. His lashes flutter as he tries to keep them open, admiring Ahri until tears roll down his cheeks. She cradles his head, holding him close and praising him.

      Fear seizes his senses as Ahri climbs off of him, never wanting it to end. He moans and whimpers whilst catching his breath. Then, Ahri helps him to his feet, leading Vigor by the hand towards a blossoming magnolia tree on the edge of the clearing.

      He's pushed into the tree with his arms pinned above his head, impressionable and malleable as Ahri rides him. The she-fox cups his face and demands passion. It takes all of Vigor's strength to unpin himself from her grasp, sitting upright and wrapping his arms tight on her hips as he rolls Ahri into his thrusts. Her moans are like a siren's song, while his whimpers quiver with agony as the world spins. Vigor's arms then wrap tight around Ahri, accidentally leaving red marks on her back. Sharp fangs bite down into his arching neck that invites her to feast on his flesh as he climaxes.

      Vigor holds her tight against his still racing chest, desperately trying to hide how his body trembles. He is alive with pleasure and pain, and slowly grounded by the sight of the falling magnolia blossoms as they waltz towards the forest floor, falling on Ahri as she burrows into his chest. It is a rapture so strong that it soon draws Vigor from peaceful slumber, clasping him by the throat as he's pulled back into the cold solitude of his tent.

[cookie-nom-nom]

The followers get hungry and demand a 5 loaves 2 fish miracle. And so Reigen wisely explains, “ah, but you see the meal was metaphorical. My past reincarnation was not feeding their bellies, but their minds. You’re coming to me for a physical reward, but what I offer is spiritual rewarding. Do you preform good only for compensation? No, you must do it for the love of your- I mean thy neighbors. If I do a miracle lickety split and feed all of you, how will you prove to god that you care for the rest of the group? Have faith the lord will provide, but so too should you seek to provide for your fellow mankind. So please, for the love of my father you art in heaven hollow bead his name, DON’T QUIT YOUR JOB TO LIVE OUT OF A VAN WITH ME.”

-Dream Reigen Mob Psycho, 2024

All of which Reigen said because he had only twelve dollars and a bag of fritos to his name and obviously can’t preform miracles. Only like two people in the cult have a job, and Reigen can’t do his bc leading a group of civilians into a dangerous potentially real exorcism was off the table. So, they have no money and are hungry. Thus, not psyched to not be given infinite free food via Reigen’s miraculous powers.

“Didn’t you tell your disciples to quit their jobs as fishermen to become fishers of men?”

Reigen, waving his arms around frantically while Dimple pauses from seething with envy to point and laugh: “Hey! You can’t believe everything they wrote about me back then! We had to think about what would get the Bible to sell! You don’t become an international hit without stretching the truth a little! And unless you want to eat crickets in the desert—“

Mob nudges him and whispers, “locusts, sensei.”

”Translating. Error.” Reigen hisses through his teeth. “Now are you going to follow what the Jesus of 2000 years ago said, or the one of 5 minutes ago? Unless you want to eat bugs, get a job.”

I had a dream Reigen accidentally started a cult as a messianic figure. Initially he’d just been trying to get people out of the way, either as part of an elaborate heist or to protect civilians from a psychic battle, it was unclear. Regardless he got trapped with his cult and felt bad about leaving, so he did his best trying to fake a miracle or two, feeling like an absolute fraud, and giving them wholesome life advice in a desperate attempt to distract them from the fact he wasn’t actually the second coming of Jesus.

[historiaxvanserra]

In Hades I Am With You | Chapter One

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: With rising tensions across the sea causing unrest in the capital, the two warring factions of the Night Court must come to terms.

Reader is the ill-fated daughter of a cruel Lord of Night; plagued with prophetic dreams and cursed with rare, arcane gifts. Azriel is the stoic spymaster; forged from violence, lethal and honed to a fatal sharpness. The pair find themselves bound to one another through sacred oaths. For better or worse.

Tags: Forced proximity, strangers to lovers, Night Court lore, Priestess reader, discussions of SA and abuse, discussions of sex work, criticism of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms, eventual smut, slight corruption kink, reader is incredibly romantic and horny.

Please let me know what you think. This chapter and readers powers are heavily inspired by Poppy from From Blood and Ash.

I was born on a night like this, I think. 

Storm-streaked, he had once called me. If only he could see me now; standing at the foothills of the mountain, wind-beaten and with the acrid taste of seafret on my lips. When I was a girl my father had told me that I came into the world the way the Old Gods had. Born from the merciless, blue-green depths of the sea. 

To be beautiful and cruel, and fearless.

Now fear is all I know.

The streets of the great mountain city are plagued by a feverish summer storm and, at the fatal peal of thunder I cast my eyes skyward. A terrible dread coils in the pit of my stomach. 

The visions come with the storm; fleeting images of an unforgiving tempest as it ravages all in its wake. The dark figure of a man, who whispers my name like a prayer. 

The God of plagues and prophecy.

Death had first come to me in a dream. Haunting and prophetic. Shrouded in seraphic blue light. 

Heat swells beneath the surface of the hydrangea clouds and the dark waters of the Sidra turn violent. Ivory seafoam coils and contorts violently like the tendrils of some grotesque sea-snake. I think of an old story my father had told me once. A human princess from the continent. She had been beautiful once. Until some dark, deathless God had lay claim to her. A monstrous thing. Rising from the depths of her watery tomb to lay waste to the men who had hurt her. Thrashing and writhing as the waves crested over the port of this wretched city. 

The crack of forked, white lightning against the darkening horizon breaks my reverie and Scylla nestles into my side with a bruising force. I smooth a hand flat on her muzzle. Her lustrous dark mane feels soft under my tender touch and she exhales a hot breath that rises like steam in the wet heat of the Summer storm. 

“Calm, Scylla.” I whisper tenderly to the mare I had taken to mount. My lips graze her dappled coat along her muzzle and I welcome the earthy fetor as it fills my senses. 

“Gentle, girl.” I reaffirm, patting the mount affectionately as I tie the reins to the crumbling statue of some prince long dead. 

“I’ll be back soon.” I promise. My voice wavers with another rumble of thunder. 

When I was a girl, my father had told me to count the moments between the cacophony of thunder and the flash of white lightning to work out how many leagues away it might be. 

At this moment I know that I am standing in the eye of the storm. 

Scylla watches warily as my figure disappears into the darkness of the lower city. I still hear her in the distance long after I am gone. Cloistered in the darkness of the city’s narrow alleys I remove the onyx veil that shrouds my features. I bury it in the folds of the plain, grey cloak I had stolen from Leda. 

I weave through the long, winding streets. I observe the world in flashes of cruel light and sound that permeates the suffocating darkness that saturates the lower city. I hear the echo of it in the lurid shouts of merchants, and the vulgar songs of sailors, coming home from the docks at the mouth of the Sidra. I listen to them all; as they beg, barter and brawl in the filthy streets. The fetor of decay lingers in the air like festering fruit flesh in the feverish heat of the slums. Throngs of beggar children chase the merchant's carts as they roll through the putrid pools of waste upon the wet, cobbled stone. Though, I only catch fleeting glimpses of them each time the cruel, seraphic light cuts through the blanket of the dark. 

As I pass through the Streets of Silk, I hear the bawdy rhymes of the painted whores as they call out into the night like a siren song; all sultry-eyed and dressed in lace that billows in the wretched breeze like the tendrils of a monstrous chimera. Fated to lure wayward sailors to their watery tombs. 

It is then, as the city bells toll their mournful song, that I reach my destination. 

The building stands as one of the last unsanctioned pleasure halls in the city; its weary slate facade is cut from the same dark stone as the mountain that oppresses the city. Its neglected roof tiles gleam in the pallid silver faelights like moonlight on the murky-green depths of the Sidra. Above the door, I observe the pillory that bears the establishment's name. The Jade Pearl, painted in varying gaudy shades of green and gold. 

The pleasure hall on the outer banks of the mountain city is alive with sordid activity. The whores in their fine silks twirl and dance in merry rings like water nymphs, and the serving girls sing sultry harmonies like siren songs, as they fill up the cups of patrons with sticky, honeyed mead. The high-arching melody of lyres and harps cut through the cacophony of carnal sounds; the officious laughter of Darkbringers, the vulgar curses and honeyed words, whispered into the skin of wind-beaten sailors and fat merchants. 

I traverse the narrow corridors that run like veins into the heart of the tavern. Its dark antechamber is bathed in shadow and dying fireglow that casts the word in a pallid light. The emerald bar curves around the hall in the shape of a crescent moon and the tables dapple the room like stars. 

“What a pretty creature you are, Mistress.” A beautiful wraith compliments, tugging and the long sleeves of my stolen robes. With tender touches and whispers the wraith works the buttons of my robes until I am left in the thin champagne shift I had worn beneath my cloak. 

She’s a slender looking creature, with pale blue eyes that look almost silver in the dying light of the hearth. Her long, white hair is braided over her shoulder like the tendril of some mythical siren. 

Dangerous and inviting. 

“Whatever you desire, be it wine or women, I will procure for you tonight,” She purrs, her voice low and sultry as she looks at me with those pale eyes. She’s dressed in the gauzy, silk robes of a whore. The garment flows like water over the curve of her hip and with a deep slit in its middle that exposes the graceful swell of her breasts beneath. And through her guise of beauty and seduction, I see the chains that bind her.

As I am bound. To this court. To the mountain that we call home.

“A drink would be nice,” I acquiesce, sliding a gold coin across the polished surface of the bar, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It is no trouble at all, mistress- but this far too much coin.” The wraith begins to untether the cracked leather coin purse from her hip. She begins to exchange the gold for smaller coins of silver and bronze, counting them in her open palm. 

“Please - keep it -- I’ve no use for such things anyway.” I command, nodding towards the coin in her hand. The wraith shakes her head and tries to protest but a call from the brutish looking owner draws the girl's attention away from me. I look up from my spot, across the painted emerald surface of the bar, to the games table. A voice, thick with mirth and malice, beckons my attention. 

“There are rumors amongst the legion that the High Lord will return to Court by the moon's turn.” The cruel laugh of a Darkbringer draws my interest as they sit around an emerald table. Crimson cards and dice litter the surface of the table and in its center a collection of coins. The male at the head of the table is dressed in his court robes; a dark overcoat with silver embroidery along the collars and cuffs. The others have abandoned their stifling robes in lieu of casual black tunics and pants. It is only through the tendrils of dark that shroud them in shadow that I know what they are.

These men are members of The Night Court’s legion of Darkbringers; and servants of the High Lord’s Steward. The larger of the three, unsheathes his dagger and places it atop the pile of coins in lieu of money. 

A reminder of their lethal potential. 

A vein of dark power that speaks to a coming vision plagues me in those spaces between the seconds. Untethered and adrift in the ether I allow my fragile mind to wander. I see a lake from which the dead rise like a devastating tempest. I see a King atop a dias, and a throne of splintered bone. And, through the blanket of the dark, I see the gleam of Illyrian Steel and age worn bone. 

Then, that tenuous connection to the Otherworld is severed. 

“The commander of the city watch says that tensions in the lower city are rising.” The deep timbre of the Darkbringer rouses me from thought again.

“I heard that the Lord Protector plans to broker an alliance with the Death Lord himself,”

“ if only to free himself of Rhysand’s leash.” 

“--bring him and that bitch of his to heel morelike.” The youngest of the three smiles malevolently.

“Enough of that, boys, we’re in the presence of a Lady.” The leader implies dangerously and at once, three heads incline in my direction. There are no Ladies allowed in this part of the city. The females of this forsaken city are bound to the Moonstone Palace. Forced to our knees in deference to our male oppressors. The only women that still dwell in the lower city are whores and exiles. Of which I am neither. 

