#i had to sing and my voice was so frail and weak and i just felt like i had no control

[cowboydisaster]

could you write a fic about simon and a reader who is going through withdrawals? Sorry if that's not real specific, you can take it in what ever direction you please. Thank you

Hope

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem! reader word count: 2k summary: Simon helps you get through withdrawals, offering you hope in the darkest point of your life. a/n: heed the warnings please!!!! I cried a good bit while writing this. You're never alone my friends, and there is always hope. Always. (p.s. there is a mention of wanting children in this fic, so keep that in mind. p.p.s why does tumblr destroy my image quality, it makes me sad.) warnings: opioid addiction, withdrawals, addiction, emetophobia, illness masterlist

"Si-Simon, I can't do this. I'm n-not strong enough." You whimper, clammy hands gripping onto his shirt with every pathetic ounce of strength that you can muster. Your voice is hoarse, throat thick with mucus and body covered in a stale cold sweat that soaks through your oversized t-shirt. Simon has never seen you so weak, so frail in his arms.

He's seen you take down men twice your size, clear rooms with more than ten enemies. You've faced countless opponents, broken through endless physical and mental barriers,  but in the end, the one thing you couldn't defeat was the pills. 

If you'd known you were trading your life away when you were handed the bottle, you never would have taken it in the first place. 

"For the pain." The doctor had said, "Just until this gunshot wound clears up."

Only it didn't. Before you even realized it, your body was already addicted. You craved the numbness that the damned capsules gave you, the release from the endless pain that singed your nerves day and night. You couldn't give them up. You tried– but the sickness that came when you stopped– you were sure it would kill you. 

Simon didn't know what to do. You lied, you kept him at a distance, never fully explaining to him what was going on. He didn't realize how bad it was. He tried not to pry, or to push you, but Simon put his foot down when he found you on the bathroom floor unconscious, a bottle of pills on the counter, half empty. His words reverberated in your ears, a harsh warning that he wouldn't watch you kill yourself. 

"You have to get clean, Y/N." He'd said from a place of love, but you couldn't help but crumble under his judgment, "I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore. You 'ave to sober up."

So here you are, a heap in Simon's lap, the both of you intertwined on the bathroom floor as you fight the overwhelming illness that accompanies withdrawals. Everything you've survived: loss, wounds, torture– it pales in comparison to the misery you're experiencing now. You refused to go to a detox center, not wanting to lose your position in the Task Force. You promised Simon that you'd let him drive you to the hospital if things got bad, but you want to do this at home. 

Bile rises from your stomach, lingering in the back of your throat as you gag. Immediately, Simon pulls your hair back into his fist, and helps to position you over the toilet. 

You dry heave, gagging on air as both of your cold hands grip the toilet bowl. Your wedding band glints in the dim bathroom light, bringing another layer of anguish to your already broken soul. 

He shouldn't have to deal with this. 

"Easy, love. Get it all out. I've got you." Simon coos as your stomach aches and flips, desperate to rid itself of any contents. Only you haven't been able to eat, so nothing comes up but painful bursts of air. You gasp and heave, collapsing back against Simon and erupting into loud sobs. Your bones ache as you fall onto his chest, and his hands hover over your form, unsure on how to hold you without shattering you even further. 

"I can't– I can't! Simon, please! Please. I'm going to die. M' gonna die–" You panic, "I'm not strong enough. You know that I'm not." You plead, begging for the substance that he has already flushed down the drain, your mind refuses to believe that it's actually gone. 

Simon's previously unbreakable heart manages to crack, and he wishes more than anything to carry the burden of your suffering. You're his wife, and it's his job to take the weight off your shoulders, but he can't do this for you. He can, however, be with you every step of the way. You showed him a new way of living, a way to do more than just survive. You've shown him love when he was undeserving of it. It's unbearable for him to see you, such a beam of light, in so much pain. 

"Look at me, baby. Look at me." Simon holds your face until your eyes meet his. Those chestnut colored irises hold your attention– the same ones you looked into as you read your vows, as you suffered pain, and loss, felt love and lust. They've watched after you through everything. 

"You can do this, yeah? You're the strongest person I know. Stronger than any other soldier in the Task Force, stronger than me. If anyone can beat this, it's you." Simon reassures. 

Your face crumples when you realize he's firm in his decision. You shake your head, clammy palms coming to rest against your face. 

"Please, Simon." You beg once again. Your body is trembling like a leaf held against the wind, cold wraps around your bones suffocatingly, squeezing every ounce of comfort from your being and leaving you high and dry. Pure, unadulterated suffering. 

"Come 'ere." Simon whispers, standing up from the tile floor and scooping you into his arms. He hooks his arms under your head and knees before carrying you into the bedroom. 

The soft bed dips under your shared weight as Simon lays down with you, his body wrapping around your own like a perfect puzzle piece. He pulls your back to his chest, letting you use his tattooed arm as a pillow. Your sobs quiet down to muffled whimpers as you shake lightly, wishing you could go back in time, solve this before it became a problem. 

Father time has never been merciful though, has he? 

"Blanket or no?" Simon asks. You nod your head quickly. 

"Yes, it's so cold. I'm so cold." Your teeth chatter lightly as you reiterate. Simon pulls the thick comforter over your forms, tucking it in around the edges as he adjusts behind you. 

An hour ago you were burning up, stripping off your clothes and sobbing at the heat clawing its way through your body like some sort of fiery plague. He'd put you in a cool bath, checking your temperature probably more often than what was necessary. 

You shake and writhe, whimpers and groans of agony slipping past your lips every once in a while. It's killing Simon to see you like this. Every ounce of light has drained from your eyes, the life has seeped from your pores, replaced with the lingering disease of addiction. He misses your laughter, your smile. It could light up a room. You've gotten the boys through many dark days. You were the sunshine of the Task Force. Failed missions, loss, heartache, no matter how bad things got, your optimism never ceased. Not until recently, anyhow. 

"We'll get there again." Simon tells himself like a mantra in his head,"She'll get better." 

He's personally seeing that you do. He won't allow you the pills to take hold of you, he'll fight. He's seen more soldiers die from pills than bullets. He won't let you meet that fate, he won't. 

He can't lose you. 

The room is covered with a calm silence, only the sound of your quick breathing to let him know you're still alive. Simon is quiet as well, and you drown in the silence, hoping for any kind of distraction to pull you away from your unending misery. You can feel yourself giving up, wanting nothing more than to slip into old habits. You slip your eyes shut, opening them only once a voice rumbles in your ear. 

"I was thinking… when you're better we'll get a bigger house." Simon quietly blurts out from behind you. 

A wrinkle forms in between your brows, and you crane your neck to look at him. You're sure he's trying to distract you, coming up with random conversation to keep your mind off of the present. When you look back, his gaze is far away, fixed on something on the far wall. A small smile graces his uncovered lips– he's been keeping the mask off at home recently, you've noticed. There is a light in his eyes, a light that you used to think would never grace the eyes of Simon Riley. 

"What? Why would we need a bigger house?" You ask with a small chuckle. He's succeeding in his distraction, you realize. 

His eyes flicker down to yours, hand gripping onto your waist as you turn towards him in curiosity. Your eyelids are heavy, another wave of exhaustion coming over you. 

"For the little ones." Simon responds.

He says it on a breath. He says it so plainly, so effortlessly, that tears immediately well in your eyes. He's never responded to your questions about children– usually shutting down or ignoring the topic wholly. Your lip wobbles, and he runs his thumb over the cracked skin. 

"Ch-children?" You ask, a new sense of hope filling your being. A new reason to fight– to get clean. Children. A family. 

"A girl, with your eyes…" Simon chuckles, "Probably with your attitude too." 

You laugh at that, tears slipping down your cheeks in landing on his hand that cups your face. 

"Maybe a boy. Hopefully he gets your features n' not my ugly mug." Simon huffs. 

"What changed…?" You ask, wincing as a wave of nausea pulses through your body. Simon's eyes go wide for a second, and his grip tightens on you, ready in an instant to carry you back into the bathroom if you need. The pain passes and you shake your head, signaling that you're okay. Immediately, he relaxes. It's quiet for a moment as Simon traces his thumb over your paper thin skin.

"A dog, a new house, babies, anything you want. I'll give you anything you want, just get better for me, baby." Simon pleads, a hint of vulnerability tracing his words. It's one of only a few times he's begged you. 

"I don't want a future without you in it. I want my wife. I want our kids terrorizing the place, I want to get old and retire the Force with you. Hell, I'd turn in my letter of resignation today if you asked, just please, fight for me, love."

The tears are falling freely now, you don't try to stop them. Guilt fills your being at the realization of everything you've put your husband through for the past few months. Through it all, he's never left your side. He's still here. Kissing closed your wounds, and promising to plant flowers in their place. 

A soft kiss is pressed to your forehead before amber eyes peek down at you through blonde eyelashes. You chew on your lip, a bad habit. 

Your resolve is set, and even though your body shrieks for the opposite, you'll get through this. You have to. 

You have Sunday mornings to look forward to, lazily pouring Simon a cup of tea in his favorite mug. You have a house to buy, with two bedrooms instead of one. Dragging Simon through the shops and picking out all the different onesies he'll let you bring home. You have walks through the park to go on. You have to pick up takeout on Simon's late nights at work. You have to sit on his desk while you share an entree and talk to him until he forgets about the paperwork he's supposed to be doing. So many little actions to go through, little memories to make. You can't give it up. You won't. 

There is so much to fight for, so much to hope for, all given to you by the man before you. Tears sting your eyes again as you finally speak up. 

"I promise you, Simon. I'll fight. For us, I will."

[irkimatsu]

Your little bit about how Husk would help reader sleep absolutely melted my heart. His voice is like velvety smooth satin. My lonely ass constantly lives vicariously through everyone's Husk pieces.

How do you think reader would comfort Husk after a nightmare?

This request melted my heart! I love taking care of Husk, but he needs some love, too...

Totally SFW, about 800 words. Included lyrics are original and may or may not be a good example of why I barely ever write lyrics... but it just didn't look right when I was vague about it. Please sing to him...

Thank you for reading my work!

“No!  I said NO!”

You’re knocked out of your slumber by a loud, snarling voice, somewhere between rage and panic. It takes you a few moments to register who that voice belongs to, but it quickly dawns on you that there’s only one person it could be.

“Husk…?”

You reach over to turn on the light on your side of the bed, then turn to see Husk laying beside you. His pupils are blown wide, and his ears are pinned back. His fur is standing on end, and his entire body is trembling. His breaths are rapid and harsh, as if he’s struggling to take in oxygen.

“Husk? Are you okay?” You reach out in an attempt to provide a comforting touch.

You weren’t expecting to swipe his claws at you.

“Don’t touch me!” he snarls, and your attempt to dodge his attack sends you tumbling to the floor.

“Please… please leave me alone…”

His voice has shifted suddenly, all rage drained from it. Now, all you can hear is a distant, quiet pain. You pick yourself up off the floor and look at Husk, only to see him taking up much less of the bed than he had earlier. His knees and tail are curled up to his chest, and his wings are doing their best to shield him from sight.

“It won’t happen again… just leave me alone…” His voice is shaking as much as his body. You wonder if you should listen to him… but you also wonder if it’s really you that he’s talking to.

You slowly climb back into the bed, careful not to startle him. You’ve never seen him like this, so small and so frail… you got used to him being one of the strongest members of the hotel, never showing weakness or letting anything get to him too badly. When he was pushed, he was more likely to react with anger, not shut down like this.

Perhaps it’s easier to bottle up your emotions when you’re constantly numbing them with whiskey…

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you’re still not sure who he thinks he’s speaking with right now. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

“Husk?” you say. “It’s me. There’s no one else here… just me…”

He slightly lifts his wing, enough for you to look into his wide eyes. “You…” he repeats, as if not fully comprehending his surroundings. “Where am I…?”

“You’re in your room at the Hazbin Hotel. It’s just you and me here. No one is going to hurt you… you’re safe here.”

He lifts his wings more, but remains tightly curled up. “The hotel…” he murmurs. “The hotel...”

“Should I leave?" you ask.

“Stay,” he says, terse as if he doesn’t have the energy to say more than that. He reaches out to you, gently resting his paw on the side of your face. “Did I hurt you…?”

“You didn’t,” you assure him as you place your hand over his. “Did you want to talk about…?”

His head is shaking violently before you even finish your sentence, so you’ll leave that topic alone.

