#it does not make sense to them that my nose can just bleed and i am okay with it because it is part of my life

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

”why are you so good at that?”

his caress is gentle. tender, steady, secure; and practiced, you can tell, just from the instant relief you feel — the vivid care in how his fingertips smooth along your skin. 

suguru presses his thumbs into the bridge of your nose, right beneath your forehead, big palms cupping your face. they’re warm, calloused, but still somehow so soft — massaging you gently. the pads of his fingers trail upwards, rubbing soothing little circles against your temples. as if he’s memorized every patch of skin, seen the very inside of your skull. as if he knows exactly where to apply pressure to make the sharp jolts of pain go away. 

and it’s working. the room you’re in is dimly lit, illuminated only by the vermilion rays of the setting sun, bleeding in through the gap between the opened shoji screens. a faint, summery scent accompanies them; like burnt roses, or a salty ocean breeze, not enough to rouse the nausea in your throat. it’s quiet. all you can hear is the soft humming of your lover, and your own relieved breaths, pulled out by his skillful hands. his pointer fingers pinch between your brows, and another one follows. the sweetest little sigh. 

”am i?” his voice is soft, even more so than usual, as if the slightest noise could disrupt your peace. a smile is knit between the vowels. ”i’m glad.”

he sounds a little tired. it’s been a long day for both of you, so it’s no surprise. when you finally got back home, the inside of your skull was tormented by a persistent ache, and suguru was blinking with fatigue — though he still insisted on doing this. lying you down on his lap, like a fragile doll, crossing his legs to give you enough space to rest comfortably; the back of your head finding respite on his thigh, senses enveloped by the silk of his robes, smelling lightly of cherry blossoms and sandalwood. comfy.

and, after only a couple minutes of his loving treatment, the ache began to dull. sweet relief seeping into your nerves.

he reminds you to take deep breaths, watching intently as the contours of your face fall back into a state of tranquility. whenever he shifts, the tatami mats beneath him rustle, and your muddled mind sways like the rocking of a boat; slight, but still enough to coax a wince from out your throat, a tiny spark of pain blooming between your sinuses, followed by a murmured apology from the man above you. 

a hum buzzes in his throat. you hear it, eyes still shut, waiting for him to answer your question. and he does, of course — so weak to you, always, your voice the key to his locked-up heart.

”back in high school…” he starts, diligently continuing the facial massage, comforting circles rubbed into your skin. ”... my best friend got migraines often.” 

a soft groan slips from out your parted lips, when he pushes against a certain spot — locating the pressure points like brushing specks of dust from off his clothing. effortless. 

”ah,” you click your tongue, melting into his touch. turning into a boneless puddle, cradled in his lap, comfy as can be. ”your mysterious bestie, huh?”

it’s not the first you’ve heard of this best friend. suguru’s mentioned him before, though only in passing, in whispers, comments he hopes will sound absentminded. they never do — because suguru says the word friend like it’s a prayer. 

(that explains it, though. no wonder it feels so good; it is practiced. should you feel jealous?

well, maybe. but you mostly think it’s kind of sweet.)

before you can think of what you’re saying, the words have left your lips. they tumble out like little pizzicato drops, spoken casually, matter-of-factly. a tiny chirp of a thing.

”you must have loved him a lot.”

…

silence.

for just a moment, the thumbs pressing against your skin halt — just for a second, but enough to notice, and suddenly you feel a little like the air has been sucked out of the room.

even with your eyes closed, you know suguru’s smile is nowhere to be seen. 

it’s funny, how well you’ve come to know him. how you’ve learned to memorize every expression you’ve ever seen him make, any signs of distress or discomfort. he does this thing with his eyes, sometimes — a thin kind of concealment, when you shuffle a little too close for his comfort. figuratively speaking, because you’re almost certain he’d let you crawl under his skin if you asked. but sometimes you twist the key to his heart a little too abruptly, and his eyes of gold and ochre shift in the light, honey clogging the interior of his cornea. something sickly-sweet. something he’s kept locked up for a long time.

a nostalgia so palpable it breaks your heart just to look at it.

you don’t want to open your eyes. you don’t want to see the kind of face he’s making right now. you don’t want to know if he’s pursing his lips, or furrowing his brows, just because of your carelessly chosen words — you know his old best friend is a sensitive subject. gosh, you’re stupid. 

stupid, stupid, stupid.

(why can’t you ever just read the room?)

blindly, you stumble for something to say, parting your lips. desperate to change the topic, to save him from this suffocating silence.

— but then suguru breaks it.

”yeah.”

when your eyes flutter open, he’s looking out into the garden. watching the sun, as it sinks beneath the mountains, lips curved up into a small smile.

”i suppose i did.”

…

you take a moment to look at him. the bridge of his nose, the firm lines of his jaw — the slightest tremble of the muscle. and those eyes, set afire by the final rays of the setting sun, burned to ash. filled with… something. not regret.

just longing.

suddenly, the pads of his fingers are dancing along your skin again; gliding down to pinch your nose. it makes you yelp, a tiny squeak.

and then he’s looking at you. 

”but i love you more,” he croons, a little tilt of his head that make his bangs move like a black curtain. eyes swirling with humour, something syrupy and teasing, awfully fond. ”my little dove.”

before you know it, your cheeks are blossoming with warmth; the branches of your lips curling up into a shy smile. his attention is a little too much to bear, so you wriggle out of his grasp — turning around to press your face into his stomach. his sleeves cast a curtain around you, a protective veil, but it’s not long until you’re being coaxed back into your original position.

”ah ah,” he tuts, chiding you lovingly; a coo in the back of his throat. ”none of that. let me take care of you.”

all you can do is groan, meekly, squeezing your eyes shut. suguru only chuckles, cupping your cheeks and continuing to apply pressure on your forehead and nose, large warm palms against your chilled skin — unwilling to let you escape his pampering.

the sun sets eventually. but he keeps you on his lap until the headache has faded entirely, until your eyelids have dragged you into a deep slumber, until tiny snores are seeping from your parted lips. until the moon has pulled itself into the night sky above you.

somehow, even on the brink of exhaustion, you manage to feel his warm lips against your forehead; hear the muffled murmur against your skin.

”sweet dreams, my darling,” comes a whisper, deep and silky, coaxing you further into the cradle of sleep. his thumb smooths along your cheekbone, down to the curve of your jaw — a trail of warmth. ”come back to me soon, won’t you?”

he smiles. you feel it, that soft upward curve, a blissed out sensation drowning you in white noise. the space inside your mind is free of pain, filled only with thoughts of him, the lines of his fingers burning patterns into your skin. one final kiss pressed between your brows, and then he’s pulling away; curling his arms under your knees and hoisting you up. into his steady arms, his robes shielding you from the soft glow of the stars.

”… don’t dawdle in dreamland for too long.”

the whisper goes unheard. fast asleep, suguru can only gaze at you, drinking in the serenity on your features. trying not to remember a boy with blue eyes — the similar expression he wore once his migraines had begun to fade.

he shakes his head, and carries you towards the bedroom. safe and sound in his embrace.

[wynnerwynner]

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄

aemond targaryen x fem!royce-targaryen!reader

synopsis: after aemond made a scene toward his wife's estranged family at dinner, he seeks her out to apologize and make a daring promise.

request: no

warnings: brief discussion of violence

wc: 1.1k

A knock came from the door. Y/N did not rise from where she laid on the bed. They knocked again.

“Y/N,” Aemond called from the other side. “Y/N—open the door, for Gods’ sake.”

She could hear conversation between him and her guard, but could not discern it.

Aemond was growing irritated.

“I apologize, Your Highness,” Ser Andry said as the door swung open. “I tried to—”

The door slammed shut before he could finish his sentence, the wood rattling against its hinges. She must stop slamming it so much herself. She was not her father.

Aemond took a couple steps into the room. Slowly, he drew closer to the bed.

“I couldn’t help but notice your leaving without a word from our dinner.”

Aemond rounded the bed, coming into view of her open eyes. He sat on the edge of it, staring at her.

“Y/N,” he said simply.

“What you did,” she spoke softly, staring off, “really hurt me … Aemond.”

“That was never my intention.”

Y/N sighed through her nose, adjusting her head against the pillow.

“My uncle is a prick. So are his children.”

When her eyes flicked to him, he froze.

I am his child, her eyes so easily said.

Once again, Aemond was reminded that he did something the opposite of his intentions.

Y/N turned over, leaving her silk-covered back to him.

Aemond sat there, picking at the skin around his fingers, unsure of what to do next. Then, he laid on the bed next to her. He faced her back, staring at her pearl and brown coloured hair.

“I am sorry,” he said.

“The intention isn’t the matter,” Y/N said softly, “it is the outcome. The result of one’s actions is often always what matters. Whatever your intentions, I know it was to rouse them. You act as though I am stupid.”

“I do not think you stupid. My uncle ignored you. He has been ignoring you,” he reminded. “Does that not anger you?”

“It does,” she snapped. “But I know him better than anyone.”

Aemond paused.

“You deserve justice,” he said carefully.

“I do,” she replied. “Though, it is my justice to serve. Not yours. I understand it is difficult for you to accept because of the hatred that’s been instilled upon you regarding my step and half siblings, but they are not just your nephews and nieces. They are now your brothers and sisters—as much as they are mine. They’ve always been kind to me. I’d’ve hoped you’d seen that.”

Tentatively, he reached out and pulled a curly strand of brown and pearl hair over her shoulder.

Y/N turned over to face him. For once, he was the nervous one.

She struggled to understand how she’d explain the complexity that was her genealogy.

“I …”

Her mouth bobbed as she choked on words, each planned sentence making less sense than the last. After nearly a minute of him patiently waiting for her to speak, she decided it didn’t matter if he thought her insane. He could label her a witch. He could look at her the same way the court looked at Helaena and it wouldn’t matter. If she lost yet another person who was supposed to love her, it wouldn’t matter this time.

“My mother and father—their blood of the First Men and Old Valyria, gifted me the ability to empathize. I can … I can feel other people’s emotions, though I cannot manipulate. The wind and the grass have their own emotions. So does the wood of this bed and the threading of my nightgown. I can feel everything. I can feel men as far as the Wall.”

Y/N found herself spewing her deepest secret, speaking faster than her brain could comprehend. She’d never spoken of her gift to anyone but Helaena, especially not to this depth.

“My father often feels like—like shame and disappointment. It is why he goes on these adventures and neglects me. Why he tries to be a father to his other children. He’s afraid of me—of what my existence represents.”

Y/N was ready for him to bleed her out in her own bed. But the knife never left its holster. Instead, his mouth opened,

“And what do I feel like, Princess?”

She blinked, then mumbled, “Sorrow.”

Aemond’s eye looked from one of hers, to the other. “And what?”

“Rain,” she whispered absently. “You’ve always felt like rain.”

She watched his expression change in the minuscule way it did when he turned inward.

His hand came up to her cheek, his thumb stroking the skin of her cheek.

“I can get you justice,” he said.

It would only take a word and he’d conspire against the lives of her father’s entire family. One word and Dragonstone would explode.

“I do not wish death,” she whispered.

“I can make you their Queen.”

He said it so casually, she couldn’t believe it.

“You mustn’t make such complex promises, Aemond.”

“You should know by now, dear wife, I don’t make promises I cannot keep.”

She got the urge to slap him, though she refrained. How dare he say such a thing?

“And I’m to believe you’d let me sit atop the throne? Higher than even you? How would that work? My father gave up his seat—there is no way, in this realm, that I’d wear that crown on my head. That is not what my uncle wishes upon his death.”

“What my father wishes is not important,” he said with irritating calm. “Have you never dreamed of what it would be like to look down on Daemon? To look down on all those who have wronged you?”

Y/N stared at him, brows narrowed. She licked her lips before reminding, “I’d be looking down on you.”

“You understand, just as I, that family is sacred. Unlike my mother, you understand how to keep our children on the throne. You do not play, as she does.”

“And what would the people think?”

“You are of the First Men. You have advantage.”

“Aemond, I do not wish to sit before my own council in a time of need, all for them to talk amongst themselves!” she emphasized. “This is ludicrous.”

He sat up. “It is truth.”

“No, it is delusion,” she raised from the pillow.

Aemond assessed her before leaning in slowly to leave a lingering kiss to her cheek. Then, he leaned toward her ear and whispered,

“I’d burn them all if it meant securing the throne.”

He pulled away slowly and retreated from the room. Even after the door had closed, Y/N sat staring at the door.

[daydaydayrk420]

I'm on my period right now. It was like five days late and it's hurting as fuck. All I can think about is Bucky Barnes/Logan Howlet helping me with easing the pain.

So because I want to... here's a cross-over because they're my favorite people ever so I guess this is mostly for me but I'm sure someone out there will enjoy it too

I didn't want to put two GIFs so here's this instead with David Harbour in the background bcs we also love that man too

Men don't care about period blood

Top Bucky Barnes x bottom ftm reader x top logan howlet

⚠️period blood, sub-reader, taboo I guess, eating out, double penetration, not for weak stomachs⚠️

🚨 Minors and girls do not interact 🚨

Bear in mind i don't have testosterone so i still get my period. I hear your period stops when you have it but i have no clue cus i can't get my hands on it.

Fyi I started this on the fifth of November so my period is long gone as I write this and post it

Update... I'm going through another period and I'm laughing at my old me if he thought those were horrible cramps. Now? I can't even walk or the pain goes in my ass too.

Again ⚠️ MAJOR WARNING A LOT A LOT OF BLOOD PLAY ⚠️

______________________________________________________________

Blood. Everywhere.

Y/n didn't keep track of his cycle. Again.

So. Guess who woke up with blood covered boxers this morning?

Y/n y/l/n.

Said man woke up in discomfort. He's in discomfort for multiple reasons.

One, his abdomen hurts as fuck.

Two, his thighs are sticking together from blood.