Something dark and terrible roils in the pit of my stomach as the male approaches. I pull the hood of the austere, grey cloak to veil my face in shadows. The pale eyes of the Darkbringer meet mine through the din and his smile curls around the sharpness of his teeth.

The cold, amethyst hilt of a dagger kisses the tender flesh of my thigh beneath the many lawyers of dark fabric and I am reminded of my own lethal potential. The dagger had been passed from my grandsire some years ago. Made and forged from the ancient power that dwells beneath the mountain that we call home. The dagger itself had been set in a hilt of dark wood, trimmed with silver and precious gems; amethyst, sapphire and onyx. Its blade was fashioned of Illyrian steel and honed to a fatal sharpness.

“What a pretty little bird, she is.” He taunts as he approaches, his manner imposing and vindictive as he takes my chin roughly between his fingers. 

“I am no Lady, Ser.” I swallow thickly. It is true, of course. I am no Lady of the Night Court. I had been a babe when they found me. The cursed daughter to a cruel lord and some terrified nymph. 

My mother died giving me life and left me at the ruined Temple of Beara, the Mistress of Storms, deep in the foothills of the mountain. In the hopes that the Priestesses would shelter me from the cruelty of this court. After the temple fell I was brought before the Lords of Night and given to the Temple of Astarion on account of my rare and ancient gift. 

“Then perhaps you might regale my friends and I with the tale of how a pretty thing like you ends up here.” The Darkbringer replies, sliding a coin across the table. His gaze drops to the rings that adorn my hands; fine rings of onyx and amethyst, mined from the wretched bowels of the mountain that I have come to call home. The mark of my good breeding. 

“I assure you Ser, I am no whore either.” I chastise, sliding my hand beneath the folds of my cloak. The lust that pools in his eyes is a dreadful thing. Lecherous and heinous. Though I take comfort in the knowledge that my true identity is concealed. 

As the Pythia of the Night Court a dark veil typically obscures my features from the view of men; save from my eyes, which are heavily darkened with kohl and pigments of sapphire and amethyst that hail from the mines of Illyria. The veil protects me as much as it oppresses me. For if male like this knew of the power I possess, they would seek to control it, to covet that power until I were a vessel of their ill intent. That is why I was given to the Temple as a child. Why my estranged father and the Steward of the Night Court seek to make me their weapon. I know then that if I am discovered I will suffer for it. The kind of suffering that only exists here, in the rotting depths of Hewn City.

“No, I see that now.” Devilment darkens his pale gaze and the cut of amethyst shines in his dark eyes, he releases me from his bruising grip with a dark laugh. 

“Curious little thing.” One of the men whispers. 

“This is not the place for a gentle creature like you, Lady” He whispers, his pointed finger ghosts the cut of onyx on my hand,  “luckily for you I am feeling quite merciful.” 

“I am not as gentle as I look, Ser.” I warn. The three Darkbringers laugh cruelly. I turn to leave when a firm hand closes around my wrist and twists me so I am held in the Darkbringers bruising embrace. His lips drag a tortuous line along the side of my jaw. 

“Now, now little bird,” He coos mockingly against the shell of my ear as I struggle violently against him, “flighty little thing.” 

Bile rises in my throat as the Darkbringer’s companions laugh and fingers dig into the knife at my thigh, unsheathing it in a moment and pressing it against the male's pale throat. Unshed tears line my eyes like flecks of silver starlight as his hands still on my waist. 

“That is what you call mercy?” I laugh bitterly at the man, his eyes hardening as the Illyrian steel blade glints in the dim light. 

“Let go of her, Aeres.” The eldest of the three orders and the Darkbringer unhands me at once.

“Now fly back to your cage, little bird.” The elder male nods towards the rear exit beyond the bar. 

On uncertain feet I Traverse the narrow aisle of the tavern I find myself adrift amongst the dancing tide of patrons. A throng of women, clad in gauzy robes and underthings, twist and contort like columns of technicolor seafoam. The cruel laughter from the dance floor pulls me deeper into the wretched heart of the pleasure house. Lurid whistles and a series of vulgar gestures rouse my attention. A female; dressed in spider silk and lace coils around a portly merchant at the games table. She slips into his lap with a serpentine grace. I watch as the merchant’s weathered hand traces the line of her throat to the swell of her breasts. Smacking his hand away, the woman laughs, it is a beautiful, false thing that glitters in the pallid light.

“Well, girl I hope you fuck better than you play cards.” The merchant complains, laying down his deck of crimson cards. The female curls a painted hand around the cuffs of his tunic and whispers into his ear and the merchant's mouth curves into a lurid smile. One thick hand draws down her stomach, the other brushes the flesh of her thigh, slipping under the folds of her robe between her legs --

Oh.

I avert my eyes at the scene as a blush kisses its way along my neck and chest at the intimacy of it. The merchant rises from his seat at the table, taking the female slender hand in his. The whispered words they exchange are too low for me to hear but her answering smile is enough to know it was something wicked. The female rises leads the merchant towards the sleeping chambers beyond the emerald curtains. 

I watch as the merchant's shadowy figure is swallowed by the darkness as the curtain is drawn. My attention lingers far after they are gone, leaving only the smell of salt and jasmine in their wake. 

I am overcome with a strange, prophetic awareness.; dreams of shadowed light and a bleeding star, scarred hands that track the constellations as they reign over the black tapestry of the sky.

The high-arching symphony of strings and lyres blossoms in the feverish heat of the tavern. The soft melody of the lyres seems to echo off of the high, domed ceiling, as the heavy beat of a drum joins the cacophony of sound. It’s a hypnotizing, deeply sensual beat, that is unlike anything I have ever heard. 

Primal and carnal. 

I find myself adrift in the sway of the dancing sea. Slowly, I make my way along the length of the bar, reaching out to touch the gauzy jade curtains, parting them slowly --

“I don’t think you want to go in there, Mistress.” The lilting voice of the wraith warns. 

“Why not?” I ask curiously, lowering my hand from the curtain. The wraith laughs prettily, her cerulean eyes glinting in the dying light of the fire. 

“Some don’t appreciate an audience, Sweet girl.” 

“An audience?” I ask. 

Through the darkness of the antechamber, I see the silhouettes of the whores and their patrons, writhing and undulating with the beat of the drum. The music is punctuated by panting breaths and lilting moans, and the vulgar sound of men as they find their pleasure. 

“Oh.” The wraith laughs again, her painted lips curl into a wicked smile.

“Is it your first time here, Priestess?” The wraith leans in, the rich tenor of her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. Fear coils in my stomach and my grip on the emerald surface of the bar tightens. 

“I’m no priestess.” I try to emulate her melodious laughter and my eyes narrow in faux concern. 

“You needn't lie to me, Pythia. Your secret's safe with me.” Her words resound in my head and realization dawns. She’s daemati. 

“That type of secret is not safe with anyone.”

“What could I gain from exposing it to anyone? I wish you no ill will.” She returns. 

“You’d earn the Lord Protector's favor, of that I am certain --.” 

The wraith's face twists into a grimace and her sapphire stare hardens to a cold, wicked thing. “I have no need for that viper’s favour.” The venom laced in her voice speaks to the malice she holds for this place, its patrons and the cruel light of Hewn City. Many within the court resent the way in which we live, clinging to the slivers of power we are allowed, cowering in the darkness of the mountain. 

Things are changing as of late, war looms ever closer and whispers of dissent from the continent bring about unrest in the people. Many turn to the High Lord and his Lady for liberation from the dying vestiges and brutal traditions of this court. For many years I myself have lived in servitude and isolation, serving Keir, The Lord Protector and Steward of the ancient mountain city. 

As his coveted oracle; a conduit for his own power.

A cruel wind cuts through the heat of the pleasure hall as the doors open to announce an influx of new patrons. Three men, dressed in court robes enter through the archway, each shaded in shadows and dark wisps of power. My heart hammers thunderously in my chest as the men enter the heart of the establishment. 

“A flagon of wine and some dice, Arik.” The Darkbringer announces to the man behind the bar. My face pales from where I stand. These men are of my personal guard; formidable and unwaveringly loyal to my keeper. 

These men, these good men, are sworn to a monster, and they must do monstrous things to survive here. 

As we all must. 

I veil my face with the hood of my stolen cloak, tucking my hair into the collar so that it is concealed from view, and my face obscured almost entirely. If they were to discover me they would be duty bound to drag me back to the Moonstone Palace and throw me down atop the emerald dias for Keir and my father to punish as they see fit. 

I take another tentative look across the room and observe the men crowded around the game table with women hanging off them, like a swarm of beautiful and merciless harpies. 

“That one’s usual girl looks like you--” The wraith whispers to me, casting her own gaze to Ares who stands alone near the fire rather forlorn for a male in the middle of a brothel.  

“She’s busy with her favorite client upstairs. Perhaps you might retrieve her and make your escape.” Slowly, I turn to the wraith who takes my hand gently and leads me along the length of the bar. 

“You will find Aelle on the second floor -- take sanctuary there. I’ll come for you when your friends are occupied.” 

I hold her hand fondly and press a gold coin into her palm. 

“Thank you.” I say. She presses a chaste kiss to my cheek and ushers me up the stairs. 

As I ascend the steps of the pleasure hall, I slip a hand between the folds of my cloak, fingers ghosting the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh once more. 

The upper levels of the house are painted a deep emerald color and the flickering fae lights saturate the long, narrow corridors in onyx wisps of shadow. The room at the end of the corridor is stepped in near darkness, veins of indigo and navy that obscure everything in a shroud of blue-darkness. The mantle is hung with half-burned candles and a garland of foxglove and jasmine. The antique furniture looks as though it has been carved from the black wood of ash trees and the armchairs in front of the dying hearth are embroidered with dark floral motifs and silver threads. 

I draw in a sharp breath and the scent of pine and night-blooming florals shrouds me in its winter kiss. 

A flash of seraphic light illuminates the room and a deep voice, shaded in nightshade calls out from the blue-darkness.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” 

[bet-on-me-13]

Bruce Wayne was never Batman.

So! The night that Bruce Wayne's parents got shot, he developed an Unbreakable Resolve. He needed to get rid of the Crime that had taken his Parents away from him, no matter what.

But that night, he also developed a deep-seated fear of Death. He was face to face with his own Demise and instead of dying himself he saw his Parents die instead. He was Terrified of ending up like them.

But he still needed to stop Crime. He couldn't just let criminals go unpunished, and while he was still using his wealth to try and prevent it before it began, he knew there needed to be something to stop crime After it had been committed. And the Cops were useless on that Front.

He eventually found a solution while looking through his Parents Family Heirlooms.

Ancient Books dating back to the founding of Gotham and even before then, telling of a Creature from another world who his Ancestors had helped in the Past. A Being of Fear and Shadow, who owed a debt to the Wayne Family. He needed that Being. A Monster of Shadows and Fear was exactly the answer to scaring criminals away from committing crimes and punishing those who did.

But he needed to find the Being from another world first.

So he left home, traveling across the Globe training with the best Magicians and Demonologists in the world in search of the Monster who owed his Family a Debt. His travels took him far, from the streets of LA where he met a man named Zatara, to the Snowy Mountains of Nanda Parbat where he learned of the Lazarus Pits and the Demon's that came out of them.

While studying the Lazarus Pits, he was trained by the organization who guarded them. They despised Weakness, and while their leader was in awe of his Intelect he was less impressed by his body's conditioning. If he was to study the Lazarus Pits, he would first have to earn the Right in Combat.

He eventually managed to pass their Tests and eventually left them, having handed over a Copy of his research as the price for being allowed to Study the Pits.

Years later, he finally returned to Gotham, fully equipped to Summon the Being that owed him a Debt.

Bruce drew up the Summoning Circle as perfectly as he possibly could, he had one shot at it.

A drop of his blood and a splash of Lazarus Water later, and the Circle began to glow an ominous Green. Slowing, a shifting shadow began to emerge from the Circle, at first only a mass of writhing darkness before their form Solidified.

