#i knew both times that being there as they died would be unpleasant. but i decided to stay both times anyways.

[orcelito]

Ykno sometimes trauma is in the stupid little things no one thinks about being traumatic. The little things that take you back, make a funny little video remind you of one of the most painful nights of your life

And you can't fault anybody for that. Not even yourself for looking at it. So you're just like. Sitting here & contemplating this bitch we call life

[razzle-n-dazzle]

- hi ! 💌,,

ISTG you’re writing is so well done and creative I had to contain myself from like spam!!

I hope you’re still taking request and if you’re not that’s totally cool, I’ll wait ‘till next round.

Adam reincarnates in hell and oh, would you look at that? the s/o is the only one trying to help and not making him feel worse that he already is. (i just need wholesome content, exam week is killing me rn).

AGAIN, love you’re writing thx for reading so far!

ᯓ★ Let's Give This Another Shot (and not fuck it up this time) Sinner! Adam / Sinner! Reader | Drabble

‗ content / trigger warning: fluff, swearing, Adam being Adam, not proof read (we die like Adam) ‗ author's note: this is for everyone who's dealing with exam weeks, it sucks but I believe in all of you any you're going to kill those exams! (don't let them kill you!). Also thank you so much for the compliments Anon <3, I write for the people and myself, so I'm glad everyone is enjoying the crazy shit I've posted here!

ᯓ When you fall from grace, it's not a pleasant feeling; That Adam knew - or at least he thought he knew - well enough from hearing about Lucifer falling, hearing the horrific things the others whispered about it, mentioning it in passing before the thought disappeared and dispelled into the air as though Lucifer had never held a place in Heaven. As though he was nothing that what he was now, demonic figure that wore a crown made out of skeletons and bones fashioned to mimic horns. Adam never cared about the stories that were whispered, about the horrors he sometimes heard through passing, about Sera recalling how she heard Lucifer scream on the way down, about how Michael watched with horror as Lucifer tried to shield Lilith and himself, about how Gabriel heard his pleads and couldn't do anything; No one could save him from the fate that had been weighed on his shoulders as soon as he had fed the apple to Eve. And partly it was because Adam blamed Lucifer for ruining his paradise, for infecting the mind of both his (ex) wives and causing him grief and pain. Dying alone is almost just as unpleasant as falling from grace; almost.

ᯓ You see, while Adam had died alone on Earth, at least his soul went to somewhere pleasant and he was able to continue living; To make a name for himself and, he guessed, make some friends and live a rather worriless and carefree life in the clouds. He was able to have fun, rock out, and be known as the first human soul ever being able to reach Heaven - that was something not even Eve managed to do, and he took it with pride! It was his title. It was partly who he was. Maybe it was all he was. That much became more clear to him when he found himself waking up in Hell again, the stabbing pain of a dagger striking his back still their along with the weight of his wings. At first, he had thought he managed to survive the assassination attempt, that Lute had just left him in Hell on accident or because she thought he was dead. It caused some sort of pride to well in his chest, a flame that sparked his need to go boost and scream at the top of his lungs - he had survived an angelic weapon! He was immune! He was the strongest angel there was, because Sera would totally fall and die in a sad crumble after being stabbed with angelic metal! He was . . .

ᯓ And that's when Adam happened to pass by a mirror, or well more of a reflective glass on the street of Hell (as he walked, not questioning the odd ball looks he got), and that's when he saw it; What looked like a stranger to be staring back at him, engulfing and taking over his reflection like they owned it, like it was there own. That wasn't him! Well, it looked like him, he could admit that, but it wasn't as sexy or as handsome as him! The reflection would copy his movement, snarling as he did and grinning all the same. With his same fluffed up hair and piercing eyes, the reflection wore no mask yet still held the horns of his all the same; Even the way they slowly curled back before dipping down, forming and L for the gold spikes to rest at the end. The reflection wore his exterminator uniform, yet it was the darker version with the yellow having somehow been dulled and deepened and faded out all at once. His wings were still golden, still tucking at his sides from under his arms all the same, though there was no halo to accompany them this time. And Adam almost wanted to laugh, maybe it was hysteria or maybe it was disbelief, yet he watched to cry and laugh and break the glass all at once; Denying that this was his fate, being unable to stomach that he, First Man Adam, was not only double dead yet in hell. Hell! The first man cannot be in hell, he had created everyone on Earth; All of them came from his nuts and in turn all of them should be praising the fucking land he walked on because if it wasn't for him he wouldn't be here!

ᯓ And yet the Reflection looked back all the same, teasing him with a distorted grin; Like it could feel his distress in the way he curled his fist, pulling back before he slammed it against the glass. It gave a crack, a small one at first, before completely shattering. Adam could care less what shop or business had that glass, he could care less how he effected them or how he was going to be painted in Hell, because this was some crazy mistake! He was not supposed to be down here and he was not going to stand for some stupid mistake that happened because some small crazy bitch decided to back-stab him! Literally! And yet, if Adam wanted any of the answers he so desperately craved, he would have to suck in some of his pride and trudge along to the damn Hotel and talk to the residence who had taken his life. It would take him a while before he accepted such a fate, taking the chance between deciding and doing to walk along the Pride Ring before stumbling into the wrong town and being chased out by crazy demons who wanted to bite him! Maybe even eat him . . . What crazy place is this?!

ᯓ When Adam had begrudging and reluctantly knocked on the new Hotel door, which he would never admit to stopping and marveling at for a second, he would feel that ever irritating dread weigh in his stomach. Who wouldn't feel such a feeling after coming to the front door of a group of people you had tried to exterminate only, Adam didn't know how long, prior! Maybe, silently, somewhere inside Adam knew if he were in their shoes, having faced what they had, he wouldn't accept him either; He would throw him to the curb. Yet, he didn't exactly like that thought, and it wasn't very on brand, so he shoved it down and away and deep until all the could think about is: How in the hell would they not accept me? I'm Adam, I'm the first man! And yet when the door opened, allowing Adam to come face to face with none other than Vaggie, he felt that dread creep in a little. But, not enough to stop him from greeting Vaggie in a less that desirable way, "What's up Vagasaurus?" The sneering comment left his mouth, "I love what you did with the place. You know, it looks slightly less like a destroyed pile of Sh-" Yet the door would only slam in his face before Adam could finish his thoughts or his words; Leaving him standing outside, a tad awkwardly, waiting for the doors to open again. He, also, would never admit giving a glance behind him, making sure no one was standing there to watch him standing in front of the doors.

ᯓ "Vaggie, who was that?" Charlie would call to her girlfriend as she walked away from the door, coming towards where Charlie sat on the floor organizing new activities that everyone could do. All while Nifty rushed around nearby, cleaning Sir Pentious' and Dazzle's memorials in the new Hazbin Hotel. She muttered to herself quietly, not bothering Angel and Husk, who sat at the bar. "No one important." Vaggie would mumble, not being able to catch her tone before it could reveal that it was someone less than desirable. Possibly another sinner choosing a path of redemption after the last extermination! Which the thought caused Charlie to gain a burst of energy, barreling onto her feet so quickly that she knocked around the carefully organized slits of paper on the floor. Vaggie tried to protest, saying it was truly no one at the door and Charlie should just leave it alone! But she was never a really good lair, "Oh calm down Vaggie, I'm sure it's no one bad!" Charlie would grin with a wave, her hand touching the crisp and cool metal of the door handle before swinging the door back open. "Hi, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! How can I-" And yet her words fell flat as soon as her eyes were locked onto Adam's - who quickly spun around, pretending like he hadn't just been looking behind him - and was also welcomed by his light groan of annoyance. "Oh fuck me." ". . . help you." Charlie's voice flattened, dropping as her eyes widened. You know, she's never felt this shocked to see someone at the steps of the Hotel before since Alastor had came along without warning.

ᯓ "Adam?!"

ᯓ "BITCH CAN YOU NOT SHOUT MY NAME?!" Was the next words that were exclaimed out of the ex-angel, the now outcast, as he seemed rather eager to push Charlie inside of her own Hotel and walk in after; Quickly shutting the door as though there was someone outside waiting and stalking him, watching him with all their attention. "Hey no, you cannot just let yourself in here this isn't Heaven!" Vaggie was swift to march her way over to the two, seeing as Charlie wasn't doing anything to discard of Adam she might as well do it herself! No way was she going to let some two-timing exorcist angel not only push her girlfriend around yet also push his way into the hotel. Who did he think he is? And yet Charlie waved out a hand, stopping Vaggie in her tracks. There was confusion, and the two at the bar would turn their heads, before scowling seeing the fallen angel. Adam was sure he could hear Angel's accented voice loud and clear shouting out, 'oh what the fuck is this bullshit!' before Charlie began to talk to him again in a rushed fashion; One he remembered quite well during the meeting that Lucifer subbed her in for instead of coming to it himself, and he was still annoyed by her voice. "What are you doing down here? I thought you-! You know . . . " Charlie rushed out, trying to make it quick as though the others at the hotel would jump and kill Adam again with no remorse, finishing the job that clearly didn't stay permeant the first time; And, honestly, Adam wouldn't put it above anyone here to do that. Adam, who had been picking at his teeth with his pinkie finger, would turn away from Charlie and shrug his shoulders, "Yeah, well, I fuckin' did and ended up down here for some fucking reason, probably a mistake and mix up of souls. I'm sure you have plenty of those down here, pft!- I mean who else would want to stay in this charity case!-" "We're not entertaining you Adam!" Vaggie would cut off the ex-angel, causing his interest to peak over at her. Though he relaxed quickly enough, maybe too quickly seeing as Vaggie had drown out her own weapon and that . . . nasty little creature stood beside her with the dagger made out of angelic metal; Now that little one-eyed demon could give Adam the creeps, maybe even a little (lot) fright, but not Vaggie. "You know, I thought were all trying to redeem souls in this junk box of yours." Adam scoffed, quickly crossing his arms with a tilt of his head. "Are you fucking discriminating against me wanting to return to where I rightfully belong just because I was an angel before this? Wow, that's a low blow, especially for someone light you." Adam's voice dripped with sarcasm mixed with malice, maybe even still a little pride. "You literally tried killing up like- 2 weeks ago!" Vaggie would gesture to the side, as though trying to compare time to the length of her arm. "Oh shit it's been too weeks?" Adam paused, thinking about it yet drawing a blank and shrugging in result, "Shit, didn't know, pft! That shit must still be fresh for you then, huh? Well, let me remind you all that you weren't the ones who DIED!-"

ᯓ "Adam?" Your voice would slip out into the common space of the lobby of the hotel, honey sweat to Adam's ears; Filling them with a melody that could match the songs of Heaven, running down his spine with the comfort he didn't know he needed until now. But even then, you knew he wouldn't break his 'tough man' exterior until you managed to snag him along, away from the prying eyes of everyone else. "Holy shit, hey Babe!" Adam was quick, rushing past and slightly pushing Charlie out of his way to make his way over to you, over to his love. "What the fuck are you doing in a dumb like this? I thought you said you had your own fucking spot near Cannibal Town!" - It had been the only reason why he had tried traveling to that cursed town, even while knowing its residents might try and take a bite out of him or his wings. He craved for the familiarity of someone in this new world, as he had never felt this vulnerable since his first days on Eden; Earth. God's Earth. "Babe?" A chorus of confused, slightly concerned, and baffled voices followed as Adam came to your side, swinging an arm around your waist and instantly drawing you closer. You swore he was fighting off the urge to flick off the others, a casual fuck you for trying to push him off and out. You could feel their eyes as you leaned up to pepper a kiss into Adam's shoulder, to which he squeezed your waist slightly tighter, adorning a snicker upon his face. "Wait, wait!-" Vaggie started, taking a staggering step forward as her arms laid limp besides her. One of her eyebrows were cocked up, her eyes narrow, "What do you mean Babe?" Your name left her lips, "Don't tell me you're dating that fucker!" She would soon exclaim, tossing her hands out as they finally regained the life they had lost. To which you would turn towards her confused, and then remember oh yeah . . . the battle. The one you hadn't been present for though heard about through Channel 666 News; In all honesty it's why you had came here, to the Hotel, to see if you could try and get to Heaven and find Adam again - praying he didn't actually die but was taken back to Heaven to heal or was revived in some way. "Uh, yeah. Adam's my boyfriend-" You would start with a wavering smile, nerves tugging at the edge of your lips. "Oh, this couldn't have gotten worse." Angel would groan, slamming his head down onto the bar countertop, acting like a disappointed parent; Silently telling you that you could have done better. To which you placed a hand on your hip, about to tell Angel off, only to be cut off by Husk tsking and shaking his head, "I would not put you as an Angel and sexist fucker, but whatever rows your boat." His tone came off dry, uninterested, and a little hostile. And with Charlie's silence, you couldn't help but feel the weight of everyone's words a little heavier.

ᯓ And Adam noticed that, with one glance down at you and your face, his wings would flare defensively and his glare was snapped back at the other demons. He couldn't care less that they had been talking shit about him, he couldn't care less on how they saw him or the reasons they thought you could do better than him; They shouldn't care about whether or not someone was out of their friend's league if they were clearly happy with the person! That, Adam knew - or maybe he believed it more. "Hey, what your fucking mouths!-" He would start, trying to draw you away from the others. Sure, he was no longer an Angel, but he was sure as hell he could take any of them in a fight anyways! And yet, his anger was snuffed like a candle as soon as you placed your hand on his chest, gently pushing in and pushing him back. The breath of ire was caught in his throat, not even being able to reach his lungs, as he glanced down at you, noticing the spark that you had seemingly stolen right out of his chest and placed in your eyes. He knew your reservations of fighting with friends, or with anyone in general, so he couldn't help but feel pride swell up in his chest watching you stand up for yourself, for you and him: "I will not let you speak about me, nor Adam that way!" You defended, shooting a star through your eyelashes that the group; Who seemed just as taken aback as Adam had been before the warmth spread from his chest. Vaggie would scrunch her face, much more concerned that irritated or disappointed, but also all of that at the same time. Your name slipped from her lips, "You can't be serious! He's . . ." She stumbled for a moment, trying to grasp her words, "He's led genocides on Sinners all over Hell! He's like really gross and he doesn't respect people. He's a douche and a dick!-" "Dick master," Adam would correct Vaggie just to piss her off, earning a slight jag in the gut from you and a snarl from Vaggie. Vaggie, who, tossed out her hands once more, yet pointed at Adam this time, "See what I mean?!"

ᯓ "And tell me how you felt when you first lost your divinity?"

ᯓ The question lingered in the room, drifting and sticking in the air, as Vaggie stared at you with disbelief; Her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide, and her stance rigid. You noticed how Charlie grew nervous behind her, how she seemed rather uncomfortable in the atmosphere that been created in the room since Adam had arrived than you. She would place a hand on Vaggie's shoulders, attempting to comfort her, yet failed to pick out any words to say in response. "It's hard enough to leave somewhere you've called home," You would continue, frowning, "To be tossed out like you had meant nothing, like one mistake had deemed you unworthy despite everything great you have done in your life. Vaggie! . . . out of everyone, I would have thought at least you would understand something like that." Seeing as she had gone through the same process herself, yet had always had Charlie there by her side to walk through everything with. Was she implying that Adam didn't deserve the same because of what he had done? Sure it was crude and cruel, but everyone deserved another chance to mistake their wrongs and that was what this hotel was about; And you voiced such concerns to not just Vaggie but to Charlie as well. What makes Adam so much different from Lucifer, or say another Fallen Angel that managed to wind up down here? What makes him less worthy to be redeemed? What made him less of a human soul as say Angel or Alastor? Everyone fucks up in their life and as long as they're trying to better themselves, understanding what they did wrong and why it was wrong, they should be given a chance!

ᯓ It wasn't long before Charlie said that everyone should take a break, and as such you would lead Adam away from the crowd of people and up to your own room in the Hotel. You could feel Vaggie's eyes linger, you felt like she wanted to say something yet let her words fall short before they were ever given a chance. But, even if they had, you were too pent up to even discuss anything logically with her at the moment. And you think she could feel or at least tell and that's why her words fell short, yet you would never know - you're not Vaggie nor would you ever think like she does.