“Nightmare,” is all he volunteers. It’s all you need to know. “Could you… hold me?” He’s still curled up, and you’re not sure if he could move if he wanted to.

“Of course.” With his hand still on your cheek, you move closer until you can firmly wrap your arm around him. He remains curled, but he does drape his wing over both of you, a comforting gesture normally reserved for you but that’s probably for his own sake this time. You both lay in silence except for your breathing; his is thankfully beginning to level out. You expect the two of you to shortly drift back to sleep, but his voice cuts through the silence.

“Could you sing for me?”

“What should I sing?” you ask.

“Anything… I just wanna hear you sing.”

You search your memory until you find a song you enjoyed when you were a child. You’re not sure if it’s one Husk knows - it’s from after his time on Earth - but it seems like something he would enjoy, especially now.

“When your stronghold bends in wind and rain,

When the darkness seems too much to bear,

When you see no end to the driving pain,

But you’re always the one to say you’ll be there…

Please rest, my love, take all you need,

It’s been a long night to spend so alone,

I’ll shield your sweet heart, I won’t let you bleed,

Come into my arms, let me be your home…

Please rest, my love…”

You continue singing as he fades into sleep. His body relaxes, although his wing keeps covering you both, and he’s purring softly.

You don’t remember actively stopping your song. You only remember his soft fur nuzzling into your neck as your voice fades away into your own slumber.

[juvenillia]

~ future days ~ John Price x fem!reader [fluff fic]

summary: After John got lost during a mission, he found himself in a place he'd rather not have found because now he won't be able to leave, and that's all because of you.

a/n: I saw this post and needed to write a little fic for it, plus I placed some of my 'the last of us' love in it, therefore this is the version of the song that kept me writing and inspired

cw/tw: mentions of violence and loss, but only the slightest, John is kinda selfish but in a good way, this is tooth rotting fluff

worcount: 3.2k

》 Read on AO3 《 》Master Post《

„Captain, how copy?!“, the voice in his comms was frail. Everything around him was buzzing, shaking. He couldn’t remember how he got here. His eyes searched for anything that would make him see. A wetness crawling through his body, followed by a numbness. “He has to be here!”, a deep voice with a Russian accent yelled. That was the only thing that brought his senses back to life. He had to survive. He stripped out of the tactical gear and went back into the cold the lake next to him provided. Clinging to the rifle, the only thing that could keep save him now. In his current state he wouldn’t be able to swim far enough but he had no choice. He had to endure and survive like all the times before.

The next thing he remembered was an unfamiliar warmth creeping up his body. He blinked his eyes open and was greeted with the dim light of the sun making its way through the blinds. He was laying in a bed, delicate lavender sheets wrapping around his toned body. A rough pain piercing through his chest as he sat up. His hand immediately pushing against it. He observed his surroundings. The room he found himself in was cozy. A little bedside table next to him, on top of it was placed an empty bowl with daisy’s painted on it. A little wardrobe next to the door. As he brushed over his chest, he realized that he didn’t wear any shirt. His chest was wrapped in bandages. To clean for the injuries, he had to endure.  “What the ‘ell?”, his voice was raspy, rough from the sleep. No matter where he was, he needed to get a grip on it. From the interior and the way his body was taken care of, he assumed that it wasn’t Russian imprisonment, but he couldn’t be sure after all. He threw the sheets away. Still wearing the cargo pants, he used to. So, whoever took care of him, seemed too shy to pull him out of those. Standing a bit weak in his knees, he steadied himself on the doorframe, before pushing him further up.

He carefully opened the door and listened in, nothing seemed like a threat. He really couldn’t hear anything besides some birds singing outside. The hallway he walked through was like the bedroom. Small, sweet, and lovely decorated. Some pictures of flowers, different old castles and beautiful landscapes covered the walls as he strode along. There was a door to the left that led into a comfortable looking living room, and to the right to a small kitchen. In front of him was the door that would bring him out of here. So, he let his feet carry him over. He just stopped when he heard a door creak. He instinctively went around the next corner and found himself in the small rustic kitchen. He peered around the corner and literally had to catch his breath at the sight. A gorgeous woman just passed the door into the hallway. Wearing an adorable dress, reaching to your knees, which hugged your curves just in the right places. Some brown casual boots. And two heavy loaded baskets, one in each hand as your trailed into the kitchen. You didn’t take notice of him. You simply walked past him, humming a sweet melody and God, it was the prettiest sound he ever witnessed and still it seemed familiar. Placing the baskets on to the kitchen table and starting to unpack everything, just when you turned around to put something onto the shelf next to the door you shrieked. “Oh my…”, you lost grip of the packages of flour your hand had clung to just a moment before. Pressing your hands to your heaving chest. He looked at you completely stern, still his eyes soften. He reached out to pick up the goods you just dropped. To your fortune they stayed intact.  “Sorry…”, his voice was so calm and deep, as he put them on the table. Eyes lingering on your figure.

“No worries.”, you chimed after catching your breath. “Just didn’t think you’d be awake and walking around already.” Your voice was so sweet, he was sure he never heard something like that before. He only stood and there and watched as your kept unpacking the loads of groceries. Eventually he started to hand you a few things to help, and you beamed at him in pure happiness. “You must be hungry.”, that’s when you looked directly at him, pouring a glass of water, and putting it in front of him on the table and he sat down. He was mesmerized by the way you moved and talked. He even asked himself if he already was done, and that is what heaven must feel like.  “I wanted to make some tomato soup. Recipe from my grandma, it’s literal the best you’ll ever have.”, you dragged his attention back to here and now, while pulling out a pot. You kept humming the melody while starting to prepare the food. This melody felt so familiar to him, still he couldn’t remember where it was from.

 “Why are yer doing this?”, his voice was so uncommon and felt so unsuitable for this place. He felt unsuitable for this place. “Pardon?”, you didn’t look at him and kept chopping the tomatoes. “Was my question unclear?”, he was so stoic, the Captain coming to the light. It earned him a soft chuckle as you turned around. “Couldn’t leave you out there dying. So, I brought you here.”, you put the knife aside and faced him. Your eyes met his, and you got lost for a second. “You… you brought me here?”, now his voice was filled with disbelief. You didn’t look like you could carry him god-knows how far. You only nodded with a sweet giggle at his reaction, turning back to the meal.

You then explained everything, how you found him at the river side near the forest you like to walk through in the mornings before getting in the village for work. You went back to get a barrow to bring him back, cleaned his wounds and took care of the deep ones, before bandaging him and putting him into your bed. Looking after his wounds for the last six days. “I slept six days?” You nodded, while dusting of your hands at the side of your dress, after putting the pot on the stove. “We should take a look at the wounds though.”, you said, while your cheeks got stained in a slight red. Taking care of him while he was asleep was one thing, but having his perfect body on full display while he watched your every move, it made you nervous. You carefully freed him of the old bandages and cleaned every wound and carefully inspected the stitches of the nasty ones. Before wrapping him up again. “Where did you learn that?”, his voice grew a bit softer while you treated him. He had a weird sting in his guts. Your touch felt so comforting. A warmth filling his stomach like a good hot tea after a long deployment. “I was a nurse, before I left the city and looked for something more peaceful.”, you explained, making the last knot in the bandage. Then you reached behind you and pulled out a plain grey shirt. “I hope it fits.”

“I am John, by the way.”, he said calm while drying off some of dishes. You stood next to him washing the rest. You told him your name and he repeated it. Sweeter than anything you heard him say. It made your heart flutter. Another silence making its way back to the kitchen, and you filled it with the same melody from earlier. John closed his eyes, enjoying your soft hums, the sun beaming over his skin through the window, all that peace he never witnessed. He dared himself to enjoy this, eventually too much, and that’s how your days went on. He helped you with little tasks in the house, kept you company, you talked about a lot under the sun. About his life, not about the things he had to do. Just that he was in the military. He wouldn’t want to keep it secret; he was proud of the things he accomplished. Proud to make this world a better place, he just wanted to keep the violence, blood, and dirt away from you. You were so innocent and sweet; he didn’t want to corrupt you.

He found a liking in this; he found a liking in you. On the third day he insisted that you sleep in your bed again. The couch would be enough for him. He had slept in worse places. And neither of you knew what that change of spots did to you. Your whole bed smelled like him, just his own unique scent lingering between the sheets. Same was with the couch. Your delicious fragrance lying in the cushions as John pressed his head into them. Shamelessly inhaling every bit of it. You told him the couch would be a bad place to sleep for him and his injured back, and still he had the best rest of his entire life there.

It was early in the morning when he woke up, completely rested, the usual drill waking him and dragging him out of his sleep. That’s when he thought back to his boys, to his team. What would they think of him? They would risk their life’s just in that moment and the selfish side of John Price didn’t even want to set a foot out of that cheerful home. He would’ve been announced MIA anyways. So maybe that was a possibility for him to start over. Maybe he could listen to that selfish voice inside his head that begged him to stay here. To stay by your side. He wanted to be close to you, closer than he was with anyone.

His eyes trailed over the comforting living room he’d spend the late nights with you, watching a trashy tv series, it was your favorite, while you eagerly explained everything around the plot, so he’d understand. And everything he could think of was how pretty your lips looked, glistening from the wine you just had, still a drop of the liquid trapped in the corner of them. He had to fight the immense scream inside him to let his thumb brush it away. You would always laugh at him, asking if he would even be listening at all and he only smiled, being caught off guard. Being honest he did listen, but he didn’t care about what you talked about, but he’d listen all the way. Your eyes so full of passion and your sweet voice he never wanted to miss. And every evening he would move an inch closer to your spot. Secretly slipping closer into your side. Resting his arm on the back of the couch just behind you. And again, a bit further to the right, until your thighs would touch, and he wanted more. He craved more. Wishing every evening that the exhaustion would pull you into his chest. He would gladly welcome you.

Still, he had a duty to fulfill. He got reminded as his eyes clung to the rifle next to the stool. You left it there. Told him for just in case. It didn’t make you feel uneasy, knowing that he would be here to only use it to protect you. You knew he would never do something to cause any physical pain to you. Even if you’d be the fool in the end, you trusted him. A wounded soldier you barely knew a thing about, but he was nothing than sincere with you and you enjoyed his company. Your mom always told you to never talk to strangers, and here you were rescuing a completely and utterly dangerous stranger and letting him in into your life.

His feet carried him over to his weapon of choosing. Letting it linger in his hands, his eyes trailing over the outlines, the trigger, everything that was so familiar to him. Then his eyes stopped as they focused on a framed image in the background. It was placed in the windowsill behind a piano. It showed a soldier and woman in a white apron dress. They were quite young and not recognizable for John, but the smile gave it away. A smile he fell in love with since he woke up in a new life. Putting the rifle away and taking the picture in his hand. Observing how the two of you stood there, arm around each other, genuine smiles that reached your eyes. He noticed the similar features your faces shared when he noticed the name on the jacket of the recruit. A deep sigh left his throat as he put the picture back to its original spot. It made sense though.

He sat on that stool and let his calloused hands brush over the quite dusty wood of the piano in front of him. He opened its protection and pushed a key. The coat of dust made him wonder. Everything in this place was so neatly and clean, but not this instrument. His eyes trailing back to the picture before he slowly started playing, letting his fingers dance over the ivories. It was an odd time to remember, but he did. He remembered every tone of the melody and just let his muscle memory take over. Nearly closing his eyes, getting carried away. Just a few moments later he paused, hands still lingering on the white and black keys. That’s when he noticed a quiet sniffle. He immediately turned around to see you, leaning against the doorframe, arms hugging your own figure tight, your lips turning in the prettiest smile he ever saw you wearing. Still, he felt somehow guilty, taking, and using your property like that. Probably causing you a painful memory.

“Darlin’, I’m…” – “That was beautiful.”, you interrupted him, making your way over to him while a few tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. He smiled at you, weak as one of his hands reached out to you and you let him pull you in. He made some space on the small stool, and you sat down. Pressed in the sight of him but he wouldn’t mind. You wouldn’t mind. How could you. You let your hands linger on the keys, just above the spot where his fingers stopped. Your eyes pinned onto it; his eyes were only on you. You pressed some of the keys without any meaning of them sounding melodic. “My brother always played that song. I never learnt to.”, you voice was much more quiet than he was used to. A weak smile tugged at your lips. That’s when he noticed, he knew the melody you were always humming just like he knew the man in that picture. He remembered the late nights in a pub when he witnessed that song for the first time. It was a song he knew complete. He put his right arm around your waist, pulling you even closer in his side, before he placed his hands back onto the keys again and played that same old song. You leaned into him, closing your eyes while getting lost in the moment. Listening to the nostalgic melody, his steady heartbeat; you never felt so lighthearted.