Three, wearing wet boxers isn't fun in general let alone blood-soaked boxers.

Four, the window is wide open and so is the door. He's fucking freezing.

Five, the bed is empty. His two veterans must've stayed up again.

Both Bucky and Logan prefer the colder weather so it's no surprise the windows and doors are wide open so the breeze flows through.

Y/n groans in frustration and covers his face. But he doesn't attempt to move yet. He's angry enough that he's too lazy to move. He's already covered in blood anyway what's the point of rushing.

But the cold breeze pushes him out of bed. He slowly gets up so he doesn't get the blood on more surfaces than it already is and goes to close the window.

Once that's done he goes to his dresser and gets his period boxers. He goes to the bathroom, strips his now red boxers off, and throws them in the washer.

Once the washer goes off he takes a quick shower to clean the blood off. Then he lets his body air dry as he searches for his menstrual cup. He makes sure to slide around with a towel under his legs so in case any blood drips it doesn't fall on the floor.

Eventually, he finds it and runs it under hot water to clean it.

"Why does it smell like murder in here?" Logan's gruff voice called out from the bedroom. Y/n only grunts knowing Logan can hear him because of his higher senses. Same with why he can smell the blood on the sheets so easily.

"Oh..." is the last thing the bleeding man heard before the bedroom was filled with sheet ruffling.

A couple of minutes later, Logan walked into the bathroom with the sheets he took off the bed and coveres. He stops the washer to add it in before setting it off again.

All while he did that y/n was zoned out sitiing on the toiled just letting the blood drip into it because it's way comfortable and easier. But you can't sit on the toilet for days. So Logan walks up to him and crouches in front of him.

At such proximity the veterans nose is hit with the strong smell of iron. "Hey, bub. You gonna get up some day." He keeps his voice soft so he doesn't set off y/n's mood randomizer.

The bleeding man snaps out of it and nods. He reaches for his cup again. Logan nods too and kisses his hurting lovers' forehead before leaving so he can have some privacy.

Meanwhile, Bucky is in the kitchen desperately trying to figure out the new coffee machine they got as a gift from y/n's friend.

He lets out a few curses under his breath as he tries to understand what's happening. That's until a hairy hand reaches around him and presses a few buttons, and boom. The coffee is brewing.

The metal armed man groans and chukles afterward. "Thanks, pup." He smiled at the smaller man with kitty ears hair behind him. Being a part of a throuple with two other short men helps with y/n's dysphoria. (Comic heights)

Logan grunts in response. He doesn't like being called pup, but no matter how many times he says it, y/n and Bucky still call him that. It's what he gets for calling everyone, bub. It's basically the same thing, but instead of b, it's p.

They both silently watch the coffee drip into the mug.

"James!" Y/n groans in frustration. The veterans tense up but look at each other, wondering which one he's yelling at.

"Both of you!" That snaps the two veterans out of their tranz and run towards y/n.

Said man is standing in the living room staring at their cat, who's covered in mud, that was dripping from Bucky's and Logan's shoes.

The white fur is now brown and sticky as the adorable feline wiggles on her back as if asking for belly rubs.

The bleeding man looks at the veterans and glares. They know what that means, and Bucky grabs Alpine while Logan grabs the boots. They both take them to the bathroom to wash off.

Y/n goes to the kitchen and takes Bucky's finished coffee. He grabs something to eat and goes to the living room. He opens the box of chocolate chip cookies and starts stuffing his face with the cookies and the coffee.

"Hey, that was mine." Bucky chuckled when he noticed y/n is drinking his coffee.

The bleeding man only grumbles and keeps drinking.

Bucky chuckles and goes to make another coffee. This time, he tries to remember what Logan did for the machine to work. Surprisingly, he figures it out and makes a simple black coffee.

Soon, Logan joines them with a cat burrito. He sets alpine who's wrapped in a tortilla blanket on y/n's lap and kisses his forehead before going to the kitchen.

The day goes by painfully slow for the man in pain. He's used up all his last painkillers. Normally, Logan or Bucky would've gone to buy more, but to y/n's luck today, it's a national holiday. So. Everything is closed.

So y/n is left to suffer.

But! The veterans talked, and borh agreed to help their boyfriend with his pain.

The bleeding man is still sitting in the living room. Alpine purring loudly in his lap as she suckles and kneeds on the fluffly blanket covering y/n's thighs.

Logan walks into the living room and picks up alpine. Y/n is about to protest, but Logan sits in his lap instead.

Logan is basically the second house cat. He's got claws. He growls. He purrs. He loves cuddles. And he's tiny enough to comfortably hold him in a lap. Besides the weight. But y/n's likes the weight. It's calming.

That's until Logan starts peppering kisses on the bleeding man's neck. He can feel y/n tense up so he starts to purr to calm him down again.

"Damn you" y/n huffed but pulled Logan closer.

Bucky watches from the doorway.

Usually, y/n is the one on top. He loves using his strap. But when he's on his period, the vetrans want to take care of him instead.

Y/n knows what's happening. He's not dumb. Is he in the mood? He's not sure. But he'll let it play out and see.

And so it did. Y/n is now naked in bed. A large towel under his hips and thighs as he watches Bucky setting up any necessary extra towels.

Logan is in the bathroom probably looking for their box of extra condoms and lube.

Y/n is hit with immense cramps and clutches his stomach. Bucky notices and immediately sits with him. The metal-armed man rubs circles onto y/n's belly.

He decides to skip the waiting and slowly reaches between the bleeding man's legs. Said man gasps and looks at Bucky who only gives him a reassuring smile.

Bucky slowly reaches down and gently removes the menstrual cup before taking it to the bathroom where Logan takes the cup and sends Bucky back.

When Bucky returned he saw y/n curled up in a ball, clenching his belly with his eyes shut tight.

The metal armed man immediately rushed to bed and pulled y/n to lay on his back. "Hey hey it's alright let me help." He said soothingly. Y/n whines and holds his abdomen.

Bucky slowly and gently removed the bleeding man's hands. He kisses his abdomen and gently runs his hands over those slightly bloodied thighs.

Not long after that Logan comes back with condoms, lube and some now found painkillers if the cramps get too bad.

Bucky slowly starts to kiss towards y/n's bleeding cunt. The moment his lips touch y/n's clit Bucky feels the body underneath him jump.

Logan sits by the hurting man's side and starts to kiss and purr against his skin to comfort him.

Y/n's face scrunches. He doesn't know if he wants it or not. So he just lets it play out and sees because he knows the veterans will stop if he asks.

The metal-armed man takes his time. His tongue slowly licks around the sensitive nub, licks down the outer sides of the inner lips. Then the inner sides. And eventually the opening. He stops when y/n's hand jump into his hair.

He slowly caresses y/n's thigh with his metal arm while Logan rubs y/n's abdomen and kisses his neck.

The mixture of kisses, caresses and Logan's purrs helps the bleeding man relax. He eventually eased the grip on Bucky's hair and lets him continue.

Bucky starts licking again. He doesn't want to use his fingers. He knows the tongue is enough when he's eating y/n out.

It doesn't take long before he's making out with the weeping cunt. He's like a starved man. And the way y/n's legs wrap around his head and squeeze only fuels him more. He rubs the clit with his nose as his tongue works wonders inside those bleeding walls.

Y/n's gasping and arching his back. His hand is gripping Bucky's hair so tight he's surprised he's not ripping them out. Logan can't help but stroke himself at the sight.

But this isn't for Logan. So he kisses his bleeding boyfriend and uses his free hand to play with y/n's nipple.

Y/n shakily reaches out and grabs Logan's dick. He doesn't like when the attention is only in him, so when Logan stops him, he nets out a whine in protest. The cat eared man chuckles and lets y/n do what he wants. That grin is slowly wiped off with a moan when he feels y/n's thumb right on his frenulum.

Logan cursed under his breath. Bucky is fully unaware of what's happening above him because he's too focused on his cunt makeout. He hasn't pulled up to breathe yet. But he doesn't seem to care.

Y/n does dare, though, so he tugs on Bucky's hair. He looks down to meet those beautiful blue eyes filled with passion. Bucky understands and lifts his head up to breathe. He looks like a hyena. Most of his chin is covered in blood. But it's not as messy as one would think, considering the blood mixes with the juices.

The former assassin finally notices how y/n is stroking Logan's dick.

"Should we take another step?" Bucky suggested. Logan groans with desperation but doesn't answer because it's y/n's matter.

The bleeding man thinks about it. He needs the release. Plus it'll help with the cramps. He nods and reaches for the condoms. Bucky stops him and grabs the box himself. He doesn't want y/n to move much.

The lube is forgotten. It's less likely that they'll need it. Bucky grabs a condom and hands it to Logan before he grabs one for himself. They carefully put them on.

Y/n sits up to straddle Logan's hips. He lays his back against the wolf's chest and tilts his head to bury his face in the wolf's neck. He rests one hand on Logan's that's resting on his belly to hold him in place, and puts the other one on Bucky's bicep for now.

Bucky first lines Logan up and lets y/n slowly sink onto him. The two men in front of Bucky moan.

Bucky just watches at first. He lets Logan gently rock his hips to start off with a gentle pace. Y/n keeps his face buried in Logan's neck.

Y/n knows that whenever he needs to dig his nails or teeth into something without having to hold back he can always use Logan for it. As much as Bucky loves the marks they all agreed that it's safer if y/n does it to Logan because of his healing factor so he doesn't have to worry and hold back on his pressure. And let's be honest. Logan is a masochist.

So y/n reaches back and digs his nails into Logan's bicep as he's hit with cramps. But Logan doesn't budge. He only groans and keeps a steady pace.

It doesn't take long before Bucky joins. He slowly pushes in to make sure the hurting man's body gets used to being penetrated twice at the same time.

It's not long after that that the throuple is a moaning and groaning mess.

"James" Y/n moans. He's so glad his boyfriends share a name. It's less complicated to moan for both of them. Bucky and Logan know the moan is meant for both of them. Also, a good reason why they don't get jealous over who gives better pleasure.

The boys speed up. Y/n gasps and arches his back. At this point he's forgotten the pain he woke up with as it's replaced with pleasure. "Close!" He cries out when he feels the familiar knot in his abdomen.

Both veterans start to attack their boyfriend's neck with kisses. They want to stimulate him as much as possible. Y/n's hands shoot to both of their hair and harshly grip them. They all let out curses under their breaths as they started to get sloppy.

"Yes yes yes yes yes" Y/n groans and squirts. He's not a squirter so this surprised all three of them.

Logan's senses go overload as he watches the liquid shooting onto Bucky's thighs. It's all too much for him and before he knows it he's filling his condom up.

Y/n lays against Logan who collapsed onto the pillows. They both pant and wait for Bucky to finish too.

Logan shakily reaches up and pulls Bucky into a heated kiss. The bleeding man whimpered at the sight.

Logan and Bucky smirked. They know what they're doing. So they purposely used more force into the kiss.

Y/n clenches around Bucky. That caused the metal-armed man to groan and pull away from the kiss. Bucky kisses the bleeding man instead. Y/n scratches at Bucky's back and returns the kiss.

That's all Bucky needs to let go and fill his condom too.

Bucky tries his best not to collapse so he can clean the three of them up. Once everyone's clean he joins them in bed. Logan and Bucky sandwich y/n between them and caresses his sore spots.

The bleeding man closed his eyes and murmured quiet thank yous before dozing off.

Logan and Bucky let themselves fall asleep too. They can't remember the last time they slept anyway.

[graceofagodswrath]

Menstrual Cycles and Aliens

“I apologize, but Williams is doing what?”

Kate sighed, brown eyes rolling at Ka’oolai’s stiff confusion. “Bleeding Niagara Falls out of her uterus. She’s gonna need a couple days.”

“Katy.” Jasmine hissed. “That is not how you explain this shit to people.”

Kate’s lips thinned in exasperation. “It makes them listen! God knows how many times I had to describe it so graphically to get all the men in my family to understand that you can’t just ‘suck it up!’”

The three sat in the dining lounge, a room on the transport ship meant for relaxation for workers on their breaks. Ka’looai, the ship’s second-in-command, had inquired about Pilot William’s ask for absence. Kate Blanche, the engineer and second roommate to De’maya, had answered in her usually blunt way. Luckily, The third roommate and Quartermaster of the ship, Jasmine Lativos, had been there to cushion Ka’looai’s immediate confusion.

Ka’looai held up their four hands to the two humans, insectoid limbs the notable deep, iridescent purple of their native race, Yamogai. They resembled a mix of a beetle and praying mantis, tall with hard, spiny exoskeletons. They displayed a variety of colors like humans (tho more vibrant), but the most common was purple.

“I apologize… I do not understand. Does Pilot Williams have an open wound? Do they need to go to the medibay?” Ka’looai’s voice sounded like the vibrating of beating wings, so they had to pronunciate other languages precisely in order to be understood. So they spoke slowly and with a deliberate concentration. This voice also gave way to an accent that made them pronounce certain letters like ‘v’s. There was a running joke with humans that Yamogai were related to Germans, as their accents were similar when speaking English.

Jasmine shook her head. “No. She’s experiencing a part of her menstrual cycle, the human female reproductive cycle.” Ka’looai cocked their head, so Jasmine continued. “Every month, we expel the inside lining of our uterus, the organ that develops a human fetus if the female is pregnant. If a female isn’t pregnant, our uterus removes the old lining of tissue and blood and gets rid of it from our body to create a new lining in case she does become pregnant. It’s the same muscle contractions as childbirth, though at a smaller fraction. This process can be extremely painful for some, if not most people, and De’maya is one of them. So she just needs some time off to deal with and recover from this experience.”

Ka’looai stared for a moment, mantis-like eyes seeming to stare through the humans souls. “I… see. I will inform the captain, then. Is there anything else we must know about this… event? I assume you two experience it as well as you said every human female does?”