ᯓ You and Adam found yourselves in your bed after settling some matters, such as a change of clothing for him and whether or not you wanted to try and make the trip back to your apartment today; Luckily you had some of Adam's old T-shirts and joggers you had stolen from him from one of the few trips where Adam had snuck you into Heaven - and yet on the same note, either of you felt like going downstairs to face anyone to leave to your apartment. So, with not much to do, you set the TV on as background noise and brain fuzz as you snuggled up to Adam's side. You felt as his claws, at first, scratched gently at his side, pairing with a kiss on the forehead, and then they began to tap the flesh there; Like you were some little drum that made no noise, yet Adam continued until he switched to rubbing his thumb against your hip. "What's wrong, Adam?" Concern dripped from your lips, forcing Adam to draw his eyes away from the mindless television and down to meet you, and your eyes. He had known your attention had been up at him for a while, at first admiring his face (as you didn't get to see it much) yet it had shifted to concern the more he played with the plush flesh of your waist. He wondered if you could tell he was nervous from the start. Adam's eyes would falter and glance off to TV again, his words causing a lump in his throat as he tried to play through them; Trying to find the best combination to spew out instead of talking without thinking - vomiting whatever first came to mind and not thinking about it later. And maybe you could tell the trepidations that filled his head too; Seeing as you shifted your position from his side, pushing yourself up, and instead onto his lap, effectively blocking his vision of the television. Your hands rested on his chest, something so natural at this point yet something that still caused Adam's lungs to halt for a minute and for his stomach to flutter. Even so, he would give you a curious glance up and down, trancing the curves of your body with his eyes as he has done countless times before - yet every time, you managed to take his breath away. "If you wanted to fuck, babe, you could have just said so!" The snarky remark left his lips, meeting your amused yet disapproving face. He knew that's not what you wanted, yet he couldn't help but entertain yourself when you were basically straddling his waist; As such, his fingers would drag along the calf of your leg before his hands would trail up your thighs before tailing back down and up once more. He saw the flutter in your breath, yet you tried to keep your composure. Even if Adam was making it ever so hard.

ᯓ "Adam," You would start, your tone causing Adam to stop caressing your thighs. It stuck his eyes to yours, and he couldn't look away no matter how much his nerves pulled at him to. "I want you to know, no matter what happens . . . I'm here for you, okay? We're in this together. You're not a solo act anymore, we're a duet . . . or, well, more a duo act." Your words sunk down into Adam's skin, they infected through his lungs and ran to his heart before infecting all his blood and his veins. His hands, which had ran up to hold your waist, gave a gentle squeeze as he swallowed down the saliva that built up in his suddenly dry mouth. A duo act? Sure, he knew you two were dating, that you had been for a while, yet even then he had a silent thought in the back of his head that you would leave him, much like the others; So he never considered himself no more than what he had: A soloist. First Man Adam! . . . but now he was able to add being 'Yours' to his list with some sort of fire-like confidence; Burning and bright. It made his heart catch fire, even more so when you would stretch out lightly and lean down to lay down on his chest; Your warmth infecting all of him you touched, allowing his arms to wrap around your back and for his wings to fluff out and wrap around your frame. It was like he wanted to shield you from the world, shield you from Heaven, shield you from everyone and anything that wanted to hurt you. Sure he had the urge before, but now? . . . "You heard that big man?" Your voice broke through his thoughts, your teasing smirk had him fighting for a breath. You would playfully nudge his shoulder, "You're stuck with me, I'm stuck with you're, we're stuck together so you better be getting used to it! I'll fight for you, you fight for me, and we'll get back to that stupid place that outcasted you in the first place!" But he would like to stay here, with you, forever. "And we'll show Charlie and Vaggie that it can be done and that even if you fucked up you have a good heart in you! . . . Because I know you do under all the gunk." And your laughter had never sounded so sweet, and you touch has never felt so soft and loving.

ᯓ A duo act, huh? With you? Adam could get used to and stand behind that thought; Perhaps, even after all this time, he wanted nothing more than to hear those words, or well the meaning of those words, from your mouth since the start.

ᯓ But even then, with the emotions that swelled Adam's heart with nothing but pure love, he couldn't help but nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck. Your scent filled his nose with a warmth he missed, the soft skin of your neck flushed against his smirking lips, a feeling he longed for and couldn't forget. You were perfect, you always had been! "Fuck, Babe, when you say pretty shit like that, it's hard not to fuck you right here and now." Adam would groan before a loud cackle left his lips as soon as you smacked his back. All too used to his ways, you couldn't do much yet shake your head against Adam's shoulder, like a parent scolding their child for saying something offensive. "You ruined the mood Adam!" The huff escaped your lips, it hit Adam's neck and made goosebumps spring up his arms. "Again!" And yet, you didn't protest as Adam tossed you both into your sides with a fever, still cackling as though this was the funniest joke in the world - and you couldn't deny, you loved the sound of his laughter so much. Even as his stubble would tickle your neck as he did so, causing you to start laughing soon after and trying to push his head away from your neck. "Adam! Oh my god, Adam stop that tickles!" You gasped between breaths, struggling to push your boyfriend away as he found joy in your lighthearted misery. Though he would only curl around your frame, not answering your desperate calls of a truce and a stop, and trap you in his arms and wings with no remorse. "You're stuck with me Babe, you said it yourself! Now come here, let me kiss that pretty fucking face of yours until you can't breath!"

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ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Shigaraki Kinktober - Day 5 - Feet and Fantasizing

He immediately knew something was up when he smelt something in the air.

Their hideout at the bar didn't smell like flowers, that was for sure. But he had gotten used to the thick scent of musty, aged wood, tinged with the faint odour of mold creeping through the cracks. The dampness seemed to cling to every surface, leaving a sour note on the tip of one's tongue, but Tomura liked how familiar it had gotten.

He didn't like it when familiar things changed.

The new smell was powerfully unpleasant, making its way to Tomura's room despite the door being barely open. It was acrid and bitter, filling his nostrils and making him feel vaguely lightheaded. Before he could catch himself, he missed a jump off a narrow cliff and his character fell into the abyss.

YOU DIED, the computer screen blinked.

He grumbled a few curses, getting up to go yell at whoever was messing up his day. With how awful the smell was, chances were it would be Compress trying some new sort of magic trick involving battery acid.

But in the living room, he only found you and Toga, giggling with each other like two schoolgirls (which he supposed Toga was, in a way).

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” he complained.

“We're doing each other's nails!” Toga shrilled, waving her free hand at him to show him her bright red manicure. ‘Pretty stupid colour choice’, he thought, because Toga's fingers were always covered in red either way. “Look, I'm almost done with her feet!”

He had made it a point not to look at you up until now.

Ever since you had joined the League, he had found it difficult to look directly at your face. Maybe it was because he imagined you at night.

A lot.

Quite a lot.

But your feet were never something he had thought about until this very moment, the microsecond where he glanced down at your left foot resting on Toga's lap.

All hell broke loose in his brain.

He had never gotten the hype around museums, but if anything was worthy of belonging there it was this. The skin looked so smooth and soft, a slightly oiled sheen making it glisten. The arch was delicate but well-defined, an elegant line that simultaneously showed strength and softness. At the very top, your toes, the nails cut perfectly even and adorned with a baby pink polish with the same shine as quartz. It was a beauty that was both natural and well-maintained, so feminine and alien to him.

It took about another microsecond for him to imagine your foot on his cock.

“What's the shitty smell?” he managed to hiss out, trying to get the intrusive thoughts as far away as possible from his brain.

A battle he could immediately tell he was losing when images started popping into his mind one after the other.

Your perfect feet on his lap. Your feet toying with his clothed erection, gently pressing against his crotch. Your toes curling delicately around his length, massaging him while you give him a sly smile. His cum all over your pink nails, and you'd say to him…

“Acetone.”

What.

“What?” he asked, slightly dazed.

“I said, it's acetone,” you repeated, looking concerned. “It's a polish remover. It does smell kind of strong though, do you want us to close the bottle..?

His eyes were still being pulled down to your naked foot, sweat forming on his temples, the skin of his neck starting to desperately itch.

Your foot in one of those fancy open-toe shoes with pearly straps and red bottoms. Your foot resting on his inner thigh, just barely grazing the tip of his cock. Your foot milking him until he couldn't breathe, bringing him over the edge as many times as you wanted him.

Him, King of the new world and standing at the top of it all, but still begging to be underneath your heel.

“Tomura, are you alright?”

He was getting hard and if he didn't say anything quickly, you were going to notice. You were still looking at him with those wide, innocent eyes, filled with genuine concern for him. He absolutely hated it.

“I don't care about the smell,” he lied, one of his hands creeping its way into the neckline of his sweater to scratch the flesh. The itch was getting worse. “It's an ugly colour on you by the way,” he blurted out to you in one last-ditch attempt at escaping without consequences.

Toga made an audible gasp of indignation, and he turned around before he could hear your reaction, retracting back into the safety of his room and slamming the door behind him. He groaned.

The computer screen still shone brightly with YOU DIED in big bold letters, a cosmic joke from a universe that just never seemed to stop hating him.

God, he was fucking pathetic.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Love is a killer that never dies (part 2)

Dracule Mihawk x reader. NSFW!! Discussion of dub-con.

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series.

This is part two of four. Kuraigana Island is Mihawk's home in the manga/anime.

Shanks being in a relationship with his crew's doctor is an allusion to this headcanon list and then to this fic, even though they take place in a different continuity.

*****

He didn’t know whether the bed he was lying on was his or hers, if they were at the fortress or in his home on Kuraigana or somewhere else; he didn’t need to know. All he cared for was that (name) was next to him, and that they were both naked.

The light of the sun played on her smooth skin, making her appear even more radiant than she usually was; the candid blanket that covered the lower half of her body rustled as she turned on her side towards him, a hand raised in an inviting, enticing gesture.

“Mihawk…” she murmured; she had said his name so many times already over the years, but never like this; never like he wanted her to say it “Mihawk, please… take me, I need you so much…”

He didn’t answer; at least, he didn’t think he did, but a moment later (name) was above him, her legs caging his hips, her lovely face close enough the swordsman could feel her breath on his skin; she was smiling, and he knew that in that moment no other man, and no other woman, existed apart from them. “Mihawk… I’ve waited for you for so long…”

He had no conscience of his body, but he saw his hands raise to hold her hips, then her waist, then the soft and delicate flesh of her chest; he saw pleasure explode in her eyes, the profound and deep awareness of how his body could make her sing. Mihawk cherished that sight for a moment, then he lowered his gaze between her legs, and suddenly found it hard to swallow.

“I am yours.” she murmured; she had started caressing his chest, and even without seeing it Mihawk could feel her fingers exploring his skin, her touch gentle but possessive, and then she was lying on top of him, her nipples brushing against his chest “I have always been yours; Mihawk, please, take me, I need to feel you, I can’t wait anymore…”

Now she was in his arms; Mihawk felt that in a moment he would be kissing her, and he knew there wouldn’t be a happier, or more fortunate, man in the world. He saw her murmur his name again, and he closed his eyes, already tasting the sweetness of her mouth…

*

Mihawk woke up. So intense and vivid the dream had been, that for a moment he almost thought he could see (name) in the bed next to him; when the illusion finally disappeared the swordsman sighed, an unspeakable feeling of loss filling his heart… and a weird, unpleasant sensation the swordsman quickly traced back to a part of his body that loudly called for his attention.

Mihawk sighed; he hadn’t woken up with an erection since he was a teenager, but thank all the Gods judging from the position of the sun out of his window he hadn’t slept long, and he still had time before dinner. Unfortunately, the nap hadn’t done him the good he had hoped; rather, he felt even worse than half an hour before, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. Perhaps he was sick, an illness he could have caught from someone at the fortress; the timing couldn’t have been worse, but (name) had told him there were excellent doctors on the island, including the ones who took care of her and her mother’s health. The swordsman did not doubt his friend would immediately send for them, but there was something more pressing he had to do…

He turned on his back; a relieved sigh escaped Mihawk’s lips as he took care of his trousers and undergarments, freeing his cock from their constraint, and wasted no time in taking it in his hand. The heavy column was already leaking pre-cum, a beady drop the swordsman scooped up with his thumb to smear it across the tip; he moaned softly, his back arching against the bed, his forehead and chest wet with perspiration.

What would happen if (name) chose that very moment to come in, perhaps without knocking and waiting for permission to enter like she had been taught to do? She would open the door, begin to say whatever she had come to tell him, and then the words would die on her lips -her lovely lips, soft and that would look so pretty stretched around his…- when she saw the state he was in, naked, moaning and tense, busy pumping his length as if his life depended on it.

“(name)...!”

How would she react? Would she blush? Keep looking despite herself, aware of the inappropriateness of her presence but unable to stop? Would she get excited - would she get horny? Would her gaze linger on his pelvis, on the thick, hard cock and wish she was the one taking care of it? Seems like you are having a little trouble, she would finally say advancing into the room, her gaze fixed on him, desire filling her eyes, want me to help? I know a quicker way to do this, than using my hands…

“(name)... fuck, (name)...”

That would be so good; having her kneel by his side to gently take his cock in her hands, marvelling at its length and girth, before bringing her lovely mouth to kiss it, slowly, savouring his taste, one of her hands holding it and the other rubbing between her legs, because she had gotten excited already as well, and they both knew a blowjob wouldn’t be enough to satiate them…

He felt horrible; feverish, a thirst filling his very being that no drink could ever quench; Mihawk’s free hand was rubbing up and down his chest, playing with his hard nipples, imagining it was her hand instead, that (name), his lovely and beautiful and desirable (name), was with him, on him, fucking him and letting him fuck her, because she wanted him as much as he wanted her, she loved him, and no one would ever come between them for the rest of their lifes…

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…!” Mihawk panted; he was close, close already, because of her, because he was completely and utterly lost to her beauty and grace and charm, and no woman could and would ever compare to her “Fuck, (name)... I need you, I want you so much…”

Pressure mounted inside him; his hips shuddered, and Mihawk finally reached his climax with the image of (name) sucking him off that filled the space behind his eyelids. He was quick to press a hand to his mouth, but his cry invaded the room - and maybe the space out of it as well? Had someone heard him? One of the servants, who would then happily report the news to the rest of the staff, or, Gods forbid, the lady Veressa? What a man, even a guest, did in his own bedroom was his own affair, but Mihawk wasn’t sure he could bear the shame.

What if (name) had been the one to hear? To hear him scream her name as he climaxed? Who knew, perhaps that would be declaration enough, and in a moment the woman would really come into his room, uncertain but hopeful, and ask whether he felt up to a second round…

The door remained closed; Mihawk sighed before turning to contemplate his body, and the squirts of semen spread on his belly. He fortunately hadn’t stained the sheets, but he had to clean himself immediately, and then make himself decent for dinner; it was getting late, and it would have been discourteous to keep his hosts waiting.

The problem was, even after a nap and what had to be the most intense and at the same time unsatisfying handjob of his life, he didn’t feel any better, at all - nor well rested nor… calm. Rather, he felt horrible, light-headed, his muscles aching, and the recent ejaculation had done nothing to make his desire wither. Far from it.

Gods; his heart was still pounding, and when Mihawk brought a hand to his forehead, he wasn’t surprised to feel himself burning. He must have a fever, he reflected, and he did feel weak, but at the same time he had never felt so aroused in his life, his whole body on fire with need - need for her, for her lovely feminine body, for the way they could give each other enough pleasure to make the world stop around them.   

He was hard again - no, he was still hard, even though he had come violently two minutes ago, as the rapidly drying spurts of semen on his belly could attest. Mihawk clenched his teeth; beyond the malaise, beyond the passing relief he had just felt, his thoughts were still focused on (name), on being close to her, under her, inside her. It would have been perfect; it was natural for Mihawk to assume the dominant role during a rapport, but (name) was not a prostitute or one of the women whose face he could barely remember on the next morning. She was special, she was perfect, the only woman he felt he could share his heart with and in whose company he could show the most intimate and fragile part of him; emotional and physical intimacy between them would only match the empathy and understanding they already shared. Knowing her, loving her, had opened Mihawk’s heart and mind to sensations he never thought he could experience; it was scary, in a way, but also something he knew had made his life better.

Also, he simply liked the idea of having her on top of him, kneeling on his lap after she had impaled herself on his cock, a slow, delicious torture that would bring both of them to scream. Mihawk started working himself again, his body immediately responding to the stimulus, as he imagined it, to have (name), glorious in her nudity, rocking above him, her breasts bouncing, her hips trembling with every push, every jolt of ecstasy he was gifting her.

“Oh, Gods… oh, Gods… (name), my (name), you feel so tight…!”

Simply imagining the bliss on her beautiful face, the awareness that him, and no one else, was responsible for making her feel so good and wanted nothing better than to do that again and again for the rest of their lives, was enough to make him come, and come he did, almost violently, this time not even trying to cover the lurid moan of pleasure that escaped his lips as he climaxed.

And again, it wasn’t enough.

He was still hard; still in pain; and still desperate for a relief, both sexual and -how could he put it?- salutary that he felt was just out of his reach, but close. Very close, in fact, probably sitting at the dinner table on the ground floor together with her mother and her very unpleasant cousin, wondering where the hell he was…

Night had started falling out of his window, sensibly lowering the temperature of the room. It was late. He was late, which was new to him, since Mihawk had always made sure to arrive at his various engagements - unless he wanted to be late, like he sometimes did, for his own amusement, when it was the Marines who were expecting him. He didn’t want to keep (name) waiting, but he felt too weak to stand from the bed, let alone wash, get dressed and walk to the fortress’ dining room - not to mention the fact that his erection showed no signs of sagging.