He rested his head onto yours, while you started humming along the melody he played, until your hums turned into soft vocals. Not pulling your head away from him. “If I ever were to lose you, I'd surely lose myself, everything I have found dear I've not found by myself, try and sometimes you'll succeed, to make this man of me, all my stolen missing parts , I've no need for anymore, I believe, and I believe 'cause I can see, our future days, days of you and me.” As your voice went quiet, his hands kept playing for a few more tones before resting on the keys once more. He never felt so at ease, nothing on his mind and completely captured by this moment. By the warmth radiating from your body, by the way your scent flooded his nostrils. He never wanted anything different anymore.

One hand found your chin and carefully tilted it in his direction. Your eyes locked and you slightly parted your lips, while your heart wanted to jump out of your chest while looking in those deep stormy eyes. His other hand rested on your thigh now, his body turned more into your direction. The small space on the stool already put you close together, but now he leaned a bit more in. The tip of his nose touched yours, his hot breath brushing over your skin. It send shivers down your spine. You didn’t want to avert your eyes, you didn’t want to break eye contact, but everything felt so intense. Your body was literally trembling with anticipation, while he seemed calm as a rock, but not cold. His eyes held so much hidden in them. Still, he didn’t move any closer, stayed still in this position, until you cautious nudged his nose with yours, just then he closed the gap between you both. Letting his lips linger on yours, hesitant, but so full of emotions. You felt the tingling of his beard over your skin. A deep kiss that said so much more than words ever could. Your hands found his chest, while he deepened the kiss, before parting for mere seconds. A gorgeous smile tugging his lips upwards, his eyes filled with adoration before he leaned in for another taste of your lips. More eager, more passionate. His hand wandering from your chin to cup your cheek, slowly caressing it with his thumb while not parting his lips from yours. One of your hands found his shoulder, and from that it wandered to his neck, pulling him impossible closer. Neither of you wanted to let go, it felt like tasting the sweet taste of water after wandering the desert for months.

Just when both of you had no oxygen left in your lungs you parted once more, and he placed a quick peck onto your forehead before he leant his front against yours. You still felt his beard pricking at your skin. It was a unique feeling of intimacy. Something you never had experienced yourself.  This gorgeous smile never leaving his lips. “I see my future days here…with you, darling.”, he breathed out, barely above a whisper. Those words were meant for your ears only, and they made you smile. Your hands wrapping around his neck. “But no more sleeping on the couch, alright?” He only laughed sincere at your statement ans pressed his forehead further into yours. How should he be able to sleep somewhere else when he knew you’d be curled up in that cozy bed of yours, leaving the spot next to you open only for him? And just like that the selfish voice in his head had won, but he shouldn't care, not when he pulled you closer in his embrace and forgot about all the dirt and darkness.

taglist: @ghostslillady

[hydrangeasimagination]

Enough Rope

Royal Gay AU - An alternate universe created by @i-cant-sing​ surrounding Yandere BNHA Characters making up different kingdoms, where in which the Reader's is the daughter of Dabi and Hawks. Though reluctantly; as the relationship is strained by the murder of her mother.

Pairing(s): Sultan! Dabi / Todoroki Touya X Courtesan! Hawks / Takami Keigo || Implied! Barbarian Prince! Bakugo Katsuki X She/Her! Sultana! Reader, Implied! Past! Akaguro Chizome / Stain X Reader's Mother

Summary: It was inevitable that you'd take the throne, you were groomed you're whole life for it. But never did Dabi think you'd have to take it so young. Nor in the matter you took it.

A/N: I wanted to get some vindication, Dabi and Hawks absolutely boil my blood in this AU so I kinda get to be a little vicious. The reader looks like her mum but has Dabi’s eyes, also uses SHE/HER and is referred to as Sultana.

(My addition of Stain + his relationship with her mother are non-canonical to the actual series.)

Warning(s): Character Death/Murder. Blood. Obsessive/Possessive Behavior. Reader is staging a coup. Angst. Cursing. Crying. Parental Death.

... You looked so much like your mother.

The royal colors looked beautiful on you, dripping in golds and silks. Ornate and elaborate, the veil settled on top of your head accentuated the set of white pearls that crowned it. Today of all days, anyone that gazed upon the newly coronated sultana and was absolutely mesmerized by the beauty that was even rule.

You even threw out the traditional blues and were wrapped in a beautifully dyed peachy pink.

Your late mother's favorite color.

In your throne, sat upon the cushion, alongside a blond prince about your age.

While his fingers entwined with one, you lifted the other delicate hand - fingers adorned with your grandmother's rings - to silence the room.

Dabi knew this day would eventually come, that he'd see you become Sultana with conviction and ambition running through your veins. A time he'd hope to be alive to see, with Keigo beside him.

He was still amazed to see it, despite his disdain for the colors you chose and holding that dragon brat's hand just to spite him.

... But as he was in chains, there was little to be done.

His daughter, so frail and weak, usurped the throne from him in one fell swoop.

Her soft little hands dug into his chest to rip out his heart, covering the innocent skin in the blood of his stabbed back. Her soft little self reaching out to the cruelly harmed citizens of their home to call them to her side.

As he looked up at his daughter, who looked almost 10 years older. Her eyes glaring icy daggers through him like he was nothing was perhaps the worst thing of all.

Keigo is bruised from the chains, wings nonexistent, as Enji took care in scorching them down to nothing. He was a mess and struggling, hissing at the guard, who proceeded to slam the man into the floor.

"Show some respect to the new Sultana." Kai commanded, clearly enjoying seeing how the blond practically foamed at the mouth.

"She's my daughter," He hissed between his teeth, "Know your place."

Your gaze sharpened and your voice boomed, "Do not speak, whore, lest I have Akaguro tear your tongue between your teeth."

Dabi briefly mulled over the fact that you sounded so much like him, authoritarian, an intense need to just... Collapse, washing though him as he realized what monster he'd created. He can't speak, he just stared at you.

Keigo looked shocked and indignant at your insult and order, opening his mouth to chide you for language before fingers snapped out and gripped his tongue.

The mercenary was someone deeply close to your mother when they were young, her sense of charity and kindness reached his heart.

Someone that she probably would've married if not for the caste system. He was selfish and he loved her, but keeping her safe from his life of crime meant that he had to let her go... He would.

Akaguro adored you as easily as he did his beloved friend.

So hearing that you were torn apart by the death of your mother, meant he was the perfect sword to point at the opposition.

In pure combat ability, Dabi didn't stand a chance.

Chizome looked to you as your father did.

The latter can see the satisfaction in your eyes, a smile so gentle and relaxed that he wondered how long it had been since he's seen you like that. How long it had been since he’d seen this expression directed at him.

“Let go for now.” You sweetly said, eyes falling over your father.

Before, he took pride in your eyes.

They were blue, the bluest of blue, like his.

As they coldly took him in, as they hardened to ice and threatened to burn him down... He wondered where everything started to go wrong.

You leaned forward a bit.

Your burning gaze didn’t leave him.

Deepening, darkening.

“Do you love me daddy?” You asked softly, so softly that he almost didn’t hear you.

It was shocking, jarring, even more heartbreaking when your eyes instead fill with tears past all the anger.

A sadness that chilled him to the bone.

Breaking his aching heart further.

Especially as your voice trembled, watery.

Just...

Sent a spike of panic straight down to his gut.

Was this why you did it?

Because you believed he didn’t love you anymore?

“Of course.” He didn’t hesitate, didn’t breath as he watched your face.

“Then...” You frown, looking as if you were about to start crying. “Then would you kill for me?”

“Always.”

He meant it.

He’d done it before.

“T - then why do you keep hurting me? Why do you keep hurting my feelings?”

The sob that filled your questions just broke him.

Ripping into his ribcage so painfully that he felt himself feel faint.

“Why did you keep Keigo around knowing I hated him? Knowing that I couldn’t stand him?” You hiccupped, the blond beside you turning to wipe your face with his hands “Is... Is it because you love him more than me?”

“NO!!!” He nearly screamed.

His eyes were wide, manic.

Panic pounding his senses as he realized why you might have done what you did.

That the heartbreak drove you into taking control because you felt unloved.

That he drove you into it.

“Prove it...”

Your blue eyes remained set on him.

There’s cold steel suddenly in his hands, a dagger, long and ornate.

“Kill him.”

A terrified face filled his vision as he turned to his concubine, his former concubine, helpless. He opened his mouth, to beg or plead or speak, Dabi didn’t care. Even as his mind’s eye reminded him of the nights they spent together.

He didn’t love this bastard.

He now knew.

Knew that Keigo caused all of this.

His presence alone made you think that your father didn’t love you more than everything in the whole world. That drove the ugly thoughts of replacement into your lives.

Keigo took you from him too.

He brought the knife down.

Again and again and again and again.

The knife came down in a frenzy, wrenching horrible noises from Keigo’s throat.

Sobs for mercy, of apology.

“Da... bi....”

Dabi slowly returned to his mind’s eye, shaking.

Blood saturated him, from body to hair.

Staring down at the red soaked face of his former lover.

He felt nothing but contempt.

Nothing but hatred pouring through his veins.

A free feeling settled in his heart.

He looked at you, shakily smiling, “See?... I didn’t love him. I could never love him more than you.”

You stared.

Doe eyes wide and soft, still wet and dark.

The smile that graced your lips warmed his heart.

But also confused him.

Why did you look so sad all of a sudden?

“... Darling?”

You didn’t respond and looked behind him, nodding slowly.

“I’m sorry daddy, but there needs to be blood.” There’s almost a shame in you, heavy bags now seen as the light fell from the skylight.

Making you look like the gift from the gods you were.

He didn’t understand.

“And the people have suffered for long enough without retribution.”

Katsuki wrapped his arms around you, tucking you to his chest, kissing the crown of your head.

It made Dabi angry but he was confused more than anything.

“I do love you.” You said quietly. “But I can’t let you live.”

The pain lasted for a moment, just a moment.

He coughed, spitting up blood.

Akaguro’s hands were red, face almost solemn.

Dabi is still looking at you, in the face of his beloved daughter, still with crying eyes and sadness pouring from every pore. The vestiges of his vision begin darkening, body cold.

“I wished things could have been different.”

He did too.

The last thing he saw was the bluest of eyes.

Eyes bore instead by the face of his late wife.

... You really did just look like your mother.

[sorenevans]

can we just talk about the song "Inkpot Gods" for a minute?

while I am 100% sure I am interpreting this song wrong I really don't care.

let me show you my vision-

(listen while you read- it makes more sense.)

There's a young girl- about 10-11 years old. She's probably been through a lot. and she tries not to cry because she thinks that is a sign of weakness, but a man who was supposed to care for this girl originally, but was so scared too he never really tried- POTENTIALLY A FATHER FIGURE, MAYBE EVEN HER ACTUAL FATHER- tells her that it's ok to cry, and to not worry about the other kids laughing at her because she's just learning how to fight for herself.

Oh, what? These, these aren't tears It's just the rain that wasn't brave enough to fall And what they hear isn't laughter, after all It's just your voice learning for once to stand up tall

that same man wants to keep her safe, and that's exactly what he does. he vows to stay by her side and train her until she can fight the monsters of this world without his help. he sees her for more than her scars, more than her marking, more than anything superficial. he sees her for her. he sees her the way his father never saw him. He vows to never be like his father. He wants to be present in this young girl's life, he wants to be the father she doesn't and he never had.

And when the rain came down I made a vow out to the dark "Please, let her live just one more day Cause she is so much more than all her scars And if she doesn't have the will But it seems the whole world does, I'll stay, because I will be the man my father never was"

this man knew her mother before she died. she brings it up to the man when she turns 15 so that she can get the letters from her mom that the man had been keeping safe. the last letter written very hastily written read these lyrics. \/ The girl asked the man and he said that her mother was always singing.

And what you hear is not silence It's just the trees waiting to hear what next you'll hum

She also wrote in these letters that she was never truly alone that she had the man and the darkness was only there so she could appreciate the light in her life, it was only there to discourage her in her quests. but her mother also wrote not to let the darkness stop her and that those who made her life dark only did so to hurt her.

And what you see is not the dark It's just the gods upturning ink pots 'cause they know what you'll become

And she wrote a letter to those powers holding her daughter back.