Kate shrugged, long brown braid shifting in her shoulders. “Mine isn’t so bad usually. I’m one of the lucky ones. I get irritable and the occasional back pains, but I don’t need time off recuperate necessarily.”

“Irritable?”

Jasmine smiled, more of grimace for those experienced in reading human expressions. “Annoyed. Aggressive. The process increases the amount of estrogen and testosterone in our bodies, hormones that can heavily influence our emotional states. So we can be a bit…” Jasmine paused to think. “Intense.”

“Ah.” Ka’looai’s antennae twitched emphatically. “That is why I sensed the rise in strange pheromones. So this increase of chemicals affects you physically, emotionally, and mentally. I see why Pilot Williams asked for an absence then. Will the two of you require the same?”

Jasmine made an expression that Ka’looai could not understands. She bared her teeth while narrowing here eyes and scrunching her nose, dark skin wrinkling. Her hands rolled synchronously back and forth, a gesture the Yamogai recognized as a sign for uncertainty. “My cycle is more chaotic. Many factors can influence the way it is, and I tend to be influenced heavily by those.” She gestured at the other human. “Whereas Kate’s average is light and less painful, and De’maya’s average is heavy and extreme pain, mine can be either depending on my situation. If I’m stressed and haven’t taken care of myself, it’s usually pretty painful. If the opposite, I can usually function pain free. It depends.”

“What do you mean by light and heavy?”

“That refers to the amount of blood and tissue we expel. Light is very little, medium is a bit more, heavy means a lot. Some people have more lining than others. The heavier the flow can also increase the amount of pain.”

“Is this process different for every human?”

Both women nodded.

“And you still work through such obstacles?”

“Pretty much.” Jasmine confirmed.

“Interesting.” Ka’looai hummed, the sound vibrating the air rhythmically. “So human females expel a large amount of their own blood and tissue every month simply for not reproducing. And it is incredibly painful, yet some of you still function through it. No wonder females are in higher demand than males. You are a hardy species.” Their laugh sounded like the erratic buzzing of fly multiplied by ten. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Oh, there’s a shit ton if you wanna properly educate yourself on human reproduction.” Kate waved a scarred, oil darkened hand. “But Jaz gave you the basics. Hah, you may know and understand it better than the average human male.” Kate chuckled dryly and Jasmine huffed. “But that’s a debate hole that can be saved for another time.”

“If you want to learn more, read some human biology books, and we can answer any questions you have.” Said Jasmine. “Make sure they’re recent ones tho, the outdated ones are full of a lot of misinformation.”

“I see. I will do so. Human biology continues to fascinate. I have always found learning about other races to be rather intriguing, and humans never disappoint.”

“Yeup.” Kate leaned back and threw her arms behind her head. “Just don’t start making jokes about us leaving puddles and shit everywhere, or not being trusted behind the wheel.” Her eyes narrowed and she bared her teeth in a not-friendly-smile. “I will commit some “transgressions,” if so.”