Finally, a discreet knocking came from the door. “Excuse me, sir. Lady (name) sent me to ask you if you intend to join her for dinner.”

Dammit. Just hearing that anonymous voice say her name was enough to make his loins shudder. He clenched his teeth. “I… don’t think I can manage tonight.” he answered in the end, almost curled in a ball on the bed; every single muscle of his body was hurting, the pain seeping through him “Please make my apologies to the ladies; I’m not feeling very well.”

A moment of hesitation. “Would you like me to call a doctor, sir?”

No. It wasn’t medical care he required; he felt it, despite the excruciating torment he was experiencing. What he needed, what he yearned for and what would make everything right, was her - (name). If she came, if she let him take her in his arms, confess how desperately in love with her he was and then fuck her senseless, everything would be fine, he would be fine - and she as well.

If only. Oh, if only.

“There is no need.” he answered in the end, forcing himself to speak normally and not like a man who was being devoured by his sexual impulses “I just need to rest for a while. Tell the ladies I am sorry I can’t join them, and that I will see the lady (name) tomorrow.”

“Very well, sir.”

Alone once more, Mihawk sighed; he didn’t want his friend to worry for his health, but he really was in no condition to present himself in public. Once again, he allowed himself to imagine what would have happened if (name) herself were to come to check on him; she would insist on coming in, deaf to his begging -yes, he would beg. He never had, not even as a young child when his father used a belt on him for some perceived disobedience, but he would do it for her; it was embarrassing to admit it even in the privacy of his heart, but he would be happy to, he would gladly implore for her touch, for a kiss, for the permission to push his hard cock in her warm, tight little pussy- and see the state he was in, horny and agonising in equal measure. For a moment she would remain speechless; then a small, mischievous smile would appear on her lips as she advanced into the room, already untying the knots of her dress, her eyes focused on his throbbing cock. Do you need help, my poor darling? Let me take care of you, I’ll help you relax… hmmm, you’re even bigger than I imagined…  

If only.

In the next hours, Mihawk kept feeling worse and worse. What had started as a low-grade fever and a slight muscle pain evolved into a complete calvary, every inch of his body screaming in agony; his sweat-soaked skin burned, his stomach clenched, his heart beat fast enough to make him fear it was going to explode. And in the middle of all of that, among the suffering and the ache, one thing was sure, a simple, unexplainable truth Mihawk would bet his life on…

He needed her.

He had never felt like this. Desirous didn’t begin to describe the way he felt; aroused was a gross understatement. His whole being -his body, his mind, his very soul- was being devoured from the inside, a hungry, avid beast that roared demanding satisfaction. Everything he had done, everything he thought and felt and remembered, everything he was, had disappeared, leaving behind only an excruciating, fierce impulse: the need to fuck, to make her his, to hear her scream his name and know no other man could ever compete for her attention. He couldn’t get her pregnant -but how lovely it would have been? To see her already feminine and luscious body swollen with his child, her lovely breast heavy with milk? What a dream it would be, the coronation of their love, a little heir to raise, a child he would teach swordplay and she could groom to become the next lord of the island- but he would give her so much, make her come so hard, that she would be indifferent to any other advance. They were perfect for each other, more compatible than with any other person in the world, each other’s soulmate and destined partner; they were both sexually experienced enough to be prosaic, even jaded about it, but the pleasure they could create together and gift each other would be something too intense and precious to describe it in words. Mihawk was generally satisfied with his life, even bored, nothing having troubled or interested him for years; and then (name) had come into his life and everything had changed, even though it had taken him a while to realise him. He wouldn’t say his life would have no meaning without her by his side, nor that he would never experience satisfaction or joy again; but in the event that she didn’t reciprocate his feelings, Mihawk knew he would feel a tiny part of him missing for the rest of his days.

Nevertheless, at the moment he did feel like he could die if he didn’t fuck (name), hard, long, and soon. He wasn’t the sort of man to easily give in to panic, far from it, but he felt it; he was sure of it, even though he couldn’t begin to comprehend how this was possible, and how he could know since he had never experienced anything of the sort before.

If he didn’t do it… if he didn’t have sex with (name), it would cost him his life; the agony he was experiencing would become more and more intense, sapping his mental and physical strength, until he went insane, and his heart stopped beating. 

It was absurd, completely crazy, because while poems and romance novels were full of lovers who, having lost or been rejected by the object of their affection, died of heartbreak, nostalgia and regret making them waste away faster and more efficiently than any plague or malady could, that was only an overused literary trope, it didn’t happen in real life! Or did it?

No; more probably, he had caught an illness, a particularly virulent form of fever, and his feelings for (name), and the promise he had made to himself to let her know what he felt before the end of his vacation on the island had done the rest. People didn’t die of lack of sex; that sounded like the plot of a particularly tasteless romance novel. After all he was a pirate, he did travel around and came in contact with all sorts of people; it wasn’t unlikely that he had contracted some kind of sickness. 

Right?

That night was the worst of his life. The ache afflicting his body was excruciating, but the desire devouring him without any hope for respite was worse. He masturbated two more times, climaxing every time more violently than the previous one, before his cock finally went limp in his hand; Mihawk choked a sob of relief, but that moment of peace was short-lived. His body could have reached its limits, at least momentarily, but his mind hadn’t, and his passion for (name) was still vivid, the desire to make her his and reach heaven with her lovely body writhing under his unyielding; hour after hour, he started feeling himself suffocating, as if his lungs could not process the pleasantly cool air entering through the window. 

The bed around him was a mess, spots of semen staining the soft linen sheet; disgusted, Mihawk took it off and threw it on the floor. He didn’t even want to know what the maids who would sooner or later enter to clean the room and make his bed would think, and if those voices were to reach (name)’s ear…

Night had fallen on the island, a crescent moon shining in the sky out of his window, and the fortress was immersed in silence. MIhawk forced himself to crawl out of the bed and walk aimlessly around the room, if only because anything would have been better than tossing and turning without any hope for respite; he wished he had something to keep his mind occupied, a book or a newspaper, but he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on reading in any case, and given the state he was in, slipping quietly out of the fortress and tire himself training with Yoru was out of the question. 

He thought about (name), about how lovely and sensual she had to look in that moment, lying in her own bed, completely unaware of his predicament. What did she wear at night? A delicate silk nightgown, only reaching down her tights given the relatively warm night, leaving her shapely legs naked and hugging her curves like Mihawk would have given half of his blood to be able to do, or something else? Perhaps she slept in the nude, the soft fabric of the sheets caressing her naked skin, her plush breasts pressed against the mattress, her legs unconsciously spread apart as if to invite a lover -him- to…  

He moaned; he couldn’t help it. He knew where (name) slept; leaving his room, he could reach her door in less than five minutes, slipping unseen along the corridors. He could enter, wake her up gently, hope she would realise he posed no danger before she retrieved her derringer from under her pillow and shot him twice, and confess how much he wanted her. And then -he was sure, sure enough he could bet his life on it- she would immediately reciprocate his feelings, and invite him in her bed; the symphony of their pleasure would fill the air… 

Mihawk sighed, all too aware of the inappropriateness of his thoughts as he walked back to the bed, took a pillow and brought it to the window, hoping the cool air would make him feel better; it placed the pillow against the sill and started rocking against it, one of his hands keeping it in place and the other running over his body, stimulating it where and how he wanted her to do. He knew that coming again would mean staining the pillow, adding fodder to his shame, but he couldn’t help it; his legs felt as if they were about to give way, his heart pounding, his vision swimming. He didn’t care if someone, perhaps a guard patrolling the courtyard or a messenger returning from a late assignment, saw him; he needed her, he needed to mate with her so much it hurt, so much it could kill him, but he didn’t want it to be like this. He wanted to court (name), not to seduce her -she was no naive maiden who could become enamoured with anyone who gifted her a flower and spoke sweet nothings to her ear- but to convince her of the depth and intensity of his feelings, and of the happiness they could find within each other. No matter how amazing the sex between them could be, she was no prostitute willing to bat her eyelashes to any client who could pay for her time, nor a tavern wench who would join the patrons in their rooms for a tip; she deserved better - she deserved the world and Mihawk intended to give it to her, regardless that she was strong and resilient enough to take it for herself, if she so desired. He did want to make love to her, all night long, in any way they could think of; but what he needed, what would make him happier than any man in the world had ever been, would be to have (name) give him her heart, like Mihawk had already given her his. 

He could feel blood burn in his veins; he raised his gaze at the stars filling the dark expanse above him, and thought that none of them was more beautiful than (name), beautiful and unattainable. The night was silent, a pleasant scent arising from the garden under him, the garden that he should have led the woman he loved to for a night stroll after dinner, had he not been incapacitated by…

And then it hit him, sudden and violent like no blow from an opponent had done in decades. 

Garden. Scent. 

Of course.

Flowers. The flower!

That’s what had happened to him; not an illness he could have caught through contact with another sick person. That damn plant that (name) received as a gift from her cousin had spurted its grains in his face in what had appeared to be a defence mechanism against predators; he had felt no pain, even though the episode had been somewhat embarrassing, but he had breathed the pollen which, not unlike a toxin, had poisoned him, attacking his organism and making him fall sick.

Did Theon know the danger that apparently innocuous flower represented? (name) had seemed surprised to receive a gift from him, which could suggest the whole matter had been orchestrated by the man as a cruel prank on her. The more he thought about him, the more sinister the whole matter appeared to his eyes; if the woman was the destined victim, did the man -her own cousin, a blood relative- intend to take advantage of her, given the fact she could be unable to say no? Fortunately no harm had been done, but Mihawk would make sure that idiot would regret the day he was born.

He was hard again; knowing where those impulses came from didn’t help, because while his current inability to keep his erection under control was due to the flower’s poison, Mihawk knew his feelings were genuine, and had been for a long time. Rather, that made things even more complicated, because he couldn’t simply ask for (name)’s help, with the tacit agreement they would both forget about it once he had found his relief and carry on as if nothing had happened. He did want her, desperately; this horrible misadventure changed nothing. And he only needed to survive this night -or not? How long would the effects of the flower’s toxin last? Was he destined to feel like this forever, until his body simply couldn’t bear it and his heart stopped?- and then he would come clean about his feelings, making sure she knew how much he cared for and admired…

A sudden stab of pain darted through his abdomen, forcing the swordsman to his knees; he screamed softly as he felt his body revolting against him, begging for a release his hand couldn’t give it.

“(name)... oh, (name), I need you… please, please make me come… darling, I need you…” he moaned, his cock already clenched in his hand; his balls felt heavy, his hips humping against nothing; when he came for the umpteenth time he felt no pleasure, and he barely had the strength to reach for the discarded sheet and use it to clean himself. The pillow had fortunately survived the ordeal unscathed, but Mihawk left it on the floor as he turned to the chair he had left his coat on; he retrieved his Den Den Mushi from the right pocket and then crawled back to the bed.

Thank all the Gods, the person he needed to contact answered almost immediately. 

“Mihawk?”

 “Shanks. I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”

“Don’t worry about that. Are you alright?” the red-haired pirate asked, immediately tense even though he had to have been fast asleep until a moment before; he knew the swordsman wasn’t the sort of man who made courtesy calls, especially not in the middle of the night. Curled with the Den Den Mushi in his hand close to his mouth, Mihawk hesitated for a moment before eluding the question. 

“I need your help.” he started urgently; normally he would have bitten his own arm off rather than uttering those words, but Shanks was the only man in the world he felt relatively comfortable admitting it to “I don’t have time to explain. The last time we met, there was a book on the table in your cabin; the cover was dark green, it was about medicinal plants.”

“I think I know the one you mean. It’s one of the doctor’s books.”

The doctor -he called her that, but with the sort of voice and smile who made it immediately clear that their relationship went much above and beyond that between a captain and one of his crewmates- was Shanks’ partner, the woman who also acted as a physician on his ship. Mihawk had only met the woman a couple of times and held no particular interest for her, but for a moment he felt a burning envy towards his friend, who could kiss his partner every time he wanted and had no reason to doubt her feelings for him. 

“Why the sudden interest?”

Gods, his stomach felt on fire, the pain so intense he had to actually focus in order to continue the conversation; Mihawk clenched his teeth, ordering himself to carry on.

“There was an illustration I saw; a tall flower with bright pink petals, closed around the centre. Shanks, I-I need you to read all that the book says about the flower.”

“You are so worried about a flower? This late at night?” Shanks asked; he sounded curious, not irritated, but every second they lingered was a torture the swordsman would rather spare himself “Mihawk, what is happening? I thought you’d be with (name), at her island; is this flower something you want to gift her?”

Mihawk had never intended to share his feelings for (name) with anyone, not even a close and trusted friend like Shanks, but he had just once made the error of mentioning her to him, and the red-haired captain had to have perceived something in his voice, because he had become curious, and insisting relentlessly to know more he had realised something very special existed between the swordsman and the mysterious lady. In the end, thanks to a glass of wine too many, Mihawk had in the end confessed he wanted more than being simply (name)’s friend - he wanted her, to himself, forever.

“Not exactly. Shanks, I promise I’ll explain soon. Find that book and read it to me.”

“As you wish. Wait a moment…”

Mihawk did, his heart in his throat. Through the line, he heard the faint rustle of a sheet pushed to the side, and then a hushed conversation; either Shanks was sick as well, and forced to spend the night in the Red Force’s infirmary, or his doctor had gotten lost and ended up sleeping in her captain’s bed. Lucky bastard, Mihawk thought without resentment.

“Alright, I found it. Bright pink, as you said.”

“What does it say?”

“So, the name of the flower is Lily of Twilight… which makes no sense, lilies don’t look like this. In any case they are pretty rare, growing only on a few inhabited islands in the Calm Belt, and… oh…”

Silence fell; Mihawk forced himself to wait while Shanks read to himself, and when he spoke again, the red-haired pirate’s voice was devoid of its usual playful tone. “Mihawk, don’t tell me you, or (name), have breathed the pollen of this flower.”

“I have.”

“... shit.”

Another pause. More than feeling it, Mihawk saw the hand holding the Den Den Mushi begin to shake. “Shanks.” he carefully articulated “What does it say?”

“Well, that this flower sort of spews out its pollen to defend itself against insects, and if a person were to inhale it… it causes fever, vomit, seizures, vertigo, the pain must be excruciating and… it also says here that it has a very intense aphrodisiac effect. Like, err… extremely intense. Unrestrainable, even.”

Silence.

“Are you…?”

“What do you think?” Mihawk asked brusquely “Is there a cure?”

The sound of a page being turned followed. “Just a moment…” 

“Is your doctor listening?”

“No, I came out of the room to let her sleep.” Shanks explained quickly, now as worried as his friend “Here it is. There is no cure for the physical distress, but if the hunger is sated, the other symptoms should disappear quickly. You… well, I think you only have one thing to do.”

Mihawk agreed; there was no other solution, but at the same time, the swordsman felt ready to bear the agony that was devastating his body for the rest of time, rather than asking for the help of the only person who could give it to him.

“At least you are in the right place; I mean, with her there with you. Imagine if you were alone on Kuraigana, or in the middle of the ocean…”

“I’m not going to do it.”

“What?!”

Mihawk tried to answer, but suddenly he found himself unable to see; for a few terrifying seconds, his eyes had simply stopped working. He had time to fear this was his end, that his body had started wasting away and he would spend the rest of his life blind, and then suddenly he could see again, although the world seemed to sway in front of him.

He had little time left; he felt it. He didn’t know how much, but little enough he couldn’t afford to think about feelings and tact. Nonetheless…

“I won’t tell (name) what is happening to me.” he stated as calmly as he could - that is, much less than he would have wanted “Nor will I… ask for her help to solve this little problem.”

The little problem had just raised its head between his legs, proudly hard once more; Mihawk sighed.

“Mihawk… I don’t think you realise the danger you’re in.”

“I know what I’m doing, Shanks.”

Shanks grunted. “Forgive me, but I don’t think you do. The book says that if not stopped in time, the pain could kill you, and there have also been victims who, unable to satisfy their appetites -who the hell wrote this stuff?- ended up losing their mind. Is this what you want? To go insane because you didn’t tell (name) you’re in love with her? After all this is also why you accepted her invitation, did you not? You already planned on doing that.”

He did, which made his friend’s words even more reasonable; Mihawk didn’t answer, too focused on the agony he was going through, and for once unable to.

“Of course, it doesn’t necessarily have to be (name) who helps you… scratch your itch; this is not a true-love-kiss situation. I don’t know if there is a brothel on the island, but…”

“I am not asking (name) to procure me a prostitute!” Mihawk exclaimed. He actually screamed, the words echoing in the room, and the swordsman bit his tongue; this was just what he needed, to make the whole fortress aware of his plight “I would never be able to look at her in the face again, let alone tell her how much I want her.”