The Books he had found on the Spirit said that it would take the form of the Summoners Greatest Fear, which just so happened to be Bats for Bruce. The Form that the Spirit chose reflected that, with large Dark Wings falling over their form as if they were a Cape, and horns looking like the Ears of a Bat. From the Darkness, two glowing eyes appeared.

"Spirit, hear me. My name if Bruce Wayne, and I am calling in the Debt owed to my Family centuries ago. My City is plagued with crime and malice, rotting from its Core. My efforts to prevent Crime from the side of the Light have been in vain, Crime persists despite my efforts. In order for my vision to be fulfilled, the Criminals of this City must have their hearts pierced by Fear. Fear of Retribution. Fear of Consequences. Fear of Vengeance."

Thoughout bis Speech, the Shadowed Figure stayed silent.

"That is why I have called you here. I want you to stalk these streets, punish the criminals of this City and strike fear into their hearts from the shadows, so that they know to stay in the light. I don't want you to Kill them, never kill them. Let them live with that fear in their Hearts until their final days."

After he finished his speech, the Figure finally spoke.

"Your Quest is an Honorable one. You seek the betterment of your people's, and are unafraid to resort to drastic measures to achieve that goal. It reminds me of my Liege's resolve." It Spoke, it's voice low and rumbling. "Very Well. From this day forth, I shall protect your City from the Darkness in its own Heart. I shall be your Dark Knight."

...

Had this idea out of nowhere and needed to write it down. In this AU, Bruce still wants to protect his City from crime, but is understandably traumatized from seeing the Deaths of his Parents. He has a deep-seated fear of Dying, so he chooses to forgo fighting crime himself.

Instead, he finds out about a Spirit that his Ancestors helped long ago, and decides that the most logical next step out be to Summon a Demon to protect his City. Instead of training his Body for a decade to become Batman, he trains his Mind and Studies as much about Magic and Demon's as Possible.

He still knows how to fight because he trained with the League. He approached them with an offer to study the Lazarus Pits and give them his findings, and they accepted. But Ra's didn't want a weakling on his Base so he also required Bruce to train his body. He saw his potential for combat, and was so disappointed that Bruce had chosen a different path. He could have been Great!

Bruce still has a thing with Talia that produces Damian, he is still a point of interest from Ra's since he is insanely smart and has huge potential, and he knows how to fight pretty well. Albeit not as well as in Canon.

Bruce becomes the Benefactor/Guy in the Chair for Fright Knight (who is the one he summoned if you couldn't tell), who looks like a "Bat Man" because of Bruce's fear of Bats. Fright Knight agreed to this because 1.) He had a debt to pay, 2.) Bruce reminded him of Danny, and 3.) He respected Bruce's ballsyness to Summon a demon and command it to protect people.

Bruce still adopts his Kids, but there are some changes.

Dick is adamant about fighting Crime, and eventually Bruce is forced to let him go on patrol with Fright Knight, who has started going by Batman. Thankfully Frighty managed to give him some blessings so he had minor powers and would be safer.

Jason is mostly the same, and he is so excited that Robin actually IS Magical. When he dies, Fright Knight, who had gotten attached to their Family, goes into the Zone to search for him. He is unsuccessful unfortunately.

Tim is kind of funny. He figured out that Dick was Robin, and Jason was the 2nd Robi , but assumed that Bruce was Batman. When he approached Bruce about becoming Robin so he would stop going down his violent Cycle, Bruce Redirected him to talk to Fright Knight, who was not taking his failure to find Jason well.

Damien grew up knowing that his Father was a Genius, and the Master of the Batman, which gave him a bit of an Ego. At first he thought of Fright Knight as a Servant, and tried to command him like he did with Alfred. Frighty corrected him quickly enough.

Any more ideas for this AU? I have so many, but I think I need to stop for now.

[trulyumai]

To Honor Your Husband

pairing: emperor geta, reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: violence, mention of blood.

synopsis: Through it all, it was you who remained by Geta's side. Even he couldn't ignore such an obvious act of devotion.

Enjoy!

The marble floors lit up in flashing waves. The hanging torches ignited the chambers with astute precision, cascading the emperor's eyes in a sheen, orange glow. 

He was upset; veins popped up angrily upon the man’s pale head, winding their way across the expansion of his temple. 

You sat there, precariously upon the bed, unable to move, to say a word of comfort. 

For the emperor was furious; what was to ease his ever rising temper? 

Certainly not you. You learned from your mistakes. Still feeling the tingle and scratch his rings made on your cheekbone. 

The last attempt you made— a month ago?  You couldn’t tell, Time was ever lost on you as of late. 

You remembered Reaching out a hand,  wanting to shush his worries, the incessant scratching of his knuckles. 

But he had turned too quick— too fast.  you could do nothing but watch and wait. 

Watch as the maroon ring crashes down upon the side of your face. Head swinging to the side, cold blood ran down your cheek, dribbling just past your chin. Staining the white and gold lace that had adorned your frame comfortably. 

It was your favorite piece

It lay in ashes now. Burnt just the night after, permanently ruined by the invasion of blood that seeped into its cloth.

He had said nothing. No apology, no look of remorse. 

He only spit in your direction, yelled at how foolish—useless you were to the crown. To him. 

“To think I married such a whore.” He sneered, shaking off the blood that dotted across the back of his hand. 

Tears stuck upon your lashes, until they sank down, wetting the pink and bloody patches with ease. 

Noticing the tears the emperor let out a cruel laugh. His lips twisted back in a way that scared you; unable to recognize such a hateful display upon your husband. 

Blatantly laughing at your very being. 

His hand grabbed your cheeks, squishing them together with a terrible force until the bones in your jaw popped with the pressure. 

“Look at you,” he tutted. His darkened eyes seeped across your trembling form, watching as your hands came up to his flexed one, weakly pushing at his jeweled fingers. 

“Tell me to stop.” Crazed eyes looked into your scared ones, unable to procure the man from houlting his assault on your cheeks, your smaller hands gave up their hold, and swung down back at the sides. 

“Tell me!” The emperor demanded. 

It was a trap, you knew it was. For no one could tell Emperor Geta what he would do. 

What he couldn’t do. 

So you said nothing. You let the man squeeze and pull at your face— scratching it here and there with the beds of his nails. 

“Pathetic.” Shoving you away, the bottom of your  dress caught between your feet, sweeping your form off the ground in a solid, single moment. 

You remembered looking up at him— vision blurry and wobbly from the vast amount of liquid pouring down your eyes. 

He looked monstrous— truly the epitome of a villainous emperor. You wished for different tidings. Different outcomes. 

Not to be here, sullying your reputation in some grandiose temple, with a man who could care less about your health. 

Suddenly— movement dashed across your sight. Breaking you from the past thoughts that plagued your mind. 

“Wife,” Geta called out. His form slack, sitting by the edge of the bed with his head slumped between his shoulders. 

You hummed back, not wanting to displease him so early in the night. 

“Am I not… worthy?” 

You stared. 

“Worthy… of what, dear husband?” 

Confusion etched upon your brow, a crease formed between them. 

Geta’s hand came up, idly swinging and gesturing to the expansion of the room. 

“Everything. Anything.” 

“You’re the emperor. Of course you-” 

“No! Without my title, without my wealth, am I worthy?”

His fist gripped onto the porcelain sheets, tightly winding them into his hold until blue veins sprouted out upon the pale flesh. 

You didn't understand- was this another trick, another ruse? 

“You… Are an honorable man, a husband-

“Just a husband?” a deep chuckle left the man's lips, it was harsh and short. 

“Not just a husband. My husband, my emperor.” His gaze lifted to meet yours, form now stiff and straightened from the tensing muscles. 

“I've abused you, belittled you.”

A shuddering breath escaped you, a bead of sweat formed upon the side of your head. 

“Yes,” 

“I've ashamed you.” 

A pause. The tension was thick, it molded across the room in waves like a pulsing heat. 

“You’ve hurt me, shut me out, made me look like a fool in front of the people.”

What were you doing, shut up, shut up, shut- 

“And have made me question my intentions… my life.” 

His eyes never left your form, he watched as your fingers shook, how they absentmindedly played with the loose strings upon the cotton covers. 

“But,” 

“But?” he jutted in. You realized then just how desperate he looked. How the look of longing passed between the cover of anger and contempt. 

“But, you're my husband. I have sworn my body, my soul to you. Through it all, even if the senate- the citizens were to turn their back upon you, I would be there- here, with you.” 

He wanted to burst out laughing at such a loving display. In a way, he despised how easily his wife could ease him so, just by letting out a few poetic lines to scrape by his mind. 

But another part of him wanted, no, needed to hear such prattling over his being. 

He wanted to be loved, not just for being an emperor. 

But for being him. 

He wanted to be honored.

To be worthy. 

Like you. 

He despised it, envied it. 

Loved it. 

You saw how his eyes lit up once more, a fiery auburn rose inside the retna’s and you knew then it was time for silence. His walls were lifted up again, shoving you as far as he possibly could. 

“Seek slumber, dear wife.” His armor clattered with his sudden movement. He walked towards the stone walkway, leading out towards the chambers. 

You were so close, so close to getting to him. You saw how he slackened with each sweetened word. How his eyes relaxed on your form with comfortability. It wouldn't end like this, not when you were near a new level with him. 

“Geta?” 

 The words fluttered from your mouth. A desperate chill ran across your body, crawling up your spine until it met with the back of your neck. 

The emperor stood still, his armor rang out no more as his movement halted with the desperation seized upon your voice. 

The way you spoke his name. 

Gods.

The man began tightening his fist, over and over so his fingers tensed with pressure. 

“What?” 

“I love you.” 

The man hadn’t meant to flinch, back bending with a subconscious twitch of surprise. He wanted to make you eat those words- shove his ringed fingers down your throat until bile burned the tips of his flesh. 

But,

In a way, it was nice hearing those words fall effortlessly from someone as loving as you. Without forcing, demanding them to spill from your pretty pink lips. 

A groan spilled from his mouth- low and barely audible. He turned quickly to drown it out. 

“Of course you do,” a teasing, mean smile lit up his face. His lips raised, white teeth gleamed against the light. 

Wasting no more time, the emperor resumed his exit, leaving you alone, to mull over the affections of a broken lord. 

[weltraum-vaquero]

A pillar, familiar

Summary: Jayce returns.

Word count: 1k

Tags: SFW, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, Jayce being the world’s wettest dirtiest saddest guy, and being plagued by The Visions

Notes: Just a little drabble to tide over the fact that I desperately need to hold him but my brain refuses to write anything longer until I am provided context for what he’s been through.

Everything rings, frays around the edges. Fractals in his vision — a disconnect from his body, a forceful rebirth as different forms of him seem to conjoin themselves back into a disjointed, damaged whole. A whole that will not last, cannot last, damaged to its core, rusted in the cogs of its barely moving mechanism.

Jayce has learned far before however long he has spent out of this world that there is one thing to make his brain cooperate, and that still holds true. In spite of every other rule — of the universe, of himself — that has been shattered and cuts into his brain with the aftermath of his resurrection.

He needs a singular point of focus.

And Viktor, Viktor could, should be that. He needs to, he needs to, he needs to. He can’t fail, he won’t, but…

If the world has waited this long for him to be spit out unstrung and wrong, it can wait a moment longer. It can wait until he stumbles down dimly lit streets, it can wait until he trips over himself, heaving, nails digging into the wood of the still familiar door.

He pleads you haven’t changed — but does not expect it to be an answered prayer.

Jayce pounds his weary fist against the door, until it shakes so thoroughly the hinges protest.

The door opens and he is greeted with the curse of his own making pointed at him — all blue lenses raised, gem humming, barrel staring back.

“…Jayce?”