Ka’looai’s antennae twitched. “Understood.”

~~~~~~

I’m currently going through this month’s rounds, and felt like distracting myself. Finally had the motivation to write and of course it was during a shitty time of my life. Needed me some alien feels that understand my woes better than my own family. I know this prompt has been done a lot, but I wanted to give my own take on it.

[deathofacupid]

helloo this is my first time in a while requesting so if this doesn't make much sense then that's whyy

could I please request peter parker with an s/o who does competitive cheer as a sport, and gets hurt a lot because they have a lot of main parts in routines (like tumbling nd holding girls up nd stuff), peter is always concerned for them cuz they r always hurting something but he also loves seeing them perform at comps and stuff

if you want a better understanding of the sport u could research! but thanks in advance <3

pom-poms and bruises | peter parker

a/n: your request was great, no worries! i did do my fair share of research, but lemme tell you, my knowledge on cheer (or, like, any sport) is mad limited. if i got some information incorrect, i apologize in advance! i took... creative liberties (?) and changed some minor details - instead of competitive cheer, it's high school cheer. enjoy the fic, and i hope i did this request it's justice. sorry this took so long!!

summary: peter can't help but worry seeing you all bruised up, but no matter what, he's your biggest fan.

warnings: the ouchies, innuendos to sex

pairing: fem!cheerleader!reader x peter parker

word count: 1.8k+ words

"oh jeez," peter sighs, rubbing his thumb over the bruise on your cheek. it was a blue-purple, indicating that it was fresh. "what happened?"

you wave him off, grinning, "you know how it goes, battle scars and all."

"scar?" he cocks a brow.

sighing, "battle bruise isn't half as badass."

"right, i forgot the most important thing is proclaiming our dominance in the social hiearchy of the big ol' globe. and obviously not our physical health."

"you wouldn't understand, baby. it's a full time job."

gently, peter pushes you up against your locker. leaning in to whisper, he says, "i wouldn't, angel? best believe i've got battle scars of my own."

"ugh. so not the same. not everyone has the luck of getting to be a human-spider."

"yeah, okay, luck."

"you seriously cannot complain," you deadpan. "that bite did you favors! like, down there, you grew at least- mmph-!"

peter covers your mouth with his hand, "we are not having this conversation."

"it was a compliment! i mean, it's not like you sucked before or anything. i'm just saying it... improved... you."

"somehow, this isn't going the direction you think it is."

"oops. i didn't mean to hurt your over-inflating ego."

"first off, if anyone has an ego that needs to be kept in check, it's you."

"don't blame me," you tell him, "blame the girls," you're referring to your cheer team, pinching his cheeks. "but... maybe i can compensate with a kiss?"

he feigns annoyance, "i suppose." in response, you lean in for a kiss, melting at his touch.

peter kisses your bruise as well, letting it linger for a moment longer. "does it hurt?" he asks.

"barely," you shrug, leaning in for more, but he isn't quite focused on that at the moment. giving you a look, he softly pokes your cheek, to which you wince.

"right. barely."

"don't be a worry-wart, worry-wart."

"i'm not! 'm just concerned!"

"puh-lease," you scoff. "you come back worse! remember that time you broke and entered into my bedroom, then proceed to bleed out onto that cute new rug?"

he looks down, epitome of cute puppy. "yes," peter says, guilty, "i do."

you pat his stomach, nuzzling your nose against his. "see? so you have nothing to worry about. me, on the other hand," you trail off.

"nah. you don't have anything to worry about either, angel."

"watch me worry anyways," you snort.

he pinches your cheeks, and you swat his hands away. "watch it!"

"you're my intellectual property."

"oh, so you're objectifying me now?"

"wait- no! no, of course not!"

"lemme me just say right now, may would not be happy."

peter groans, shoving you away.

"no!" you giggle, "i'm sorry! i won't snitch!"

he peeks an eye open, turning his head just barely to look at you. "fine, i guess," peter pulls you back.

"hey, petey?"

"hm?" he asks, nuzzled in your neck. there's just a few minutes before class starts, and he wants to make the most of it.

"are you coming to the game? it's my first year of being captain, and, well, it'd be cool if you came." suddenly you're more bashful than giggly, and he's quick to assure you.

"are you kidding me? of course i'm coming. i'm not missing the chance to see my girl shine.

"you sure? because i know you don't care for foot-"

"shhh," he presses his palm to your mouth. "yeah, i hate football, but i just to happen to love y- god!" he exclaims as you lick his hand, but in your defense, what did peter expect?"

"you put in on my mouth!"

peter narrows his eyes at you, "vermin."

"see you tonight?"

"see you tonight," peter replies as the bell rings. with one last kiss, you part ways.

your hair was done, two yellow and blue bows to tie the look together. midtown theme eyeshadow was painted on your eyelids, with stars dotted on your cheekbones. you have your cheer uniform on, and you're basically jumping with how giddy you are.

part of you is nervous, because you don't want to mess this up. every year, a senior is picked to be captain, with a junior as a mentee. not only do you have to set a good example for the junior this year, but you have to wow everyone.

checking your makeup one more time, you grab your purse, heading out to the car.

by the time you get there, your teammates are already stretching. on the other side of the field, football players are warming up. last year, liz was captain, well, before she moved. then she got replaced by gwen.

you knew liz and peter... okay, so you weren't completely sure, but they had something. some part of you wanted to be better than liz, entirely for peter. you know it was silly, but you felt like you had something to prove. some families are already in, which is funny, because there's an hour to the game.

it's normally parents and friends of the cheerleaders/players that get here before most people, but there are some occasions.

peter's here, you know that. you haven't looked for him yet, but as you get up, you scan the bleacher. finally, you spot a curly, brown-haired boy (it helps that he's waving like crazy) and his aunt. you blow a kiss to them, grin present of your face.

tasha, one your girls, taps your shoulder, "we're gonna run our routine a couple times, okay? just before the game starts." you pull your eyes away from may and peter, nodding at her.

the familiar music of your routine starts playing. the first part's easy, synchronized movements, shoulder-to-shoulder.

as the routine progresses, you feel the familiar rush of adrenaline. you spot the base of the pyramid, their arms outstretched, and with a deep breath, you allow yourself to be pulled upwards.

their grip is firm and reassuring as you climb, hand over hand, until you reach the apex. a split second later, you're soaring through the air, launching into a full backflip.

as you launch yourself into the backflip, you feel your body twist off-axis. the ground rushes up to meet you, and with a sickening thud, you land flat on your face. a gasp escapes your lips, the sting of impact radiating through your jaw.

the cheers falter for a moment, but your teammates are quick to react. they rush to your side, concern etched on their faces. you sit up, momentarily stunned, but the pain quickly makes itself known.

just as soon as it's there, it's gone, leaving you slightly sore. "i'm okay!" you call out, lopsided smile on your face. the first person you look for is peter, who's already heading towards you.

gently, he moves everyone away. "jesus, are you okay? what'd you fall onto? your head? wait, are you dizzy? lightheaded? nauseated?" peter grabs your by the chin, hurry to inspect everything on your face.

"baby, baby," you say, cradling his hand. "i'm okay, i swear. i might've bruised something... like my ego," you joke, smile on your face, but he is not amused.

"no? okay. well, honestly my jaw is too, or will be," you point to the left side. "'s red?"

"yeah," he winces, "it's gonna leave a nasty bruise." you're sure it's not as bad with makeup on, but you can't be sure.

"does anyone have concealer?" you call out.

jenny, a girl that's your shade nods, "yeah! i'll grab it!" she tosses it to you, and you catch it perfectly.

peter presses his lips together, "so no concussion?"

"because i caught it? to be fair, that was mostly luck."

his eyes widen. "but no! i don't have any concussions!"

peter tilts his head, "icepack?"

"nah. i'm good, really."

he hesitates, "okay. be careful though, seriously." you don't feel like hearing a lecture right now, so you nod quickly.

"i will, i will!"

"because i swear-"

"you won't have to! i'm all good. now leave," you joke, "you're embarrassing me. if i wanted to be smothered, i would've asked for my mom."

he blows a raspberry at you, and gives you a quick kiss. "be careful," he repeats, "and good luck!" he jogs back over to may, and you watch him leave.

jenny giggles as you brush yourself off, "you guys are so cute."

blushing, you murmur a thanks. quickly, you grab your phone to cover up the forming bruise. and there's not really time for another run-through.

all you can do is hope it won't happen again.

there's a small dance at the start of the game and some other here and there, but it's not anything crazy. what is crazy is halftime.

as you get into your position, you fidget. "you'll be great," one of the girls tell you.

"thank you," you smile.

"yeah, no, you will," says another.

you don't feel super ready, not after that fall, but there's not much you can do about it.

the song, louder than before, echoes through your eardrums, a roll of excitement passes through you. no matter how anxious you are, you'll always love cheer.

it's your safe place.

the music swells, and you launch into a series of cheers with your teammates, your voice ringing out in perfect unison. as the routine progresses, you feel the familiar rush of adrenaline. you spot the base of the pyramid, their arms outstretched, and with a deep breath, you allow yourself to be pulled upwards.

their grip is firm and reassuring as you climb, hand over hand, until you reach the apex. a split second later, you're soaring through the air, launching into a full backflip.

you twist perfectly, landing with a confident thud back in the waiting arms of your base. the crowd erupts in cheers, and you beam, the thrill of the successful stunt coursing through you.

you did it, and everyone's squealing. peter's not that far from where you are, and you can hear him shrieking; "that's my girlfriend!"

you grin at him, and he whoops again.

the rest of the game flies by, and you finish the last routine. midtown ends up winning 20-17.

peter scooping you up in his arms, spinning you around. "that was awesome! seriously, like, mind-blown! and you didn't fall this time!"

may comes up beside him, hugging you, "you did fantastic, sweetheart. freaked me out with that fall, though," she chuckles, and you kiss her cheek. "my bad," you tell her, rubbing the back of your neck.

"hey, pete, hun, i'm gonna head out, okay? hospital shift was crazy."

you frown, "was it late?"

may sighs, "two a.m. to five p.m."

"oh, may, you should've gone home to get rest!"

"and miss my lovely girl's big night? you're crazy."

"aww," you coo, hugging her again. "sleep well, okay?"

"oh, please, i'll be knocked out like a baby." you laugh as she leaves.

"we should totally get ice cream," peter says.

"ooh, yes!"

"wait, don't you have an after party?"

"i'd rather spend it with you," peter pecks your lips. "and, we can have extra dessert," he winks.

you frown in confusion, "like cupcakes too? can we get cho- oh. oh! i really, really like that idea."

"good. i'm gonna let you know how badass of a girlfriend you are."

"why don't we skip straight to the second dessert? switch things up?"

taglist: @whatsupstark @ell0ra-br3kk3r @idli-dosa @susvale @kdbsr-h @littlemsbumblebee @sflame15-blog @twinsunkithies @chocolateshepherddreamclod @one-piece-frvr7 @477strberry

[slothquisitor]

Subliminal

Summary: In which I give the Blood of Arlathan quest actual consequences for at least Rook and Lucanis. Lucanis/Rook, hurt/comfort, 4.5k.

Read on AO3.

____________________________________________________________

Elgar’nan’s ritual in Arlathan Forest goes quickly from bad to worse. Lucanis is unprepared for the sheer overwhelming number of Venatori, for the way Elgar’nan’s power worms its way into their minds, for ending up trapped in a strange repeating loop of forest until Solas shows Rook the way out, but none of it scares him quite like Rook is right now. She’s moving too slow, and her own spells keep flying wide, missing their targets entirely. 

“Rook! Get out of there!” Neve yells. 

The Venatori are flinging spells at them relentlessly, but it’s like Rook can’t hear them. She doesn’t dodge, is only saved by Neve throwing up a shield at the last second. The heat of a fire spell turns to steam as it hits her frost shield. 

“Rook!” Neve yells again. “Venhedis. Lucanis, what’s wrong with her?” 

He’s not sure, but he stabs the nearest Venatori, doesn’t even watch them as they fall to the ground before hurrying to Rook. “Cover us!”

“You got it,” Neve replies, and he can feel the crackle of her ice magic behind him. 

He grabs Rook by the shoulders, isn’t heartened when Rook sways at the contact. Her eyes are unfocused. “Rook? Come on, talk to me. What’s going on?” 

He’s doing a bad job at keeping the panic from his voice as she doesn’t respond at all to his calls. Her head dips to the side, so he catches her face in his hands. “Rook! Are you with me? Camina?”

Her eyes focus on him, just enough. She winces. “I can hear them in my head. They’re so loud.” Her words are barely above a whisper and each one seems like a battle. Is she talking about Elgar’nan and Solas? 

“Arguing. Fighting. Hurting Rook,” Spite says. He can hear it too?

She’s lost color in her face, and her nose begins to bleed as he pulls her to the relative safety of a column. Mierda. This is bad; they do not have time for this. “We’ve got to keep moving. Can you do that?”

Rook nods weakly, holding onto her staff with both hands like a walking stick. 

He does not feel comforted. “I’ve got you, okay? Just stay behind me and Neve and keep moving.”

“What’s going on, Lucanis?” Neve calls, a hint of frustration in her voice. 

“We need to cover Rook. Solas and Elgar’nan are in her head,” he replies quickly. 

Neve’s eyes widen as she ducks with them behind the column he’s pulled Rook behind. “I hate that that sentence makes sense. Alright, stick close, Rook.”

Rook acknowledges them and then they’re all running, fighting through Venatori. He and Neve have the doubled job of fighting and protecting Rook. He can tell she’s doing her best, seems to have figured out that the more precise spells aren’t working for her, so she’s switched to calling up spirits from the ground. It makes everywhere they go more treacherous to travel, but it’s actually hitting the Venatori instead of going wide, so it’s hard to complain about it. 

Lucanis keeps checking behind him for Rook, making sure she’s still with them. He can tell she’s trying to rally, but the color has completely drained from her face and she keeps wincing at every movement. He’s slashing through Venatori crystals and Neve is doing her best to shield them from the flames of a construct, and it’s hard-fought, but eventually the Venatori around them are all dead. 

“There! The Dalish!” Neve says rushing forward and blasting the last crystal keeping the Dalish locked away. Nearly thirty men, women, and children huddle together looking at their rescuers with wide eyes. 

Lucanis leaves Neve to make explanations and reassurances to them as he falls back to Rook. She’s breathing hard and stumbling her way up the stairs. He catches her arm, steadies her. “I’ve got you.”

She attempts a smile in thanks, but it’s more of a grimace. “I really wish I didn’t have a front-row seat to how much Elgar’nan and Solas hate each other right now.” 

He wishes there was literally anything he could do about that. Bellara, Emmrich, Davrin, Taash, and Harding come around a corner on the other side of the platform the Dalish were being held on. In the distance, Elgar’nan’s archdemon roars. 

“We’ve gotta move!” Taash yells, waving them all forward. 

“Move where?” Davrin demands. 

“As far away from here as we can,” Neve replies, pulling an older elf to his feet. 

“Solas…says there’s…a safehouse…not far from here. The wards should shield us…the entrance is hidden in some overlapping rocks?” Rook leans more heavily into him and he steps closer to keep her upright. 

Her words are too quiet for anyone else to hear, so he quickly repeats them. Bellara nods immediately. “I think I know the place. Follow me!”

The rest of their companions are busy helping the Dalish, but Neve turns back to the two of them, hurrying over. “I’m shit at healing, but tell me where it hurts and I’ll do my best.”

Rook grits her teeth. “Oh, you know…I just have two gods in my head now instead of one….fuck...” The lighthearted sarcasm she so often employs is rather undercut by the fact she can’t quite finish a sentence. 

Neve looks less sure then but places a hand against Rook’s temple. He can feel her pull on the Fade, and Rook sways a bit. “How’s that?”

Rook’s eyes are somewhat unfocused again. “Better, maybe? I don’t know.”

“Either way, we’re out of time,” Neve says. 

“Go. I’ve got her,” Lucanis says. “Rook, can you move?”

“Right behind you.” But her words are shaky. 

He decides then not to let go of her, pulling one of her arms over his shoulder and wrapping his around her waist. And then they’re moving. It’s slow going, but they manage to keep up with the group for the most part, he can feel the magic in the air fading back to whatever passes for normal in Arlathan. 

“Can we stop a moment?” Rook asks weakly. 

“Rook,” he says with an air of apology. Not yet, they can rest when they get to Solas’s safehouse. But her feet stumble and he has to stop anyway, lest they both tumble to the ground. 

She pushes away from him and over to a nearby rock outcropping where she begins retching, leaning against the wall for support. Rook needs a healer and soon. He wishes he knew better how to help her, but she has no wounds he can see and there are no enemies for him to kill now. So he just steps uselessly forward, rubs her back while her body convulsed, and whispers reassurances he’s not sure he believes. When it’s over, she’s breathing hard, head resting against her hands on the rock. 