It was true, and at the same time not the whole truth, since there was another reason, one Mihawk didn’t dare confess, not even to a loyal friend. Shanks was right, love and even just acquaintance were not necessary to find the relief he craved so much; strictly speaking all he needed was a hole to fill, and (name) was probably pragmatic enough to understand he didn’t mean to disrespect her home bringing a prostitute in it, if he explained the situation to her. 

Still.

It has to be her. Even if it is only meaningless sex, even if it costs me my life. I want no one else; I will have no one else. Only her, because she is the only one I could ever love.

He didn’t say it, but Shanks seemed to perceive his reasoning all the same, because Mihawk heard him sigh; he imagined his friend was sitting on the floor in the corridor out of his cabin, the book in his lap, since it wouldn’t have been easy for a one-armed man to hold both that and the Den Den Mushi. 

“Listen, I’m not saying I would act differently if I were in your shoes.” the red-haired pirate murmured in the end “I’m just saying that (name) wouldn’t want you to die, or worse, for a matter of honour; and I don’t want it either, if you’re interested. If this woman actually cares for you, and if you explain exactly what happened to her, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Mihawk promised he would remember. “Thank you, Shanks. I’m sorry I brought you into it.”

“Don’t mention it. Call if there is something I can do to help.”

They said good-bye. Mihawk deposed the Den Den Mushi on the bedside table and let himself fall back on the bed, exhausted like no training session had left him in years.

Now he knew what actually awaited him, and he had to admit the consequences of letting his urges get the better of him were even worse than he had imagined; to die before his time was something the swordsman had always known was a possibility, even at least a decade after the last time an opponent had seriously troubled him, but losing his mind was almost too horrible a destiny to consider. A quick, clean death was far preferable, even if he had to give it himself.

A sudden wave of nausea overtook him; a hand pressed to his mouth, Mihawk was able to crawl out of the bed once more and reach the porcelain basin in a corner of the room, full of the still clean water he had used that morning to wash his face. The stomach cramps as he retched were almost unbearable; the swordsman fell to the ground, feeling every ounce of his body beg for mercy.

For the first time, as he waited for his legs to feel steady enough to carry him, Mihawk seriously considered telling (name) the exact nature of his plight, and the only way he had to live to tell the tale; at the very least, he had to warn her of what her cousin might had wanted to do to her.

What would his friend think? Mihawk was confident that, faced with the prospect of having him die under her roof if no one alleviated his suffering, (name) would do everything within her power to help… even though she might not want to do it herself, given the fact there was a house of pleasure on the island and she could easily find him a bedmade.

What if she felt she was taking advantage of him, given the fact Mihawk wasn’t in the condition of saying no, even though and specifically because his life was on the line? What if he couldn’t convince her of how desperately in love with her he already was, and had been for months, and that he wouldn’t want any other woman?

What if she simply wasn’t interested in him, and would therefore rather find him another partner, or worse, what if she would only do it out of an obligation, because she didn’t want him to die, without any emotional involvement? Mihawk wasn’t sure he could bear it. 

What could he do? For the first time since he had been old enough to decide for himself and had taken charge of his own life, Mihawk saw no clear, definite answer.And more importantly, what should he do?

[ravencincaide]

Title:  His loss

Synopsis: You didn’t expect that it would bother you so much,  Dazai’s love for women who were ‘not-You’. Your saving grace is that you aren't alone in this- you still have Chuuya there to cheer you up.

Pairing: Chuuya x fem! reader, mention of Chuuya x Dazai x Fem!reader 

Warning: Alcohol and excessive drinking, cursing, hint at intimacy and oral, mention of throuple/ polyamory, mention of cheating 

Enjoy

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You aren’t sure what your relationship is supposed to be, but you’re damned certain it’s not supposed to be like this. 

Back when you were single you were certain your love life would be of the morbid kind. Your lover would probably be someone with twisted preferences, who’d get off on pain and suffering. Someone who’d slap your ass more times than bring you flowers. However the one ‘twisted preference’ you weren’t prepared for was having your heart toyed with.  Were you together? Were you expected to be exclusive or were you on the opposite expected to gain experience that you’d then transfer to the bedroom? You weren’t certain- but you knew it was a discussion you’d need to have soon. 

“ I didn’t know you were in an open- relationship” your partner for the mission suddenly mused, finally breaking the silence that stretched on for hours between you two. He was staring into the window of a small nearby cafe a fair bit ahead of you. You were kind of surprised you could still make out his voice from this distance. Though it wasn’t the comment that annoyed you the most about him, but rather the way he dragged his feet on the mission and yet had time to windowshop the moment you two got back. 

Still, your icy one-liner died on your lips when you saw what he meant. The sight of Dazai so obviously flirting with the waitress. 

“ It’s nothing.” You replied in a flat voice, your eyes still glued to the sight of him; Dazai's puppy dog look as he stared at the waitress as if she hung the moon. The glimmer in his eyes as he saw something he wanted. A warm flush coloring his cheeks with excitement. He held the waitress's hand in between his own, stroking it in circles, his lips moving faster and faster. You could practically hear the purr of his voice- the longing promises you’ve heard hundreds of times. 

You wondered if he called her Belladonna too. 

“ Doesn’t look like nothing” Your subordinate practically purred in your ear, excited at the sight of you losing your emotionless composure. Even if it was for just a moment. The thought of you being gloomy, hurting and sad was exciting to him. 

 That sick bastard. 

“ Shut up. I made it clear it was nothing. Didn’t I?” You turned away from the sight of Dazai and the waitress and bore your eyes into your subordinate. The calm and professional look you always carried on missions was replaced by burning anger. If looks could kill, your subordinate would already combust into flames, twice.  “ Now get a move-on. We still have the report to do!”  

It took you three hours to wrap up the last of the mission, type up the report, order more ammunition and sign off on both yours and your mission-partners expenses. However before the ink on the page managed to dry you were out of the office and off home. 

When you got back, it was still early and neither of your partners were in sight. You took this as a chance to take a long burning hot shower, washing off the last of the dirt and grime of the mission. As the water poured over you, your thoughts drifted back to Dazai. Although he was normally the first one to be home, there was no trace of him in the house. Something told you he wouldn’t be coming back tonight. 

The thought made your stomach turn in an unpleasant fashion.

Turning off the water, you dried your hair before twisting it into a messy bun. You dressed into a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt which came down to your mid-thigh. Then you went into the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of bourbon on rocks in a whiskey glass. Downing the first one in one clunk you contemplated how many more you’d want, especially on an empty stomach. Deciding on ‘many’ you took out a bucket from the cupboard and filled it to the brim with ice. Normally Chuuya used it to keep his wine at perfect temperature whenever you were doing something together. Though you doubted Chuuya would care very much if you loaned it for a bit. Balancing the bucket in one hand, you carried your glass, the bottle of bourbon all the while balancing a bottle of coke between your fingers. You made it to the living room table just seconds away from dropping everything on the floor. But you made it. Rubbing your hands together to regain feeling, you moved to jump into the velvety couch right beside it, settling down lotus style.

Then you began drinking. 

You barely got through your first bourbon cola when you heard the key turn in the knob. You cursed to yourself wondering if you should head to the bedroom and continue there. Deciding that it would just make you look even more pitiful you poured yourself another glass, staring at the way the ice cubes danced at the surface of the drink. Your heart was in your throat, your pulse pounding loudly in your ears. Was Dazai actually coming home? Were you.. wrong?

“ You’re back already Y/N?” Chuuya called from the hallway as he kicked off his shoes. 

“ In here” you tried not to sound too disappointed. You heard him enter the room seconds after you called out to him. Coming up from behind, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“ Bourbon? Tough job?” 

You hummed a reply as you threw your head back, hitting his shoulder in the process, downing the glass in one move. This time there was more bourbon in it than cola. Your eyes teared up, your senses completely overwhelmed by the smoky sweet taste of your drink. You coughed a few times before shaking your head, deciding that next time you’d be more cautious when eyeballing proportions. Then you started making yourself said ‘another drink’. 

Chuuya watched you for a few moments before he moved to sit beside you. He shrugged his jacket off, leaving it on the edge of the couch before he poured himself a glass of wine. It was a Shiraz Cabernet which he got on the way home. Too cheap wine for his taste but he knew it was one of your favorites. He twirled the glass in his hand for a moment, enjoying its fragrant scent before tilting it towards you- a silent offer to abandon your drink of choice for something that's less likely to give you a hangover. 

Silently you raised your drink in response. Maybe after the next one. 

Chuuya took a sip of his wine. For a change he didn’t seem to care that it was a few degrees above perfect temperature. Pleasant silence lingered between the two of you, as you both tried to recover from your less-than-ideal week. Some days talking was just overrated. 

“ Have you seen Idiot- Dazai?” Chuuya finally asked as he finished his glass and poured himself another. 

“ Donno, I’m not his mother” You reply harsher than intended. 

Chuuya observed you for a long moment, trying to read your mind. He didn’t ask anything else, just watched you throw back glass after glass with no end in sight. As you ran out of cola, you made exaggerated suffering sighs, staring longingly at the empty glass. 

" A penny for your thoughts?" 

" I want another drink?" Chuuya actually laughed at you, shaking his head. Still he got up and headed to the kitchen, coming back a few minutes later with another bottle of cola, a proper glass for whiskey- or in your case bourbon, cola, wine glass and a platter of cheese, crackers and fruit. He settled it down on the table before he started making your drink. In the meantime you reached forward and stole a few grapes from the platter. Some you ate while others you held up to his lips, which he parted instantly, not forgetting to press a kiss to your fingertips as a thank you. 

“ Here try this” he handed you the bourbon cola before sitting down beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist. It still surprised you how knowledgeable he was about alcohol and how he managed to make a simple bourbon cola perfect. Just the right strengths so there was only a hint of alcohol in the cola, refreshed with a bit of lemon. It made you wonder what you did to deserve him and whether he was happy like this, in this so-called relationship of yours.

“ Chuuya, are you- we exclusive?” 

“ What do you think, doll?” He asked back his eyes staring intensely into your own. Reaching forward he rested his palm on your cheek, his fingers near the back of your head pulling you forward. He met your lips halfway. The kiss held passion, desire and care but before you could deepen it he pulled back and reached for the wine, taking another sip. You could see the flush on his cheeks, the way he used the wine as an excuse to keep himself in check. 

It amazed you how he knew what you needed even before you could understand it yourself. 

You moved to rest your head on his shoulder, leaning your weight onto him. Instantly his arm was around you, keeping you close to himself. Another kiss, this one on your forehead. Then he just held you, giving you time with your thoughts. It didn’t take long for you to break the peaceful silence; “ But don’t you wanna try things with someone else? More experienced or just a different body?” 

Chuuya snorted into his wine “ Sweetheart your mouth alone can keep me going all night- we’ll not say about the rest of you” his hold tightened around you, his thumb rubbing comforting circles on your shirt. 

You leaned away from him, towards the table pouring yourself another straight shot of bourbon in your old glass. You were using it as an excuse to hide the smile tugging on your lips and the burning of your cheeks. Taking a sip, you made a face as you realized all the ice in your glass had melted. Setting it back down, you reached over and dropped a few cubes of ice from the bucket into it before leaving it on the table to cool down faster. 

“ I’m not fucking anyone else either- so you know” you stated as you once again rested against his shoulder, under the warms of his arm. 

“ What’s with the questions? Did you see Dazai fuck another woman or something?” When you didn’t reply Chuuya bore his eyes into you “ What? Seriously?” 

“ Not fuck but-” you reached for the glass of still piss-warm bourbon and downed it in one go, giving Chuuya all the reply he needed. 

“ Fucking idiot, rack of bandages- stupid.” you heard Chuuya mutter under his breath. 

The colorful curse words just reminded you of Dazai’s look of adoration as he stared at the waitress in the cafe. Instead of making you angry however it just caused you hurt. It made you doubt yourself- if you understood him correctly and his intentions with this relationship. Was it always supposed to be this free-wishy washy- open-kinda thing between you three? Or did he change his mind after you three slept together? Did he have you and then decide he didn’t want you anymore? 

That thought hurt more than you’d like to admit. 

Noticing your somber look, Chuuya grabbed your arm and pulled you until you were saddling his lap. His arms dropped to your waist, holding you in place. His warm breath on your face smelled sweet and grapy from the wine. “ His loss.” Chuuya finally concluded against your lips “ That means I have you all to myself- and plenty of time to make you forget that idiot.”

Taking his face in your hands, you closed the remaining distance between you. You kissed him with all you had, silently praying that he’d make you stop thinking about your relationship and Dazai- if only for tonight. 

[akatsuki-shin]

- A Short #Ratiorine Threadfic -

Kakavasha has a strange dream.

The dream is a recurring one; he does not remember when it first begins but he knows when it will appear:

After he experiences an especially unpleasant situation in his life.

The earliest instance he could recall was the night after his mother passed away.

Still but a young child, he had quietly cried himself to sleep then when someone appeared in his dream.

He could not see that person's face, and neither did he know who it was. He only knew that the other person was also a child just like him.

And, without saying a word, that unknown child hugged him closely, tightly, as if trying to shield him the entire world.

From then on, the dream would always come to him every time he went through a particularly difficult experience.

On days he went to sleep on empty stomach.

On days he slept shivering from the cold.

On days they were attacked by the ruthless Katicans.

That dream also appeared the day he bet his life with the Katicans to retrieve their mother's necklace.

He might have made it sound easy when his sister asked, but Kakavasha could not lie to himself, how scared he was to think that it might be the day he finally died.

The child from that dream would always do the same thing.

They would hug him tightly, wordlessly, and stayed like that until it was time for Kakavasha to wake.

There was something that Kakavasha noticed after a while: the child in his dream appeared to grow up alongside him.

The older he gets, the older that child would be. The taller he grows, the taller that child would grow, as well.

But bewildered as he was, Kakavasha eventually stopped caring about that. Because being held in those arms that were as small as his was the only warmth he had ever known in his life, even if it was merely a dream.

And then the day came when he lost everything and everyone under that thunderstorm, soon bought away for a meager 60 red copper coins to be a slave to men.

From that day onwards, his dream lasts longer and longer.

It is as though the child in his dream, now a boy just like him, knows that his days have never been happy, so he stays with him longer than he has ever done before.

And he continues to grow up with Kakavasha throughout the years until they both become young men.

At one point, Kakavasha realizes that this man is now already half a head taller than him. His build is somewhat sturdier, too.

But perhaps that is a given, considering how Kakavasha grew up in the barren land of Sigonia and now an abused slave. Neither situations grant him many chances to consume good nutrition to support his growth.

However, he does not have any complain. Because he can sink deeper into that person's arms now, surrounding himself with the warmth he can only find in this dream.

"I wonder if I can ever meet him one day."

With this thought in mind, for the first time, Kakavasha tries to look at that person's face. But to his surprise, the man disappears from his sight and the dream ends in an instant.

From that day onwards, he has never seen that dream again.

Kakavasha has many regrets in his life but this is perhaps the one thing that he regrets the most.

He shouldn't have been too greedy. He should've been satisfied with what he has.

But he cannot undo what has happened. He can only keep on living, now without a haven for him to find comfort in his hardest days.

Time passed and Kakavasha, now an elite member of the prestigious IPC, is heading to his first meeting under his new name: Aventurine.

He was informed it would be attended by other elites of the organization, including the renowned members of the Intelligentsia Guild.

"Come and introduce yourself to everyone," Jade says.

So Aventurine steps into the meeting room, having mustered all his confidence to present himself the best that he can.

But when he lifts his face, his eyes accidentally meet someone else's in the room and his heart nearly stops.

Similarly, that person's eyes also dilated briefly when meeting his, even though they not say anything about it.

"What's the matter, Aventurine?" Sensing an unusual pause from him, Jade gives him a little nudge.

"…Lady, may ask who that gentleman is?" Aventurine whispers softly to her.

"Ah, him… He is Dr. Veritas Ratio, a scholar and teacher from the Intelligentsia Guild, a genius who currently has eight doctoral degrees under his name."

"I see…"

"What is it? Do you know him, Aventurine?"

To that question, Aventurine returns his gaze to the man named Veritas Ratio.

Their eyes meet once more, and even though the latter does not say a word, Aventurine knows that he knows who he is.

His lips curl up into a smile.

"Yes. I suppose I do."

- THE END -

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Titan Arum

It wasn’t Harry’s fault.

Their relationship had always been about competition, from the very start, from 11 years old when they’d despised each other. And some habits died harder than others. It hadn’t been intentional that their dating was a bit like a competition, it had sort of just happened.

Planning alternating date night activities, giving the most heartfelt gifts, being liked by the other’s friend group, even who could give who the most orgasms… It all just sort of happened.

And the same was true with the flowers. Harry had sent Draco a bouquet their first valentines together (3 weeks after they started dating) and periodically they’d send each other random bouquets since. That those arrangements happened to get bigger and more elaborate each time was no one’s fault. The competitive spirit kept their relationship interesting and very focused on the other’s happiness.

It wasn’t Harry’s fault.

Maybe their competitive natures were to blame.