And then it’s your eyes that stare him down instead, and the buzzing, the fractals, the zaps — quiet. Oh, so quiet.

“Oh my god.”

He lets himself stumble into your arms, disgusting and filthy and weary to the marrow of his broken fucking bones.

“Jayce,” you choke out again, arms around his frame, pulling him close, squeezing him so tight it hurts good. A reminder of a constant, a pillar, familiar. You start to sob. He wonders if he’s still capable of reciprocating. His old self, the self you’d loved, would have been bawling. “Oh, Jayce,“ you croak, all of you shaking with the vehemence of your cries. “I thought you were… Jayce, where—? How?”

Familiar fingers thread through his hair the way they used to. Lips to his filthy cheek where they used to fit just right above the stubble of his five o’clock shadow, bottom lip now presses to his thick beard.

“I’m sorry.” Everything else is much too complicated, or too insignificant to put into words. “I-I’m so, so sorry.”

You pull him closer.

“It’s okay.” Your voice ripples down his spine in a soothing wave, every one of his aching muscles sags as if on command, and Jayce goes limp. His knee — the fucked up one — creaks, pops, gives. Forced into it just the way he had been after… after Salo, he kneels, and you kneel with him, brace his weight.

In the quiet of the night, you savor it, savor each other, for a long moment. Jayce swears he can hear the street lamps buzzing when your breath begins to settle, and something about it stings his brain like a needle.

You notice — you must have, because one hand comes up to cradle his face.

“Let’s get you inside,” you tell him, palm sliding from his middle to below his elbow, supporting him on his shaky way up. “I’ll run you a bath, I have some leftovers you’ll love, I still have your tea, Jayce, anything you want. Anything you need.”

And that sounds like everything he could ever want, or need.

But it’s not something he can afford.

“I want… to kiss you, please.” His voice finally comes out as broken as the rest of him feels when he pleads for it, man starved. Something in the edge of his vision pulses, darkens, he has to, he has to.

“Anything you need,” you echo your previous words, and he does need it. Both hands on his cheeks again, cradling him the way they used to when you would smile at him and call him puppy in the warmth of your kitchen on early mornings.

He puts his hands over your own and dreams of it as soft as his mind will let him.

“Come here, puppy.”

Jayce knows patience intimately. An ever present companion throughout his academic journey, as much of a partner as Viktor once was on his job.

And he kills it with the same heavy hands and heart that he will kill Viktor with.

His teeth hurt from how he hurls himself at you, into you, lips smashing like the crackle of lighting, he wants, he wants. He holds you like he wishes he could have before; before the voices and the visions and the pain and the aching fatigue, he kisses you like it’s air. Digs his tongue into your mouth to sample what is the first — and might be the last — taste in a long, awful time. You suck on his tongue and locks it up somewhere in the unfamiliar twists and turns of his altered mind and prays it’ll keep.

You’re the only one who’s waited.

“Come on in,” your voice is breathy when you pull away, the words hit his lips before they reach his ears. He envies how little you know. “It’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay.” Hands on the nape of his neck, he feels small. Not the puny kind, not like prey, but protected. “Oh, Jayce, I’ll take care of you.”

And Jayce Talis can still cry after all.

He clings to your shoulders, a crumbling, pathetic version of the man you once loved, and he sobs, makes an even more unloveable display of himself.

How he pities you for being still so eagerly up to the monstrous task.

“I c-can’t,” he sobs. “I can’t. I have… a promise to keep.”

[carolmunson]

blood machine.

emperor geta x senator's daughter!reader songspiration: in keeping secrets of the silent earth 3 | coheed & cambria

did not once plan to write for this guy but here we are. also like, is it historically accurate? no. like, not even a little. (hell is mentioned and technically hell wasn't 'a place' until 400 BC but like WHATEVER.) am i making a semi effort? sorta kinda. have i been a little stoned every time i've worked on this? well, yes.

summary: when what was supposed to be a diplomatic dinner before a much bigger and lively feast becomes a marriage offer, all of the wine you drank turns to ash in your mouth. haters to haters, bay-bee. tw: 18+, drinking but like -- idk it's ancient rome, tension, fighting, some mild body shaming (??), a literal threat of domestic violence but again it's ancient rome so like i don't think they cared, two stupid little bitches who hate each other. mentions of war and ultimate distaste for the poor. reader kind of has lady macbeth vibes. my little evil queen.

Wine is poured, golden chalices exalted. You are a vision and he is a toad looking creature of a man that only his mother could love. Not quite his brother, never quite measuring up the same way -- always trying to puff his chest. It was easy to tease him, ego easy to bruise -- little brother. You’d spent time in your childhood tagging along with your brother and the other kids to taunt him, pathetic and whimpering. 'Tale teller!' you'd jeer, every time he'd run off to his mother to blubber over how mean you all were. And you were mean.

But people grow, as they do. And so did you -- still mean, but in a different way. Listening to meetings, reading maps, keeping tabs on new republics, on potential uprising. The poor -- the fucking poor. Finding new ways to keep them occupied so that they'd stop trying to find ways to be powerful. Powerful like you. Powerful like the man at the head of the table with a plum to his lips. And as it has been said, a man in possession of a good fortune and power, must be in need of a wife. It became clear when you arrived that this was not a business dinner before a grand feast, your parents simply forgot to mention what this was really about. Your best linens, your hair coiffed, your best jewelry, you should have known it had been a ruse the moment you got there. His home on Palatine just sparkling the way the gold on your fingers did, candles in the halls and stairways glittering when they hit the rubies and pearls on your chest and ears. When your father veers the conversation from politics and business to marriage you both choke, stern eyes glued to your mother's painted face. A business dinner where you are currency -- more than worthy. Just a few months shy of being eligible when Caracalla was, regrettably, forced to marry Flavia at the last moment. It would've been nice to have the gang together again in some capacity. Could've bullied the toad to assasinating himself if you were lucky enough. Total power. Complete upheaval. The more you thought about it, the more of it your craved. The pit in your stomach grew, if it wasn't with his brother -- even though you bore no attraction -- there was not a point at all. Geta didn't think nearly as critically, didn't hit hard enough, didn't strategize correctly. You'd never even seen him pick up a sword -- but then again, that made sense. You very rarely spent time in his palace, much prefering the festivities of Caracalla's close by.

You listen while your mother goes on and on about his grace, tongue dipped in honey while she blabbers. She mentions how handsome he is, his valiance in leadership, how honorable he's become as he's taken the place of his late father -- you can't help yourself but laugh. The giggle echos and bounces through the high ceilings, floating against the archways, getting caught in the drapery by the open hall. His eyes flick to you over his goblet, catching in the candle light, an aggravated sneer plaguing his face. He looks like a pig when he does that, you think to yourself.

You know that business, for the most part, is a man's game. But it does not deter you from doing your best to try and wager yourself out of this. Ideas drip into your mind while the drone of the conversation turns to fuzz in the background. How can you sell that this is a bad idea? It will bring less publicity, less of a threat, less resposibility if married to someone with equal nobility. Certainly not an emperor. Especially not one like this. So petulant, so competitive, so eager for a war he does not know how to plan, so temperamental, so weak, so conniving, so consumed with the colosseum that he doesn't think of what should be done around him. It's his voice that brings you back to attention.

"And why is it she hasn't been taken for a wife then, at this age?" he asks, brow quirking in your direction. You let out of huff of offense while he sips his wine, metal clinking as he places it back down. A smirk flits across his features at the remark, "Is something wrong with her?"

Your father, sweating with embarrassment, looks over at you and back at the emperor, "Well she, she's of course beautiful." Geta winces, cocking his head to the side with a shrug. Your father sighs, desperate to try to find a better angle, "She um, she -- she has great wits, Ceasar, unmatched. She knows her duties as a wife, but -- a great thinker. She could -- she could be helpful!" "Wits," he mumbles sourly under his breath before leaning back leisurely in his chair, "Great thinker? Very surprising." "August--" your father starts. "Co--" you correct over a sip of wine, "Co-Augustus."

Geta tosses you another sour look, tongue running over his teeth before clicking it behind his lips. You shrug while swallowing. "Semantics, Publius," you wave a hand at him. A hush falls over the room as his gaze snaps up at you, blanching at the disrespect of being called by his first name. Your mother hides her face in her napkin with a groan. Your father leans his temple against his fingers, eyes closed in frustration. "Mind how you address me," Geta corrects with a stern pull to his lips, eyes glittering with rage. Your eyes catch over the mountains of food before you, holding your glass out as one of his servants pours you another glass of wine. "Is that not what your mother calls you?" your voice feathery, but certain. A vein begins to raise and pulse in his neck while his shoulders round forward.

"Please apologize, dear," your mother mutters, putting the napkin back on the table, "Tell -- tell the emperor what it would mean, to be -- to be wed to someone of such calibur."

Your eyes stay on his, challenging him while your mother begs you to say something to make amends. Another sip of wine passes your lips, "No, shan't."

Your mother scolds you, your full name escaping her with embarrassment tainting her tongue. Sweat beads at your father's forehead while he changes the subject, doing aything to try to keep his good favor with both sides of the imperatorship.

You grin into your goblet at the sight of Geta's face -- reddened with anger and frustration at the brazen disrespect. But it was fine to continue to be an enemy if it meant you would leave these regal walls and never have to step foot in them again. And if you did, it would be as another senator's wife, visiting his brother in another house where you'll laugh and drink wine and cheer when he's killed.

Even his posture is revolting, hunched over while he listens to your father speak. Now going on and on about paper work that doesn't interest you if it doesn't have a say on who is next on the list to conquer. Your eyes glaze over in boredom while pomergranate, honey pudding, and dates are placed on the table. Rose wine replaces the red to sweeten the tongue -- you're sure your parents wished it were true.

It's not very long after dessert is served that your parents start again.

"As you know, she does come from a family of very fertile women," your father encourages. You quickly swallow the bite of date you'd taken to interrupt, nearly choking, "Excuse me, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation."

Geta looks at you while you speak, scanning you and then lingering on the dessert in your hand, "Her hips are quite sizeable -- big enough to bear multiple childen, that's certain. Is that her only sell?"

Anger bubbles under your chest, but warning looks from both of your parents keeps your sharp tongue between your lips. The grip on your goblet tightens, jaw clenching while your pass another sip through gritted teeth. You let a seething breath out through your nose. "As I tried to explain before," your father continues, "She is very on the pulse in terms of the political climate and, and, and great with strategy." "I'm not looking for a wife who tries to strategize for me--" he responds coolly. "From how the empire has not expanded since your father's death I would guess that perhaps you should be," you snap back smartly. His posture straightens, chains and medallions across his chest glinting in the candle light. The room quiets itself again, only the sound of untensils and cups being put down or collected filling the dead air. The soft scrape of metal, the rustle of linens while servants and guards alike avert their gaze downward.

"Leave us," he states, voice pungent with authority. You stretch your neck on both sides while the servants depart, already bored with the back and forth. Already moved on from the eventual scolding and potential exile that won't get put into motion because you are simply too friendly with the rest of the upcoming generals and politicians. One rogue idiot who barely has the power his brother has, that his father never trained into him, could not dole a punishment that is worth your genuine fear.

You sigh, hearing the staff make their way down the long stone corridors into the grand halls to prepare for a more formal party with other higher status families. More likely a collection of offerings for him to choose from, other parents trying to arrange a marriage with the empire's most powerful and eligible bachelor. It would be one of the few times the brothers would have to engage with each other, which you're sure put Geta more on edge than normal.

"Senator, please take your wife to the grand hall to be seated," he commands, his voice lower, delving darker. The vein in his neck continues to pulse, forearms straining against the golden cuffs over his wrists, "The guards will accompany you."