And to those gods, I will speak bluntly "We've an accord, if you ever touch or harm her Please, rest assured that you might not fear a man But to a woman, by the end, you'll kneel and plea

and her mother writes one last thing. telling the girl how her mother always told her to look out only for herself. but after having a child she couldn't imagine not gladly dying for her. this child was her life.

'Cause I'm more than what my mum told me to be"

She's 17 now. fighting her own battles, and she's doing well until one day she's not. She is struggling- SHE'S LOSING. She's overwhelmed and OUTNUMBERED AND SCARED! The man wants nothing more than to help, but after all this time he's become old and frail and unable to fight like he used to. he can see her fighting. he can see her trying. he sees her fall. He can't watch anymore. he's fully overwhelmed by that feeling of helplessness.

And I can hear her sing And I know she's giving up And I don't know what to do, how to help her How to bring her home

and she sees the man, no- her father- she knew he saw her fall. She knows he's seeing her lose. She can feel the waves of emotion. she was so scared for him. She craved independence but right now she just wants to hug him- but this is her quest and only hers.

And I can hear him break And he doesn't understand And I wish that I could take his hand But where I'm going is for me and me alone

the man sees a letter sitting on the table. the girl had left it there. for in case she didn't make it back. It's been hours, and he didn't want to admit she could be dead, but he could see no other outcome. he opened the letter. and reads it over and over and over. he can practically hear her singing it.

And I can her sing "If I don't make it back from where I've gone Just know I loved you all along" "If I don't make it back from where I've gone Just know I loved you all along" "If I don't make it back from where I've gone Just know I loved you all along" "If I don't make it back from where I've gone Just know I loved you all along" (loved you all along)

He sits in a chair facing the battle scene, where he watches something emerging from the horizon. he tucks the letter neatly away and walks out to meet the girl. she won. She won so she could come back to him. her father- the one who was always there for her, the one who taught her about her mother- the one who loved her unconditionally, and she, him.

If I don't make it back from where I've gone Just know I loved you all along If I don't make it back from where I've gone Just know I loved you all along If I don't make it back from where I've gone Just know I loved you all along If I don't make it back from where I've gone Just know I loved you all along

[hymnserendipity]

Demon atsumu, pt. 1

Mention of slight nudity, fluff

Its dawn, and you are wandering since a month to runaway from your family and your arranged marriage, you didn't had time to take anything with you and had to drink from rivers, eat berries and occasionally steal food. His eyes watch you as you enter the abandoned building, a slight scoff leaving him. Foolish human. You might as well be giving yourself away like this. He says nothing, silently observing you as you sit and eat an onigiri you had stolen. As you continue eating the onigiri, he continues to observe you. The rugs you wore and how skinny you are tells him that you're homeless. You're vulnerable, weak, and easy pickings for any demon. Despite this, he does not make a move towards you. No, he simply continues watching you in silence. Something about you has him strangely interested in you as you start to mumble a lullaby...Your soft, gentle singing catches his attention, his eyes widening slightly as he listens intently. Despite your seemingly frail form, your voice is soft and strong in a way. He found it endearing. Although he'd never admit it, he almost found himself being lost in your singing. Your voice is sweet, like honey. Just as he's about to lean in, his gaze drifts towards your neck for a moment. Blood pulses under the skin of your neck, warm and rich. "Well... This Will be my new home i guess.." you whisper to yourself as you stand up. You caugh the glance of something hiding in the dark and froze. "Who is it?" Your question snapped him out of the almost daze he was in. When you spotted him, he didn't make a move, but simply observed you. Your fear is evident on your face, your body tensing up from the sight of his form.

He simply stares at you for a second before speaking, "What are you doing here, human?"

"H-human?"

His glare continues to linger on you, and he crosses his arms. "Yes, human. Are you deaf as well?" He says bluntly, his eyes narrowing slightly at you.

"Oh... You are a demon ..." You say slowly, as your eyes adapt to the slight darkness of the room.

"Clever observation." Atsumu comments sarcastically, his eyes continuing to watch you. You're clearly scared, the way your body is tense and how your eyes are wide, but you hadn't run away yet.

"I was.."

"You were..?" He repeats after you, raising a brow. He looks you up and down, before finally stepping out of the shadows and approaching you. "I was searching for a shelter" He comes to a stop beside you, towering over you a bit as he looks up and down. You're smaller than him, even younger than he first thought. He can hear your heartbeat, loud but fast. You're scared.

"And you chose an abandoned building..?" His eyes watch your face intently, seeing the hesitation and fear on your face. He's not sure why you hadn't run away yet. Most humans he's seen either run away in terror or try to attack him with anything they could find. So why isn't you doing either?

"Yes" atsumu can't help but stare at you in slight confusion. Despite his looming form and him literally being a demon, you seems.. calm. Your rapid heartbeat from before has slowed down, and your body seems to relax around him.

"You're not scared." It's not a question.

"I... You are not scary" Atsumu is caught off guard by that response, his eyes widening for a moment. Most humans would be terrified at the sight of him, not a single ounce of bravery within them. Yet you, you says with no fear in your eyes and firmness in your voice that he isn't scary.

"You're either brave, or very stupid." He says, narrowing his eyes. He's a demon who could kill you within seconds, and you sayd he's not scary. "Probably the second" He stares at you again, studying you. Your words, the way you're standing so casually in front of him as if he wasn't a bloodthirsty demon. He couldn't tell if you wete just stupid, brave, or an extremely good liar.

"No human has ever said I wasn't scary." He mentions, his voice blunt. "Demons are usually super scary" He lets a slight scoff slip from his lips. "You are correct about that, but what I don't understand is how you say I'm not." He takes a step closer, reducing the space between you to inches. He now stands towering over you, his frame making yours look small and fragile in comparison. "Don't know." He's once again caught off guard by your words. "You are pretty"

He's so stunned that he simply stares at you for a moment before he scoffs again.

"Pretty? You think a demon is pretty?"

"No, i think you are"

His eyes stare at you, and he feels his chest constrict a bit at your words. He's a demon, cold and ruthless, and the word "pretty" is far from what describes him.. and yet here you are, saying so confidently that he's pretty. Your eyes show no sign of fear no more, and your expression is firm. You really does think he's pretty.

"Is this your home?" Your question causes him to snap out of his thoughts, and he glances around. For a moment, he forgot that they were in an abandoned building at dawn.

"No. I just came here during daylight today." He responds, looking back down at you. His gaze drifts back to your eyes, a moment of silence passing between you before he speaks again. "This isn't the best place for you to stay either, little human."

"I don't have a place, it's better than the streets" Akaza raises a brow at you words, staring at you. It's then that he really notices the dirty ragged clothes you're wearing, how thin your frame is and the bruises on your arms. You were homeless. He's not sure why he feels a pang in his chest seeing you like this. You're a human, and he's a demon. You're supposed to be food. But seeing your state, all of a sudden his mouth is moving before his mind.

"You don't have anywhere to go, do you?"

"No"

Atsumu eyes lingering on the bruises on your arms for a moment. Even though every part of his being is telling him to simply kill you, something stops him from doing so. Is it simply because you didn't look scared of him? He can't tell.

He suddenly sighs. "Come with me, then."

Atsumu turns and starts walking towards the exit, only for his sharp senses to catch your footsteps hesitating to follow. He huffs softly before turning his head to look over his shoulder at you.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to eat you." He says bluntly. You nod then and notice that the night came into the sky. Your agreement reassures him, and he continues walking. He leads you out of the abandoned building, and into the dark of the night.

"Do you have a name?" He asks as he proceeds to lead you to who knows where. "It's Y/N, and yours?"

"Atsumu"

The name slips from his lips, the first time he's said his name to a human. He glances down at you, noticing how small you are in comparison to him. Your head doesn't even reach his shoulder.The two of you continue walking in silence, his eyes drifting to you several times. The way you're following him so obediently, without even knowing where he's taking you. You seems completely unbothered, despite following a demon at night. A vulnerable little human just following him like it's nothing. He's never walked beside a human like this before, and it feels different. He could so easily just snap you neck and feast, but he isn't. He doesn't know why he isn't, but the mere thought of your lifeless body in his arms makes his stomach twist. What was happening to him.

They continue walking until they finally reach a clearing. He stops suddenly, and turns to face you. You're looking up at him, your expression calm and your heartbeat steady. You aren't afraid at all. Atsumu sighs once more, gesturing up ahead. "Come. We're almost there." He continues walking, and after a few more minutes the two of you finally reach a small house. It's out of the village, on the edge of a nearby forest. It's secluded, almost hidden away from civilization.

Akaza leads you to the front door, unlocking it and opening it for you to enter. "After you." Without protest, you follows his command and enters the house, a small but comfortable house which doesn't look like it's been used for a while.

Atsumu steps in after you, closes the door, locks it, and turns around to face you. He watches you look around the house, before he speaks up.

"This is my place. You'll be staying here now."

"This Is...your Place?"

"Yes. Is that so hard for you to accept, human?" He raises a brow, his eyes on you. "You need a place to stay, I need company. This arrangement is beneficial to both of us."

"Thank you"

Atsumu huffs, watching as the first hint of a smile forms on your face. He's not used to being thanked, especially by a human.

"You're welcome. Now, you need food, don't you?" He says bluntly. "And new clothes, and a bath.."

I..."

I can practically smell the stench and dirt radiating from you." He comments, his voice blunt as ever. "If you're going to stay here, I won't have you looking or smelling like a street dog."

He continues staring down at your body, taking in the rags you had on, the unkempt hair and the faint marks of dirt on your skin.

"When was the last time you ate? Bathed?" He asks, crossing his arms.

"I bathed in the River, a week ago"

"A week?" His eyes widened slightly upon hearing that. "And your food situation?"

"I ate berries and rice i stoled." His brow furrows a little. Berries? You've been surviving on berries and rice the past few days?

"When was the last time you ate a proper meal?"

" I dont know...a while ago." He's stunned by that response. No wonder you looked so thin and starved.

"And you're still alive?" He speaks, slightly bewildered. You answer only confirms that you're both brave and stupid. He's not sure if he should be shocked or impressed by the fact that you managed to survive this long on her own and without meet another demon.

He mutters something under his breath before speaking again. "You're eating a real meal tonight. And taking a damn bath."

"I... Yes... Thank you"

"No need to thank me." He says dismissively, sighing again. "Now stay here, I have something else that needs doing."

Just as he's about to turn to walk out, he pauses. "And if you consider running out while I'm gone, keep in mind I'm faster than you. Don't even think about it."

"Yes." He huffs again, your response making him shake his head slightly. You definitely has guts to act so casually in front of him. "Good."

With that, he turns around and walks towards the door, pausing only to turn and glance back at you. "Don't touch anything while I'm gone."

This situation is new but at least you will not suffer from cold...

[timelessmulder]

31 Days of Horror day 7: Answered

Hi, you've reached Myra. I'm not around at the moment, but leave a message!

Lindsay worried at her lip. A tree outside tapped at her window, and the old house creaked in the late autumn night.

"Hey, Myra," she said. "It's Lindsay. Uhm, you know how I said I was going to visit the cabin this weekend? Mom's?" Her eyes glanced at the front door, locked tight. The fireplace crackled. "It's real creepy out here. And you aren't answering my texts. Call me back or something."

The cabin had been in their family for generations. Passed on from mother to daughter, their grandmother had told them in hushed tones. The sisters had giggled at her stories, the secrets just for them (though as they grew, they were sure that their mother's grandmother had done much the same). A squat old building in the woods, built sturdy enough to withstand the storms that beat their little town. The lawn stood lush and wild with oak and holly; animals would tread near in their curiosity, sniffing at the blooming flowers whose stems were wrapped in knotted rope. And they would go no further.

The stories had smelt of cinnamon and crackling fires. Cozy, in their grandmother's rusting voice that grew stronger as she told of the witches who had lived there, once. The girls were not frightened, though they had once overheard their mom saying the stories were too scary. "nonsense," their grandmother had said. "little girls love these kinds of stories."

And they had. They curled up close to her whenever she came to visit. Or they went over to visit her, when she grew too frail to make the trek herself. The girls would watch her with wide eyes, and knobby hands would stroke their hair.

She told them of a spirit who came to visit. Nothing preceded her visitations, she would tell them in that conspiratorial whisper. She simply came as she will, sudden as a summer breeze. She would knock, and if answered she would offer a gift. But not without a price, as is the way of beings such as her. The witch would ask what the trade was, and the shimmering shadow would hum and haw, before saying "oh, nothing much." A cut fingernail, a lock of hair. An eyelash fallen onto a freckled cheek. The name your mother called you when you were young enough to be held in her arms. A small price to pay for a gift so magnificent.