Maybe it was Draco’s fault for sending that ostentatiously loud bouquet to Harry’s classroom when he had the fourth years.

Or maybe it was Hermione’s fault for informing Harry that the largest flower on earth was the Amorphophallus titanum when he’d been idly wondering aloud about where he could find a really big, impressive flower.

Maybe it was that he trusted Hermione to tell him any extra information he might need to know. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the flower before he placed the order for delivery.

Or maybe it was the fact that the flower’s name had both the words amor and phallus in it. And frankly, Harry found the thought of sending Draco a flower that looked like a dick amusing.

But no matter the case; it wasn’t Harry’s fault.

At least, that was the line he’d be using when he arrived in Draco’s office after a furious patronus.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck?” Draco ground out.

Harry couldn’t even see him around the giant plant in the room; standing at least 8 feet tall and several feet wide, it took up almost all of the space in the room.

But as distracting as the sight of such a flower was, that wasn’t the thing that captured Harry’s attention. He’d never in his life smelled something as unpleasant as this flower. It smelled like dead, rotting animals, and Harry had to bury his nose in his sweater. “Err…” he started.

“Don’t you bloody well ‘err’ me, Harry James Potter,” Draco spit. “Why are you sending me a fucking corpse flower? What is wrong with you?”

“It’s the biggest flower in the world,” he said weakly. “And it’s called amorphallus, which seemed funny. Unlike the name corpse flower.”

“Amorphophallus,” Draco corrected. “And that still doesn’t explain why you would send something like this to someone you love.”

And there was just a little twinge of hurt to his voice, Harry could never stand that. He braved his way deeper into the office giving the plant as wide a berth as the small office allowed. “I’m sorry, darling. It wasn’t my fault.”

Draco raised an accusatory eyebrow at him.

“Hermione told me about it!” The eyebrow arched further. “And it was easy to order once I knew who to talk to.” He grinned at Draco, “and the name was pretty funny, you have to admit.”

“I have to do no such thing,” he replied with a haughty sniff.

“How would you feel if I said that you won the flower contest?”

Draco perked up at that “admitting defeat?”

“This is the most ghastly plant I’ve ever seen.”

“Venomous tentacula,” Draco offered with a grin.

“Still better than that,” he said, nodded to the flower.

“It’s a good thing I know you love me,” he said, leaning over to kiss Harry’s cheek.

He nudged him with his nose, “I do love you.”

“I know,” he repeated with a grin. Then, “dinner?”

Harry nodded, “what about the plant?”

Draco shooed him out, “I’ll deal with it later.”

————

Six weeks later, as luck would have it, when the flower opened in the green house, Harry happened to be there collecting some harvested mandrakes.

Draco also was there, and as Harry watched, he harvested several pollen pods from the titan arum.

He cleared his throat and Draco whipped around, “does this mean I won after all?”

——————————

Thanks for the prompt, nonnie! Sorry it’s been an eternity in my inbox.

Read more of my fics here

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

John Price x Reader

Wounded, bloody, and just the two of you. A mission gone wrong leads to a long overdue moment between both you and your Captain, perhaps too late to count for anything. Not if either of you two can help it at least.

Part One of Two (Possibly Three Part short story).

EDIT* I went back and proofread this again and fixed errors. I didn't realize I posted this in such a crummy state before, I'm sorry!

TW//: Blood, Violence

Angst, Drama, Action, Romance, Near Death Experiences, Confessions, slightly Dark, some Fluffy Dialogue (not a ton though), Tension, slight Suspense, slight Slow Burn, For the girlies who like when their romantic moments feel a little teased and earned, Though this might still be boring garbage, plus the real stuff doesn't start 'til part two. The "developing feelings through almost dying in front of each other" trope, my favorite trope lowkey

This was not the smut piece I have been planning to write for Price (That's still coming), I wanted to practice writing him a little and this sprung on me after playing MW 2019. Figured I'd post it, though this is just to indulge my growing obsession with this man. Let me know if he's OOC, I want to write him well! Enjoy!

Part Two | Part Three

Price's voice suddenly shouts out from the living room, frantic and wired...

"Ambush! Get behind cover!"

...However, his warnings are drowned out by the whistling of an RPG heading straight for your location. It cuts through the evening sky, coming to you as a black dot zipping by at the blink of an eye.

The rocket breaks through the window of the house you and Price had been tasked to raid for intel, as the explosion goes off against one of the walls behind you. The sound which follows is unlike any you've ever heard the likes of before. A piercing, defeaning pop; the loudest and most unpleasant thing imaginable.

The sharp, crashing boom it erupts around you is hot like fire, singing your uniform and blasting you forward. It's the last thing you remember, before being greeted into a world of swirling blacks and oranges. In pain and completely immobile. Momentarily knocked unconscious.

You're not so sure how much time passes before you come to again. Only a handful of minutes or so. Though in that span, you've listened to the sounds of growing gunfire and shouting rise like a terrifying mob outside. Coming in and out in hot flashes.

Had your Captain's shouting not broken through this foggy barrier, you would have thought you'd have just died. You wouldn't be so lucky.

"Lieutenant!" you hear him call out. His voice grows more desperate the longer he hasn't heard from you. "I'm comin'!"

As the dust began to settle, you felt yourself coming back. You groan in pain, your entire body sore from the blast. Brick and stone rubble surround you like a straightjacket. You're pretty sure the entire roof of the house had fallen on top of you just now. Beneath it all, it was hard to tell for certain.

As you lie trapped, waiting to be rescued, you couldn't help but think about the mission. You and Price should have known this was some sort of setup.

Even Laswell had doubts this lead on Makarov wasn't just some trap to lure out their rivals and take them out, but with this recent dry spell on the investigation, your team couldn't afford to pass up the chance at some potentially valuable leads. It's why Laswell kept the team small, sending only you two on this one.

An easy enough operation: infiltrate the building, gather the intel, and get out. Nothing new. Only all you've found in this rinky-dink building on the outskirts of Urzikstan was a handful of AQ remnants and their new Russian PMC allies. And they knew you two were coming too.

The marked house was empty, both of any life and intel. And not even a second later were they all on top of your location, every inch of this town and the hills that surrounded it dug in with hostiles.

You'd have to ask Price later how it was he was able to push back that hoard alone, if you can make it out of this. There's no telling what they'd do to you both if they caught you in here, and that's if they even take you in alive.

You feel bits of rubble being shifted off your body, immense amounts of pressure releasing upon their departure. It's quickly replaced by the sharp bruising and pain it's left in its wake beneath your uniform.

"I'm right here," you hear Price's voice try to soothe you from up above, that gruff Liverpool accent of his clear enough even through the strain and stress. He hasn't let you down a day since you've known him. He wasn't about to make today his first.

Another large bit of rubble gets removed, taking the darkness away and flooding light down from above.

You could have sworn you were looking at an angel when you finally made out the silhouette of the man rescuing you. Your Captain. John Price.

"I've got you," Price assures you, his words felt wracked with adrenaline, hands moving near on impulse.

His hat was gone, short brown hair in a light tussle, and dust and light soot coating the black of his uniform and scruff of his beard. It almost worried you not to see him in it; he never parts from that thing. Perhaps during the blast it had gotten caught in the crossfires and rendered unwearable.

For some reason, it only made the situation feel much more worse than you originally thought.

His blue eyes find yours beneath the rubble, and you watch all the dread he'd been juggling with subside into relief the second he hears you cough out all the dust and wall you'd inhaled, struggling to catch your breath. He sighs to himself with a smile.

He doesn't even hear the words when he says them. Price only says the first thing that came to mind the minute you've finally stopped coughing to see him again.

"Thank fuckin' Christ."

Once Price saw you weren't dead, he finished removing the rubble from off of you. It's the bit he removes from your right arm that finally pulls a pained cry out of you. It's so intense it's as though reality just now set back in for you.

Your entire right arm felt numb from the elbow down, your fingers no longer feeling attached to your body. Had you not held your breath and sucked up the courage to look (with your peripherals first), you would have thought you'd lost your arm in the explosion.

Though it didn't make it any less broken and fucked. Nor did it make it any easier to not become fearful of what this could mean for you.

The Captain immediately notices the condition of your arm once he's cleared the debris off you. Cursing under his breath, Price helps you to your feet, brushing as much dirt from you as he can.

"You broken?" he asks. "Apart from the arm?"

You feel for what weapons still remained attached to your body after the blast, finding just a slender knife and your holstered pistol. Only two clips though. Of course.

Your arm and entire backside ached something fierce, and your brain felt as though it had been rattled inside your head and then some. If you shut your eyes now, you feared fainting dead away, and the ringing in your ears has yet to subside.

But your current state would have to do. It's that or die here. You knew that, and Price knew that too.

"I'm still here, Captain."

Price smiles, his gaze softening for just the slightest second. Happy to see his training and advice being taken seriously.

It just now was beginning to dawn on him that you hadn't died in here with him either. Seeing you OK and still ready to fight felt fuel enough for the Captain to keep going.

"That you are," he says.

Price parts from you to take post back by the freshly made hole in the wall, readying his rifle. Most of the building had collapsed in on itself, with the exception of the back of the house still being mostly intact.

Outside you could see the mountain of bodies Price had no doubt created while you were buried. None made it too close to where your position was.

With the coast temporarily clear, the current objective at hand remained the same: Get to the Evac Zone stat and get the hell out of dodge.

"This building's gonna be surrounded by Russians and AQ in less than a minute if we don't bug out now," Price warns. "And there'll be more where that came from, so ready yourself for a fight."

"Price..."

The Captain looks back at you, hearing the sudden dread in your voice. It takes him having to have stepped away from you to finally see that something really was up.

Your eyes look down to his waist, where you see the blood beginning to pool at his hip, staining his clothing and growing larger by the minute. It's clear he'd used what he could to try and wrap it, though it hadn't been enough. The adrenaline must have taken his mind away from it.

It figures you weren't the only one who got wounded here.

You look back up at Price, worried. Quiet.

Price looks down at his wound, placing a hand against it and seeing the warm, wet liquid coat his tattered glove. Whether it be a front or really only a flesh wound, Price doesn't dare break composure in front of you. You both would need him clearheaded.

"It's nothin' fatal," he simply tells you.

You knew Price wouldn't make a big deal about his injury, even if it were serious, which you honestly could not tell from where you were standing. You also knew Price wouldn't want you to worry about it either. He never liked when you worried for him; that's his job.

The time dwindled all the same; you can worry about it when you both get home.

You look to Price with contentment. You wouldn't be another reason for his worries if you could help it. "It'll make a good story for the boys later."

Price smiles back at you. "You'll tell it better than me, I'm sure."

The growing sound of men shouting and vehicles rushing to flank your position makes your blood run cold. If you didn't leave soon, neither of you would make it out of this to tell your stories.

You try and get that adrenaline you felt before to spike back up, knowing this was a matter of life and death now. Though your body betrayed you.

Your heart won't stop racing, no matter how much you try and calm yourself. Your hands keep shaking, and you can't help but keep checking the recently blasted hole behind you and your Captain. Soon to be flooded with enemies. Afraid.

Price must have noticed your worrying, because he steps away from his position and does something completely outside of himself suddenly. Though as he did so, it couldn't have felt more natural of a thing to do. Like a gesture he's spent his whole life waiting to give you.

He rests his hand gently on your cheek, bringing your eyes forward so you could see nothing beyond his own gaze. This close, even as night falls over the town and darkness shrouds the remains of this little house, this felt the clearest you've ever looked upon your Captain.

There's a glint of determination in his eyes, all the years of experiences that have worn and torn him the older he has gotten, defining the finer parts of his features. His expression always softened at the sight of you, an act you alone pulled from him for the first time truly, now.

Price was here with you. At that moment, it was the only thing that mattered.

"Hey," his thumb caresses your cheek, his jaw clenching to keep from wincing at the pain in his abdomen. "We're alive. Let's keep it that way, yeah? I'm not leavin' here without you."

His jaw tenses once more and you think for a second he might say something else. But he holds his tongue, wanting the most for you to keep calm beside him.

You can feel it in the air around him; the captain's as bugged out as you are right now. He was just doing everything he could to keep being a leader and bottle it up, channeling those fears and turning them into fuel to keep going. His words may be more for himself, than you, but they're true enough.

You lift your good hand up and let it rest over his, feeling his hand stiffen at first, but then find its home against your palm. You didn't want to have to let go, but you knew you must eventually. So you nod. "Damn right, you're not."

Price chuckles, happy to see you on the same page. "Fuckin' A, love," he quickly quips. "Now let's move."

The rocky hills stretched further out ahead of you. At some point their edges seem to blend with the black of the sky, all the stars gone away someplace. Luck would see a full moon above your heads, providing the only bit of light on this makeshift route to the Evac Zone.

You have Price's arm over your left shoulder now, having to help him the rest of the way since you've escaped the base. No amount of tough guy act the Captain put on could prevent the amount of blood he'd been losing. Had he not started tumbling over mid-shootout suddenly, you wouldn't have even known. And you wanted to kill him yourself once you did too.

It's nothin' fatal, he had said. The lie of the fucking century, right?

By now his dark blood has practically stained the entire lower right side of his body, making his skin pale and his eyelids heavy. His movements slowed, his reflexes taking a severe hit because of it, and he was beginning to breathe heavier. You've gone through all your supplies trying to stop his bleeding before leaving the house. Nothing worked.

It had been infuriating, just as it'd been scary to realize that your Captain really did need a medic right now. If he didn't see a doctor soon, he might just bleed to death before you've made it out of here.

Of course, having to help him now meant you couldn't shoot at all, given the state of your other arm. Price helped with what he could, but even a man of his talents couldn't prevent shaky shots from increasing blood loss.

"Nikolai's not far out now," Price grunted out, doing his best to put one more clip into his pistol. The last one. "Should be a few more clicks along this trail."

"He couldn't fly a little closer," you huff out, readjusting your hold on the Captain. He wasn't a light man, and while he did everything in his power to make this easier for you, his weakening state only grew harder to carry.

"You holdin' up alright?" Price asks. You feel him once again, ready himself to try and pull away and stand on his own feet. Having to rely on you was eating away at him, you could tell.

"I'm fine," you tell him, though that's not all the way true. Your vision had started to blur, and your lungs felt on fire. Now that some time has passed, all your once numb injuries were suddenly starting to scream at you for relief. Had you not been concentrating on your steps in front of you, or the thumping of your heart inside your ringing ears, you would have fainted already.

But you were all Price had right now; there was no way you'd fail him when he needed you most. "I'm more worried about you, Captain."

"Still got my wits about me..." he says. "Maybe a little lighter now, given I've been leakin' like a faucet."

"I'd beg to differ."

"Eh, you can use the exercise, lieutenant."

"Or you can lose the weight, Captain."

You both chuckle, and for a second, it felt easier to pretend you both were somewhere else right now. Spending all the time together you only wish you had before.

The levity was needed. It kept you both sane and human, and right now, Price was kicking himself in the ass for not appreciating these moments with you sooner.

The team really lucked out when they recruited you, he saw that now. You've always made sure you were someone Price could trust. That you were someone he could depend on you. You kept a cool head and you did what you must, while staying both good-natured and sweet, despite everything.

And when everything was said and done, you came back to him, keeping a smile as neutral as his own could manage. Your eyes bright like stars with him in your sights. His would often do the same.

All the times you've been at his side before tonight, keeping his head on straight when he needed it most, and always reminding him of life outside of all of this, they've only increased over the years. In every moment it always felt as though you two only teetered at the next level of your fondness for one another. Both wanting to push further, but not wanting to push the other too quickly either.

Your roles on the team always came first; they seemed to be the most important thing at the time.

Every lingering touch, a longing gaze brought by excitement and recognition, a check-in during work, or a brief moment of conversation... that's where your relationship has stayed for years now. You both felt OK with that. You thought so at first.

However, Price knew one thing. He couldn't lose you tonight. He wouldn't. Not on his account. Not when there's so much more that can still be. John's lived long enough to know that when something feels this right, there is no time to waste, lest he lose that chance forever like he has with so many others before.

You feel Price grow slack against your side now, his blood starting to soak through your uniform. It took everything in you not to panic.

"I won't let you fall," you assure him now, adjusting him against you. "Just keep holding on."

The smell of blood is so strong, you'll never forget its scent long after you've left this place. Nor would you forget seeing your Captain this way. Hurt and broken. You know he's no stranger to it, but alas, John is still human.

"...I'm taking you out for dinner after this," Price up and says suddenly. He figures he should just throw that out there, in case he didn't get another chance to. "My treat."

You nearly trip when you hear him, as if you're heart needed any more of a reason to fluctuate. You lost count of how long you've waited to hear him say that, having spent so many nights daydreaming about a time he'd come up to you and actually asked you out. It felt like everything you imagined it would; if only it had been under better circumstances.

"Is that a promise, Captain?"

"You know I wouldn't bluff about that, love."