You watch as your parents rise, bowing their heads before following the guards out of the room and through the blood red drapery hung from gilded valances. Geta's eyes stay hardened on you, and yours him, while you rise as well, taking a few steps around the large wooden table toward the exit. "Not you," he says, not turning to face you, "You will stay." "It is not appropriate for me to be unaccopanied in the pres--" "Do not speak," he huffs, hand coming up to silence you, "Your voice grates on me." "Then you can imagine what your own voice does, Augustus," you say without thinking, letting the insults flow out of you like the fountain water in the courtyards. He pushes away from the table, steadily walking towards you with enough vigor that the bottom of his cape starts to billow behind him. On his way, he pulls a sword from a guard's holster, dragging it so the tip grinds against the stone, making your jaw clench at the shrill sound.

"What happens to those who speak against me?" he asks, steps clicking against the floor from the studs on the bottom of his sandals. He begins to stalk around you, circling while he waits for an answer. "Execution," you respond, keeping your eyes on the drapery just twenty feet ahead of you. "What else?" he asks, you can feel his breath behind you, the whining grind of the sword against the stone making your shoulders tense. "Exile," you answer, a laugh bubbling out of you, "But I can't imagine your brother agreeing to either of those. You'd really banish me, Publius? Because I was a little mean to you?" When he appears in front of you again, your lips stretch into a sickeningly sweet smile, sarcasm staining your tone, "But we're such old friends."

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer with the sword between you, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you."

He leans forward, enough that you can smell the rose wine on his breath. His voice quiet and menacing, "Though -- it could be that the senator said something to offend me tonight at dinner. It could be that perhaps he -- spoke poorly of my dear brother or my late father. Something just dastardly enough to sour my brother's respect for him." "And you expect Caracalla to believe that?" "In what way does it benefit me to lie about it?" he challenges, "And even more so -- with your father exiled, where does that leave you?"

You swallow thickly, not giving him the satisfaction of replying while your look into his now wild brown eyes. Flashing with mania and endless possibility.

"A peasant," he spits.

"If it keeps me out of these halls I should be lucky, no?" you fire back, looking at him from under furrow brows. He continues to circle you, dragging the sword again. The click, click, click of his shoes keeping time in your head. "I'm sure my brother would be happy to keep you as a pet in the meantime," he laughs to himself, "Or we could put you in the colosseum, you think you'd fare well?" "Better than you could, that's certain," you cross your arms over your chest, "Could never stand up and fight like a man, even as a kid. Your father would be embarrassed."

The grinding gets louder as he presses harder down, causing small sparks to fly from the edge of the sword.

"If you were to be chosen, would ever even attempt to learn respect?" he asks sharply, "Or would it have to be beaten into you?" You snort, "At least you're the funnier brother, you have that going for you." You can see him out of your periphery, the way he pulls his cheeks in, the roll of his shoulders -- he's losing patience. "What, would you prefer I called you Geta? Augustus? Ceasar?" your eyes roll. A soft cackle comes from his through, canines showing in a gleeful smile, "No, no -- from you? I'd much prefer something more respectful." Click, click, click. The grind of the sword. The rose on his breath. "Dominus," he nods with the threat, "Dominus et Deus."

"You disgust me," you respond quickly. "As a husband and as emperor is that not my title, already?" he shrugs, looking at you like it's obvious.

"You are nobodies Lord and God, you are a petulant -- sniveling -- repulsive little brother who is only where he is by being lucky to be born," you glower.

"You still see me as a child, femina," he tuts, "I promise you, what ever Caracalla has told you is a tapestry of made up stories. You could hang it on the tallest arch and it would hit the floor ten times over."

"I do see just a whining child before me," you hiss, "I'm sure you'll run to your mother after this, too."

His chuckle turns to a low, dark laugh from deep in his chest. It crawls up your spine and rings in your ears, mixing with the grating 'shhhhhhinnnngggg' of the sword on the ground.

"If it were fate that there was union between us," he asks from behind you, "What would you say to that?"

You look straight ahead, hearing the click of his shoes. The heat of the torches on the walls billowing onto your face while you keep your eyes on the drapery, still closed -- still keeping you here.

"It would be a fate worse than the hottest hell," you confess, your voice not wavering.

The whine of the sword stops, sheathed into his belt. The click of his shoes halts.

Quiet.

Rose wine on his breath, you feel it on your skin now, his chest against your back while he closes the space between you. A hand reaches up to push the hair from your neck, the other gripping the fat of your hip to pull you ruthlessly against him in a thud. Your eyes shut, bile crawling up your throat in disgust. His nose coasts against the shell of your ear, making you tilt your head away while goosebumps rise on your arms. Through a knowing grin he whispers, the words burrowing deep in your chest in loathing and a glimmer of fear: "I pray every moment of it burns you."

[messenger-of-babel]

Voicemails

Summary: When complications arise on his mission, all he has is one phone call back to you. (Death Island! Leon x reader)

Word Count: 2.1K

Notes: It really does end here, huh? 🥹 This is the last post for this month. We have officially finished Angstober 2024. Thank you to everyone who liked, commented, reblogged, followed, and sent me things to my inbox. It's going to be weird not writing for you all every day, but you'll still see me around. I'm going to take a small break and write in the background, get through requests and stuff. I'm moving house and graduating at the same time so I might not post a whole lot till I'm settled again, but then you can count on me for more than angst!

General warnings for language use, spoilers for Death Island if you haven't seen it (you should it's quite funny), and a mildly OOC Leon but we can all be saps sometimes. Warping the events of the movie to my own benefit.

Enjoy our last post of this month, sweethearts~

RiRi xx

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"You wanna make a call?" Chris grunts, looking down at him. Leon looks up at him, vision blurry and pain radiating through his body. His neck stings from where the microdrone bit him, and he can no longer feel anything from his thighs down, just a numb tingle. He has to consciously remind himself to breathe, in through the nose and out through the mouth.

"You got- you got a way?" he rasps back, eyes scrunching in confusion. Chris nods, the bigger man bucking slightly against the cell wall he's leaning against.

"Left- left pocket." he grits out. "Claire got the signal through before we got bit. It's only strong enough for one call, then Dylan's framework will probably patch it."

Leon sighs, head hitting the rusted bars of Alcatraz. This had been another run of the mill mission, find the missing scientist selling government secrets, pack him up and ship him back to the government to be trialled at court. In the true fashion of his 'run of the mill missions', nothing went according to that plan and veered off into a clusterfuck as usual. The BSAA had been involved chasing their own leads, and he had run into Jill in the sewers running from zombies. the plague that seemed to follow him like a shadow ever since he left Raccoon as a young and very traumatised cop.

He was supposed to get in and out, wrap it up so he could come home to you like he promised. As he sat there writhing, he wondered what the look on your face would be if he wasn't able to make it to the cruise that you had both planned. You had lobbied both him and the DSO for a holiday, and after many angry letters and snatching the phone out of his hand to yell at his supervisor, you had succeeded in getting him two months off. Without hesitation you had booked the both of you on a cruise, shushing him every time he had tried to protest.

If he was being honest, just sleeping at home would have been enough. He could barely remember the last time that he had sat down or stopped for a moment. The days that he was at the office or on a mission blurred together so often that he was beginning to forget what colour you had both decided to paint the kitchen, making him falter when coworkers made small talk with him in the staff room. Which side of the bed you preferred to sleep on, what bills needed to be paid first, whether the spare bedroom was being turned into an office or a workshop or not. It was when his forgetfulness led him to forget what month it was and being blindsided to your own anniversary that he finally snapped out of it.

You had been sitting on the porch steps dressed in your finery, watery eyes looking up at him as he pulled into the driveway, your knees pulled to your chest. He had jumped from the car like you were shot, the realisation of what he had done thrumming hard in his chest. "I'm so sorry" he had murmured into your hair, holding you tight. "I am so so sorry."

You had just sniffled in response and eventually gave him a weak hug back, and he clung to that like a lifeline. He swore that he would never fuck up like that again, and he intended to keep that promise.

So, he had relented to the cruise vacation, telling himself that he would be able to relax and unwind on the seas and out of service of work. They could call another agent for once, he wanted to focus on nothing but the smile you wore as you got to carry out the couple things he felt he had denied you your entire relationship. Getting to use the swim up bar, taking photos together, dressing in matching clothes for the cheesy cruise quiz nights. If that was what you wanted, that is what he was going to give you. Besides, it gave him a chance to relish in you again.

You, who had cancelled the wedding of your dreams to get married at the courthouse with him when he got called away suddenly and you weren't sure if you would see him again. You had been married within hours with the rings he had picked and you in the finest you could find on such short notice. He had thought you looked stunning, even if the lighting was the harsh LED of the courthouse and not candles like you had wanted.

You, who had put up with months of him being gone, not knowing if he was dead or alive. Who had to stay up late tracking the news for crumbs of his whereabouts, only able to make guesses to where he might have been assigned. Every death, every bioterrorist attack overseas carrying the possibility that Leon's body was among those being pulled from the carnage.

You, who he was calling right now with the jacked cell phone from Chris's pocket, dial tone droning on.

Leon had been stung last, used as nothing more than an example to show off the latest weapon in the bioterror market. Yet he was losing feeling fast, much faster than Chris or even Claire struggling in the other cell. It was like his atoms were screaming at him, writhing in him at a molecular level. Breathing felt like it was through a damp cloth, lungs having to work twice as hard to suck oxygen into his lungs. His eyelids were struggling to stay awake and fight off the black curtains that floated in the corners. he could see the way that the others looked at him, with pity and with concern. As soon as he had caught the eye of Chris, saw the flicker of fear cross the usually confident man's face, he knew that he was reacting worse than all of them.

So here he was, heart in his throat as he prepared to tell you the words he hadn't been expecting to say when he left that morning. When the line doesn't pick up he curses, waiting for the tone. He wasn’t going to waste his chance.

"Hi! If I haven't picked up, I can't come to the phone right now. If you leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Please wait for the beep, thank you!"

He smiles to himself at the chipper tone of your voice, sounding heaven sent even through the phone. When he hears the tone he takes a deep breath, as big as he can and puts a fake smile on his face. He hopes that it makes his tone come out just a little sweeter for you, even though he knows that you'll be worried regardless.

"Hey, Sweetheart." he starts, voice raspy. "I'm sorry to be calling you like this. I just wanted to call to hear your voice. I-I missed you. I know you didn’t pick up, so you're probably busy. Now don't call me back immediately, I... won’t be able to pick up for a while. I just...damnit I wanted to just hear you." He grits out, head falling against the bars as he loses strength in his neck. He catches eyes with Chris, the older man's eyes misting over as he looks down at him before he turns his head away, the most privacy he can give him in the situation.

"I just wanted to call to let you know that I love you...and I miss you." he begins again. With his eyes closed the words come easier, the image of you flitting into his mind's eye. You look at him in his spectral vision with a smile, encouraging him to go on. He feels his chest ease, like he's actually talking to you, and the both of you are the only ones in the room. "I know you're going to worry. I know this doesn't sound good-" he grits his teeth against another hot flash of pain. "And... it’s not." he finishes. "I want to tell you…that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't think I'm gonna make it home tonight, baby. I... I might not make it back from this." he tries to chuckle, but the sound is dry, and the effort hurts his chest. "Things got bad here, and it's not looking good. I think- I think it ends here, honey. If I don't make it just...just, please look after yourself."

He takes a shaky breath, and the silence of everyone around him is deafening. The scene is oddly private and uncomfortable for the others in the vicinity, while the usually ever-energetic man known as Leon delivers his verbal will. "I know you won’t want to go, but go on that cruise. You worked hard for it, and you were so excited. I wanted to go swimming with you, fall asleep by the pool and pretend it was the honeymoon I owe you. So, I want you to still go on it. Even if I don't come back...I'll ask the big man above to let me hang around long enough to do it with you, even if you won't be able to see me. I made a promise remember? No more missing big things." he whispers into the phone.