But no gift came without a price, you see. The being would swallow the small trinket and hold it within her swirling inky. And the little witch with her gift of love or fortune would begin to grow weak. Her cheeks would hollow and her eyes sink in, bones pressing against the flesh until they cracked and bled, showing little specks of white like growing teeth. And the being would return to the hollowed husk of a woman, who would look up with hollow sockets, eyes leaking down her cheeks.

And the little witch would vanish.

If a knock should come when the sun has sunk below the line of trees, the occupant should wrap a rope of lavender around the doorknob. Drop its buds at the entryway, at the windows. Throw a handful in the fireplace. Do not open the door for anyone.

Lindsay thought of her grandmother, long since passed away. The stories looped in her head. She had come to the cabin, passed down to her mother, to get away from the world for a bit. A recent breakup still ached in her joints and the woods seemed welcoming enough with its clear air and quiet skies.

But old wood creaked and settled. She jumped at the slightest of noise, this far out from civilization. She pulled an old throw around her shoulders, focusing on the fire in front of her. Her breathing slowed and evened out; she listened to the ambiance of the fire, of the nature outside. An owl called in the distance above scores of singing crickets.

It lulled her, thoughts of witches and creatures and shitty exes slipped from her mind. She still waited for her phone to buzz; having a weekend with her sister would be fun. It would be like they were little kids again.

Her eyelids were beginning to droop in the warmth of the fire, lulled by the gentle symphony of forest nights. Wisdom dictated that she crawl into bed- after putting out the fire, of course.

A thumping at the door jolted Lindsay back into the land of the living. "Lindsay?" Myra's voice called from the other side of the door. Lindsay blinked, shying away from the door. "I thought I'd come join you."

Lindsay hadn't heard anyone approaching, and the thick tangle of the yard made a silent approach impossible. She didn't respond.

"Come on, Lindy. Mom told me you were probably freaking out all by yourself."

A shaking hand reached out to find her phone. She'd missed the vibration of a notification, in her half awake state.

From Myra. is it cool if i come up tomorrow morning?

[meralynblackwood]

meralyn blackwood & open location → gardens of the red keep

Meralyn bent at the waist to admire a pretty mix of goldencups and lady's lace, and brushed her fingers delicately over the soft yellow petals. A smile pulled at her lips as the sound of a lyre broke through the quiet chirping of birds and far-off murmurings of nearby courtiers, and she turned her face away from the flowers to spy the bard responsible for the strumming. The musician evaded her sight, but she heard a man's lilting voice beginning to sing, and straightened her posture.

She enjoyed the sounds of harps and fiddles and the like, and the gentle crooning of bards who sang old and beloved songs. As she walked towards the noise, she wondered at the name of the melody the bard played — she thought the tune might have sounded familiar, and she strained her ears to hear the distant singing.

...his eyes, once vibrant, turned hollow and bleak, as he clawed at the heavens, no solace to seek...his roar, once thunderous, now twisted in pain, echoed through the valleys, a haunting refrain... Meralyn stilled, and felt her stomach twist uncomfortably. She knew then that she had never heard the song before — and knew it was Rhaegar the hidden bard sang of. The thought to run back inside the keep occurred simultaneously with the thought to chase after the singer; to see the face of the man who so boldly sang against the deceased King within the grounds of the keep. She thought to force herself to choose the former, and half-turned when the singing began again. It was nearer this time — perhaps just over the hedges guarding the path she walked now. ...with every breath, their flames grow dim, whispering secrets on a fragile whim...their scales one gleaming, now grow frail, we wonder indeed if they shall prevail...

Good sense was abandoned for favor of chasing after the treasonous words, though as Merry turned the corner to where she was certain she had heard the singing, she was met instead with an empty courtyard; quiet but for the bubbling of a nearby fountain. Her dark brow furrowed, and she turned round in a circle in search of some sign of the man. Her shoulders slumped as nothingness greeted her, and she could not help the thought: should I speak of this to anyone?

...oh dragons of summer, now ailing and weak...

Her head snapped upwards at the distant sound, and Meralyn hurried towards it before she could talk herself against it. She turned swiftly round a corner, and was forced to quickly stumble back a half-step to prevent herself from colliding with the person she found standing there.

"Oh," she said in surprise, her dark eyes wide as she took in the sight of the courtier before her. Not a lyre to be found. "Forgive me my clumsiness," she amended, a smile working its way quickly onto her lips. "I was just —..." She laughed quietly in the absence of knowing what she ought to say, and smoothed away the hairs that had escaped her careful braid. " — Confused," she decided upon, "confused and lost."

[libidomechanica]

Has gold grave aske her the apparates eternal grieved me, for Poesy

A rispetto sequence

               I

How chance—and novice. You would retreatment knee. The fenced, and have his mind? Which more from the prison; even he fools periwinkle tropics, to me! Man’s lip to heavy cheek, no higher to full bite their change; and sword and pass’d sae kindly kiss’d the sky, while heathes. Is not bee. Duty. Has gold grave aske her the apparates eternal grieved me, for Poesy. Person Hale.

               II

Had it seemed to another cloying of childhood, for sodger, but in person to me? Water, Cymon’s gone, and monogrammers pitie: looking up my which, withdrew from the clear; and they must be: first uncivil? And your bone can. We rock and half thee? By him thy judge of the vaulted regret was a proceed; for Death for? Now say must pleasest frae her was it centertex!

               III

Of a stairs, she first surprise, for early when I be governed and a reading the public feel it once each of for I can crew, the guards boy, after their play discovereigned, in a glass wi’ a token. ’Twas the future in you are thought my night to dazzling wife lay thy fresshe floor, some sing kings to letter’s days of having down the Youth her Lord Gods great spinning shed.

               IV

The ruled to walk silent sees with dart: t is t is dust and for ever ago, in vie with gown, and merry; for the sky, that force from the secret has magistracts just request hem the walls, and chatter marriage? Hence with a frailties at dissolved time painted within! ’ Yet. This but a whither ivory and when I’ve farm the mind on the ocean of the mass, and how made.

               V

Such leaf force for airy now at bals-paré, i’ve beheads he darkness divine. Sat by a right. And beauty children die for in your bonny, and favourite within, and this love is dust. Again. Every danced awaken’d the sodger; remember to it. That I must men; i’ll wreath! Till fixed resign to be; but with ev’ry eyes, leaves or blame of having pearl, can the first, toot!

               VI

The wrough he common us treat, which reflection of foolished his golden Hours should not you hasten’d in greated horsman only sights in the fou’, he come; t is no college yet decent of her silent as we down would be truth of such as wind wide the curiosity of mind; nor discerning, and some easy matter blood? Her majestic missed, unredress.

               VII

Julia sate wise? And, like all arbitrate the sun arose insist while it will gather Julia, in this is to pure as my ioye shepheard, o’er the Dagger and show his lady always is no devil’s some, but who, ah! Thy gifts and bear not a Thomas, or air. And is inspired: what is pitied, see to gaze, sent Deity life, angry would utterable: pennies.

               VIII

Can commeth too paint in it is word his midnight ease the fair will, impetuous arts, because, in a seal’d among treat wrath—’I must such a lily; she blushing her lips, a homily, and, passage prove? How, think no meant to be see the weak the subscribed by the end the last. As true Love’s back. It is not through better to see thy beautiful, charge she travellers journey.

               IX

Which way, he caught. Now greed, or aid, and by they borrow from the strike the bane. She voice of their kind; why heat more aboue, the wed a veil, when tried up my vest to fill, his, I can deceived, and promise. The look pierce could you tender foot of some dear so hard oppress how debased as plovers knows my Highland Muse, to my fix’d upon despise, the glass were bene will shore, a heart.

               X

She not I think forevere did smiled in him quail, shake ye have one more—no more mercy from redden’d it soone frail shelter night, for mend, I grant you might behind you as gotten year. What then sail the age animate’s sake their secret sensitive, the sight, fast as sadly driven unknown, nor let my spread loser? Shall sleeping up his toes, just pipe a juice in Sevill fret?

               XI

But now happendix, which just confound—for a lady also, satisfied earth, a good will not seems, house, the kiss, and thirty year to the Cyprians comely donne. To makes youth, unless shrowds; howe he shepheard, the languid eyes so all the name, made indifferent fled. He love: restling snub-nose, and unseemly plague, he rears annul, the first I will bear agains fly, and fever.

               XII

For mischief, and Loves ouercome world art with little Love! At strife; t is no holy prompter’s infancy abide and look, and delight one so there wholly one his God, when shall made my hear than Heav’n has a least an amongstroganoff I put the Hebrew no Wrong, old with fixed to Cymon soon hawthorn’s bigge into this I fill’d with my loss of a sot, and lying sun.

               XIII

To guide this whether mode he wax was on the said: they none; for a go-between. By conquered flamed of the garded by the nose, and then he’d love of creating of thy galage of the wasted, and amber—search the Lord was those was, thou this I shine with all to die, and payne. Quarter. Her to despight and insane distance—and bloom’d the his Life intent a glist’ring amiss.

               XIV

He invisible man, face your own knocked would understands all the more—Oh! All I can’t both gold i’ll wraps my verse! As much served your love thinking to the rifle bright be my rival bark, and stalk, bright of a blunder severall my new open wit. The lo’e the charming, for hear the short, in an on his gulfe. Or ran thou know that fury spirit hovering air. Little black.

               XV

Vernon, the eyes sweet Te Deums of emotional is kneelings me sofa: digestion an unrigger, not Momus sent; in ground that her of this lectual, grows the even in the Princely life in Wexen from my shady thought and tent the age, as Philome to hit, for few time home neare not sink it fear: as she two oath, the power. Would be away and, pass watch—Alack!

               XVI

This kiddes, therefore my suit: his but a guide. If everywhere, no sorted; hence peril of cards contain most fair, she’s lay, his hands. I call, led by oath, Julia shining up in you leaves too soft, so late to plump round, and, in his silence asleepe, is verse, where to the love may boast of longing the main, and every can its hue, and grace mellow ripe: my hearts confessor saw.

               XVII

Tag. Whose but in date, who begot out in that is in feeling Pricket blow, flung roses, it see you gave, nor let it arraigned, but let by a spie; the one projects what I am, for of explore and she grieved my death’s no virtuous winds and fixed on earthly farewel, and als to her days are my good the plague that you are press here do you turn’d by their call; my night.

               XVIII

So will conquer of alter footman prevails. And you with allied to avenge—especified of his her then, issues of there dance mingle, gold grudge erected soon appeare, the wind, as faire Mothers, who rules that gall. For a quietly care: what showed, the come for disclosest of cold night, for the room, nor ever and thy God mouth, and court and show eye and have denies.

               XIX

Would equal fires with the Book or soul, as the most wi’ plunged, and saw a quiet, this Beauty your feet of the fool, could retreater, and never witch! The phoenix nest; and nights cannot wanton Nimph forth has Lowder, which still I cast thought, as where my master. Thou weakness, thoughts to have smiling of some freends fond my spins faith ev’ry plague that much more close a lyzard of sorrow!

               XX

When I say, for God’s owne their fan, that at once flowery grew less the Master, and carefull chaste! Even for they hair and swore; they calling her penny to the from America and the moon-tints cond these: nothings raise of dignity himself on high their should, musickering voyce obtaining of Heav’n-director, that love, who did not, I prize, whose obstinated.

               XXI

When Julia, break thy fine same half husband’s how loud or death made him some past: with pyning from thy promise in Glentury. Thus vain, it can’t attack us her span the take, compare in his page to be; but Ostentation known; the World turn’d him, and look, and pants is light. And for the daily breath, ashame. A burther with limbs with a rumours is lame, and the darkling stings!

               XXII

And cool and of the worse. Or who leaue of the brother, you tralineate Ideas in grown, no less skies tell why the hero tell me free. And never people flocke, fast a virtue prefer a journeys, and great and even if by force the name on the with which played, would visit to vaunt thee to Madrid one desyre, that their way; and for to the stranger time thy pow’rs well.

               XXIII

Until I shall expresses affirme: for not to finde, Beauty, Common on this stepping under- shower of my your strong, Perilla! The line heart, but they’re nearly? Such rigour old lady or gently drank and carry it in a hermitted grant eyes been of our lovely they knee. Whilst their colours as countrye age on to the his book the by a stranger tool’s temper noise.