"Well, then you better keep it then, John."

"As you wish."

He could hardly understand how it was you were still able to push through all that growing pain in your body after taking such a blast. He couldn't be more proud of it either.

The town illuminated like a glowing city behind you, AQ and Russians creating an uproar there, regardless of your presence. It was no longer your problem, however. The approaching convoy heading your direction was.

You weren't out of the fire just yet.

You look around yourselves, only having a few large rocks and boulders to hide behind in your immediate vicinity. Little word is needed to be shared between you two before the plan was nonverbally green-lit.

You both take cover behind a large rock facing the hills, Price resting down against the rock as you took out your pistol. It was time to see if your shooting with your left hand has improved any more than it did a few minutes ago during your escape.

You peak over the stone, seeing four AQ soldiers step out with rifles and flashlights, already hot on your pursuit. Tracking the trail of blood you'd left behind. Price peaks around the other side of the rock, raising his pistol.

"You take the two on the right," he whispers. "I got left."

You nod, and then take position. Price takes the first shot, dropping both his targets with swift precision. Even wounded, the man always had a way with pistols. Forever the dead-eye shot.

You drop one AQ soldier, happy to see your aim improve. However, your heart sinks when you go to shoot the other soldier and you hear the click of your pistol suddenly. Out of ammo.

The AQ soldier fires at you, the bullet just grazing by your cheek, before another hits you straight at the center of your chest, rattling your sternum and knocking you off your feet. Without your bulletproof vest, that bullet would have torn straight through you. Though you might as well have died, with the pain it sent through you instead. Knocking the wind out of you.

Before you know it, Price has reached over and started pulling you back behind the boulder. "Hold on!" he says. "You're not dead yet."

Price goes to try and get to his knees and peek over the boulder, however, now that he's sat back behind the rock again with you, it's become an impossible task to even wiggle his feet at this point. Like his legs were losing feeling. The blood loss really was starting to catch up to him now, it seems.

So instead, Price did the next best thing, simply waiting for the AQ soldier to round the corner, which he stupidly does. The minute the enemy's head peaks over, Price shot twice for good measure, watching the man drop to the ground with a heavy thud.

"I think we're clear," he says. "Still breathing?"

"Yeah," you gasp out.

A lot of times, you're not sure if you'd make it through a lot of these missions if Price wasn't here. The true backbone of the 141. The man always just seemed to be prepared for anything, even with the odds stacked against him. Often feeling like some other worldly being on the field, unable to be truly harmed by the threats he faced.

Until now, you couldn't even picture him so hurt.

When Price went on a mission, you could trust he'd get it done, if no one else. And you could always trust he'd make it back too. One way or another. Of course, he wasn't always lucky, as rare as those days actually came. Luck seemed to only be a recent thing for him in fact, and of short supply tonight.

You push yourself up, rubbing your hand over your chest in an attempt to soothe the throbbing. You're unsure what bad juju you yourself had crossed, or why lady luck seemed on your side even despite it all, but maybe fate wanted you to make it out of here.

One of you at least.

You look over at Price and see him barely able to keep consciousness now, cold sweat forming at the sides of his face, and a puddle of blood building around his legs. His breathing broken. Dying.

Seeing him now, pale, bloodied, and relying on a rock behind him to keep himself upright... for the first time ever you felt fear for your Captain.

"No, no, no," you rush over to Price, taking hold of his face and bringing his eyes to you. Seeing them so close again wakes him somewhat. "Stay with me, Captain."

"I'm still here..." Price answers weakly. Even still, he tries to keep up an act in front of you, like he truly was fine. It only made you more afraid to lose him now. Out in some rocky hilltop in the middle of nowhere because of bad intel. You couldn't lose him like this.

You look over the boulder, seeing the convoy those AQ soldiers showed up in still running a few feet ahead of you. Just what you needed.

"Can you stand?" You ask.

"...I'll need help," he said.

"OK, OK..." You take a deep breath, plotting everything out in your head before taking Price's hand in yours. "There's a convoy over there we can take to the Evac Zone. It'll be faster than going on foot."

You start trying to pull Price up, feeling the man use all the strength he can muster to try and push off the ground and back to his feet. Having one hand to help him didn't make matters easier, however. He made it halfway before falling back against the cold stone with a sharp grunt and some swearing.

Rather than comment, you take Price's hand again, feeling your face turn red with trying to lift him. He gets his knees bent to stand this time, but whenever any weight was applied afterward, an aggressive pain would awkwardly shoot through his body, taking all the momentum from him and causing him to sink back down. And with how heavy he was, you couldn't stop him once he it happened.

Price falls back against the rock again, as frustrated as you are about it all. He can't even bring himself to look you in your eye he's so mad, ashamed of the situation. It's not like him to be the one holding things back. He shouldn't have gotten wounded like this in the first place, he felt.

"...If you go and get help, I can manage here 'til then," Price starts to say. Feeling like a burden, he no longer wished to hold you down. But you wouldn't hear it.

"Fuck that," you protest. "I didn't carry you all the way over here to leave you so you can bleed out."

"...You didn't do it to die here either." He grabs at his side, gritting his teeth along to that burning pain he felt, as the taste of iron tinted the back of his throat now. "Look, this ain't how I plan on goin' out, trust me. Plus we've still got that dinner, yeah?"

Price smiles at you after he says it, and it takes everything in you not to cry. An unspoken reality lingered in the air soon after, because you both knew what it'd mean if you couldn't pick him up from this spot. You'd give anything to not make that so.

You hear more vehicles heading your way from the town. A good handful of them now. Too many. All armed and ready to take out the two 141 soldiers responsible for killing their friends. You knew if you left Price here now, you wouldn't see him again.

"Fuck..." Out of breath and defeated, sorrow starts to settle in and you swallow it down, letting the feelings stir into frustration. "Why'd we wait so long, John?"

Price felt at a loss for words. "I don't know..." he admits. He couldn't quite give you an answer for that; it had always just been... something. He could at least look you in your eyes when he spoke to you now. "But... I'm sorry for that," he says. "Probably should have said somethin' sooner, huh."

You have to bite your cheek to keep from letting his words fill you with so much sorrow and regret. "You and me both."

Fearful that these may actually be your final moments with your Captain, now you wish he hadn't said anything at all, not knowing you'd be losing him so soon after. Leave it to Price to twist the knife in a wound you didn't even know had now grown.

However, Price did not share your begrudging feelings about how things turned out. He'd just been happy finally getting that off his chest. Now, if you could just get to safety then if he did die tonight he'd be satisfied enough with things.

"Better late than never, right?" Price chuckles through the pain. And then he grows quiet. "You know I've always had a pension for dramatic timing."

The vehicles in the distance getting closer now. There was no more time for further talking.

"Forever the attention seeker, Captain," you comment.

"Yours is all I ever needed."

You look back to the town a final time, seeing the convoys getting closer. You take a deep breath, and then you reapproach your Captain, taking his hand. You prepare yourself to try and lift Price back up to his feet again. "Well, you've got it."

"Now hold on-"

"No," you didn't want to hear any more of his excuses to be left behind. If helping him means you both die here, then that was something you were willing to risk. "I'm not leaving you here, so give it up already."

With one final pull, you use all the strength you have left in you to lift your Captain up to his feet. He uses your momentum to push himself up from the boulder, actually managing to stand, though it feels as though his guts are about to spill out of him when he does.

As he's teetering over, you quickly grab hold of his arm, restabilizing him, and trying not to jump too much for joy that you actually got him up this time.

You take his arm and wrap it back around your shoulder, as you guided him over to the convoy.

"We're damn near home free, Captain," you say. "Just hold on a little longer. You'll make it. You're the toughest man I know."

He is the toughest man you knew. A man ready to jump into the fire to save others in need. A man that can shrug off a helicopter crash, take a beating and still keep from succumbing. You knew he'd never go down without a fight, and it's why you felt so safe beside him. It's why you wouldn't leave him.

You open the passenger door and help Price inside.

"...You really want that dinner, don't you?" he teases you.

"Is that even a question?" You check to make sure the vehicle can still run, feeling for any tracking devices that might overcomplicate your escape. Once you see you're good to go, you buckle your seat belt and take the wheel. "Yeah, I want that dinner. Now stop bleeding and sit tight."

"Yes, ma'am."

Next stop, the Evac Zone.

Part Two

[sanddef]

Interlude | May as Rebirth

1100 words

It was almost May in Camelot, the weather was warming and the ebbs of wind were just beginning to cease. Flowers were blooming by the creek, water lilies, and daffodillies, and Mordred sucked a drop of blood from his finger. He placed the roses he picked onto a nearby grave, and kept walking. It was bizarre, mourning those he knew would hate that attention. Mordred could almost see Gaheris’ grimace, Gareth’s wet eyes, Agravaine’s empty stare.

‘They said your name a million times at the wake.’ Mordred told him, ‘Isn’t that what you always wanted? To be celebrated? You should have seen how the king held you. You’d think you were his very own son.’

Of course, Agravain didn’t respond. He didn’t snark, didn’t even humor him. He never will again.

‘Well fuck you too.’

It was almost May in Camelot, and the staff usually would be making preparations in a few weeks. Between May Day and birthdays to celebrate (though never Mordred’s, admitting the date of his birth only ever got him sympathetic looks and hard-to-answer questions) it seemed May was one big celebration. Of course, to any common knight, any of these supposed holidays were just pretense. Who gave a shit about Gawain’s birthday other than people trying to curry favor? By the end, knights could hardly tell you the day of the week if they were even sober enough to speak. The staff would be exhausted.

Mordred stopped walking, shook his head, and continued. He quickly steered his thoughts away from Gareth. Gareth, who always got him something for his birthday, despite Mordred’s wishes. He was utterly gone by May 31st last year, somewhere between the busyness and the merriment he had forgotten, or just forgone, moderation. Mordred had simply put him to bed, leaving quickly and letting his gentlest brother forget that he had borne witness to his momentary degeneration.

‘I knew no one could be perfect.’ He told no one at all. ‘You’ve always told me that.’

It was always about Gawain, but still.

Almost May in Camelot and where were all the people? The hall seemed empty, only a few straggling knights and servants. Lucan didn’t meet his eyes when Mordred waved him over, his face neutral and steady, he poured him a cup of wine. Mordred considered dropping the chalice, let him not react then, as wine spilled across the floor and over them both, let him wash out some red stains of his own. At least he still had his brother with him.

Gawain would be coming back soon.

‘God dammit.’

Mordred took another long drink.

He didn't remember Lot's death, being much too young at the time, but his brothers spoke about him like he hung the moon and stars.

“Don't be like that, Mordred.” Gaheris had told him one night, his gaze tracing the scar on Mordred's forehead, “He went to war for you.”

Mordred was harsh, he knew he was harsh, and he didn’t need everyone telling him all the time. In his opinion, he couldn’t be the worst of his brothers, how could he? Yes, their deeds far surpassed his own, but so did many of the ones they swept under the rug, overlooked, or wore as a public confessional if they were clever enough. Besides, Gaheris had funny ideas about a parent's love. Mordred had to discount his opinion long ago. Mother's death was regrettable, but Mordred followed everyone's example and moved forward swiftly. Why waste time thinking about something so unpleasant?

“Why waste time indeed,” Mordred muttered, leaning back on his throne.

“Ah, my lord?” Sir Brunor was looking uncharacteristically nervous, “Mordred?”

“I didn't hear you enter.”

I didn't invite you in.

“I just want to offer my condolences.” Brunor sat beside him, again uninvited, “I know it's hard. Losing Sir Galahad and then your brothers and the king.”

Mordred grunted, gesturing for Lucan to refill his cup. Why even bring up Galahad? It felt like eons since he had last seen that poor doomed youth. He had died, apparently wondrously and prettily. Holy. They used much nicer words for it than ‘easily.’ Mordred had imagined it dozens of times, his final breath of earthly oxygen as his hands grasped for what he had chosen above all else. All that effort in blocking Galahad out of his mind, and Brunor had to remind him.

“My father is dead. My brother too.” Brunor took Mordred's hand in his, “I know how it feels.”

“These things happen.”

“Doesn't mean we can't avenge them.” There was that cold fire in his eyes that got Mordred's attention when Brunor had first arrived at Camelot, “You know that. It was murder.”

“Yes. Yes, if I learn anything you'll be the first to know.” Mordred tilted his head upwards, examining the higher stonework of the walls, stone put in place only decades ago yet never touched by human hands. He was starting to feel dizzy when he moved too fast. “For now I need your service, Brunor. We’re at war.”

And where would Mordred be without his supporters? If there was one thing he was glad to have learned at this farce of a court, it was how to perform.

“Yes of course.” Brunor straightened, “There’s a fleet coming from the south. Just say the word.”

“From France?”

“We think so.”

“You know so. We can’t afford to allow enemies any closer.” He especially can’t afford for it to be Arthur. Mordred was confident that even if he did return, there were enough people on the court on his side to end the battle early. He hadn’t done the exact math yet, but even a handful of kings had plenty of men at their disposal. Even so, it would be simpler if Arthur just didn’t come back.

“Shall I prepare an offensive?”

“A man after my own heart.” Mordred smiled, crooked two fingers, and beckoned him forward, “Come here, Brunor.”

He didn’t miss Brunor’s sigh of relief as he kneeled before the throne and accepted Mordred’s kiss gratefully. He really was such a good marshal, fearing him just enough. He was a good friend too, when Mordred still considered himself worthy of such privileges. At least the loyalty remained.

Keep him close in hand and he’ll never learn what happened to Dinadan.

‘I should really get married.’

Mordred knew just the person, but for now, Brunor was set to sail for battle tomorrow and Mordred might as well give him a few more hours of his time.

Hopefully, Gawain and Arthur were already dead. If they weren’t, Mordred prayed they’d die easily.

[larsisfrommars]

The Light Won't Die (Part 5)

Halsin x Tav

Rating: T for Teen (Mild Canon Typical Gore)

Chapter: 5/??? (<- Prev Chapter • Next Chapter ->)

Word Count: 1156

Genre: Adventure, Hurt/Comfort

Content: Halsin x Male!Tav, Fighter!Tav, nothing like exploiting wildshape to make sure your heart friend doesn't die, Halsin is bad at self-care, trapped in the thick of the Shadow Curse without their companions? Oh I'm sure they'll be fine!

"Tav's heart jumped into his throat for a moment that he could not see Halsin. Being beyond light’s reach for more than a moment in this place was a death sentence."

———————✨🌿✨———————

Death was warmer than expected.

Tav’s first thoughts of the afterlife swam into focus, it was cold all around, but him? He was pleasantly warm.

Death also felt like being held, strong, enveloping, cradled, if not safe. He was a bit beyond safety and danger now.

Ironic really, death forces you to let everything go and for others to let you go. He must’ve gotten in good with the gods he supposed. From what Gale had told him after a dangerously close call back at the Selune temple. The Fugue Plane isn’t exactly bucolic.

At least he’d died before ceremorphosis could shred his soul to smithereens. He could be grateful for that he supposed. Though he’d rather not have taken a dirt nap to be rid of it.

Death… also included a splitting headache? Not to mention an unpleasant wriggling sensation in the back of his false eye, it seemed.

Not dead after all then.

He winced, opening his eyes blearily. A face swam into view; hazel-grey eyes brimming with worry, disheveled russet hair almost completely undone, face splattered with dark bruises and blood. The afterglow of a potent healing spell dissipating into around him.

“Halsin?” Tav croaked, he could feel his skin knit back together. Something in the back of his head closed, leaving only the cool, sticky dampness of his own blood in his hair behind.

“Heh, welcome back.” the Druid helped him sit upright at the rocky bottom of the high cliffside from which they’d tumbled.

Tav groaned, clutching his head, trying to focus, vision swimming. The sooner he could stave off the throbbing in his head the sooner they’d be able to move.

“Any idea where we are?” Tav asked with some effort.

“Difficult to say,” Halsin replied “somewhere outside Reithwin I believe, but The Curse has twisted the land beyond even my recognition.”

“Well, I suppose the best way to head would be up, can you wildshape?” If Halsin could shift into a bird then he would be able to see how the others were doing.

“I’m afraid not.” Halsin winced, relying heavily on his staff to get to his feet.

Now that Tav’s head was clearing it wasn’t lost on him that between the two of them Halsin was now the worse for wear. Remarkable really, considering how close to death’s door Tav had been moments ago. It must have been some powerful magic, and the last of it too, Tav observed guiltily.

The Druid was mottled with bruises, a shallow gash on his right side. He had the air of exhaustion only a caster who had expended all of their power could seem to achieve.

Tav would’ve preferred it if he had stayed behind rather than lunge to his rescue. They could maybe have afforded to lose him or even Halsin, but not both. He prayed that Karlach or Wyll were able to pull the rest of the group together and survive in their absence.

If they were even alive.

Tav shook the thought away. The sooner they reunited with the rest of the party the better, no time for rest, as much as Tav would like to give it to him.