His throat is beginning to hurt, like speaking around a sharp lump every time he formed a word. "And the house is yours, it should go into your name. The car, everything, you'll have it all. I just...I just wish it could have been different, you know?" he says into the receiver, that has begun to waver by his cheek. "But it is what it is, and I guess it finally caught up to me. I'm sorry I was such a shitty husband." he says, a light tremor in his voice. "I wish I had come home to you more, not left the bed cold. I wish I could have made you more dinners and more breakfasts in bed, just to show you how much I loved you. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I never told it to you enough, or managed to even put into actions just how much you mean to me, but I do. You mean everything, sweetheart." he chokes into the phone, a small smile on his face. "I love you more than anything, so...so don't think anything else, okay? This isn't your fault. It never was. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, you hear me? So you pick yourself up when I'm gone," he gasps out, hand beginning to waver. "You put yourself back in that saddle, and you show the world just how strong you are. Show them the person I fell in love with." he says with a smile, before breaking into a fit of painful coughs.

"Don't stay up, sweetheart. Get to bed early. I miss you, more than you'll ever know." he coughs out into the receiver before his body can't hold him up anymore and he slides down the bars until his cheek is pressing into the concrete, hand falling to his side and phone clattering against the stone. He can hear the tone end, and the automated whoosh sound as the voicemail sends. With bleary eyes he can make out the turned head of Claire, looking down at him with wobbling lips and tear-filled eyes.

"Look after 'em, hey?" he rasps out, pain in his chest stabbing as the black curtains begin to slide across his vision. Claire nods, and he can hear Chris grunt in the background. Leon falls into an unconsciousness shortly after, the smiling image of you the last thing he holds close to him as the blackness swallows him completely. As his body stills, a small smile is frozen on his face, the arrogant half tilted smirk he so loved to give you.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Typing away at your computer, you work till your eyes go square from the computer screen. You wipe a hand over your face as you review the spreadsheet that you're working on, leaning back to take a sip of your coffee. Your music blasts in your headphones, and for a quick break you pull up the checklist you've made for your upcoming holiday.

You're so engrossed in your work that you're unaware as your phone screen glows to life beside you, message popping across your notification bar.

You have (1) new voicemails.

[algae-tm]

KILL BILL P.10

Charles Leclerc x ex! Reader, Oscar Piastri x Reader

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Author’s note : So I don’t write narrative or rather I don’t write fanfic narrative, but there’s so much I want to say in this fic that feels clunky putting in like a text message. So here y’all go. I’m not 100% satisfied with the Oscar bit but also I started writing at 2 and it’s now 3:30 am so I’m gunna go to bed and then probably write some more in the coming days, do not worry we will get more in depth Oscar lore! - Algae 🌱

••••

Despite almost being 20 years old, Charles had been just a boy when you met him. A boy with a chip on his shoulder and the world at his feet—a dangerous combination that should’ve sent you running but had the opposite effect. When you first saw him, you could practically see the gears turning in his head. He paid you no attention, probably didn’t even realise you were loitering on the outskirts of his garage, watching the mechanics run around in a dazed frenzy, but you were enthralled by him.

He stood steadfastly in front of his car, with a pinched look adorning his face, forehead creased, and eyebrows drawn together. Anyone else would’ve written him off as confused, overwhelmed, not fit to have signed a contract saying he’d be battling in F1 alongside the greats—they still wrote him off as an emotionally unstable boy. But even before you had ever spoken to him, you understood what hardly anyone else did. You understood that, while Charles Leclerc was still a boy, he was more calculating than confused. And in the years of knowing him that followed, as you’d watched him progress to f1, as you’d watched him win races, that statement would prove to be true time and time again.

As the memories of your early encounters with Charles flooded your mind, you couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. He had been so young, so full of ambition and determination. You had admired him from afar, drawn to his intensity and drive to succeed. Despite the chaos of the racing world swirling around him, he had always seemed to have a clear vision of where he was going.

But somewhere along the way, things had changed. The pressures of fame and success had taken their toll, turning him into a shell of the boy you’d met. The boy with the fire in his eyes had become a man weighed down by expectations and responsibilities. And in the process, he had pushed you away, convinced that you didn't understand the sacrifices he had to make. Convinced that he held you captive in a life you weren’t ready to lead.

Charles may have told you some bullshit excuse about children and the future but you had always been able to see through him and despite this separation nothing had changed. From the arguments in the months leading to the breakup you knew he was putting an unnecessary amount of pressure on himself, putting all his hopes and aspirations on Ferrari, despite how often that had proven to be a mistake. Yes, the stupid misunderstanding of your future together was a large part of the reason you broke up, but you had a incessant feeling that Charles had felt trapped in his life, in his racing, and had attributed that trapped feeling to you.

You did not want to forgive him. You were going to forgive him. You didn’t want to forgive him. You were going to forgive him. Those were the thoughts that plagued your mind on the 8 hour flight from JFK to Nice, and as you drove down to Monaco you couldn’t help but think about your parents. You had grown up with parents who had no business staying together, yet just couldn’t leave each others orbits. And no matter how much you cursed this dynamic as a child, you were worried that it was something you were bound to repeat. As you pulled in to the hotel you had decided to meet Charles at - nice neutral territory, you realised even if you didn’t get back together, you were going to forgive him. And it would be the easiest thing you had ever done. You checked in. Getting the key from the concierge as they told you someone had already checked in earlier.

You spotted him immediately. He was sitting at a small table near the window, a glass of something amber in front of him. He looked up as you approached, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. There he was, the man you had loved for so long, the man who had been your everything. He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. You sat down opposite him, your heart in your throat.

"Charlie," you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"Hi," he replied, his eyes searching yours. "You look good."

"Thanks. You too."

There was an awkward silence, both of you unsure of how to begin. Finally, Charles took a deep breath. "I'm glad you came," he said. "I wasn't sure if you would."

"I needed to see you," you admitted. "I needed to know if... if there's still something here."

He nodded, his expression unreadable. "I've missed you," he said quietly. "It's been strange, not having you around."

"I've missed you too," you replied, your voice cracking slightly. "But I don't know if missing each other is enough."

Charles looked down at his glass, his fingers tracing the rim. "I know," he said softly. "I've been thinking a lot about us, about what went wrong. And I realise now that I wasn't fair to you. I was so focused on my career, that I had built a different reality in my head, and that I didn't see what it was doing to us. I'm sorry."

His words hit you hard, the sincerity in his voice bringing tears to your eyes. "I'm sorry too," you said. He opened his mouth to speak, probably to say you had nothing to be sorry for, but you continued, eyes downcast "I wasn't always patient, I didn’t like that I couldn’t get a read on you. I just - I wanted us to be happy.”

"I wanted that too," he said, finally looking up at you. "And maybe we can be, but we need to be honest with each other. We need to figure out what we really want."

You nodded, wiping away a tear. "I don't know if I can go back to how things were," you said. "It hurt too much."

Charles reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "I don't want to go back," he said. "I want to move forward. I want us to be better."

His touch was familiar, comforting, but it also reminded you of the pain you had endured. You pulled your hand away gently, needing to keep some distance. "I'm seeing someone else," you said, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Charles looked taken aback, his eyes widening slightly. "Oscar," he said, more a statement than a question, “so you’re actually seeing him?”

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. "It’s still new, fuck it’s really new, and it wasn't planned," you said quickly. "It just... happened. After we broke up, he was there for me. He wanted me, and it started off as this petty way to make you jealous but I feel something more for him."

Charles was silent for a moment, processing this new information. "Do you love him?" he asked finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"No," you admitted. You could practically feel a weight lift of Charles’ shoulders "I do care about him. A lot."

He nodded slowly, his expression pained. "I understand," he said. "I can't expect you to wait for me, to put your life on hold. But I still love you, and I think we could have a future together, if we both want it."

He held out his hand to you, and maybe you were going to regret it in the future but you took it.

INSTA

carlossainz55 posted on his story

(Image 1 caption : summer with friends. Image 2 caption : reunited )

seen by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 2,344,234 others

User31 : brother what?

Used42 : oh my god please tell me they’re back together!!!

charles_leclerc : y/n isn’t going to like this. delete it now for your health

lewishamilton : so that’s where she is… tell her to message me

y/bff/n : oh brother this guy STINKS.

user32 : bop

yourusername : delete this now

carlossainz55 has deleted his story

••••

You hadn’t been ignoring Oscar, okay maybe you had just slightly. But spending the short break with Charles was, okay you don’t know what it was. You were confused. Really fucking confused. Being around Charles had encompassed you, like it always did. The week and a bit you had spent with him was a whirlwind of emotions. You spent time with Charles, talking about everything and nothing, rediscovering the things that had brought you together in the first place. You laughed together, reminisced about the good times, and shared your hopes and fears. It was comforting, but it also made you realise how much you had both changed.

But Oscar Piastri was something new. Not just new something novel, he brought fresh perspectives, and the way he made you feel was so different from how you felt with Charles, and something in you said you had to give him a chance. So you guess you had been ignoring him, but only due to the fear that he’d want answers you wouldn’t be able to give. The weeks after your ‘not date’ had been filled with constant phone calls, and texts, and despite the constant feeling to remind him that you weren’t dating you both knew that wasn’t true, you both knew there was something there. So you couldn’t blame Oscar for his eagerness, in fact you relished in it, you knew Oscar was playing it up to make you laugh, make you open up more and it was working. He deserved much better than you.

••••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee

@callsignwidow

@a-beaverhausen

@emryb

@c0deincrazy

@dontworryaboutitokie

@c-losur3

@chuxk-lerclerk

@silkenthusiasts

@ietss

@sp1rl

[norman-fucking-reedus]

HE ATE MY HEART!

“I love that girl”

gif by @corvidcrossbow

IM SO FUCKING EXCITED TO FINALLY HAVE SOMETHING TO POST ON HERE AND ALSO TO POST SOMETHING TO THIS SONG

Vamp!Daryl has rotted not only my brain but the community. I am not sorry at all for the plague I'm spreading and I hope that it only gets worse.

So I've been doing some research on it, and I really like the idea of mixing the Blade universe w TWD, I did some more research on the different types of vampires (its kind of a lot so if you want you can go read abt them here!) To basically summarize, there's people, daywalkers (half vamp-people), walkers, full vampires, and then Revenants (half-walker half vampire, basically just another way to die)

This also makes it easier for whenever Scud becomes my next vampy victim

AUUUGH I NEED MY HOT SEXY NEEDY VAMPIRE MAN WHO JUST WANTS TO DRINK ALL MY BLOOD SOMEONE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FUCKING PLEASE

also I am working on reqs yes I am, I have one scud fic that is dirty and nasty and should be getting posted soon. also I may not be on tumblr as much as I used to be because GUYS I am now employed yes that's right I got off my computer, went outside, interacted with people, and got a job #gangshit

It had been over a week since Daryl had eaten, and over two since he had left to go out on the community's monthly supply run.

As he stumbled through the opening gates, he felt like he had been through a war. His body was wracked with exhaustion, weakness, and hunger. The air was thick with the strong scent of blood, and he couldn't keep himself from groaning painfully when he was bombarded by Carol and Rick asking where he had been, what had taken so long, and if he was alright.

“No! M’not alright dammit” He barked at them in frustration after being asked for the third time if he was alright, his voice laced with irritation and discomfort. Carol couldn't help but notice his pale and clammy appearance.

Her forehead creased into a frown as she tightly pursed her lips, giving Daryl a scolding look that made him uneasy. With a tone of concern, she asked, "I'm worried. When was the last you fed?"

The man's face twisted in discomfort as Rick and Carol stood in his space. He scoffed and muttered, "Not recently, m'fuckin' starvin'" The longer he stayed, the more his head spun and his vision blurred, causing the corners of his eyes to fade into a deep red color. His stomach churned uncomfortably, and he could feel his teeth starting to ache.