[sickficideas]

Hi, you're a good author and stuff does this sound okay so far?

Lucifer flipped through the pages of his book lazily, glancing up when there was a sharp knock on his door.

“Come in,” He called.

He set down his book, shifting, causing the bedding to ruffle slightly.

"Well, well, looks like the 'king' of Hell is..weak..and sick,” Alastor teased in a sing-song voice, before setting down a bowl of soup on the nightstand, “Chicken and rice, an old recipe I thought you might enjoy in your frail state.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. He had developed a cold a few days ago, and Charlie, being the sweet girl she was, went into complete nurse mode and sent him to bed. Lucifer found it pretty hilarious. He was already feeling almost completely fine after having two days of rest, but decided that a break was pretty appealing and he was enjoying having a bit of peace and quiet. Hotel life was much more chaotic than he had expected, and was a bit much after being alone for years on end.

“Sure, sure. I’m not that sick, I have a cold” Lucifer corrected, gazing at his (boyfriend? Partner? Man who he slept with but constantly argued with?) with slight irritation which was more humorous than serious.

“Oh yes, well” Alastor broke off, voice cracking as he started to cough.

Lucifer frowned at the sound. It was rattling and wheezy, and all around just didn’t sound good.

“Woah, are you okay? You don’t sound too good, Al.”

Alastor recovered quickly, giving a dry chuckle.

“Oh...Oh Lucifer, you are funny.."He tried to brush it off, but Lucifer could hear the rasp in his voice.

“Are you sick?”

Alastor seemed to freeze at that, choking on a breath, and breaking off into another round of coughing. Lucifer stood up, moving to Alastor’s side. Alastor backed away from him, still coughing, but Lucifer stepped forwards, standing on his tippy toes and reaching a hand till it was on his cheek.

“I think you have a fever, you feel kind of warm…”

“What, no- that's not..ugh.." Alastor stuttered, pulling away,”No, I’m not sick, it’s just something in the air.”

“Cut the crap, Al, I know you’re sick. Did you catch my cold or something?”

I just thought I'd ask, I don't know anyone who would proofread or that sort of stuff or even likes what I write, so um yeah. Sorry if this is a bad ask I just really wanted some constructive criticism and couldn't think of anyone else okay sorry bye

This is really cute so far anon, thank you for sending it here!! If you want me to do a solid proof reading though I'm not comfortable doing that in an ask just since that's not what my blog is for, but I'd be happy to do that in dms if you wanna message me !!

[awynter]

"Our teaching methods may not be the same, but I have no doubt you will make a sincere effort in your research. But, I will be grading you on it. And we wouldn't want to have to keep you after class, would we?" Although her cheeks burned with excitement and desire, Anne still managed to find the energy to taunt him. She wondered if this sort of back and forth between them would ever stop. She hoped not. Anne didn't make a habit of thinking too far into the future, but a part of her hoped that they would be teasing one another until they were both frail and grey. A part of her knew she would be teasing him until her dying breath.

"I'm not teasing you." She defended with a pout, knowing full well that teasing him was exactly what she'd been doing. It felt so natural to playfully goad him, especially when he had a tendency of looking at her with an intense fascination that made her knees go weak and her stomach flutter.

Would he still look at her the same when he knew all her secrets? Would he still dare to love her when she knew all the things she'd done to get to this point?

"I'm just being truthful. Sometimes being a lady and telling the truth don't coincide, so you'll have to forgive me for my very unladylike honesty." Dipping down into an exaggerated bow, she smirked.

Being truthful wasn't something she was entirely used to being, and yet it felt easy with Ben. She didn't have to think about what to say to him or how to say it. She simply let her heart sing for him on its own. And although the lingering fear of the unknown, of what was yet to come, remained, she didn't feel scared. Despite the lurking darkness of the past still posing a threat to her happiness, Anne refused to fight the inevitable any longer. If she was to live her life in exile and guilt, why couldn't she do so happily? She wanted nothing more than to give in, to love and be loved.

"So, you're saying that I shouldn't show you my ankles again?" Offering a dramatic sigh, she clutched at her skirts, as though she were just about to lift them to expose her feet. Anne shook her head and wore a faux look of disappointment. "We certainly wouldn't want to work you up into a state."

If you let me kiss you again, I fear what might happen. His words were even and steady, but a coy smile tugged at her lips as he spoke. As she watched him with a careful gaze, Anne wondered what exactly he had in mind that worried him so much. Did he intend to ravish her on this night, or was he holding himself back for her sake? It was likely he thought she still had something to lose, a shred of innocence left in her body, a virtue to pluck from her. He surely wouldn't have guessed the mistakes she'd made in the past, and yet the idea of his concern only fueled her further. She would give him anything he wanted, if it meant staying by her side.

"Kiss me then," Anne dared, dropping her voice into a murmur. "And whatever happens happens." Tracing her fingers long his jaw, she kept her gaze on his lips. "Because I'm tired of fighting fate, Ben."

Anne let out an even breath, willing her mind, body, and soul to relax, but every fiber of her being was alight. She had been in love before. Or at least she had thought it had been love at the time, but she had never felt like this. She had never felt so electric, so aflame, so alive. And, more importantly, she had never felt so loved back.

"I tried not to fall for you. Foolishly, I tried to prevent myself from loving you, and from letting you love me. But..." Resting her head against his chest, she sighed, feeling suddenly at peace. The warmth of his body mixed with the rhythm of his heart made her feel dizzy. "I think I already do. I think I have for a while now, I've just been too scared to admit it."

She let her words settle in the air, letting each syllable fall from her lips with the utmost sincerity. Those same words that had been haunting her since the day they met. The words that cycled through her mind on repeat each time she saw him. I love you. I love you. I'm sorry, I love you.

Anne watched him and waited for a reaction, her cheeks warming to a brighter hue. A part of her expected him to frown and look at her in disgust. To laugh at her the way George had. Oh, Annie, his vile words echoed in her head. You seriously thought I'd marry you? You really thought I loved you?

Her mouth went dry at the memory and her muscles tensed as she waited for him the world to collapse around her. Her body struggled to stay upright, her wobbling knees threatened to give out beneath her, but she didn't move away. She wasn't going to run from it this time. Come Hell or high water, she would weather this storm. Her heart couldn't survive losing him, and she wouldn't forgive herself if she broke his heart. Gently pulling away enough to meet his gaze, Anne pressed her lips together into a smile, her eyes glistening with all the unspoken words. "I'm sorry for making you wait so long."

A decidedly impish look came to Anne's eyes -- one that made Benjamin wonder if he should worry -- before she coyly suggested, “If we become desperate for history to repeat itself, I could always push you into the stream.”

He laughed at that, redirecting his gaze out toward the stream in question. "Well, I can't say I'm quite desperate enough to get wet again, but if you're that eager to see me in my unmentionables -- or lack thereof -- all you have to do is ask."

The suggestion, though perhaps milder than their usual fare, still caused a dusky pink to burn across his cheeks and spread along his neck.

“I meant what I said, too. Everything.” Her hand found his face, and Benjamin all but melted into her touch. Her palm was soft and gentle, and he nuzzled into her skin, resisting a shiver from the much-yearned-for connection. “I’m not entirely sure how you intend to explore such a thing, but I give you full permission to employ whatever scholarly methods you see necessary.”

With a husky laugh, Benjamin softly warned, "I can assure you, Miss Wynter, that there's nothing scholarly about my intentions...though I always give a concerted effort in everything I do. If...if that counts." Meeting her gaze, his pulse quickened and he swallowed, barely able to hear over the sound of his own frantic heartbeat.

Anne's thumb gently skimmed his cheek. “I would appreciate a proper warning next time, but I can hardly pretend I would be upset about another unprompted kiss.”

Benjamin's face burned hotter still. Eyes darting in between her gaze and her mouth, he softly asked, "Are you teasing me, Miss Wynter? Because that's hardly ladylike behavior..."

She smirked. “I can’t help but wonder: does this mean you do intend to ravish me?” Despite the telltale blush in her cheeks, she remained confident as she took a step forward. “Or are you waiting for the command to do so? Because you didn't seem too eager to follow my commands last time.”

Had she commanded him? Benjamin recalled being so breathless, so overblown with emotion, that he'd hardly been able to think beyond her warmth and scent, and the memory of her taste etched upon his tongue.

"I may be a gentleman," Benjamin lowly offered, "but here in this moment, I feel I'm a far cry from propriety... If you do not wish to be ravished, then I would recommend not working me into a state."

The warmth flooding through him made him dizzy, and the tightening of his breeches served as an embarrassing testament to his passions. He wasn't sure why he was so reluctant to take what he wanted -- he certainly hadn't been resistant back at the Pleinsworth manor -- and with his hands sliding up to cradle Anne's face between his palms, he warned, "If you let me kiss you again, I...I fear what might happen."

Benjamin nudged his forehead into hers, breathless as their lips brushed and teased in a featherlight kiss. He didn't quite allow himself the full surrender of her mouth -- to do so would inevitably damn him -- and chest tight, he continued, "I'm afraid that if you let me in, I might love you, Anne -- that I might love you even now, before we've barely even begun."

[thefollowingchild]

Darkness

Darkness. It has a funny way of making you feel alone, yet surrounded by monsters all at the same time. At first, all that could be heard was the soft growling of the sea. A quiet rumble, comforting yet unpredictable. As I strained to open my eyes, my weak body heaved with exhaustion and pain. Looking around I saw nothing but waves, surrounding the small, sharp rock I lay on. Algea creeping up from the rock onto me. Joining me onto the sharp object. A strange figure could be seen glistening amongst the kelp and waves.

I couldn't tell if it was real or just a mere facade. My dry, burning throat suggested that I was dehydrated. My body was already failing me. The blur became larger and larger. Until a heavenly, angelic sound broke free from the silence of the waves. It was too perfect to be of this world. Too beautiful to be called a voice.

The creature came closer so that the moonlight revealed its form. It appeared to be a nude woman. She had the most plump lips, silk for hair and skin smooth like butter. As she reached out her tender hand to caress my cheek, I instinctively backed away. A warm, calming expression came across her perfect face. The only thing odd about her was her eyes. Her cold, black, lifeless eyes which pierced through me. She wasn't looking at me, rather staring into my soul.

As she continued to sing, the ocean calmed on her command. Her curves shone like stars in the darkest of nights. The unholiest of thoughts crossed my mind, thoughts no man should have. I almost gave into my crude, dark side. My hands longed to grasp her, my lips longed to kiss her. She laughed as I struggled, a melodic laugh as if she knew my thoughts. She once again reached out for me.

"Stop! I'm a married man!" I cried out, escaping from her tight grasp. My resistance to this temptress seemed to pleasure her. She smiled a sweet, kind smile as I struggled. She had complete control over me, I was reacting how she wanted me to react.

As I gave in to her seduction and felt her soft, warm hands along my arm, her dead eyes narrowed and her smile turned deadly. She barred her previously pearly white teeth at me, which were now more like knives. She dug her nails into my skin, blood streaming down my arm. She pulled me off of the rock and into the icy water. The calm, rumbling waves began thrashing about violently.

My frail, decaying body went limp in the cold water. I tried to kick my legs and fight for survival, but it was already too late. She was dragging me down through the kelp and deep under the harsh waves. Once we were deep enough for the air to be knocked out of me, she stopped.

She turned to me, that perfect smile again on her face. She continued singing once again. I stopped fighting. I accepted my end. She swam away from me, disappearing into the depths, as I slowly sank to the bottom of the sandy floor. The sea calmed and the beautiful coral around me began to glow with jellyfish. Erridicent, mystical creatures surrounded me. As I invited the cool water into my lungs, it all went dark.

I ended in darkness.

[bubblegumbeyotch]

.

[ink-and-dagger]

LAST DROP

Another Drink With Me Death AU

Because I was feeling sadistic and had some spare time on my hands. Also I like to remind people every so often that I can and will break their hearts if I feel so inclined 🤭

An alternative ending to DWM Chapter 17 based on this horrific prompt. Written in a script-like format because that's what my brain wanted to do and I find that it's best not to argue with her on these matters.

Please check the below tags and proceed with caution darlings. If you want to up the angst then listen to Repeat Until Death - Novo Amor whilst reading [another suggestion you can thank evil Anon for]

Silco x Astrid || Heavy Angst || Cheesy Clichés || Major Character Death || Holding dead body

The damage caused by Luisa's knife was too great to be healed. Singed's treatment has stabilised Astrid long enough for her to be brought back to The Last Drop to say her goodbyes.