“Always glamorous, this saving the world business. I’m sorry,” she manages, glancing at him miserably. 

“You’ve nothing to apologize for. Can you keep moving?”

“Rook hurt?” Spite asks. 

“Something like that,” he replies. 

“Yeah.” But she winces a little as she straightens. “We lost the group, but I think I know where to go.” There’s an unspoken insinuation that it’s because Solas is still in her head. He’s known this as long as he’s known her, but it had never felt like something dangerous, like something that might hurt her. Solas had saved them, but he’s not sure about the cost. 

He closes the distance, letting her lean against him again. It hadn’t been a choice to touch her before, it was more panic and necessity. But further from danger, he can’t deny the way his breath catches when she touches him, shifting so he can easily wrap his arm around her waist. “I’ve got you,” he says. 

“I know.” It’s the steadiest she’s sounded since this all started. 

Lucanis keeps them both moving, one foot in front of the other, but he knows they’re finally close to safety when he catches sight of Taash running for them. 

“She need a healer?” Taash asks matter-of-factly. 

“Yes,” he replies at the same time as Rook insists ‘no’. 

Taash, for their part, looks unimpressed. “Tracks.” They step in, easily picking Rook up and carrying them. “I got her from here.”

Some part of him is grateful, he is tired. They have been fighting Venatori, running through ancient ruins, and he’s been half-running, half-dragging Rook through the maze of paths and trees to get here. But another part of him panics at letting go of her, as though relinquishing his hold on her might put her in more danger somehow. It’s ridiculous, so he lets her go and jogs to keep up with Taash’s longer strides. 

They lead them through some trees into a crack in the rock, easily hidden unless one knows exactly what to look for. On the other side of the rocks is a small grove. He sees Strife and a number of Veil Jumpers already here, carrying in supplies, and helping the Dalish. Tents are already being set up around the edges of the grove. 

Taash carries Rook to an elven woman with vallaslin over one eye, and they disappear into the nearest tent. He can only assume she must be a healer. He’s about to ask if he can follow when Neve comes to his side. 

“Strife doesn’t think the Venatori are following, but we’re going to wait it out here for a bit,” Neve says. “Is Rook okay?”

“She said that Elgar’nan and Solas were in her head. I’ve never seen her like that.” 

“We’re lucky it was only her Elgar’nan was affecting like that. Solas had to have known what was going to happen when he told her he was going to distract him…”

He doesn’t like that Neve has come to the same conclusion as him about Solas and his  ‘help’. It just means he’s probably right. He glances around at the Dalish clan, harrowed, but alive. “At least we saved the clan.”

Neve nods. “It is nice to get the job done. Seems to be happening more often these days.”

“Is that hope I hear?”

That earns him a tired attempt at a laugh. “Call it cautious optimism.”

Across the camp, he can see Davrin and Bellara working with the Dalish, talking and helping. Emmrich sits with some of the wounded, providing healing. Taash stands guard outside the tent Rook was taken into, and Lucanis doesn’t know what to do with himself. So he follows Neve and Harding and tries to be helpful, awkwardly accepting the gratitude of the elves, while he keeps one eye trained on Rook’s tent. 

Eventually, the healer emerges and has a conversation with Taash before stepping away. He breaks away from watching Harding start a fire to check in with them. 

“And?”

“Rook’ll be fine, but Nehna - the healer -  said she needs to rest. So I think we’re here for a while.”

Rook’s going to be fine. A weight lifts off of him. She’s going to be fine. 

“You can go in there if you want. I did ask, you know, in case you wanted to,” Taash replies with a bit of a knowing look. 

He does want to see her. Wants nothing more than to see for himself that she is fine, but first, the group should talk. “I’ll go after we update everyone.”

The group has mostly drifted together around Harding’s fire anyway. They’ve set down their weapons and are sitting around the fire finally taking a breath. He hasn’t managed to relax enough to do the same. Elgar’nan and his archdemon still feel too close, and he doesn’t trust Solas’s assurances this place is safe from his gaze. 

“Is Rook okay?” Harding asks. Everyone’s worried gazes let him know that they’re all just as concerned, but Harding is just the first to voice it. 

Taash nods. “She’ll be fine. Needs to sleep it off though. Maybe not the worst thing to do to wait this out here though?”

“Strife left a group of Veil Jumpers back at the crater, and he’s going to head back to check-in with them, see what Elgar’nan did after we interrupted. I thought I’d go with him,” Davrin says. 

“Your call. If I ever see that place again, it’ll be too soon,” Neve says. 

“Rook said we’re safe from Elgar’nan here and I’m sure he’s upset we interrupted the ritual, so it might not be the worst thing to wait it out until we hear from the Veil Jumpers,” Harding says. 

Bellara nods. “Besides, Strife asked some of the Veil Jumpers to see if they can figure out the wards on this place to replicate them elsewhere. I’d like to help with that if I can.”

“A very good idea. I will see if I can lend my expertise as well,” Emmrich offers. 

“Sounds like we’re waiting it out, then?” Neve asks. 

Lucanis is fine with that. “Yes.”

Their group thins as Davrin leaves with Strife, and Emmrich and Bellara go to assist the Veil Jumpers. Lucanis pads quietly over to Rook’s tent, some part of him expecting someone to stop him, to tell him that this isn’t allowed. 

But no one does. 

Inside the tent, Rook sleeps. Her face has regained some of its color, and she looks peaceful, no longer in pain. Something in his chest loosens. She’s fine. She’s going to be just fine. The tent is small, but she’s at least in a bedroll and under a blanket. Her armor sits in a neat pile by her feet. There’s enough space for him to sit without bothering her, so he takes a seat on the mat that covers the ground of the tent. 

“Rook?” Spite asks, peering towards her sleeping form. 

“Don’t wake her; she needs to rest,” he whispers. He expects Spite to argue, but he doesn’t, simply drifts back in his direction, settling into the silent vigil. 

Looking at Rook, he realizes this is the horrifying danger of finally having something to lose. There are no weapons in the world strong enough to solve gods fighting in her head. He had been able to do nothing except watch helplessly from the sidelines as she suffered. What sort of fight is that?

He sits beside her until his back is aching, and then he pulls his cloak off to create a make-shift pillow. He could divest himself of his armor and weapons, but he’d rather be ready in case. He stretches out carefully taking up only a little space and listens to the sounds of the camp beyond: the soft murmur of voices, the crackling of the fires, and the general relief permeating the movement of people who have just survived something horrifying. 

He fights sleep, at first. More out of habit than any real fear, but when he overhears the news that Davrin and Strife return with, he finally shuts his eyes. Elgar’nan had sacrificed the Venatori to his dragon. He’s sure the thought should horrify him, but he can only think that it’s what they deserve as he falls asleep to the soft sounds of Rook’s breathing. 

***

When Camina wakes, she doesn’t recognize the dark red canvas above her or the soft blanket she’s curled up under. Her head feels heavy like it’s somehow been filled with cotton, but it doesn’t hurt and that’s a relief. She’s not sure she remembers a time when she was in more pain than what had followed at the crater. She’d barely been able to put one foot in front of the other, her vision had been spotty and her head had felt like it was splitting open. Lucanis had to basically drag her here before Taash picked her up and carried her to the healer. That’s the last thing she remembers.  

She rolls over on the bedroll she’s sleeping in only to find that Lucanis is here, still in full armor. It’s a testament to how worried he was that he’s here at all, she knows that. She’s immediately filled with guilt. 

His head twists in her direction, eyes opening with a purple gleam. Ah, not Lucanis. 

“Rook?”

“Hello, Spite.”

Spite turns Lucanis to his side so that they are facing each other. He lays on the opposite end of the very small tent, giving her as much space as possible, she assumes. She wonders if he meant to sleep or not though his cloak is rolled up beneath his head. 

“Rook. Hurt?” It’s clear the demon is doing his best approximation of a whisper, but it’s more of a stage whisper than anything actually quiet. 

“I’m alright now.”

“They were loud,” Spite says. 

She frowns. “You could hear them?”

His face twists in disgust. “Shook the Fade. Hurt Rook. Lucanis worried.”

“Just Lucanis?” she asks teasingly. It has become no secret that Spite likes talking to her. Perhaps it is because she’s rather more indulgent of his questions than Lucanis usually is, but then Spite can talk directly to Emmrich, and still, his preference is her. He reminds her of Manfred sometimes with the questions and curiosity and attempts to understand the world. 

Rather than responding, Lucanis’s eyelids flutter as he wakes, Spite ceding control. She gets the feeling that if it weren’t for the communication barrier and his inability to interact with the world without Lucanis’s body, Spite wouldn’t spend much time there. He seems more often baffled by bodies than having any true interest in possessing Lucanis. 

“Hey.”

“I hope Spite didn’t wake you,” Lucanis says, a note of apology in his voice. 

“He didn’t.”

“How are you feeling?”

She feels much better than before. Her head is blissfully quiet. “My head feels funny. Foggy almost. Otherwise, fine.”

He looks relieved at that. “Good. You had me worried.”

“Thank you for staying with me and getting me out of there.”

“Always.”

“The Dalish?” she asks.

“All saved. Thanks to you,” Lucanis replies. Then his gaze skitters away and she braces for the bad news she can tell he’s about to deliver. “Elgar’nan was angry about the interrupted ritual. It sounds like he sacrificed the Venatori to strengthen his archdemon.”

So it had all been for nothing. The Dalish clan saved, but people died anyway. An archdemon strengthened. She tries to cover her disappointment, but he catches it anyway. “It could’ve been innocent elves…instead it was racist blood mages. We’ll get another chance at him.”

“We better,” she replies. “Is everyone waiting on me? Is that why we’re here and not at the Lighthouse?”

“I think everyone is still asleep.”

“So we have some time?” Just the two of them, in here? Alone? 

His answering smile is soft. “We do.”

“You don’t have a bedroll.” He is simply stretched out on the woven reed mat that covers the floor of the tent. 

“I didn’t exactly plan to sleep…I just…I wanted to be with you.” There’s something endearing about his earnestness, but there’s an undercurrent of clear worry in it too. Why else would he be here, in full armor if not for the fear?

She reaches across the distance between them and takes his hand. “I’m glad you’re here.” It’s not the first time they’ve touched like this, but it is the first time she’s reached for him. 

He doesn’t pull away and with his free hand, he carefully readjusts her blanket so that it once again covers her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

She remembers the splitting headache, the way her vision had blurred. But she also remembered him, cradling her face and calling her back. “You called me Camina.”

The uncertainty is clear in his eyes, and she worries she’s pushed this too far. He sighs. “I didn’t know what was happening. I was trying to get your attention.”

It had worked; she remembers the way he’d come back into focus. As terrified as she was, he had been there and he had been calling her name. “It was nice.”

He seems to be considering her words. “You told me once that you wished there was somewhere you just got to be Camina.”

It had been a comment tossed out in a moment of vulnerability months ago at the beginning of all of this. But he remembered. It makes her want to be brave. 

“Maybe…when it’s just us…when we’re like this…”She doesn’t know what else to call this, what they are, but when he looks at her like that, she’s almost sure. 

He shifts a little closer to her, a finger reaching out to carefully tuck her hair behind her ear. “Camina.” The way he says her name is careful, as though it is something delicate on his tongue.

She wants to lean into that touch, wants to draw him closer. She wonders for a moment if he’s going to kiss her the way he didn’t in the pantry. Especially as he carefully runs the back of his fingers across her cheek before tracing the line of her nose. His brown eyes are soft in the half-darkness, mouth parted a little as though he is in awe that this moment exists at all.

“You’ve never told me how you got this,” he says, fingers gently gliding across the scar that spans the bridge of her nose.

“It’s a silly story,” she breathes, wishing he wouldn’t stop touching her. 

But he pulls back. “Tell me.”

So she does. She tells him of a night filled with all the belief of invulnerability that youth brings. She tells him how the halls had always called to her, and so one night when she answered, she’d found herself followed by her newest friend: Willow. She tells him of the wisp that had led them down into a place that felt unexplored, uncatalogued. She had caught sight of a funerary urn and had wanted to read the name etched into the clay, but it had been too high up to see properly. Will had been busy exploring another part of the tomb, so she’d climbed the stone recesses containing the bones of the dead to reach it. She’d just grabbed hold of it when the stone had crumbled beneath her boot. She’d found herself falling and she’d done what she could to protect the urn, and in so doing, it had landed on her nose, cutting across the bridge. It had hurt, but she still remembered Will’s laughter echoing off the stone, the way she had joined her even as Will had pulled a bandage from her satchel to mop up the blood. The way Will had carefully been her eyes as she’d clumsily attempted to heal her injury then and there. The way that night had cemented their new friendship. 

“Why didn’t you just ask Will for help getting the urn?” he asks. 

“How would she have helped? We’re the same height. Besides, I’m impatient and bad at asking for help, you know that.”

He chuckles. “I do.”

“I could have gone to a Watcher healer after, they probably would have made the scar a bit less noticeable…but I didn’t,” she says, the words a hushed whisper in the quiet darkness that covers them like a blanket.

“Why not?” he asks, thumb brushing her knuckles. 

“I found I didn’t mind it…or the reminder of the night.” She’d been so unsure about Willow, about their new friendship until the moment Will had seen her laying on her ass at the bottom of a tomb and burst into laughter at the same time she reached into her bag for her healing kit. 

“It suits you; you’re beautiful.” He says it with such quiet awe, with such focused intensity she cannot help but blush. In Nevarra, beauty always felt unattainable. It was lush gowns and arms full of golden bangles. It was Van Markams and Forsythias and Pentaghasts and country homes. Beauty always felt gated behind the etiquette that still doesn’t feel second-nature to her no matter how many classes the Watchers made her sit through.

But she knows what he finds beautiful: a sunrise in Treviso, a good cup of coffee, a sharp, well-maintained blade, a collection of words in a book…He doesn’t use the word lightly, and to know she is included in that venerated list makes her want to close the distance between them. She wants to trace her own fingers across his cheek and ask him about his scars and their stories. 

But she doesn’t because she is afraid of spoiling what she does have with hopes for more. They have made no declarations and the only promises they carry between them are spun sugar soft and just as fragile. She still remembers too clearly the way he had pulled away in the pantry; she still hasn’t found the courage to ask why. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand lightly, as much a reminder to her of this connection as punctuating her words. “Do you have any scars?”

“A few,” he says. “I don’t know any assassin that doesn’t.”

She waits him out, the unanswered question hanging heavy in the air. 

When he begins speaking the words are muffled, rushed together. “There was a job in Orlais and I found myself on the wrong end of a chevalier’s blade, it cut me right here.” He gestures to his left side, right on the ribs.

He tells her a story about breaking into some lavish chateau outside of Val Royeaux, of sneaking in through windows and creeping through the quiet. Of finding his target, a Comte, ready to dispatch him, but the Comte had swapped places with a chevalier, so he’d wound up in an unexpected fight with an imposter and had to scour the house for the real Comte afterward. He’d found him cowering in a nearby linen closet.

“He caught me by surprise,” Lucanis says, sounding almost impressed. “It was a good plan, it might have even saved him if I hadn’t known the Comte couldn’t fight.” 

“How did you know?” she asks. 

“He’d sent his brother off to fight for Grand Duke Gaspard during the civil war in his place, and he was the one who paid for the contract.”

“His own brother?”

Lucanis sighs. “Orlesians.” He says it with exasperation as if his own cousin hadn’t just tried to get him killed. If he catches the irony, he gives no indication of it. 

“Does it ever bother you? Your job?”

“No, death comes for everyone. I’ve never killed an innocent by my count. It is a solitary sort of occupation though. I hadn’t realized that until I joined this team. Though I could do without the dragons if it’s all the same to you.”

“And gods fighting in my head,” she agrees.

He glances at the comfortable tangle of their fingers before meeting her gaze. “Even so, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

When he looks at her like that, her stomach does a little flip. She hopes he can’t tell. “Laying on the hard ground in a tiny tent after fighting through scores of Venatori?”

The corners of his mouth tip up at her attempt at a joke, his gaze filled with nothing but fondness. “With you.”

And if that isn’t a declaration, what is?

Likes and reblogs are love!

[beanie-baby-0218]