Rick observed Daryl's malnourished skin, staring at how he was almost transparent. His eyes were screwed shut as the sun harshly burned his sensitive orbs, and he was gripping the strap of his crossbow so hard that his fingers were starting to turn red.

"You should go see Y/n," Rick said, eyes fixed on his friend. "She should be back home and she's been asking about you. I think she misses you." Daryl's body tensed at the sound of your name, and a sudden chill ran down his spine, causing goosebumps to rise on his arms. He tried to hide his reaction, but Rick's sharp eyes didn't miss a thing.

Daryl's head drooped weakly as he could only manage a feeble nod. Rick and Carol had stepped off to the side for him, offering their silent support. Carol placed her hand gently on his shoulder, her grey hair falling across her face as she did so. Rick, with his stern expression, gave Daryl a look that he knew meant there was no room for argument.

His senses were already heightened to an extreme level, almost at an overload as the sun was abnormally bright, blazing down on him with a blinding intensity, making it difficult for him to even keep his eyes open. He could feel the heat searing his skin, causing beads of sweat to form on his forehead and trickle down his face. He noticed the way that his vest rubbed uncomfortably against him, the fabric clinging to his skin and making him feel sticky and irritable. His already aching teeth began to grind down against each other, and he could feel his razor-sharp fangs digging into the tender skin of his bottom lip, further fueling his pure discomfort.

Each step he took in the direction of your house was tiring and heavy, his dirty, muddy boots slapping against the ground as he dragged himself through the streets, promptly ignoring any strange or judgy looks that were thrown his way. He didn't have the time, let alone the strength to even bother paying them any mind. His stomach churned as his overwhelmed nose couldn't help but pick up the sickeningly sweet smell of blood.

It forced him to quicken his pace, trying to get just as far away from the public eye as he possible could. He didn't want to be looked at, didn't want to be stared at. He just wanted to get inside as soon as fucking possible and just tear off all his goddamn clothes. A ping of hope struck through him when he could see your familiar house only a short distance down the road, having to hold himself back from flat-out sprinting the rest of the way there.

Though it was only about a thirty-second walk, it had been the longest in his whole entire life, and walking up the small steps of your porch was like something out of a nightmare. He could disgustingly feel the material change in flooring when he stepped off the pavement and onto the creaky wood, the sound grating against his now way too-sensitive ears. Dear god, would someone fucking help him already?

Of course, as if on cue, the red front door to your house swung open, but instead of being met with a friendly face, he was met with the barrel of your gun.

"Daryl?" You questioned as you lowered the weapon slightly, a smile stretching across your lips once you had confirmed who was standing and dicking around on your porch. "Daryl!" You fully dropped your defensive position, stuffing the weapon in the band of your pants as you prepared to throw yourself at the man, halting when you finally took in his ruined appearance.

His breathing was labored, and it was hard to keep himself upright on his own two legs, forcing him to lean against the wall by the door. "Hey doll"

You scoffed at him in disbelief, "Don't you dare even "hey doll" me, mister! What the hell happened to you? Get in here right now" Grabbing the front of his vest and pulling his heavy body inside, Daryl groaning as each movement caused pain to his body, slumping against the door when you slammed it shut.

He couldn't be happier when he felt you prying the buttons of his stupidly itchy vest off, him shrugging it off as well as his crossbow, clattering down on the floor and probably chipping the metal further.

"Jesus Daryl, you look fucking terrible. Did you feed on anything at all out there?" You purse your lips as you analyze and checked his unnaturally pale chest, letting out a surprised hiss at the burn lingering on your fingers tips from where you had brushed them against the skin of his shoulder

Daryl groaned as you directed him to sit on the couch, the short steps from the front door already leaving him utterly winded, almost dripping in sweat as he wheezed each breath of air.

“‘Wasn’t much… ‘wasn’t much out there” He spoke breathlessly, head spinning and his stomach loudly churning when you stood in front of him.

When you extended a hand out to cup his face, he tightly gripped your wrist with a shaky hand. “Don’. Please don’” He didn’t want to feed from you, not like this, not in a state where he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t absolutely drain you.

“Daryl” You whispered softly, frowning slightly as you started taking your shirt off, and he wanted to scream at your stubbornness.

You straddled his lap and gently brushed the hair sticking to his forehead off, his blue eyes starting to tint red as the smell of your blood was strong, right in his face. “I don’ wanna”

“I know you don’t sweetheart, but you’ll die. What am I gonna do if you die?” You cupped his face, forcing his gaze onto yours. He whimpered slightly at your touch, his whole body sensitive and reactive.

Daryl shivered when you combed fingers through his hair, hands curling around your hips when you directed his head to your neck. “I trust you, more than I even trust myself” You whispered soothingly into his ear, and he almost wanted to cry.

He could smell the blood coursing through you like it was a burning candle, and his mouth was uncontrollably watering. His fangs were sharp and heavy, aching with the need to sink into your skin, which is exactly what he did, groaning against you at the first drops of blood, not wasting against another second before he was greedily taking mouthfuls.

It was so good, so warm and fresh, sweet and bitter. Daryl had drank lots of blood before, and yours was easily his favorite. He craved it during his time out there, not just because there was a serious lack in wild animals, but because it was addictive.

He squeezed your hips, soft and pillowy in his buzzing palms as he could feel himself starting to get hard in his pants, the more blood he swallowed the more drunk he got.

It made you feel good to watch his natural tan color fade back, his scarred back no longer a ghastly pale. You ran your fingers through his hair, occasionally curling your fingers and gripping the dark locks to grind down against his now-straining cock.

Daryl made soft, small sounds as he fed, each roll of your hips making each gulp of your blood taste so much better. His senses were at an all-time high, overwhelmed and at an absolute edge. He couldn’t help the way his hands pressed you down on his cock, hips desperately jerking against you as he could feel himself getting closer and closer, his head spinning in a blood lust haze.

He was so close, so very fucking close. His sharp claws had made themselves known, and you jolted when they painfully curled into your flesh, hips sputtering and slightly faltering in their movements. Daryl had no problem picking up the slack, almost fucking you right through his pants from how hard he was rutting up into you.

It was just all so much, his whole body on fire with pure arousal as he sighed around a final mouthful of crimson, trembling from his core as his orgasm washed over him, pressing your clothed cunt against him as hard as he could, making his already fuzzy mind draw a complete blank, a loud groan tearing from his throat that caused his fangs to slip out from where he had punctured the skin and drop his head against your shoulder, whimpering softly as he held you down.

You scratched his scalp comfortingly, feeling a little woozy from the amount of blood he had taken. He hummed against you as he started to come down from not only the high of his orgasm but bubbly buzz from his feast.

“Feel better?” You asked in a quiet, sleepy voice when Daryl’s tongue cleaned the drops of blood that had leaked from the small wounds, coating the area in his saliva so that it could heal.

He nodded as peppered you in appreciative and apologetic kisses, pulling you flush against his bare chest by wrapping his arms around your back, claws retracted and replaced with blunt nails. “M’sorry fer hurtin’, ya”

“Instead, you should be sorry for not feeding yourself, mister” You said as you shook your head, pinching his side as you got a bit upset again. “You know it scares me shitless when you do that”

“I know, I know. M’sorry for tha’ too” Daryl grumbled, feeling fatigued as well now that his tummy was full and satiated. His body was still weak and needed rest, now yours did as well considering he had taken a lot more than usual. “I’ll make it up to ya’” He said as he pushed himself up off the couch, grunting as it was a lot harder with tired muscles and one hand keeping his woman wrapped around him, adding a second once he was finally standing.

You giggled at that, arms hooked around his neck. “And just how will you do that?”

“Got a real good idea” Daryl smirked, hoisting you up as he ascended up the stairs to your shared bedroom, hungry for something else that was much better than blood.

I started writing this a few days ago I think this is the quickest I've written something

Vamp!Daryl is an absolute need. I'm loving every single post I see of him and I love watching the disease spread faster than fucking covid I jump for joy when I see someone I don't even know talking abt him is this what fame feels like is this what its like to be famous am I fucking famous

yes you do want more of this so go read more

Bloodthirsty @dixons-sunshine

Bite me @mydearestdaryl

[that-student-that-has-homework]

Gentle Reciprocity

Al-Haitham x Reader

cw: allusions to neurodivergent overstimulation

“Hello there darling,” he sees the amused twinkle in your eyes and already knows he’s in for a treat, “would you like some assistance?”

With how it was phrased it could be pointed at either him or his assailant. However he was well aware that adage was for him and not the persistent presence that plagued his side.

“While I’d rather not trouble you,” his amusement pulled at the corner of his lips, “seeing as you’re already here…”

“I might as well?” You chuckled.

His entertainment only increased at the confusion clearly written upon the foreign young lady’s face. She was likely trying to piece together what your interaction meant. Though she probably had an inkling and would now have to confirm it.

“Uh, do you two know each other?” She pulled away from him slightly.

“We do,” you nodded, humming in confirmation, “rather well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” he nodded, removing his arm from the lady’s grasp, “intimately well.”

You could see her working to process what was going on based off of your layered conversation with your beloved. Meanwhile you were relieved of half of the load of groceries you’d been carrying prior to approaching the two.

“He’s my husband, sweetheart,” you decided not to toy with her any further, “his lack of interest isn’t anything personal,” you tried to console her, “part of the reason I married him is his integrity.”

She looked so confused, staring between the two of you and then to your hands. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed as her tongue translated her confusion, “but he’s not wearing a ring.”

At which point you turn to his hand, a little smile gracing your lips, and shoot him a glance filled with mirth at the state of his finger. He appreciates your grace towards him. After all, he was wearing his ring, under his glove.

“You can see my wife’s ring though, can’t you?” He raised an eyebrow at his stunned pursuer. 

“That confirms that she’s married,” she argued, “it says nothing about you.”

“What woman would risk the tranquility of her marriage to help a fully grown man ward off unwanted attention?” He argued back.

“One that isn’t happy in her marriage and wants the man she’s helping out.”

“You know habibi, that is a plausible argument,” you turned to him intrigued.

He was about to rebut when you took the words out of his mouth, “but in that case. He wouldn’t cooperate with me, because he knows I’m married to someone else.”

“Unless you were having an affair!”

“In which case that would mean that I am still involved with a woman and uninterested in you,” Al-Haitham caught her on her argument, “you’re doing a horrible job of seducing me with these accusations, which is what I assume is your goal.”

“Accusations?” Ooh. She had gotten so carried away by the argument she’d gone into the rhetorical realm.

“You accused both of us of infidelity,”  your husband gestured between you and himself.

“What? No! I just-urgh,” she fumbled over her words, “sorry.”

“Apologize to my wife as well.”

Your husband’s assailant gave him a very unimpressed stare, before letting out a huff that caused her whole body to deflate. She turned to you, looking defeated, “sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” you nodded, your lips gently curving upwards, “take care and have a nice rest of your day.”

Again looking between the two of you, she nodded meekly and trudged away in complete and utter defeat. You hoped you hadn’t completely broken her spirit. After all, she was under the impression that the man she was approaching was available.

You weren’t able to worry long as something moved in your peripheral vision, pulling your attention towards it. Turns out Al-Haitham was turning his sound-canceling ear pieces back on. Ah. Understandable.

You lightly hooked your pinky in his before sliding it out, a quiet invitation. Glancing up at him you were met with his own tired gaze. You probably shouldn’t have entertained her arguments for too long, your love seemed to have had just about enough today. 

“Let’s go home,” you spoke nodding your head in the direction back to your shared abode.

You were treated to a little nod, your husband slipping his hand into your free one and hurrying down the street. Over time you’d gotten good at keeping up with his long strides, and he had gotten good at maintaining a pace that didn’t require you to sprint. You still had to hurry this time around though.