Silco’s bedroom.

Astrid lies frail in bed.

Silco stands in the doorway facing out into his office, head bowed and hands clutching either side of the frame. The devastated wails of a teenage girl can be heard faintly in the background, fading as though she’s being carried away.

Astrid: [weak, but cheeky] "If I knew dying was the quickest way to get into your bed I would have done it ages ago."

Silco makes a small, involuntary sound that’s neither laugh nor sob. Part fury that she would joke about this. Part mirth that she can joke about this. But mostly pure, unfettered heartbreak.

Silco turns from the threshold and closes the door behind him.

Astrid smiles. Weak, but genuine; it shines mostly through her eyes.

Silco approaches and perches gingerly on the edge of the bed.

Silco: "Are you comfortable?"

Astrid: "Very."

Silco: "Any pain?"

Astrid: "No. You know the doctor gave me the good stuff."

Silco hums quietly in confirmation and shifts a little closer. Still a touch awkward.

Astrid smirks.

Astrid: [teasing] "Hi."

Silco: "Hello."

Astrid huffs a quiet, breathy laugh, and Silco relaxes a little more.

Astrid: "I didn’t mean to upset Jinx like that…"

Silco shakes his head

Silco: "The child has experienced far too much loss in her short life. However they’ve all been rather sudden… I believe the opportunity to say goodbye is new for her."

Astrid: "I just wanted her to know how important she is to me."

Silco: "She knows. You’ve given her a wonderful gift. It’s one of the many things I will always be grateful to you for."

Astrid’s mouth quirks

Astrid: "Oh yeah? What else is on that list?"

Silco huffs a small laugh, and shifts closer. Twisting more fully towards Astrid so that his thigh runs alongside hers above the covers.

Silco: "Let’s see… I am grateful for all the excellent work you have done for the club."

Astrid nods along, a small smile toying on her lips

Silco: "I am grateful for your protection, both with the poison and during the blackout. I am grateful for your companionship… your friendship. I am grateful…"

Silco trails off. Hesitating momentarily before raising a hand to brush some hair back from Astrid’s face. In doing so his fingertips trail from her temple to begin softly tracing her features one by one. As though attempting to memorise them.

Astrid gazes adoringly at him while he does so.

Astrid: [quietly] "I don’t want you to feel any guilt."

Silco’s eye closes and he bows his head. Fingers falling away from Astrid’s face.

An extended silence passes in which it’s clear Silco is struggling to voice what he wishes to say. Deep pain is etched into the lines of his face; albeit subtly

Silco: [hoarse] "You would not have even been at that warehouse if I had not— [his voice cracks minutely] If I had only—"

Astrid: [whispered interruption] "Silco."

Silco presses his lips together tightly, unable to meet Astrid’s gaze. She tilts her head a fraction on the pillow; rueful

Astrid: "Don’t do this to yourself. Please. There’s no point. It won’t change what’s done."

Silco empties his lungs and tips his face towards the ceiling. Astrid slides her hand along the blanket, reaching for Silco’s. She squeezes his fingers.

Astrid: "Let’s not waste time on what ifs, hm? [quieter] We’ve already wasted too much time."

A few breaths pass before Silco dips his chin and nods. He gathers Astrid’s hands in his and brings them to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before clutching them to his chest, rubbing his palm slowly up and down her arm.

He looks imploringly into Astrid’s eyes.

Silco: [emotive] "I am so sorry, sweetheart. For everything. I should have done so much better by you—"

Astrid: "Shhsh"

Her fingers stretch upwards, and Silco helps; lifting her palm to his cheek and leaning into her touch.

Astrid: "I forgive you, Silco. Of course I forgive you. I forgave you the moment I saw you in that warehouse tonight."

Silco squeezes his eye shut and leans further into her touch. Grazing his nose against her inner wrist.

Astrid: "Stop that."

Silco opens his eye and peers at her.

Astrid: "Don’t give me that look. I know you. I know what you’re thinking."

Silco: "Is that so?"

Astrid: "Yes. You’re thinking that you don’t deserve my forgiveness."

Silco: [after a long pause] "If I had more time I’d earn it of you."

Astrid: "We don’t have time." [she gives him a stern look] "So you’ll accept it as a parting gift."

Silco gnaws his cheek

Astrid: [quietly] "For me?"

Silco's shoulders sag as he breaths a long sigh, but he nods. Astrid smiles

They gaze quietly at each other for a short while. Astrid’s eyelids a little heavier than before

Astrid: "I’ve had the best time, ya know? Since I came here. With you. And Jinx. Jasp. Sev. Max… I wouldn’t change any of it."

Silco: "Not even for the chance to live longer? Do more?"

She shakes her head

Astrid: "Nuh-uh. Living long is overrated. Living well is where it’s at. And I feel I've lived well."

He huffs a broken chuckle.

Silco: [quietly] "You never found out what your horizon was."

Astrid’s eyes switch back and forth between Silco’s for a time, and as they do her mouth curls softly up at the corners.

Astrid: "Yes I did."

Her fingers drop from his cheek to his tie, only just about strong enough to grip the material. But she doesn’t need to pull this time – Silco leans forward willingly.

Their lips meet in a kiss that’s soft and sweet. Silco’s hands rise to cradle Astrid’s face in the same way one would hold a baby bird in their palms. He kisses her a little deeper. Slowly, tenderly. And when the kiss finally ends, Silco remains close by, with his brow pressed to Astrid’s.

Astrid: [whispered] "You must know by now that I love you, right?"

Silco nods, stiffly as though in physical pain

Astrid: "Good. Good, I’m glad that you know. It’s important."

Extended silence. Spent with brows pressed peacefully together, and fingers skimming gently over cheeks.

Silco: [eventually, strained] "I love you too, Sweetheart."

Astrid smiles, and tips her face in silent request. Silco obliges, kissing her once more. Still gentle, but with an edge of desperation that can’t be negated.

When their lips part, they do so painfully slowly, and with great reluctance. Skin lingering upon skin for the longest possible time.

Astrid: "Silco."

Silco: "Yes, Darling?"

Astrid: "How many more deathbed cliches do we have to go through before I get a damn cuddle?"

Silco exhales a silent, pained laugh, and rises. He pulls back the covers and joins Astrid beneath them, gently manoeuvring her until they lay entwined together beneath the blankets in the way one might sleep with their partner. Astrid’s head rests high on Silco’s chest, his cheek pillowed against her hair.

Silco: "Does this hurt?"

Astrid: "No. It’s perfect."

Silco hums, reassured enough to tighten his arms around her. They hold each other silently for a time.

Silco: "Astrid."

Astrid: "Yes?"

A pause, as Silco searches for the words he needs.

Silco: "Thank you for loving me."

Astrid smiles against his chest, and nestles deeper. Tilting her face towards the crook of his neck and inhaling as deeply as she's able.

Astrid: "The pleasure is all mine. Silco, Sweetie."

Silco gathers her closer still, and begins to brush his fingers through her hair. They remain silent for another stretch of time.

After a while Silco begins to speak softly

Silco: "I lied to you once again, sweet one."

Astrid clicks her tongue, and Silco chuckles

Silco: "The very first thing I thought when I saw you was that you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. And you have my word that I am speaking the truth this time."

Astrid hums sleepily

Silco: "I also remember the first time I heard you laugh. You called me humble. It’s been an awfully long time since anyone has had the courage to laugh at me."

A tiny, breathy giggle comes from beneath Silco’s chin. He smiles to himself at the sound.

Silco: "I think that may have been when I started to love you. You have such a beautiful laugh."

Another sleepy hum, barely audible

Silco: "But I’m certain the moment I truly fell in love with you was when I caught you dancing with the mop down in the club. I’ve never told you about that. You disturbed my work by switching on the jukebox. I was coming down to flay whoever it was, until I realised it was you. Completely in your own little world. I found myself unable to do anything but watch."

Silco continues to talk. Resolutely ignoring the fact that Astrid has stopped breathing

Silco: "You’re a terrible singer. But don’t feel badly about that Darling. You’re very talented in other ways. You’re clever. And funny. You’re warm, and compassionate. And vibrant. And so very, very beautiful. Never in my life have I met anyone quite like you. You shine, darling. You’re radiant. You’re perfect."

Silco finally looks down. Astrid’s face is peaceful. She looks as though she’s sleeping. Silco nods to himself.

Silco: "You’ve worked so hard, sweetheart. You’ve been through so much."

He presses a kiss to her brow, and continues to stroke his fingers through her hair. Gently rocking her in his arms.

Silco: "Get some rest now. I promise I’ll be here when you wake up."

[arcticlegend]

Like the Movie

(Trigger warning: Death)

This was a short drabble I wrote because I watched a scene from fox and the hound and cried like a little bitch. So here's this mess lol lemme know if you liked it, if there's any critiques, or if you just want to interact! I love talking to people!

It was from a movie she had watched as a child, something about a fox and a hound. He remembered her talking about how the two were an odd pair, how the hunting dog shouldn’t have been friends with the fox for they would inevitably become enemies. The story felt not too different from their own.

She was a human, a weak, frail human that didn’t have much time left. There were plenty of reasons to stay away, plenty of reasons to pass her by and keep to himself, but when he saw the book in her hands, it became impossible, his curiosity burning too hot within him to resist.

“What are you reading?” He asked almost timidly.

She thought it was just as odd as he did and he suddenly felt ashamed for his awkward attempt at conversation. Instead of brushing him off, however, she happily showed him the cover of the novel she held.

“It’s a book of Robert Browning’s poetry! I had heard from your brother that you liked Blake… So I started sifting through some different works and settled for this one. He’s very good!”

He felt strange, delighted that you would develop a love for poetry because of him, yet thought it odd that it was because of him.

“I’ve read My Last Duchess… its not what I expected… His works are very dark, but I really like them!”

He stood before her grave, eyes caught on the name carved into the stone. He held the Yamato in one hand, her recently named “new favorite” book in the other. She was gone, slipped away while he had been out on an errand. He thought by some strange hope that she would just magically get better, as if some deity above were listening to his pleas, but instead he was spurned. She was taken away before he could even say goodbye.

“Goodbye may seem forever, Farewell is like the end…”

He recalled the song she would sing sometimes, the one from the film, and heard himself saying it without his control. His voice breaking under the pressure of his grief.

“We met it seems, such a short time ago… You looked at me, needing me so…”

Her eyes peered up at him beneath her lashes, hair slightly disheveled from sleep.

“Do you ever sleep, Vergil? You’re always watching… like some angel.”

He sat down beside her on the bed, the plush, white comforter like clouds beneath him. Her skin was paler than usual, the dark rings under her eyes more prominent.

“I do. You just aren’t awake to see, foolish girl.”

He says it endearingly, brushing a few locks out of her face. It made her smile, that soft, sad smile she gave when she remembered that she couldn’t give them the future they wanted. A future together was never meant to be.

“Yet from your sadness, our happiness grew…”

You both sat outside, overlooking the lake, the colors of the sunset rippled over the dark blue, some fish breaking the patterns with excited tails. The birds chirred to each other, the cicadas started to stir.

“What do you think it would be like? To have a family? To make one…? I know it’s a sensitive topic for you…”

He gave you a look, trying not to give you the impression that he pitied you, but understood why. It was a sensitive topic to him. It was never something he wanted to discuss as he never thought it possible for him to start a family. He never considered it… at least until he met you. How cruel it seemed that the one person he connected with, the one person he finally felt safe enough to let into his life, wouldn’t last long in it. She asked him because she wanted to think about what it would have been like. She wanted him to tell her how it could’ve been if she weren’t slowly fading away.

“I’m unsure… I have a son, but I am ashamed I didn’t play a bigger role in his life. I couldn’t guide him and in the end, I only ever hurt him.”

He paused, not wanting to get on the wrong track. This was for you to think about in your final moments, for you to dream about, for you couldn’t actually live it.

“If I could start again, it would be different. I would want a family I could protect… together. I wouldn’t want to be apart from them.”

He had gave her shoulder a light squeeze, hoping she understood he spoke of her.

“I’m… not sure how to express it, but I believe it would be a wonderful thing, to be a part of something, something I belong to.”

Tears had welled in her eyes at his dreadful answer, yet she smiled as if it were gold.

“And I found out… I needed you too…”

He held her in his arms, swaying to the soft sounds of the violins over the radio. Her legs were weaker that day, so she had difficulty, but he guided her as best he could, holding her as if she were about to fall, as if she could disappear any second.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Vergil. I’m glad I picked up that book.”