My PJSK Fantasy AU !!

I’ve been writing a pjsk fantasy AU and wanted to share some of the stuff I’ve made for it so far :))

It’s Niigo and Shinonome Siblings focused. If I had to name a protagonist for it, it would be Ena but it’s generally more of an ensemble affair.

I’ve been writing it on AO3 so here’s a link to that if anyone is interested

There are who I’d consider the “main cast”:

Characters are marginally aged up but mainly to make the fact that some of them have jobs as knights and whatnot make more sense. Mizuki especially given she’s been a knight for a few years. I just can’t imagine having a 13yo be a knight lol.

World Building:

There are three main kingdoms. The Tenma Kingdom, the Hinomori Kingdom and the Ootori Kingdom

10 years before the events of the story, the Tenma and Hinomori Kingdoms found themselves engaged in war with each other. Things have since calmed down, but relations are still tense

There are humans and there are magical creatures

Magical creatures include anything and everything that can naturally use magic including witches, fae, pixies, etc etc. Humans can also become magical creatures through curses, such as one which turns its victim into a demon

On the other hand, magic does not come naturally to humans. In order to use magic, they lose small amounts of blood. Generally this results in nose bleeds but if used recklessly it can cause internal bleeding

There’s also dark magic, which are spells drawn using blood. These can be cast by both humans and magical creatures

Many humans seek to be able to control magic, thus they often outlaw and hunt magical creatures. Those who can’t hide their magic are typically pushed to the outskirts of society, whether that be slums or forests. They’re very rarely welcome in human towns and cities

Characters:

Kanade:

Kanade is technically half-witch, with her father being human and her mother being a witch

Her father attempted to experiment with music-based magic in order to improve his music which backfired on him both because he was reckless and because he was human

Kanade walked in the moment it backfired, winding up with a curse

Its effects are mostly minor. Her hands are covered in dark, vein-like lines and will often lock up or go numb. This usually happens as a result of stronger emotions, but can also happen randomly. It’s usually painless but sometimes it does hurt

Generally, she can only ever seem to recover when turning to music. Usually this means attempting to play a song on her lyre

Mafuyu:

As mentioned previously, humans often get injured upon using magic

Mafuyu comes from the Hinomori Kingdom, being the child of Lord and Lady Asahina. Her father is an advisor for the royal family whilst her mother is a housewife

He originally picked up healing magic as a way to heal the small scratches and bruises his friends would often receive whilst playing

When her mother noticed this, she began to encourage Mafuyu to keep practicing and getting even better at healing magic. For a while it became Mafuyu’s single focus and it took both a physical and mental toll on her

Things remained that way until Mafuyu’s friend, Princess Shizuku, offered him an escape through becoming a knight. This gave Mafuyu peace of mind for a while, until an encounter with an innocent young orc he was expected to kill, in which he began to question the morals of the kingdom he worked for

She ended up abandoning her post that day, later being found by Ena who convinced Meiko to let her live with them

Ena:

Ena was ten when the war between the Tenmas and the Hinomoris began. She got separated from her family and ended up being fatally injured, believing herself to be as good as dead

Instead a strange boy with a set of horns appeared and held out his hand to her. When she took it, those horns transferred onto her head, turning her into a demon

This gave Ena the magic to heal her wounds enough to survive and she was soon found by another demon - Meiko - who took her in

Whilst neither Ena nor Meiko know too many details about their curse, they know that it makes their magic volatile and incredibly responsive to emotions. Ena fears both that, if she tried to return home, she may hurt her family with her magic given she is quite the emotional person, and worried that her family may not accept her in this new form

Mizuki:

Mizuki became a knight at a relatively young age due to King Tenma’s insistence

She generally dislikes her job, but knows that if she were to abandon her post it would put both her and her older sister in danger

Mizuki believes they owe a lot to Yuuki for how she took care of Mizuki when they were younger, so is willing to take on the burden of keeping them both safe

She met Ena and the others during a stroll in the forest (where they live). The three of them were on a walk when they bumped into Mizuki, and immediately assumed she was some sort of threat. To her surprise, once she was able to reassure them all that she wasn’t a threat, they became surprisingly friendly and a bond formed between them

Niigo are some of the only friends Mizuki has and they’ll do anything to keep them out of harms way. This includes almost exclusively visiting them at night and occasionally going on errands for them so they don’t have to enter the capital city

From this point on I have nowhere near as many lore additions to add about each character lol

Akito:

Used to be friends with the young Lord Toya. A young boy who was so close to Prince Tsukasa and Princess Saki that they saw him as their brother. Much like Akito’s sister, Toya has gone missing and is presumed by many to be dead

Also not lore related but I’m so annoyed because I just realised that some of his text is in a different colour

An:

Comes from a family of bards

Her dad owns a café which she often visits during the work day to get some coffee to give her an energy boost

Her close friend Kohane works there as a waitress

Rui:

Not gonna say anymore about him than there already is. He’s meant to be very elusive

Meiko:

Whilst she has never confirmed or denied it, Ena assumes that Meiko’s deadpan nature is her way of controlling the curse. She never expresses any strong emotions, meaning she struggles with losing control of her magic much less frequently than Ena

She also has ties to a mischievous fae who lives in the forest and enjoys pulling pranks on its residents

Omg that spiralled out of control a little. It’s not even all the content I have for this AU but I feel like this is already wayyy too much of a ramble as is

Maybe I’ll make another post for art/card edits I’ve been making for it

Also any future posts about this will be under the tag ‘#narcissus and marigolds’

[ladydeath-vanserra]

Hello 👋

I love your thoughts on anti ic and the way you delve into everything and actually name the issues within them .

I have a rant about Feyre :

I liked her in Book 1 but book 2 onwards Mr SA melted her brain . There are lots of things that irk me about feyre : Her Hipocrasy first and foremost

The Hipocrasy is strong with this girl istg , like you're the one who does a free public porn show for the guy who SA you and then have the gall to compliment rhys when he uses his powers on keir for calling you a whore. Like wtf ? I am on kiers side in this , if your dictator ( because that's what rhysand is ) was fingering a fae in front of all of his court I'd be disgusted too .

The scene where feyre starts crying because of nestas expenditure ? Like bitch you have 5 houses and your "friend s" are always out drinking and fucking and you don't have a problem with that ? I actually think mor is an alcoholic and her relationship with cassian is incestuous.

Feyre locking Nesta in the HOW even after her trauma when tamlin locked her up in the manor like are you kidding me rn ? Seriously if I was nesta I would've verbally rendered feyre to a pile of dust .

Coming to that she also has no phycological damage from the 3 months rhysand SA her and made her do lap dances but when your sister is snarky and calls you for her decisions you have the gall to have trauma about that ? Be fr bro I call my brother whore for fun 💀( only children shouldn't be allowed to write sibling relationships - sjm )

Sorry if this got too long , I just wanted to rant to someone and I hope you understand ( you're one of the few people in this fandom with actual functioning neurons )

Thank you 💗

Yeah, I don't really get Rhysand's whole,,, well anything regarding politics tbh. He talks down and degrades the CoN and treat them as nothing more than oppressive misogynists' in front of them and then proceeds to perform sexual acts with the woman he then wants to be viewed in a professional, respectable and political light and when that doesn't happen, due to the whole sexual act and 'Rhysand's harlot' or whatever she called herself, thing, Rhysand then assaults Keir

So like.... he can assert authority and abuse power when it comes to disrespect to the girl he literally wanted to be his plaything in front of these people, but he can't assert authority when it comes to protecting the vulnerable populations of the CoN or to establish progressive laws. He says Keir is in charge of the CoN and that he can't use the Darkbringers without his permission but then he assaults the Steward of the CoN. High Lord or not that doesn't make a lick of sense if he ever wants to be viewed as a legitimate ruler. I would also be disgusted by such vulgar acts- besides these people did not consent to be witnesses to sexual acts of display

Feyre crying is... I dunno. Like I chalked it up to hormones, but I am more concerned with Rhysand's blatant manipulation and emotional and financial abuse of reading off expenses in front of every single member of the IC. That is a form of shame and humiliation in order for Feyre to 'get her sister under control'. But I also agree, I think it's completely unnecessary and hypocritical of Rhysand and Co to look down their noses at Nesta for spending money when Rhysand himself said that the IC bleed him dry with their flagrant spending on alcohol and parties- which is said in ACOMAF but then it gets played off for the Laugh

Feyre and Rhysand locking Nesta up in the HoW is just sooooo. guh. How is it that when Tamlin does it for *checks notes* five minutes it's the most egregious, unforgiveable sin but when Rhysand and Feyre not ONLY lock her up, they demolished her home, they had Elain pack up her belongings, they made her live with a man Nesta repeatedly, verbally said she wanted nowhere near her. Plus the humiliation factor of not only being talked at in front of the IC, but Rhysand, Feyre and Amren talking about Nesta via Mental Powers in front of Nesta. There was so, so much wrong with that entire scene and the fact that both the narrative and the fandom cannot see why that scene was so disgusting is quite frankly, alarming

Like I can get that Feyre could have emotional and internalized feelings of a bad self image via Nesta from childhood, but I am also aware of what can happen when children are forced into extremely small proximity with each other with a very toxic and unhealthy household. Nesta and Feyre both were at each other's throats. they were both awful to each other and there is a rather large amount of assumption by Feyre and a large amount of miscommunication with both the girls

Rhysand however, with all his abuses of Feyre UtM, just... being forgotten about, just like that, is very weird. Very weird, especially if Nesta is still paying for sins from before the first book even took place. Feyres not getting triggered from the Weavers cottage? shes not getting triggered with his "Feyre Darling"? She's not getting triggered being in the CoN where UtM was inspired by? She's not getting triggered wearing those scraps of clothes? She's not getting triggered when Rhys uses paint on Feyre in Chapter 55 or whatever chapter it was just like he did UtM in front of Tamlin??????

Feyre brings up UtM ONCE to Rhysand and he gets all hyperventilatey and says theyll 'talk about it later' and then guess what, it doesn't. It just gets explained that he just had to torture his mate and what it was doing to him

give me a break

[waddei]

full story behind these images (6.5k words open at your own risk)

pacing back and forth in the damp grass roman bit his nails waiting for tomas to pick up the phone.

“cmon…cmon…”  

his boots splashes on the muddy puddles, staining his soles.

“fuck..” 

a small click from the phone made him jump.

“tom thank god-”

“what do you want” his friend whisper shouts. voice as always a strange mix between quiet but assertive.

“i need your help” he says with far too little shame for someone calling in the middle of the night.

the wind hit his back harsher than before now, dark clouds swerved above him and he could only pray that the night ended with a storm. He can imagine himself, staring through the window at the flooding street with a grin, watching the rushing  mud and sand wash the town clean. 

tom doesn't  answer,but thats normal by now.

“its important” he begs, a ‘please’ goes unsaid for his own egos sake.

“lets meet at our spot shall we?” he sounds as frantic as his heartbeat feels, tom mooks him from the comfort of his home with an intentionally loud sip of his mug.

he doesnt let the distance stop him from feeling those hollow green eyes stare down at him

“what did you do” tom asks, impatient. for what though, roman doesn't know, that sense of hurry around him never faded.

he swallows as he looks down at his feet. resting next to them in the grass was the man's head, his nose had long stopped bleeding and lifeless eyes stared up at him in long ignored plea of mercy, they were starting to gloss over. roman bit back a sound of disgust.

“i cant tell you right now.just come here” 

tom gave a long heavy sigh “my brother’s sleeping” he said, like it mattered at all.

“do i look like i care?" he snarled “bring your bike too if you're coming”

the body below him caught his eye again. it was fairly tall,only a few inches short of himself,which was impressive in its own right. 

“two trash bags too if you happen to have any”

“two?” 

“yes… two”

tom huffed and the call was cut with no goodbye, again ,not unusual but it never failed to annoy him.

with a groan he squats down in the grass, careful not to stain his jeans neither green nor red. 

he feels unseeing eyes  burn his back.the body had not moved, obviously, its mouth hanged open after having its last words die on his tongue.

He doubts he would have had anything of value to say anyways.

The bastard,miserable not unlike himself, chose to go down swearing until the very end when, after the reality of his situation dawned on him, he began pleading and bargaining like he was talking to the devil. which, if you where to ask anyone else, he was.

his last words where as nonsensical as they were a threat.

Roman doubts it'll amount to anything, after all the plan was to not get caught.

as for the rest of ‘the plan’ as he likes to call it: it didn't have any more steps for now. at least until tom got here, he'll figure it out from there.

He looks up at the moon,bright and unusually big. She sat in the sky directly above him like an otherworldly spotlight parting through the clouds with little struggle,he revels in it even if just for a moment. his childish fascination with her never quite faded.

the wind continued to ruin his moment, swaying tree branches dangerously close to his face, his jacket wasn't enough to keep out the cold, shamefully he wrapped his arms around himself.

a leaf smacks him in the face. He rips the small branch out.

‘tom should be on his way already’-he thinks to distract himself- ‘if he's even coming’.

he's sure he will, where else would he go?

man of habit he is,he’ll find his way here eventually even if roman hadn't called him, he's sure of that.  hed make his rounds like he always does and, eventually, they'd meet again even if he didnt move an inch until then.

he doesn't want to move really,not at all. feeling like he's putting his life on the line if he leaves the corpse alone.

walking through the dense vegetation wasn't easy, he envies the ease tom seemed to have with it.

He makes it to a clearing in the bushes, a familiar checkpoint when traversing the landscape that tom had originally shown  him.

he skips right through it this time, heading for a particular tall tree that stood out against the horizon.

at its base was everything he ever needed. 

Tom, with his bike and two large trash bags pooling out of his cammo vests pockets.

his head snaps to look at him once he crosses the threshold to ‘their place’.

a nice, semi enclosed area by the base of a tree older than everyone they've ever meet where a fallen log made a makeshift bench. tom was sitting on it with his bike next to him. 

wordlessly and shielding his shaking hands he motions for him to follow and  Tom does so with a disinterested look.

roman begins leading him to the scene.

tom jumps over the bushes roman had gotten his pants caught on before. “what did you do?” he asks, verbatim as he had done so on the phone. roman ignores him and hops over a hole in the dirt, tom follows and he helps him haul his bike over it.

they reach the clearing, small drops of water already drizzling made each blade of grass sparkle.

 tom stares at them as he always does,roman assumes a certain fascination with it might exist but the boy's eyes remain as painfully neutral as they always do.

he does not bother hurrying him up as he too takes a moment to stare, only he looks up at the moon instead, trying to  steady his trembling hands.

they move on once tom grows bored of watching the ants or whatever. Roman leads him to the other semi cleared area where he knew the body was.

parting the bushes for tom like the gentleman he is, he lets him take a good look at the scene before saying anything. He takes note of how wide his eyes grow as he scans the ground in front of him. a horrified look begins to paint itself on his face.

it doesn't last much, the small flash of emotion was quickly drowned out by  his usual apathetic look. 

“what did you do?” he asks for the third time, carefully looking at him up and down with a hint of disgust showing through the ice.

“i think its obvious”  roman jumps over closer to the body and further away from tom.

“i fucked up..” he sais with his hands on his hips in a vain attempt a showmanship. “went a bit too far this time”

tom crouches down near his foot and near the man's head, his eyes go wide again when he makes eye contact with it. he watches incredulously as roman, nonchalantly,  nudges an arm with his foot.

“i think i might need some help” its a bold thing to admit for someone like him, tom doesn't fail to notice it.

greyish green eyes narrow on him like a hawk and with a single precise motion he throws the trash bags at his feet.