There was a kind of relief that came with arriving at your shared abode. You took care of locking the door, and then headed to the kitchen to put the groceries away while he headed into your room. You’d just about finished putting things away and were wondering what you could make for dinner when you sensed you weren’t alone in the kitchen anymore.

Without turning around fully, you began placating your husband, “don’t worry about food and just-”

You were cut off by Al-Haitham’s sudden embrace, his head coming to rest on your shoulder, his nose poking at your neck. Relaxing into him, you placed a hand above the ones that sat atop one another on your abdomen, languidly stroking at his skin. Seems he’d taken his gloves off.

Given he had sought you out, it seemed he was okay with you touching him in his current state. You reached your other hand up to tenderly trace his scalp. You stood there quietly, him taking deep, calming breaths, and you playing with his hair. After a bit, your husband’s weight, for lack of a better term, weighed down on you, and you could feel the fatigue in your legs.

“Can we take a seat, love?” You hummed, taking care to keep your voice quiet and light.

“I’d prefer we lay down,” his rich timbre reverberated through your bones.

“Laying down it is then,” you agreed.

You were gingerly pulled by the hand towards your room, and towards your shared bed. You smiled at the thought. You’d originally started off in separate rooms with separate beds, but look at you now. Al-Haitham allowed you a moment to close the door, careful to make too much noise, before pulling you to your bed. Within a moment he was curled into you, his head tucked into your shoulder and his arms around your middle.

It was a little more difficult to play with his hair from this position, so you absentmindedly began  playing with the wedding band that sat proudly on his finger. When you came back to your senses you paused. He was already overwhelmed and trying to ground himself, you didn’t need to introduce any unwanted stimuli.

“You can keep playing with our ring,” he mumbled, “I don’t mind,” he tightened his hold on you, “and I know it helps you stay calm.”

“Thanks,” you resumed your previous fiddling, “love you.”

“Love you too.”

You couldn’t help the way your features curled into a deep appreciation. You loved hearing those words from him, but in your current state it was redundant.

After all, he was allowing you to be near him in his volatile state, and it was an honor you cherished.

//----------

Want more Al-Haitham? Tumblr Masterlist | Ao3 Account

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What was your favorite part? Also please let me know if I got the neurodivergent thing right. I can't claim to be neurodivergent (no matter how relatable some memes are)

[tulipatheticee]

labyrinth

anthony bridgerton x fem! reader

synopsis; anthony bridgerton had swore off love, but after meeting miss y/n l/n, he couldn't keep himself away. after a talk with his mother he now has to navigate his feelings to courting the owner of his heart

word count; 2.0k

master list

a/n; this was meant to be a benedict fic but my friend (who picked the song tysm) had a brain wave that labyrinth is so anthony coded

as always, kinda proof read, kinda not :p

It only hurts this much right now

Was what I was thinking the whole time

Breathe in, breathe through

Breathe deep, breathe out

Since the news that Viscount Lord Anthony Bridgerton was searching for a wife this social season had spread, he had all the ladies vying for his attention. He was very clear with himself that he most definitely did NOT want a love match. After witnessing the devastating effects of losing a loved one, he had completely sworn off it. He simply wanted a wife who would be a good viscountess, a good mother, and overall a proper, standard wife. But once he became acquainted with Miss Y/N, he was immediately enticed by her. The more he saw her, the more he spoke with her, the more he wanted her. She consumed his thoughts; he couldn't even sleep without thinking of her. She clouded his mind, his dreams, his vision. In an attempt to clear the cloud of her, he began to avoid her with all his might.

Anthony Bridgerton would NOT fall in love. But as he spent time away from her, he found himself missing her, her smile, her wit, her kind eyes, her humour, her. His resolve wavered with each passing day, the emptiness left by her absence growing unbearable. Every time he saw her across a crowded room, his heart ached with longing. The thought of another man capturing her attention, sharing moments that should have been his, filled him with a deep, unspoken dread. He realised, with a mix of frustration and inevitability, that denying his feelings was futile. She had become an integral part of his life, whether he admitted it or not.

I'll be getting over you my whole life

You know how scared I am of elevators

Never trust it if it rises fast

It can't last

The Bridgerton family estate was quiet in the early morning light, the stillness broken only by the distant sound of birdsong. Anthony sat alone in his study, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. His father's death had left a void in his life, one that he had tried to fill with duty and obligation. But lately, that void has been filled with thoughts of Y/N.

He remembered the first time he had seen her, her laughter lighting up the room as she danced with her friends. She had seemed so free, so unburdened by the worries that plagued him. He had been drawn to her from the start, but he had kept his distance, afraid of what he might feel.

"It only hurts this much right now," he had told himself, trying to convince his heart to stay guarded.

But the more he saw of Y/N, the harder it became to ignore his feelings. She was everything he had ever wanted, and everything he had sworn to avoid. He knew he couldn't keep running from his emotions forever.

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. Anthony looked up to see his mother, Violet, standing in the doorway.

"Good morning, Anthony," she said, her voice gentle.

"Good morning," he replied, trying to smile.

Violet walked into the room, her eyes filled with concern. "You've been so distant lately. Is something troubling you?"

Anthony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's nothing, Mother. Just the usual worries."

Violet sat down beside him, her expression softening. "Anthony, I've known you all your life. I can tell when something is truly bothering you. Please, talk to me."

Anthony hesitated, the words caught in his throat. He had always been the strong one, the one who held the family together. Admitting his feelings felt like a betrayal of that role.

"It's Miss L/N," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Violet's eyes widened in surprise. "Miss Y/N? What about her?"

"I... I think I'm falling for her," Anthony admitted, his heart pounding in his chest. "But I'm afraid. Afraid of what it might mean, of what it could lead to."

Violet's expression softened even further. "Oh, Anthony. Love is always a risk, but it's a risk worth taking. You can't spend your life running from it."

Anthony looked down, his hands trembling. "But what if it doesn't last? What if it only brings pain?"

"That's a chance we all take," Violet said gently. "But you'll never know if you don't let yourself feel. Miss L/N is a wonderful woman, and I can see how much she cares for you. Don't let fear keep you from something beautiful."

Anthony took a deep breath, the weight on his chest lifting just a little. "Thank you, Mama. I needed to hear that."

Violet smiled, her eyes filled with love. "Anytime, my dear. Now, go find Miss Y/N and tell her how you feel. You might be surprised at what happens."

Anthony nodded, feeling a newfound sense of determination. He stood up, ready to face his fears head-on.

Uh oh, I'm falling in love

Oh no, I'm falling in love again

Oh, I'm falling in love

The ball was in full swing, the grand hall filled with the laughter and chatter of London's elite. Y/N stood near the edge of the dance floor, her heart pounding as she watched Anthony Bridgerton move throughout the room. She tried to focus on her breathing, but it did little to calm the feeling inside her.

Anthony, was the epitome of charm and responsibility. His presence commanded attention, and Y/N couldn't help but be drawn to him. She sighed, feeling the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on her. How did she end up here, so lost in the labyrinth of her own mind?

For Anthony, the evening was a blur of polite conversation and obligatory dances. Since his becoming Viscount, the mantle of responsibility had weighed heavily on his shoulders. He had little time for silly pursuits, and even less patience for the entanglements of love. Yet, despite his best efforts, he found his gaze drawn to Miss Y/N L/N time and time again.

As if sensing his turmoil, Y/N glanced in his direction. Their eyes met, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Anthony took a deep breath and made his way toward her, weaving through the crowd with ease. His feet were moving against his mind's wishes, yet he still did not want to stop walking towards her.

"Miss L/N," he greeted, his voice warm and familiar. "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank you, Lord Bridgerton," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "You look quite handsome yourself."

They stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the ball fading into the background. Anthony struggled to find the right words, to express the feelings he had been denying for so long.

"Would you care to dance?" he finally asked, extending his hand.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before placing her hand in his. "I'd love to."

As they moved to the centre of the dance floor, Anthony felt a sense of calm wash over him. Holding Y/N in his arms, he realised just how much he had been fighting against his own heart. The music swirled around them, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to simply feel.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Y/N asked softly, her eyes searching his.

Anthony sighed, his grip on her waist tightening slightly. "I've been a fool, Miss L/N. I've been trying to protect myself from something I thought would only bring me pain."

"And what is that?" she pressed, her voice gentle but insistent.

"Love," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I've seen what it can do, how it can hurt. I thought I was better off without it."

Y/N's expression softened, and she reached up to touch his cheek. "Love can be painful, Lord Bridgerton. But it can also be the most beautiful thing in the world. You just have to be willing to take the risk."

Anthony stared into her eyes, feeling a sense of clarity he hadn't experienced in years. "I don't want to be afraid anymore, L/N. I don't want to spend my life running from something that could make me truly happy."

"Then don't," she whispered. "Take the leap. I'm right here with you."

At that moment, Anthony knew he had to let go of his fears. He had to embrace the love he felt for Y/N, no matter how terrifying it might be. As the music came to an end, he had to use all his willpower to not lean down and pressed a hungry kiss to her lips in front of all the ton, in the middle of a ballroom, sealing his promise to her and to himself. But he was a gentleman and would never do such (or even more) to a woman like Y/N, no, he would have to wait to do that, and what a task that was proving to be.

I thought the plane was going down

How'd you turn it right around

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

The Next Afternoon

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

It only feels this raw right now

Lost in the labyrinth of my mind

Break up, break free, break through, break down

You would break your back to make me break a smile

Anthony found Y/N in her garden, her favourite place to escape the hustle and bustle of the ton. She was sitting on a bench, her eyes closed as she listened to the sounds of nature. He had gone over to her family's estate with the intention of asking to officially court her, after a rather intimidating conversation with her father, he took a deep breath and walked over to her.

"Miss L/N," he said softly.

She turned around and smiled when she saw him. "Lord Bridgerton! What brings you out here?"

"I needed to talk to you," he said, his heart pounding. "About us."

Y/N's smile faded, her expression turning serious. "What about us?"

Anthony sat down beside her, his hands trembling. "I know I've been distant, and I know I've been distant from you. But I can't keep running from my feelings. I... I care about you, Miss L/N. More than I ever thought possible."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her mouth opened to say something, but no words came out.

"I know it's sudden," he continued, his voice filled with emotion. "But I can't keep denying how I feel. I want to be with you, Miss L/N. I want to take that chance”

Y/N's eyes widened as she reached out and took his hand. "Oh, Anthony. I've been waiting for you to say that."

Anthony's heart swelled with emotion as he pulled her into his arms. "After last night at the ball I’ve been thinking a lot..and I'm willing to face whatever comes our way, as long as we're together. And I feel it is safe for me to say you can say the same thing."

Y/N smile went all the way to her eyes, her heart filled with joy. "I really can, Lord Bridgerton. And I'm ready to take that chance with you."

You know how much I hate that 

everybody just expects me to bounce back

Just like that

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

A Few Weeks Later

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

Uh oh, I'm falling in love

Oh no, I'm falling in love again

Oh, I'm falling in love

The sun was setting over Bridgerton House, casting a warm golden glow over the estate. Anthony and Y/N stood together on the terrace, watching as the last rays of light dipped below the horizon.

"I never thought I'd find someone like you," Anthony said softly, his arm wrapped around Y/N's waist. "Someone who makes me feel like this."

Y/N smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder. "And I never thought I'd find someone who could make me feel so safe and loved."

Anthony's heart swelled with love as he kissed the top of her head. "I'm so glad we took that chance, Y/N. You mean everything to me."

"And you mean everything to me," Y/N replied, her voice filled with emotion.

As they stood together, watching the stars come out one by one, Anthony knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together. He had found his way out of the labyrinth of his mind, and into the arms of the woman he loved.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt truly at peace.

I thought the plane was going down

How'd you turn it right around

a/n pt2; i have mixed feelings about this one I DONT KNOWWW