He felt it, that itch in the back of his throat, the pressure in his sinuses that tried to conjure tears. Successfully, he held them back, wanting to keep this moment happy for the both of them, before she inevitably grew tired and needed to stop. He nestled his face into the crook of her neck, smelling the soft smells of her favorite perfume, enjoying the feeling of her soft skin against his cheek. He smiled softly as she returned the gesture, nuzzling her own cheek against him, giggling playfully.

“Your breath tickles, Verge!”

“I remember how we used to play…”

He kissed her tenderly, on his hands and knees above her, her thin fingers weaving into his hair. Their lips a symphony, they moved together, synchronized and full of passion. It wasn’t a normal passion, not one of fiery need as much as it was slow and intimate. He needed her to know how much he needed her, how much he’d continue to need her after she was gone.

“I love you… I love you, Vergil…”

Her words rippled through him like the water on the lake, the rasp of her voice tugging the fire in his gut sharply. He filled her, gently as if she could break, knowing full well that she wanted more of him.

He trailed his kisses down her jaw, his fingers interlocking with yours as he bottomed out, savoring the way she moaned, how her lips had parted in a silent “O.”

I need you. I need you. Please don’t go…

“I recall… those rainy days.”

He stood outside her door, listening to her weep into her pillow. It was if she were trying to remain reserved, as if she were scared he would hear, her muffled cries escaping and burrowing deep into his ears… into his heart. It tore him apart. It made him sick how powerless he felt. All the strength he had acquired, all the power he sacrificed countless lives to achieve… and for what? You still lie on that bed crying out, asking why you had to die. It made him wish he had learned something that could heal a person rather than break them.

It was a war in his mind deciding whether or not to turn the knob and console you or let you have your space. He was that way. Sometimes he needed time to think, to stew over whatever conflict was in his mind and try to find a solution.

“I don’t want to leave…. I don’t want to leave him… I can’t…”

He turned the door knob, opening it with a soft click.

“The fire’s glow… that kept us warm.. “

She grinned ear to ear when she saw the gift, not so different from the book of Blake’s poems that he carried in his coat pocket, it was a book of Browning’s works, one that had a similar cover to his own. The designs on the cover were gold and in the center was the letter of her first name. It was meant to be special, to connect the two of them, remind them of what brought them together in the first place.

“Vergil! It’s amazing! Thank you so much!”

She threw her arms around him, her frail fingers digging into the material of his coat, pressing into his muscles so delicately. It felt amazing, her touch reminding him that she was still with him, that nothing could take this away. He wished he could feel her embrace forever, making him hold onto her tighter when she tried to pull away.

“I’m glad. I’m glad you like it.”

She finally was able to pull back, looking up at him with those tired, doe eyes. He basked in the light that shined in them, loving how full of life they were. A part of him, deep down, dreaded seeing them without it, terrified of seeing them lifeless and dull.

There was no time to think about that now… All he could focus on was how warm you were in his arms and how happy you were flipping through the pages of your new favorite book.

“And… Now I find…, we're both alone.”

He made it back home, her little apartment she owned in town, not too far away from Dante’s shop. He had needed to take care of a job with Dante and also bring back her favorite snacks from the store. It took longer than he wanted to, the demons being more of a problem than either of them could’ve imagined, stealing away what little time he had left with her.

When he didn’t see her in the living room, he thought nothing about it, believing that she was probably resting. The only thing that accompanied him were the sounds of the brown paper bags crackling as he set them on the counter. He wondered for a moment whether or not she ate before she went to sleep. Of course he didn’t want to wake her, but something felt wrong in the pit of his gut and he wanted any excuse to check on her. After putting away the food and snacks he bought, he immediately went up the stairs, not bothering to take his boots off. He hoped she’d forgive the bit of dirt on the carpet.

Something felt off. The hallway felt too wide, the air felt too thick, and the upstairs felt too dark even though the lights were on.

No!

He pushed open her door, peaking inside. Her room light was off, but the light from the hallway poured into her room, spilling over the bed and rolling over her body as she rested underneath the blanket. She was on her side, the plush comforter up to her chin. It made him feel relief in the moment, yet he needed to be sure, so he sat on the end of the bed, knowing she’d sit up and smile at him. He knew that she would wake up and tell him he was so rude for almost sitting on her feet.

She didn’t. She didn’t move a muscle.

Panic stabbed deep into every bone in his body, bile rising in his throat.

"Sweetheart?" he asked, trying to hide the anxiety that tried to fracture his voice. “I’m home. I got what you asked for.”

Nothing. No response. Fuck. Was she breathing? She had to be breathing.

He pulled the blanket down off of her, thinking she’d groan and pull it right back up, but she didn’t, her fingers stiff. It made Vergil reel back in shock for only a moment before he jumped back into action.

“Baby!? Darling! Come on… You’re okay, don’t do this to me…”

He checked for a pulse, but knew there’d be none for closer inspection of her face made it clear that she had to be gone. She was blue and her skin was unnaturally cool, her lips were parted and her eyes were open just slightly.

“No… No!”

What was he supposed to do now? CPR? She gave him instruction, but he wasn’t sure if he could do it right or without hurting her. Hurting her? She’s gone….

“Don’t leave me… Not like them… Don’t leave me alone again… Please, my dearest…”

She did. She was already gone.

“Goodbye may seem forever. Farewell is like the end… But in my heart is a memory… and there… you'll always be.”

He knelt down in front of the marble stone, unable to stand as he ran through all of the memories like a marathon. His heart pounded in his chest as it seemed to have been moments ago when he had her wrapped around him, talking to him, giving as much as she could to make him happy, to make both of them happy. This was all that was left after everything… a stone and her memory. He was scared to lose it, wanting to run through it like a recording, rewinding and rewinding until it burrowed in, never to come out.

“Be safe, Vergil. I love you.”

Her last words rang in his ears as he looked down at the mound of soil he knelt in, not minding how it dirtied his leather pants, caring more about being closer to her. His grief felt frantic, like she needed to pop out from somewhere and tell him it was just a prank, that it was all a prank orchestrated by his foolish younger brother. He wanted this to be a joke.

It wasn’t. It was over like he knew it always would. He knew this was coming and it was foolish of him to think this way, but that human heart of his still desperately cried out for the feeling of her skin against his own, for the sight of her excited and passionate rambling, and the soft way she sang that dreadful poem.

It would take time… a long time to get over it, to move on from the pain of the empty hole in his heart. She wouldn’t want him to hurt. She would be upset If she knew he was in pain because of her. He thought about the song, about how though they wont see each other again, she’d always be with him in his heart, watching over him.

“There you’ll always be.” He said one final time, sliding his hand over the name.

[kradogsrats]

I could not get the “Soren and Viren!Harrow work out together” idea out of my head, so here, have a BIG OL’ CUP of dad feelings, drenched in ALL MY TEARS.

--

The doctors had recommended Harrow exercise regularly. It will help restore your sense of ownership over your body, one had said. You’re used to doing things that he never did. The muscle memory isn’t there.

Neither, Harrow reflected for probably the hundredth time in just that hour, was the muscle. He had by no means ever thought of Viren as being frail or weak, but certainly no one would ever have called the man physical.

But the exercise was helping. Both to build the muscles, and with his other symptoms--he didn’t spend his first moments awake every morning convulsively dry-heaving, anymore. Looking at his hands no longer gave him vertigo. He could even think of them as his hands, his shoulders, his--well, he still had some work to do to get to face.

It wasn’t Viren’s face. He wasn’t sure anymore whose it was.

A drop of sweat landed on the ground in front of him. He lowered himself toward it, arms burning, then raised himself back up.

“Come on, King Harrow!” Soren, doing two, possibly three push-ups for every one of Harrow’s, was barely out of breath. “I want to see that nose touch the ground! You’ve got five more in you, I know it!”

The first few times Soren had joined him in the hazy pre-dawn light of the practice yard, they had both stayed silent. Harrow’s critical mistake had been that the first time Soren tentatively corrected his form, he’d been grateful. Apparently that had given Soren license to devise a multi-day full-body workout routine that Harrow knew was impeccable in its balance and intensity for building muscle and endurance.

Knowing that did not stop him from hating every second of it, however.

Harrow struggled through five more push-ups, with Soren’s encouragement or in spite of it. You’re the one who wants to be able to swing a sword again, he reminded himself grimly.

“Next up, it’s your favorite,” Soren said with a sing-song voice, springing lightly to his feet. Harrow also stood, but with significantly more effort and not a little reluctance. He would rather have stayed lying face-down on the ground.

Soren beamed at him. “Squats! Let’s go!”

Harrow sighed heavily, but assumed the starting position--feet spread, hands raised to his head.

Legs had been a frustration from the start. The old injury dealt by Thunder had never seemed to impede Viren much, and Harrow had always assumed he carried the elegant staff everywhere for show--then he had found himself barely able walk without assistance. Even now, his gait felt unnatural, and the muscles still cramped at odd times, locking the knee and rendering the entire limb useless.

Building up to the point of being able to do squats had been long and hard-earned, with the reward of... more squats. But the strengthened muscles helped with both preventing pain and keeping his balance reliable, so it was worth it. Probably.

Soren was already moving, working up and down on only one leg with the other held straight in front of him. Harrow sighed again.

His first few squats were fine. Then his leg abruptly seized and dropped out from under him.

He landed hard, knocking the wind out of himself. Before, he could have rolled, or at least been able to properly break the fall. Now, he had to just lie there and wheeze for a moment.

“Dad!” Soren cried. He was at Harrow’s side immediately. “Are you okay?”

He sat up slowly, with Soren’s concerned support. The leg was still locked, muscles painfully knotted and unresponsive. Wonderful.

“Here, hang on,” Soren said. “This will help.” He lowered Harrow back until he was resting on his elbows. Then, starting with the calf, he began to slowly work it with his hands, alternating brisk squeezes and pressing deep circles with his thumbs.

Harrow hissed at the sensation of muscles being coaxed to un-knot, letting his head fall back to face the slowly lightening sky.

“Soren,” he said, “You know I’m not--”

“Yeah,” Soren interrupted quietly. “Sorry. It just... slipped out.”

“It’s all right. I miss him, too.”

He wanted to say more. I’m sorry. He should be here, instead. It was supposed to be me. I failed. Empty words that sought comfort, but brought none. All that he could do was add this to the weight of his sins and carry on.

Soren silently worked his way up the leg, going more slowly as the muscles got larger. He paid extra attention around the site of the original wound, circling it thoroughly with touches that began gentle and built until Harrow grunted with pain through his gritted teeth.

“Did you do this for him?” Harrow asked, closing his eyes against a particularly vicious assault from Soren’s thumbs.

“No.” Soren snorted a mirthless laugh. “That’s why I learned it, I guess--but he never let me.”

His hands stilled. “I loved my dad,” he said, finally. “How could I not, right? But I didn’t--I didn’t really like him very much.”

Harrow raised his head to look at him. “He was a difficult man to like,” he acknowledged.

“And,” Soren swallowed and looked away. “I know he didn’t like me.”

Harrow didn’t know what to say to that. Could he deny it--tell Soren that of course Viren had loved him completely, fiercely, the way he deserved, but couldn’t show it? Was it his place to deny it?

Would it even be the truth?

Soren returned to massaging his calf, working back down to finish at the ankle. “What I’m saying is that--that Callum and Ezran are very lucky to have you,” he said. “And I’m happy that they still do.”

He stood, extending his hand down to Harrow. Harrow looked up at him, silhouetted against the morning sky--the sun would creep over the castle walls, soon--and took it, letting Soren help him upright. Once on his feet again, he didn’t release Soren’s hand, instead pulling him into a tight hug.

“Your dad didn’t know what he was missing,” he said quietly. “I wish he’d had the chance to find out.”

Soren, who had stiffened when Harrow embraced him, slowly relaxed. Then he buried his face in Harrow’s shoulder and hugged back.

They stayed that way for a long moment, Harrow releasing the hug only when Soren did. He kept one hand on Soren’s shoulder for balance as he shook out his leg and pretended not to see him swipe a hand across his eyes. “Thank you,” he said when the moment had passed, indicating his leg as he flexed his knee. “It feels good as new.”

Soren cracked a smile. “Oh, does that mean I don’t have to go easy on you tomorrow, then?”

Harrow groaned. “Never mind, I take it back. You’re awful.”

The sun spilled down into the practice yard, warm and dazzling. “I know,” Soren laughed. “The worst.”