“Then we take the long way, and hope we don’t run into anything too ugly. Neither of us can afford another fight right now.”

“No, we cannot.” Halsin breathed wearily.

It was an uphill slog toward the terrace from which they had fallen, a curling winding path. Easy to trip thanks to the jagged broken stone paths and Curse cracked earth. It was hard on Tav’s mostly healed fighter’s physique. He knew it was probably even harder for his traveling companion. No matter how wilderness accustomed.

“You alright?” Tav lent the elf a helping hand in up the last steep step toward a much shallower incline.

“Yes, I will be.” Halsin grunted, grimacing at the pain in his side before putting on a brave face once more.

Exertion writ across his face, he stifled a groan as he clutched at his side, hoping the wound had not reopened, they’d been lucky so far. His first steps on level ground stuttering somewhat as they trudged on.

Maybe they should make time to stop, at least for Halsin to tend to his own wounds if not to recover from that steep climb.

“Halsin-“

“Shh!” Halsin urged, looking past Tav toward a rotting building just behind them.

Tav turned quietly, hand on hilt, he could see just barely tucked into the alcoves of its attic. Gnarly little green-grey skinned beasts, mottled with scabs and blotches. Like goblins but, sick, more pointed and gangly.

“Meazles” Halsin whispered “Altered by the Shadow Curse, not undead. We must move quietly, your mace will have no advantage.”

“Understood.”

They crouched behind a low stone barrier Tav cursing the metallic nature of his armor. Which drowned out the involuntary hiss that escaped the Druid as they hid.

One of the Meazels reared its ugly head beyond the frame of the house for a moment at the initial ruckus. Carefully, with painful slowness, Tav inched past the ruin, any stumble, any clattering of plate mail, would doom them both.

Once they were finally out of earshot Tav stood up again, much to the gratefulness of his joints.

“I think we snuck past them, Halsin?” Tav’s head swerved around.

His heart jumped into his throat for a moment that he could not see him. Being beyond light’s reach for more than a minute of n this place was a death sentence.

With overwhelming relief Tav saw Halsin stumbling haggardly towards him not even a moment later, clearly having just got to his feet. The Curse and the tense encounter with the Meazels must be making him extra jumpy, Tav was on the verge of laughing out of nervous relief.

It died in throat as his heart sank from there to the pit of his stomach. The mighty elf did not look well, not at all.

“Halsin, are you sure you’re alright?” Tav rushed to his side. He had never seen the Druid in such a sorry state. He prayed that he would never have to again.

Halsin was pale, shaking, both hands in a white knuckled grip around his staff, teeth grit. His breathing had grown harsh and ragged, his eyes squeezed shut. Focused entirely on staying upright.

Tav had very little medical or magical knowledge but he found himself looking the elf over, seeking out something, anything, a deeper injury, a magical effect. Gods why had he been so pigheaded, they should have just stayed where they were!

“I- I’m afraid not.” Halsin spoke raggedly, suddenly he cried out, clutching his side again.

When Halsin gingerly removed his hand from his abdomen, it was covered in a black, teal streaked ichorous substance mixed with his own blood.

Tav had seen worse injuries, but none so ominous. His breath caught in his throat.

Gods… that could not be good.

[regretsofaghost]

Day 9- My love for you is true, I swear it is, it just will kill you in the end

AO3 link to chapter 9- Here Tumblr link to chapter 8- here Tumblr link to chapter 10- here Word count- 500 words

As the years went on, Edwin had found it increasingly difficult to remember his life before his death.

Seventy-three years of Hell would do that.

Thirty-five years of bliss would do that.

Edwin remembered being silent, being told not to make those annoying noises with his mouth, to keep his hands still. Children should be seen and not heard, silent hands.

Do not embarrass me, Edwin!

The other children did not like him much, had stayed away from him, had not explained why what he said was strange.

It was nice, that now that he had Charles to explain things to him, his questions were not ridiculed, not ignored, that he was not expected just to understand things.

Charles looked down at his hands, and Edwin separated his fists where they had been grinding against each other.

A moment later, Charles’ hand was in his, squeezing it.

There was a crescent shaped bruise on his hand.

It was not large, not really, about three centimeters long, less than a centimeter wide.

It was an ugly blue colour, with edges that faded into the paleness of his skin.

It was unusual, for ghosts did not bruise, not often.

Edwin wondered if he bit his hand in life, as he had in Hell, he could remember the taste of iron as he bit harshly down, stifling noises of pain when the Monster approached too close, too suddenly, when he prayed to God that it had not heard him.

He had not survived long enough for his hand to bruise, had often died before the blood vessels beneath his skin showed how he burst them.

It was odd, to be marked outside of Hell.

Edwin pulled his gloves on before he placed a hand on the mirror, ready to return to the hospital where Crystal was due to be discharged.

Charles had stayed there most of the past three days, though he had returned to the office often enough to help with the paperwork. Every time Edwin looked up, he swore Charles was looking at him with his wide, concerned, brown eyes.

Edwin prayed that it was just his usual worry.

Edwin was fine, he had not had any of the potion in the past three days, occupied with paperwork and worry for Crystal.

Not to mention how unpleasant the last experience was, the weightlessness, the numbness, no, it was for the best.

He had decided against telling Charles about the summer house with the piano, decided against offering to play him some of the music he had created.

It was for the best, Charles was occupied with Crystal, Edwin was occupied with the Night Nurse.

She had been checking in more often, ensuring both boys were not working on cases, that the paperwork was being filled and filed properly.

She had asked, stiltedly, how Edwin was doing.

Edwin had not known how to answer.

Edwin hated that he knew what it felt like for one’s bones to break beneath his hands.

[psychospore]

A Second Chance

This has been sitting in my WIP pile for a while but I've finally finished writing this!

I do hope you enjoy the sequel to In Another Life inspired by @just-someone11 comment

Ok listen i knew it would be angst. I pushed back reading this knowing it would be angst but still :((((((. wonderfully written and if you find the inspiration maybe you could write Loki meeting y/n in the new life? Idk maybe as tom and yn.....oh oh oh or after Loki dies, so more reuniting in the afterlife

If you like more, check out my Masterlist

Summary: An alternate life brings you and Loki together, along with it is the realization that whatever timeline you may be - you are both connected to each other

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, fluff, multiverse stuff,

You've always hated winter - maybe it's the numbing cold that you had to endure every time you have to go out or the fact that everything around you is devoid of color because of the accumulating snow.

This time around, you despised it because you had to walk home into the blizzard under heavy layers of clothing after covering an extra shift for your co-worker who caught the flu in this weather.

You buried your hands inside the fluffy pockets of your coat and hid your face under your scarf to shield you.

Loki and Thor ran through the snow-covered streets of New York chasing after the remaining HYDRA super soldier that stole a rune dagger made from the stinger of a creature from Jotunheim. The same creature in the stories guards the powerful orb. Both are directly connected to each other and have the ability to link the minds of the person's variants, accessing the past, present, and future of one's self in different multiverses. HYDRA was supposed to use the dagger to learn how to unlock this knowledge on Earth, as everything connected to it has been long lost in Asgard. The soldier was almost successful in getting away after fending off Thor and Loki by spreading nerve gas and creating chaos along the way.

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As you were lost in your thoughts, you noticed people around you starting to scramble and run away. You tried assessing the situation and noticed that a super soldier was headed in your direction. You made sure that the people were safe before stepping in and blocking the super soldier. He triggered an unpleasant piece of memory you tried to bury deep in your subconscious.

He ran straight at you, but you were able to use his momentum to throw him straight to the ground and drop an axe kick to his gut before punching him square in the face for good measure, knocking him senseless with a few broken bones.

Before starting your new life as an EMT in New York, you were secretly trained to become an assassin for years by your HYDRA captors after they discovered you were frozen in a lake in Antarctica. You exhibited great fighting skills, exceeding super soldiers even without using the serum, despite lacking any hint of memory prior to being captured. They tried experimenting on you way too many times to discover what you are or where you're from—the best they could come up with was that you were not from Earth.

You were staring down at the unconscious soldier beneath you when your scarf flew away. You scrambled to catch it, but someone got to it first. You looked at the person, and your heart pounded like a battering ram against your chest. You took the scarf and meekly said thanks, but your eyes were locked against each other.

For years, you were their best hit person, until one night you were tasked with dispatching the scientist who's been taking care of you since you arrived at the facility, as she was discovered to be a spy for SHIELD. In her dying breath, she urged you to discover who you truly were and not what HYDRA just wanted you to be. It made you run away to start a new life and be who you are now. Maybe in this new life, you could save lives instead of taking them away.

"Isn't that…" Thor whispered to Loki.

"Y/N?" Loki said as he looked at you intently, etching your very being in his mind.

"Oh no, I'm not y/n. You must have gotten the wrong person."

Nobody had ever called you y/n before but it felt like it always has when Loki says it. It felt like your name was y/n all this time, despite this being your first time hearing it. Was it even the first time?

You got lost in your thoughts when a familiar, searing heat ran through your back. Thor was quick to disarm the now-conscious soldier when he found out he used the rune dagger to stab you. Loki caught you in his arms before you started convulsing.

Memories of all of yourselves flashed before your eyes—what was, what is, and what will be all flashing before you, even your lost memory. You saw the timeline where both you and Loki died after you tried obtaining the orb by Odin's orders. You saw how you fought and defeated the creature in a different universe, with you dying before Loki could get to you and him dying in grief because of your death, encased in permafrost in Jotunheim.

There was also a brighter alternate reality where Loki was a famous actor going by the name of Tom, and there was you—a young scientist working at his grandfather's company. You caught his eye when he came there for a visit, and everything started when he invited you for a cup of coffee. You ended up marrying him and having a daughter together. It was perfect how you welcome him with a kiss every time he comes home from work and your daughter rushes to be carried in her father's arms.

You saw your own past in this universe before you arrived on Earth, Loki was about to confess his love for you when you arrived from one of your battles, and you were about to too, but Odin did not like that, so before you both could, he sent you away to obtain the orb in exchange for his blessing.

In this timeline, Loki thought you knew about his intention and you decided to run away, so he did not pursue you any further, but the reality was that, instead of facing the creature, Laufey found you first and fought against you. Your prowess and resilience made him admire you as a warrior. Instead of killing you, he ended up wiping all of your memory using the orb and banishing you to Midgard, where you were encased in permafrost, which HYDRA discovered.

It felt like forever processing everything all at once, but Loki held you tightly in his arms to protect you from hurting yourself as tears flooded your eyes. You passed out in his arms shortly after. One thing is for sure, in every timeline - you are connected to Loki by the red string of fate.

"What do you intend to do, brother, with the dagger and with her?" Thor asked, handing him the dagger and glancing at you.

Loki took the dagger and used his seidr to vanish it away. "We need to get to the bottom of this. But for now, I need to protect y/n, more than ever. I can't bear to lose her again, brother. We are bringing her to the tower for now; then we must head to Asgard." He spoke as he looked at you. He tucked in the stray hair covering your face behind your ears to take a closer look—you are indeed his y/n, the love of his life.

There are a million things running through his mind right now, but seeing you, he knew he had found a part of him that he tried to lock away when you were gone, a part that loved you and connected both of you against time, space, and all of the multiverse. He swore secretly to himself that he wouldn't lose you again—not in this timeline at least.

[bragganhyl]

Can you do kana for the character thing please? And Eder if you want 😘

I sure could, thank you :D

How I feel about this character: Sweet angel boy, too good for the world, I learned so much about different chanter builds just so I can keep him around along with my chanter Watcher lmao but also his arc hits harder with every replay

All the people I ship romantically with this character: As I recall, he only ever shows interest in Maneha and well she's obviously not interested. So... idk at most the Watcher, I bet a romance would have been very cute and very - for the lack of better word - romantic with him.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Hiravias, I'm probably repeating myself but I do very much like how Kana brings out his more scholarly side. Hell, I'm pretty sure Kana is one of the very few people if not the only one (aside from the Watcher potentially I mean) who sees and treats him as an intellectual. So yeah I like their nerd dynamic a lot.

But also Maia, ofc, just... give me all the Rua family interactions, it's fun, it's tense but the love between them is undeniable still.

My unpopular opinion about this character: I feel very ambivalent about his post-Crookspur cameo in Deafire, because on the one hand I'm always very happy about more Kana but why did he have to join the navy 😭😭😭 That's not what I meant when I told him that Rauatai should seek common cultural links with other nations, babyboy nooo 😭😭😭

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: This might be obvious but he should've been in Deadfire more. Tbh I think the faction companions could've worked better if we had 2/faction and we could see their different attitudes and maybe see them play off one another but that may be just me I definitely would have liked if I had both the Rua siblings on board and see their friction more. And ofc see how the last 5 years changed Kana - aside from him joining the navy I mean

I'm putting Edér under the cut bc it's getting long

How I feel about this character: Do you need to ask, Anon? I love himst, I love him so much it's not even funny at this point 😭

All the people I ship romantically with this character: The Watcher, like... a lot. His devotion for them is through the roof, the Watcher is in some ways the light of his life who pulls him out of the dark and apathetic mental space where the Saint's War and its aftermath placed him. Like how am I supposed to be normal about them? Especially if you throw in lines like "I wish [the gods] knew you like I did" or the personal +5 to deflection line seriously who's idea was that and why does it sound like that

also if you've been around this household then you might know that I also like the Team Gilded Vale throuple but like a) i'm not ready to submit that 5 page long essay rn and b) I kinda can't separate the dynamic from my Watcher in specific rn so yeah ask me about that some other time I'm very sorry my brain is a mush

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Tbh he's got good chemistry with like most of the companions in either games, but ngl I do like the idea of him befriending Grieving Mother a lot. They only interact once but even then Edér calls her a "nice, stranger lady" - despite GM's aura of unpleasantness - and GM seems really heartbroken over being unable to help him during his personal quest. And they both end up in Dyrford potentially, I'd like to think they end up bonding between games.

My unpopular opinion about this character: He's not a himbo, he's not dumb enough for that tho deadfire does dumb him down ngl and he can be very mean at times too so... yeah.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: Elafa should not have died. It does her dirty because obviously. It does Edér dirty because he ends his story still holding onto a version of Elafa that hasn't existed since the Saint's War. In some ways it even does Bearn dirty because the only way to establish a substantial link between him and Edér is to navigate the boat scenario in a very specific way that most players won't even think to aim for (you need to run out of convo options with Bearn while he's still undecided to push Edér to talk him down himself)

[judediangelo75]

Funny Feeling

*Looks around for a few seconds, sneaks in, drops this, and goes back into my little hidey hole*

MC Friend: David Willows ( @that-scouse-wizard )

Kendrick Lives!AU Installment

Word Count: 3.026

"Talbott, what are you doing?" The young wizard jumped at Andre's voice, immediately hiding the journal he was writing in behind his back. The Style Wizard raised a brow, noting the nervous look on Talbott's usual impeccable poker face.

"Andre, I didn't hear you come in," Talbott said, slowly inching closer to the entryway that led to the dorms. The loner Ravenclaw fought the urge to fidget under Andre's narrowed gaze.

"...whatcha got back there, Winger," Andre finally asked after a few beats of silence.

"Nothing, just some class notes," Talbott replied, though Andre could hear the slight tremor in his voice. Andre smirked.

"Class notes don't make you nervous, Winger. Let me see. It's only me..." Andre and Talbott stood in the middle of their common room, staring at each other in silence. Before they both broke into a run--Andre chasing after a red-faced Talbott.

"MIND YOUR DAMN BUSINESS, EGWU!"

"NEVER! JUST LET ME SEE, YOU STUBBORN GIT!" Talbott faltered for a moment, a fond memory of a particular dark-skinned Hufflepuff calling her fellow Housemate the same thing for her "little." Of course, that distraction cost him greatly. The next thing the avian Animagus knew, he was on his stomach with his best mate on his back, crowing his victory as he held Talbott's journal in the air.

Talbott wriggled, trying to get Andre off of him.

"Now, let's see what's got you so flustered that you're too afraid to tell your best mate about it," Andre drawled. Talbott growled, thrashing harder.

"Andre, don't you dare-!" But it was too late; Talbott could hear Andre flipping through the pages.

What Andre saw was something he didn't expect.

"I remember hearing about her when I first came to Hogwarts, but today was my first time officially meeting her. I heard about her fight in our first year. I heard about her famous dad. I heard how she and her best friend defeated the first Cursed Vault. Heck, she was well-known about just two months after the school year started. I always heard whispers about her scar and never understood why everyone made such a big fuss until I saw her for the first time. The scar was impossible to miss, covering almost half of the left side of her face. It went as far back as her ear, forcing her eye into a permanent glare. The nickname "Scarface" made a lot more sense than before. But the one thing about the rumors I could never agree with was her being scary or ugly. Something about those pale gold eyes said a lot more than she would ever say. The shyness, wariness, and hidden warmth... and I never thought I would say this about anyone before, but... she had to be the most beautiful person I've ever seen..."