“im not touching it” he declares with a tone that leaves no room for argument. 

 that's fine, a sensible boundary even. all he needed was the bike and the bags. He opens up the folded bags and lays them in the ground next to the body while avoiding his friends stare.

“welp” he announces to no one, for he knows tom isn't paying attention. “lets get to work”

with more effort than expected he sits the man,dead as he was, against a short stump.

a  phone falls out of his pockets in the meanwhile, tom immediately smashes it below his foot. roman jumped “whats your problem?”

“they can track that” he stomps on it again for good measure.

“i could have sold it-”

“tell me what happened” 

tomas isn't someone he’d call intimidating. the boy was as thin as one can get and a full head shorter than him, but he was hard to read. impossible even. it scared roman in a very specific way he struggled to explain. 

he sighs, with the stars as witnesses he pulls the man's legs closer to his chest.

“well we were just supposed to fight. fucker slipped me a note with a date and place and i just came-uhmp!” He struggled with folding the arms over the chest.

“and?” tom pressed.

“well i had a bad day! and He was pissing me off more than usual..” he takes one last look at the mans’s face, ridden with  bruises and with an undeniably broken nose, his eyes couldn't glare at him anymore. “so once i had him down i just kept stomping on his head”

it felt strange to admit it so easily. tom winced and looked away back to the clearing.roman  took this as a cue to finally fit the first bag over the corpse's head. it covered it all the way to his hips as he expected.

the legs turn out to be much harder to lift than anticipated but he makes due without help. Once the two bags meet he ties them both together at various points until the body is fully secured inside, clumsily  wrapped like a home cooked meal.

he giggles at the thought,Tomas glares at him again.

"we have to get this out of sight somehow" he mumbles "do you still have that shovel in your garage?"

Tom doesn't answer, but he does not freeze either. He stares intently at him, watching him struggle to balance the body on the bike;he sets it with its legs between the front bar where he,while driving, could hold it still.

struggling to drive the bike through the bushes he almost misses Tom silently walking away.

"hey!"  he almost loses hold of the handles. "where are you going?" 

the boy jumps the bushes into the clearing. his hair  sways violently with the wind but Tomas never seemed to mind the way it covered his eyes at random.

"you want the shovel right?" he spits,not bothering to look back at him.

A smile creeps up his face and he bares his teeth like a child;far too giddy even for his own comfort he watches his friend walk away. 

in the meanwhile a thought emerges, unwanted and uncalled for, a little voice inside himself that trembled and stuttered at every word like he's sure he used to  'what if he tells on you' it whispers into his ear 'what if he tells his brother' 

he groans, pushing the bike up another bush. tomas wouldn't, he barely fucking talks in the first place. that won't happen.

the bag slumps forward,too distracted to catch it he lets the corpse hit its head against the front wheel.

he snorts imagining how it's nose must have flattened against it. his shoulders immediately sag after, there's a dirty feeling that comes with laughing at a corpse,no less one you've killed.

He reaches a big rock, too big to jump over,too heavy to lift and too annoying to push the bike around.

scanning the skyline he sees nothing but short,spiky bushes and scattered trees in front of him. the already dim lights of the town were completely lost from sight. the wind lifted up the sandy ground into his eyes but aside from that? it was a perfect spot.

He sets the bag on the ground, letting the bike and himself rest.

now he waits.

He can do nothing without something to dig with. He can get as many rocks out the way as he wants but that in the end doesn't take too long.

he looks up, the moon hadn't moved much from when he last saw her,now without branches to bother him the ghostly light pools over him.The stars shine brighter here in the open field, they occasionally peek from behind the rapidly moving clouds. He lets himself relax,leaning over the hard rock. even with the cold freezing his face a sigh escapes him, carelessly he kicks the bag away and rests his legs over another rock. thunders threatens to make the sky fall on him,he cant bring himself to care.

the beating inside his chest slows down for the first time since the man's head hit the floor. leaves and sand fly at his face so his eyes shut on their own.

'hes taking too long' the meek voice whispers. Tom's house was not too far, but without his bike it's quite the trip. He's not taking detours, his brother was asleep. 

‘shut the fuck up’ he mentally yells at it.

his head drifts and he slowly sinks down as he lets himself lay down more and more against the rock.

ignoring the way the cold bites at  his skin he rests.

with his eyes closed he can't tell if hes asleep or not until  he feels movement on the bushes.

before he can open his eyes to check he's smacked in the stomach with a blunt object.

roman jumps to his feet, hands balled up and ready to fight but before him stood tomas. with a shovel.

"thank God" his hands fall to his sides again.

Tom's hands extend, silently offering him the shovel.

he takes it with a quick remark."you scared me"  

tomas ignores him again and sits down on a different rock a few steps away, staring at the floor he snaps a branch off one of the nearby bushes.

"well!" he dusts his pants off, mostly to amuse himself "I better get to work now! 

the shovel was small, not meant for anything more than some mild garnering or playing in the sand. it stood to about his knee when he stuck it in the ground;still he had to make this work.

bit by bit he began shoveling the sandy dirt out of the way,he would have been sweating hadn't he already been freezing.

"y'know when you mentioned-" the shovel struck a rock, he struggled to lift it up again "having a shovel I wasn't expecting it to be so-" the rocks pops out the ground successfully "small"

he complains to the wind, because tom wasn't listening and even if he was he was not going to respond.

"should have told me it was more of a toy than anything-"

"there's blood in your hands now" tom cuts him off, fancying himself a cryptic bastard all of a sudden.

roman scoffs "no there isn't,I get any on me" 

the conversation, if you could even call it that, dies there. buried with the other guy most likely.

dry grass swayed, some of it stuck to his hair, some brushed at his arms and legs.

most of it he ripped off.

Tom's wordless stare burned on his back, but at least he wasn't alone. his own heartbeat set a rhythm for the shovel going in and out the dirt. the mount behind him grew bigger as the stars moved closer to the Horizon.

"it's 4:36 already" the boy  spoke up eventually.

roman took the last bit of dirt off the hole. "I'm almost done" carelessly he began pushing the bag into the it  with his foot.

tomas waits for the wind to quit loudly howling on their ears to speak again . "my brother wakes up at 5:30" 

he clicks his tongue, being a little meaner than he intended  "I don't care-" 

"he'll notice if I'm gone,give me the shovel back"

roman ignores him, instead hitting the bag with it, making it go down further into the dirt.

"give me 5 more minutes with it" he argues, not bothering to wait for a response.

quickly he covers the hole back up and, as soon as he dusts his hands and before he declares his work done, tom rips the shovel out of his hands. roman doesn't protest when their eyes lock for a second too long.

he stares at the ground where he knows the body is. only shooting a goodbye to Tom once he hears him pick his bike up.

he doesn't doubt the boy waved at him.

he always did.

He picked  his bike up and drove through the terrain like it was nothing, roman knows he has been here before, but he doubts he'll come  back.

confidently roman adds ‘corpses’ to his (mental and very short) list of things he knows  tomas does not like.it sat comfortably next to some classics like: ‘talking’,‘strawberries’ and  ‘staying still’

he giggles at it, although more concerning probably was that he couldn't name a single thing tom liked aside from walking and probably the color green, nor a single other  person he knew aside from himself and his brother.

a brother that to this day remained unnamed. 

He has fun imagining what he'd be like sometimes, there's plenty of time to kill during the day after all. 

‘he probably wouldn't like to meet you’ a weaker version of himself comments, he ignores it.

a single drop soaking through his jacket was enough to drag him back to reality.

the clouds had grown darker, they obscured the moon completely now.

he fills his chest with the salty humid air one last time before turning his back on the burial and heading back the same way Tom had.

he avoids the kill site and prays to no god in particular that the rain was enough to wash it all clean. it was starting to pick up now so the world might be on his side after all.

He reaches the port before he does any roads, the rotten wooden docks left much to be desired but he was used to them now, as a child he had enjoyed watching the crabs that lived under it bury themselves in the sand. the river led directly to the sea. Fisher boats rested on the sand,some new and shiny, most  rusted and abandoned for tourists to take pictures next to.

bright yellow street lamps made the raindrops much more evident. 

taking the chance he looked at his reflection in a closed storefront, he looked as he always had,just a bit more wet. his mask was getting a bit  uncomfortable but it stayed on.

the paved road was the longest way back but he takes it anyway,more mud on his shoes wouldn't be ideal. He blindly walks until he reaches one of the two main roads in the town with a stoplight in it.  he turns right, avoiding walking by it for too long, the backstreets being even more empty if this was possible.

thunder roared above him and a smile tugged at his lips. almost immediately the light rain turned into a violent outpour,but that didn't matter, he could see his house from here already.

doing his best to not wake anyone up Roman limbs to his window like he always does though this time the heavy rain helps disguise the noise.

before he sets foot inside,still sitting on the windowsill, he take this shoes off and carries them to the bathroom.

the jacket lands in the floor and his pants on top of the toilet as he tears his soaked clothes off without much care and almost trips trying to plug the hairdryer on.

he sets it balanced against a shampoo bottle and pointing at his jacket, hoping to dry it while he, using a random brush his mom used to clean the ceramic, aggressive cleaned the mud off his shoes in the shower. 

in the meantime the rain got worse-or better if you where to ask him. his mom's carefully pruned garden began to flood and soon so did the street. the dirt ones-he assumes-aren't doing much better.

he gets giddy at what that means for him tonight.

He dries his clothes, washes his hair and cleans his shoes. by the time he's done it's nearing 7am already.

he goes to sleep, the rain still falling above the house served well for white noise.

the trees outside slammed their branches into his window but his eyes remained shut.

the brewing storm outside promised flow but he didn't care.

his brother was snoring again, he could hear it even with the wind whistling louder and louder. javier was a heavy sleeper, tomas envied him for that.

deep breath after deep breath he failed to fall asleep for the third night in a row,though at least today he had more of an excuse. the branches scratching at his window are more than distracting.

he stares at the back of his eyelids for some time, he can feel the gears on his alarm clock ticking,the hands moving 

every second.

every minute.

every hour.

it marked 2:30 am.

too tired to sleep, Tomas springs out of his bed in frustration.

his feet blindly find his slippers and he's off to the hallway in less than 3 steps.

he takes a practiced route to the kitchen, practically blind he feels the texture of the floor change From the more textured tiles of the hallway to the smooth, cream colored ones on the kitchen. he pries his eyes open but the darkness doesn't get any better until he hits the light switch next to the door.

the wind makes the windows shake and creak, it drowns over the sound of the cabinet opening perfectly.

the movement is near automatic when he fills a small pot with water and sets it on the stove. tomas opens the gas tank and lights the burner on.

from a small box his mother had left them behind he takes a teabag while the water boils.

the kitchen small window leaked the same way it had been leaking since they where kids, tomas stepped over the small puddle to grab his cup from the cabinet and brew himself something warm.

as he blows on it, the phone at the corner of the room lights up. 

at this hour and  with this climate there was only one person that could call.

so,at this hour and with this climate tom let's it ring for a minute or two while stirring his drink.

roman is persistent, and eventually he lets himm get his way.

"tom thank god-" wind  came through the other end stronger than his voice.

"what do you want"

he hears roman swallow "I need your help"

aware of how those words burned his tongue yhe lets them sit in the air.

Uncaring, he waits for roman to get tired of waiting.

"it's important" he clarifies uselessly "let's meet at out spot shall we?" he rushed over his words, trembling slightly.

the  cold must be getting to him-tomas thinks. he wraps his hand around the warm mug and takes a sip, loudly savoring it.

he can feel roman grow impatient. 

"what did you do" he asks him, wary of the volume in his voice to not wake his brother up even with the incoming storm raging outside.

roman swallows, he hears  the gears on his head turning even though the heavy winds. his tongue clicks a few times while he's lost in thought.

“i cant tell you right now.just come here” 

tomascarefully eyes the hallway, still dark and with only javi's  snores coming through.he gave a long sigh.

 “my brother's sleeping” he said,more so as a comment than an excuse.

“do i look like i care?" roman  growled at him, needlessly angry like always “bring your bike too if you're coming”

he went quiet again, tomas wished he could see his face at least. He hated talking through the phone.

he hears him take another deep breath, “two trash bags too if you happen to have any”  

the wind filled the silence on both sides,his brother was still sleeping.

“two?” tomas eyes the drawer where javier keeps them.

“yes… two”

he hangs up,taking another sip in the meanwhile.

the dots are not hard to connect, it was going to happen eventually.

his fingers curled tightly around the cup.

with a deep breath tomas dumps the remaining tea down the drain and rushes to the hallway.

at the end of it was his brothers door, halfway open and with its handle poorly painted. 

"javi" he calls out, quiet enough to not wake him up but loud enough that if he where to be awake he'd hear it. 

the only answer he gets is a loud snore. 

avoiding looking at himself in the hallway mirror like always he makes his way to his room.

the curtains where drawn, the orange fabric tinted gray by the dark sky behind it.

He closes the blinds like he should have before going to sleep.

his bedsheets were still in the mess he had left them in and they will stay like that for now.

tomas changes out of his old pajama shorts in favor of a pair of dark jeans, over his shirt he throws on a dark long sleeved one and then a puffy vest after hearing the wind seemingly pick up even more.

he doesn't take his phone with him, roman was an idiot for taking his.

He stands before the wooden door now, heavy and old it'll surely wake javier up if he opens it. the keys dangling were already too noisy for him to feel safe holding them. The 3 locks taunted him. not to mention the extra bar door outside with its extra two locks, he took his eyes away from it when the window creaked once again.

it led to the patio, right in front of the grill they never use.

he took off the teaspoon that had been acting as a lock for years now after the wooden hook had snapped on an storm not too dissimilar from this one.

the wind immediately threw the glass open and he fought to keep them from slapping against the wall.

tomas grinded his teeth, climbing on top of the couch and pilling on the cushions behind him to block the window he eventually took the small leap into the outside.

immediately he doubled over shivering. warm air form his mouth formed vapor clouds in front of him. 

he rushed down the stairs to the street, taking a sharp turn to the garage he where fiddles for a minute with the lock. the gates draw sand with them when they open and next to javiers beat up sienna  was his bike, slightly rusted from pedaling in the sand.

the fig tree swayed it's branches dangerously low to the ground and to his face, it slapped the back of his head as a goodbye when he jumps the front gate.

he braces himself under the yellow streetlight, getting on his bike the wind hits even harder.

knowing the dirt street like the back of his hands he swiftly dodges potholes and rocks. passing by the same houses he always did, Tomas takes the last street along to the beach all the way to the very back of the town.

his heart races when he spots the bushes he's about to go into.

the empty, wild terrain, was uninhabited.tainted only sometimes and near the road with attempts at building makeshift houses or old tent set ups abandoned. he never bothered fucking with any of them.

above the unfinished foundation and trash stood an unfinished two story house, all bare bricks except for it's roof which had surprisingly been finished but now was partially caving in.

he ignored it for now. he knew what it's inside looked like down to every graffiti painted, but it served as a nice checkpoint to know where he was going.

turning a sharp left from the front of the house where  the bushes began to become trees one large one stood out, literally, above the rest.

his second checkpoint.

‘their spot'

he gets there with ease, and now he waits. thankfully not for long.

the cold humid air was soured when roman, panting and trembling, jumped over the bushes to meet him.

he doesn't say as much as a hello. only becoming him to follow.

so Tomas, against his better judgment and like he always does, follows.