"...how can someone like her, someone who seemed to have experienced so much pain, still show kindness? Even to those who reject her? ...even to me?"

"It's been years since my parents died. The only thing I had left of them was my mum's feather necklace. Losing that nearly made me lose my mind. The anxiety of losing my last connection to my parents threatened to pull me under. I would have never thought that two insistent Hufflepuffs would be hellbent on helping me find it. I still remember taking the necklace from her small hands. The brief contact rattled me more than the miracle that my necklace was with me again. Her hands were soft, save the light calluses on her fingertips and a bit on her palm. They felt a bit cold, but not in an unpleasant way. I remember hearing once that people with cold hands have warm hearts. Normally I wouldn't believe stuff like that, but for her, it seems fitting..."

"Why did I have to open my big mouth and tell her to make her secret interesting? I've been trying to get her to tell me that secret for what feels like forever, to no avail. I know that defeats the purpose of the Memory Charm, but it's been some time since then... surely it should be okay now that we know each other better? Clearly she begs to differ. She's hellbent on keeping her secret from me. She's always so evasive, asking why I want to know. I always found it difficult to answer that question... how was I going to tell her that I wanted to know the reason why I remember the sweet flush on her cheeks, the cute shuffle she does on occasion, and her endearing habit of playing with her rings before those soft lips told me a secret she was too nervous to tell me without that spell ensuring my ignorance? Why would Professor Flitwick and David look at the two of us with a knowing smirk if we were in each other's space? I feel like I will go insane just trying to figure it out..."

"This can't be healthy. The girl is all I could ever think about. Her brown-black sunbleached locs that sway down to her hips. The sweet scent that clung to her dark skin. Her adorable height of 5'6 (and a half, as she would stress, heh.) The breathtaking smile where that sweet dimple would appear on her right cheek. Those otherworldly pale gold eyes that outshine a treasure trove of galleons whenever she lets her guard down. She's so beautiful... what are you doing to me, Judith Harris?"

Andre's shell-shocked state was the perfect opportunity for Talbott to throw him off and grab his journal back. Talbott had a thunderous glare on his face, holding the little book close to his chest. Andre stood up, reaching out to touch his friend's shoulder.

"Talbott-" The Quidditch player cringed at the sight of angry red eyes.

"Damn it, Egwu! You couldn't leave it alone, could you?!" Talbott felt an embarrassed blush working up his neck and turned away before it could show on his face. The Ravenclaw loner has been trying to work out his feelings for the Hufflepuff witch since he met her. Whenever he's with her, he feels like he's both flying and falling at the same time. There was something there, something familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was.

He hoped to keep his feelings a secret until he felt ready to talk to someone about it.

'So much for that. And it had to be Judith's date to the Celestial Ball out of all people?!'

"...oltt... Tal... TALBOTT!" The young boy jumped, shaking himself out of the panic he nearly fell under.

"What?" The Seeker let out a weary sigh, turning his friend around so he could face him.

"Hey, it's okay, Talbott. There's no need to be embarrassed because of how you feel for her," Andre said softly. Talbott narrowed his eyes at him.

"How can you say that? I like your crush, and you're telling me it's okay?" Andre stared at Talbott for a few moments before chuckling. Talbott bristled.

"I'm sorry, did I say something funny," he hissed. Andre shook his head fondly.

"Talbott, mate. I don't like Judith that way. At least not anymore. It was only temporary," Andre said. Now, it was Talbott's turn to stare.

"How?" Andre rolled his eyes.

"It's called a "crush" for a reason, mate. Temporary feelings of infatuation. Plus, her father may or may not have talked with me before I could consider asking Judith to the Celestial Ball," Andre said, his voice softer towards the end. He could still remember the sight of those cold, pale gold eyes in his mind's eye.

'If you like my daughter more than a friend, Andre, I'm telling you now; you better be prepared to properly court her and give her the love she deserves. If I ever find out you broke my little princess's heart, I'll break your bones in a way that they'll never properly heal for you to play Quidditch another day in your life. Do you understand me, son?'

Andre may find Judith to be a sweet and beautiful girl, and he admired her father, one of his Quidditch role models, but he was nowhere near ready to consider a serious relationship. He also would like to play Quidditch professionally. Andre wasn't looking to test the older man to see if he'd be true to his word.

If his daughter is capable of putting people in the Hospital Wing, he doesn't want to know whether the man will use his knowledge as a Healer for its opposite purpose.

"...if you're sure, mate," Talbott said slowly. Andre mentally shook his head, shaking himself out of the memory. He gave his friend an encouraging smile.

"Of course I am, Tal. Besides, what you're feeling is more than a crush." Talbott blushed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I'm not entirely sure what to call my feelings towards her. I only experienced this funny feeling only once before. The person who suggested what it could be nearly had me falling out of a tree..."

"Sounds like love to me..."

Talbott could remember only a few details of the girl he spent the day with when he was eight, but her shy smile will forever be etched in his memory. He never saw her again after that day.

"Still, you can't just pine after her. Do something about it," Andre insisted. Talbott's lips formed into a worried frown.

"Like what? I'm not exactly the "romantic" type," he sassed. Andre had got to know the loner long enough to know he was using sarcasm to hide his nerves. Andre regarded him with a gentle smile.

"Give yourself more credit, mate. You may seem cold to others, but you have your charms. Besides, you could use your strengths to your advantage." Talbott cocked a brow at the style wizard.

"What strengths are you talking about," Talbott asked slowly. Andre grinned.

"You like to play the background character a lot, making you mysterious. What's more romantic than a romantic note from a mysterious secret admirer?" The Animagus let out a soft hum.

"Go on..."

"I'm sure you can add an extra little something. You seem interested in botany, so maybe a flower with the note? You could leave it before one of her classes starts so she would have something to look forward to," Andre continued, pleased to see that Talbott was considering his advice. Red eyes stared into brown ones for a few silent moments.

"I'll think about it... thanks, Egwu." The boy smiled.

"Anytime, Winger..."

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

Judith let out a soft yawn as she headed for her Charms class. It was early morning; the girl was known to be an early riser. She inherited the philosophy from her father that an early start is a peaceful start. Hardly anyone would be up around when she awoke, giving her the alone time she always loved. She made her breakfast in the Kitchens, under the watchful eye of Pitts, and wanted a quiet place to study. She didn't have Charms for at least another hour, and Professor Flitwick didn't mind if she was in the room alone to study.

What she didn't expect that early morning was to find a lone folded piece of paper and a flower at the spot where she would sit during class. The girl was positive she didn't see anyone in the halls on the way to the classroom or hear anyone lingering...

She slowly approached her seat. On the top layer, read 'To Judith' in impeccable cursive with a love heart at the end of her name.

"Well, there's no question on who it's for," she mumbled with a blush. Unfolding the paper, she began to read,

"Excuse me, miss... I don't wish to take up too much of your time,

For I simply wish to express to you a few things that have captivated both my heart and mind; I'm...

I'm not one who wears his heart on his sleeve,

But even without it being out in the open, it was my heart you managed to thieve...

Stolen by an angel in disguise,

...at least that's what I secretly tell myself when I think about your beautiful eyes.

No amount of galleons could outshine such eyes colored gold,

For they hold such a priceless, precious story that has yet to be told.

I often think to myself, "How can one who experienced so much pain, hurt, and rejection... remain to have a heart so kind?"

For you are an undeserving gift to all of mankind...

To those who only see your scar, I consider to be fools who are blind,

For they're unwilling to see the true you beyond the exterior, in which you hide behind...

Darling... when I see you,

I see a mystery with hidden clues.

When I see you,

I see one who's known by many but understood by few.

When I see you,

I see a girl who makes me feel as if... I'm see-through...

Such a revelation would normally make me turn and flee,

But there's something about you that makes me wonder, "What could we be...?"

Oftentimes, I would find myself caught up in a daydream,

With the idea of you and me as the main theme...

To have the privilege to play with such long, beautiful locs,

With your pretty little head on my chest as we lose ourselves in one of our idle talks...

To be constantly graced with the sight of your breathtaking smile,

That radiates such a warmth that makes me want to bask in it for a while...

To be able to breathe you in, taking in your signature scent,

Something that I find both unfamiliar and comforting, warm and sweet, matching perfectly with your accent...

To be able to feel your soft dark skin,

Even if it's just to hold your hand, I would still consider it as a win...

To no longer have to wonder what it's like to feel those perfect lips,

Quietly yearning for more as I pull you closer by the curves of your hips...

What I feel for you... it's like I'm both flying and falling,

There's just something about you that is just so bewitching... enchanting... enthralling...

There are times I like to believe that... you were made just for me,

The one I would ask to spend my life with while down on bended knee...

Heh. My apologies... I'm getting ahead of myself, seeing how we're both still so young,

But I hope you can understand that I could no longer hold my tongue.

I can't reveal myself just yet... but I will in time,

So, until then, I will appear to you in the form of poetry and rhyme.

Maybe by then, I could finally say the name of this feeling that, in the past, had me reeling,

But for now, my dearly beloved, what I feel for you, I'll call a "funny, funny feeling..."

Signed,

Your Secret Admirer

A single blink. Followed by another.

Slender fingers shook slightly as the person's sign-off whirred around in her mind.

"I-I... I have a..." The last two words died on her tongue as Judith stared at the sign off with baffled astonishment. Ever since her mother scarred her, Judith could never see herself as someone desirable. She almost didn't go to the Celestial Ball; most of her friends had dates, and being in a fancy dress with an eye sore on her face made her uncomfortable.

The idea that someone could like her was impossible.

'Well, not anymore, so it seems...'

Judith set the paper down to rub her temples when the back of her hand brushed against something soft. Amid her flustered confusion, the young witch almost forgot the flower left alongside the note.

It was a dark pink and deep red carnation. In quiet awe, the young girl picked up the flower, feeling its soft petals. Bringing the flower to her nose, she inhaled quietly before sighing blissfully at its natural perfume.

"Oh wow, this is so sweet, but why..." Her voice trailed off, noticing an extra little note towards the bottom of the page.

"Carnations symbolize many things: fascination, distinction, devotion, gratitude, and love. Depending on the color. I chose this flower in those particular colors, so you know that... I find you interesting and unique... and to symbolize my budding feelings for you. I hope you accept my token of longing, dear Judith."

'Why is the room spinning right now...'

Judith can feel all the blood rushing from her heart to her suddenly hot cheeks. She had never had someone do something like this...

To think that this person is falling for her?

She shyly twirled the flower between her fingers before tucking it behind her scarred ear. A slow smile appeared on her lips for the first time that morning.

'I hope to meet you soon, my secret admirer...'

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

Charms class seemed to have flown by because the next thing the young witch knew, it was time for lunch. While Judith did pay attention to Professor Flitwick's review, she couldn't help but take a few peeks at her note. The warm fuzzy feeling in her chest only grew as she reread the romantic poem.

The girl wore a dopey smile as she left the classroom and headed into the Great Hall.

"Who's got you smiling like that, Little Tigress?" Judith nearly jumped out of her skin as her best mate, David, appeared beside her. She gave him a brief glare for the "little" comment before a blush blossomed on her face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she retorted, walking over to the Hufflepuff table. David raised a brow at her.

"Uh-huh... I saw you in Charms class peeking at something in your pocket with that same smile. I'm guessing who gave you that note gave you the flower, too," he sassed. He quickly evaded a punch from his embarrassed House mate with a laugh. He poked her side, smirking as the girl let out a high-pitched squeak.

"C'mon.... tell your best mate who it is," he teased. Judith let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Stubborn git... and I don't know who it's from. They signed themselves as "Your Secret Admirer," she admitted, fiddling with her rings. David's grin softened.

"Any idea who it could be?" Judith gave a small shrug.

"Your guess is as good as mine... but I hope to meet them one day..." Unknown to the two Hufflepuffs, a Ravenclaw was watching from their assigned table. Those red eyes were trained on the female witch, catching sight of the flower tucked behind a scarred ear.

Talbott let out a secret smile behind his book.

'One day, I'll be able to reveal myself to you, darling. You can count it...'

[bluegekk0]

what does grimm think about the dream lord

Ohhh I don't think I ever talked about how Grimm feels about his father, so this is a really good question!

I guess the reason why I haven't mentioned it is because, well, he doesn't really think about his father that much. And he almost never talks about him. It mainly comes down to two reasons.

Firstly, he always felt disconnected from the dream realm he shared with The Radiance (before she promptly kicked him out). He was always drawn to the mortal plane, he found the mortals fascinating and, ironically, much more interesting than what the gods had to offer. Though I also think that, in some ways, he felt like he wanted to start another life, separate from that of the gods. He was always destined to be the less liked of the two siblings, the nightmare essence and what it entailed just had that association. Whenever he entered dreams, he knew they would be frightening, tragic or stressful, as nightmares usually are. So he wanted to experience other, more pleasant things, and to have interactions which didn't place him as the nightmare incarnate every time. And because of that disconnect, he never particularly cared about his father and his legacy. Perhaps he even felt a tad bitter that he got the less pleasant share of his father's power, unlike his sister who was worshipped by mortals as the being symbolizing dreams, light and hopes. No wonder thinking about how she ended up tends to make him chuckle, he's definitely petty in that regard.

Secondly, his relationship with his father was very short lived. I guess this is a good place to mention how Grimm was even born. He had no mother, both siblings were created by their father, in a process not dissimilar to how Grimm now creates his physical form. There was no biological connection, they were made from the dream essence. But unlike Grimm's physical form, which shares his consciousness, the two siblings were given their own minds. And so The Dream Lord considered them his children, and in turn, they called him their father. But it didn't take long until he perished, dragging The Shade Lord down with him and sealing it away in the Abyss where it would remain for decades and lose its strength. So what did that mean for Grimm? Well, adding onto the previous point, he didn't have the chance to get closer with his father, and consequently he doesn't have much love for him either.

That said, I think he does have a lot of respect for him. He was, after all, the reason he exists and can share that existence with his loved ones. His father was also never cruel or harsh, he was a warm presence, it just so happened that he died quite early in Grimm's life. So even if his memories of his father are far from unpleasant, there just isn't enough to make Grimm miss him, or even think about him very often.

But the biggest reason why he rarely brings him up is that being banished from the gods plane turned all those memories into a sensitive subject. He doesn't like talking about it, every time he does, he starts feeling the rage building up, and that usually ends up in him lashing out. The only time he controls this anger is whenever the one asking is Vyrm (or his children), and in those cases the rage morphs into sorrow. So it's very clear that, as much as he wants to convince himself he's moved on, his sister's betrayal really affected him. As a side note, it would certainly explain his incredibly low tolerance to betrayal within the Troupe.

In general he just has that aura of keeping a lot of things to himself and dealing with his own struggles, which he masks rather well. But sometimes the cracks in the mask start to show, and it becomes obvious that he's not as collected as he tries to make others think. His memories of his father are sadly part of that baggage he's trying to hide, even if on their own they're not as negative.

[jaredstrout]

Firelord Ursa - mothering a nation

I wondered how the world would look if in the night Ursa poisoned Azulon and left instead both Azulon and Ozai died and Ursa took power? After careful preparation Ursa had the entire staff of the palace on her side. The servants made sure she knew everything that went down, the guards were a bit less in her pocket, but clearly would not stop her if they could pretend to have missed her, maybe some even would have taken up arms against Ozai or even Azulon in the worst case.

But when Both men died one night her contacts to the home guard and city guard ensured, that nobody questioned the official lie, that assassins had slain both Azulon and Ozai. The inoffical lie being that Oazai had tried a coup himself and died after murdering his father appeased most of the people who saw through the official version.

And when Iroh returned home finally he found Ursa in power, willing to listen to him, but unwilling to let anyone take the throne from her.

A world where Zuko never got burned, maybe the raids against the watertribe stopped in time to save Kya.

Both sibling duos grow up in better conditions and while Azula never gets as close to her mother as Zuko, things get better, even if she has to spend much time with the Fire Nation and the still ongoing war.

But the armies of the Fire Nation, while not recalled, are slowed down by orders to avoid casualites among the civillians, the fighting slows and an undeclared armistice brings a resemblance of something most people have never seen in their lifetime.

Peace

And then the army drags a young boy with tattoos in, claiming that he is the Avatar...and Firelord Ursa is absolutely unwilling to lock a little boy in some dark cell...and instead she now looks after the Fire Nation and three kids.

I love the idea that Azula is first very unpleasant with Aang...till the more open Ty Lee finds out how much the boys likes to pranks people and the trio now haunts the palace, much to the chagrin of Zuko, who is often on the receiving end...but also several of the grumpy old generals, who fall victim to a precise airstrike of fruit cakes.

I like this version, plus points for a giggling Firelord Ursa, who allows herself to enjoy the prank her daugther and adopted son played on these old militarists, who always try to undermine her authority...of course only after strictly reprimanding the culprits. "Get to your room, both of you and play something harmless till dinner"