looking from side to side every time a leaf swayed Roman led the way, clearly not comfortable having his back turned on him he looks back to meet green tired eyes multiple times. they narrow on him, and tomas is  sure he can feel it.

“what did you do” he asks, just like he had before.

roman stutters in his step, almost tripping on the grass, but he doesn't respond. he silently offers help to haul his bike over a hole,tomas takes it.

they reach a clearing in the trees soon enough. the air became thick and uncomfortable almost immediately. it's an energy tomas  can't describe, but he's sure he knows what it is deep inside.

he stops, bowing his head down to think.

roman gladly waits for him, spelling out that he, in a way, didn't want to continue either;he stares at the moon with silent guilt weighing his eyes.

they moved on eventually, when tomas wraps his head around the atmosphere and roman quits brooding the later parts the bushes for the former.

tom jumps without looking ahead.

previously blocked by Romans back he saw a man, unconscious, laying in the grass.

his eyes glazed over.

his mouth hanged open.

his face with no spot left unbruised.

he saw a man,dead, laying on the grass

“what did you do?” tomas asks for the third time. eyeing Roman up and down with barely disguised disgust showing I'm his eyes.

“i think its obvious”  roman jumps over closer to the body and further away from himself.  “i fucked up” he says with faux boredom coating his tongue  “went a bit too far this time”

tomas crouches down near the man's head, inspecting with a heavy hearth it's expression twisted in a final scream of anguish.

he watches incredulously as roman, with needles fake casualty nudges an arm with his foot. “i think i might need some help” 

tomas, understaiding, tosses the bags his way. “I'm not touching it”

roman huffs.

“welp” he announces, ignoring the way tomas burns his eyes into him “lets get to work”

tomas watches him struggle with the body, trying to make it sit. 

the man's phone falls out his Pockets and he panics. He immediately smashes it below his foot.

roman jumped “whats your problem?”

“they can track that” he stomps on it again for good measure.

“i could have sold it-” roman whines.

“tell me what happened” he more or less barks at him, wincing at the volume of his own voice.

roman gives a shaky sigh, pleading to the sky for strength to help him pull the man's legs closer to his chest while he talks.

“well,we were just supposed to fight” his gaze drifted over the body, faltering for only one second before continuing. 

“fucker slipped me a note with a date and place and i just came-uhmp!” he interrupted himself, struggling with the bodies limbs.

“and?” tom pressed.

“well i had a bad day! and He was pissing me off more than usual..” he splutters, throwing the dead man a Nasty look like he could see it. “so once i had him down i just kept stomping on his head”

his gut twists in disgust. roman, completely occupied with the task at hand, didn't notice.

he turns his eyes back to the clearing where the soft grass swayed in the strong wind.

tomas hears roman fitting the bags over the man.  a soft giggle, tone-deaf if you where to ask him, leaves his lips when he finishes. he doesn't know what came first, if the head or the legs but when he turns his head to glare at roman the man is fully covered.

"we have to get this out of sight somehow”

roman talks to himself.

tomas bites his tongue.‘we is a strong word’

unaware roman keeps going "do you still have that shovel in your garage?” 

not waiting for an answer roman grabs his bike like it belonged to him and,with little consideration for its owner standing behind him, balances the bags on it. 

he hopes he can feels his eyes burning his back. 

he watches, still struggling to believe it all, how his friend handled the corpse like it was no more than an inconvenience, cursing quietly to himself trying to thread the bike over a bush.

he'd love to be surprised to see the utter lack of care on the man's eyes.

he's grown accustomed to it,it always lingered whenever he talked about anything that wasn't himself,though tomas struggled to call him narcissistic; there's a slight difference between believing you're above everything and believing everything is below you. 

a certain nihilism always accompanies the latter. he knew this to be true, roman wasn't particularly shy about it. pessimistic anger coated his every word when they pertained to the world outside their own bubble.

he watches the only person outside his own brother that he's directed as much as a word towards in the last 6 months struggle with the corpse of the man he’d just killed.

silently as always, he makes a choice and jumps into the clearing.

"hey!" his friend calls out  "where are you going?" 

"you want the shovel right?" He avoids romans eyes. not letting him see the guilt welling on his own.

As soon as he's out of sight he sprints through the trees, blindly jumping and dodging until he hits the road again. out of breath he pushes himself, filling his mind with every minute detail of the dirt road below his feet to black out any other thoughts.

his chest burns already when he reaches his own street. With Every step he took  he could imagine his brother, arms crossed in the kitchen table, maybe drinking a coffee, maybe staring coldly at the door. waiting for him.

his voice, always weighed down with worry, would ask him where he went; and tomas, the weak man he is, would not be able to lie.

not to him.

he reaches the crossroad his house sat on, old and weathering with a certain charm that was lost in everyone but him.

the lights were all off still.

he jumps the first ,low, gate.going up the concrete stairs only to peek inside .he saw the kitchen empty. his legs give up in relief but his heart still pounds on his throat.

he went down the stairs again, letting his eyes linger on every leaf the tree besides it had to offer. in summer,it would blossom in beautiful pink but the wind didn't let him entertain that idea too much.

it didn't take him long to find the shovel. he gripped it in his hands like his life depended on it, but he didnt take  off with it, not instantly as he’s sure roman would hope.

he could turn back. climb back up the stairs and go back to bed.

he could call the police too, but the thought of not seeing roman again didn't feel right.

 only once did he consider himself behind bars too, it occurred to him in that moment that he cared very little where he got to spend the rest of his life, only his brother's imaginary disappointed-no- disgusted glare really moved him.

forcing himself to make a choice he again picks the worse one and takes off running again, now with the shovel clenched tightly to his chest

he gets to the crime scene and runs north from there, following the tracks of his own bike in what little dirt was left uncovered by vegetation.

roman;the man of the hour, sleep like a baby on a rock.he envied  him really.

slowly he approached, stalking just above the grass like a predator about to pounce, he sees the man stir as he raises the shovel.

in an anger fuelled attempt at playfulness tomas hits roman in the stomach with non insignificant strength.

roman yells and jumps to his feet, fists clumsily balled up in mockery of what could be a fighting stance. his eyes focus soon enough  tough and he lets his hands fall.

“thank god, you scared me” he lets the shovel be handed to him with no comment.tomas sits down on a different rock a few steps away, staring at the floor he snaps a branch off one of the nearby bushes.

"well!" roman dusts his pants off for show "I better get to work now! 

blindly he hears him struggle and lift the dirt from off the ground, occasionally feeling specks of it fly into his face.

"y'know when you mentioned-" the shovel struck a rock, roman struggled to lift it up again "having a shovel I wasn't expecting it to be so-" he pops it out the ground "small"

he complains like always, not really waiting for a response. even now tomas appreciated it to some degree.

not enough to fully ignore everything sadly. 

"should have told me it was more of a toy than anything-"

"there's blood in your hands now" tomas cuts his rambling off with a warning. a remainder he hopes will make it through that thick skull.

roman  scoffs "no there isn't,I get any on me"  he deflects, simple but effective it sent a very clear message.

‘i dont care’

silence,like always, is king between the both of them until tomas checks his watch.

"it's 4:36 already" he spoke up.

roman took the last bit of dirt off the hole. "I'm almost done" carelessly he began pushing the bag into the hole with his foot.

distantly the wind kept howling. tomas waited for it before he spoke again.

"my brother wakes up at 5:30" 

javier still had work early in the morning on saturdays.

roman clicked his tongue "I don't care-" 

"he'll notice if I'm gone,give me the shovel back"

tomas  demanded,but roman didn't listen, instead hitting the bag with it, making it go down further into the dirt.

"give me 5 more minutes with it" he argues. Tomas doesn't even bother to look back to him, nodding a yes hes sure roman didnt turn around for.

quickly he covers the hole back up and, as soon as he dusts his hands and before he declares his work done, tom rips the shovel out of his hands. roman doesn't protest when their eyes lock.

he runs again for the fourth time that night, reluctantly waving on his way out, mostly out of habit.

hes only a couple of steps away from his house when the sky gives in.

making his way into the kitchen he can hear his brother still snoring  loudly in his room.

He throws his clothes into the washer with the rest of the pile and starts the cycle, careful not to make too much noise, before going back to bed.

[diazedand-confused]

happy wip wednesday

this fic is like. 85% complete. i just have to finish the ending. hopefully posting this will give me motivation to get over the finish line. here are the first ~800 words (out of, currently, 5k). buddie, joint-whump. tw for injuries (specifically concussion symptoms).

“Buck. Buck.”

Buck’s eyes blink open, and the immediate pounding in his head has him screwing them shut again. 

“No, none of that, c’mon, keep them open for me.” 

There’s a hand cradling his cheek, and Buck nestles into it. A thumb swipes through his eyelashes. 

“Buck, you gotta wake up, man.” 

He tries again, opening his eyes slower this time. It’s dark, wherever they are. He can’t move. He’s pinned by — by his seatbelt. Right. He’s in a car. They were driving. They’re not driving anymore. Why does he still feel like he’s moving? The car isn’t moving. They’re not even on a road. 

There’s a jackhammer nearby, splitting his skull in two. He gasps at the pain. 

“You’re okay,” Eddie breathes.

“What — what happened?” Buck slurs, tongue moving clumsily in his mouth. 

“We were in an accident.”

The car is upright, but — he feels drunk, the way he’s so unbalanced. If he weren’t seated and belted in, he’s sure he would fall sideways, gravity be damned. “We were — what?” 

“I don’t know, I–I didn’t see the guy coming. We hit the guardrail on your side, we—” Eddie groans as he shifts in his seat. “We went over. We fell.” 

It’s dark outside the car. Eddie touches the ceiling, which is much closer than it should be. 

“I think we flipped a few times. Are you hurt?” 

“I don’t know.” Buck looks at his own hands. His vision pulses in time with his heartbeat. He tries to count his fingers, but has to stop at fourteen when a roll of nausea churns his stomach. 

Fabric rustles beside him. “I don’t know where my phone is. Do you have yours?”

His phone. He can feel it in his pocket, but he doesn’t know which of his four hands to move to get it. They all feel heavy, and everything hurts. Buck swings his gaze to Eddie to ask, pushing through the sway of vertigo when he moves his head, and stops short. 

“Eddie. Your arm.” It hangs limply against the door, wrist bent weirdly in his lap. 

“Dislocated shoulder,” Eddie grimaces. There’s blood on his face. 

“And you’re bleeding. Why are you bleeding?” He reaches out to touch, but Eddie grabs his wrist with his good hand. “Are you okay? What — what happened?”

Eddie stills. “Buck. I just told you, we were in an accident.”

“Oh.” 

Right. An accident. They’re in a car, in — in Eddie’s truck. They were on the road, and now they’re not, because something happened, and now they’re here, and everything hurts. God, his head fucking hurts. 

“Buck. Look at me.” Eddie drops his wrist to hold a finger up by Buck’s nose. “Follow me, okay?”

He tries, okay, he swears he tries, because Eddie asked in his paramedic voice, the serious one he uses when he means business. This is important. Buck concentrates, and follows Eddie’s finger as it slowly tracks to the right, but when it reverses and goes the other way, the entire world shudders and snaps out of place. Eddie’s one finger becomes three, and Buck can’t possibly follow them all with the way they swirl in his vision. He shuts his eyes against the rush, swallowing bile as the world spins. And spins. And keeps spinning. 

Sorry, he wants to say, but all he can focus on is the ringing in his ears.

“Fuck. Buck, I really need your phone.”

“My head hurts.” 

“I know, but I need you to open your eyes anyway, okay? Can you do that for me?” 

He takes a breath through his nose. There’s a riot of pain across his temples, but he blinks his eyes open. 

The first thing he sees is the crack on the windshield. He can’t see beyond it, doesn’t know if the trees and brush he sees are an illusion, but they must be, because they’re in Eddie’s truck, and it doesn’t make sense for a tree to be in the road, but he can see a crack in the windshield. It’s not shattered completely, and it’s not the spider web of cracks they usually see in car wrecks. Because that’s what this is, right? A wreck? At least they’re upright. 

There aren’t supposed to be cracks in windshields, but there is, here and now. There’s one solitary crack, stretching from top to bottom in a jagged diagonal. Beyond that, it’s dark. The lights are off. It’s nighttime. They were — driving? Eddie was driving—

Eddie. 

Eddie is next to him with glass in his hair and blood on his face. His arm hangs wrongly, a little sideways, sad and droopy in his lap. His eyes are wide and worried as he looks at Buck. 

“Eddie, why are you bleeding?” Buck hears himself ask. The words come out wrong. Are there too many teeth in his mouth? He feels a bit like throwing them up. “What happened to your arm?” 

Eddie’s jaw tenses. “We were in an accident, Buck. You–you hit your head. You have a concussion, and I need to call it in.”

[delma-z-dywanu]

LIL COWBOY AND ROMAN HEADCANNOND *v2*

(and maybe some descriptions, idk i just write what comes to my head)

Oct (since he is the stronger one, was a general AND an emparor of rome) always feels guilty when anything bad happens to Jed (or anyone of his friends/other minatures). He often bottels up his feelings, becouse he is scared of loosing his image as a strong and fearless leader. Jed is patient and tries his best to help Octo go through his traumas.

Oct has trobules sleeping alone (since he died in his sleep, all alone) so Jed (even tho he is an early riser, becouse he was an explorer) makes sure to stay by his side when he wakes up. (Octo also does not sleep long, since he had been an emparor and a general)

Jed is scared of bears, and animals that look simillar to them, becouse in his prevoius life he fought with a bear and nearly died (his skin was ripped of his face, and one of his partners had sewn it in place)

Octavius snores, and I mean it. He snores as loud as a thunderstorm. When Jed had slept at his place for the first time he thought someone was attacking the roman diorama

Octo teached Jed how to swim and read

Jed can play guitar well

Octavius cannot dance, Jed taught him some simple moves

Both men are scared of being alone. It has its roots down in their previous lives. Jed, an explorer, never got time to settle down, atacked by a bear, sewn together and a few days after the fight for his life, attacked by a Wild tribe, left to snowly bleed out on a grassland. Octo, a young boy on a throne with an empire to run, later a general, looking out for his pepole, having three wifes only for political benefits, expelling his own daughter away, feeling guilty about it until his final breath, dying alone in his sleep.

They were the toppers on their wedding cake

Before natm1 (when they were fighting every night) Octo broke Jed's nose at least 5 times

Octo has a lovely singing voice, but he doesn't show it off very often

When Jed proposed to Octavius, Octo laughed. Jed felt his heart shatter, thinking he had done something wrong, proposing to the roman. He tried getting up and running away, to hide and cry his heart out, but Octo saw his watering eyes and explained to him that he laughed becouse in his pocket was an engadgment ring aswell.

Jed loves to complement Octavius. Octavius on the other hand likes to tease the cowboy, becouse he thinks that he looks cute when flustered.

Octavius loves Jedediah's eyes, he complimentes them (and him) in latin

Jed tried to learn latin to suprise Oct, but it didn't go well

Jed knows how to draw maps, navigate and knows a lot about plants in the wild. He also knows a little bit of Spanish and mandarin from the other cowboys and his prevoius life.

Geez thats long, i hope it makes sense

[livvy-fallen]

More animalistic headcannons about the demon bros and demons behavior in general because my hunger (just like Beelzebub) can never be filled. I hope I feed you well my children.

Do I even have to say it is Segestive?

So last time I briefly talked about mating calles. And I stay firm on that. Not only that but I one up that. And that's by the fact I believe that there's demonic language which to humans just sound like hisses, growling and chrips. There is 9 versions of demonic tounges. Of course the 7 sins each is a different animal so it makes sense? And 2 is the general like one that everyone that is devil born can read and write in if taught. Then theres a version for royals. If your like Solomon you can only speak a few words before you throat starts to bleed. It's to harsh for human vocal cords. It rips them apart.

However that doesn't mean you can't copy the specific animals. Only a couple words without any chancees with your vocal cords being ripped apart. After all their just animal noises , humans can mimic that anyways. For example if you hear Levi hiss you can copy it without much issue.

Now lets talk about how demons are fucking SCARYYYY

Because they are still man-eating demons. They have environment changes to eat humans. No matter what that's still hardwired into their system and never will leave. So yes do no worry if you see a pair of bright purple eyes looking at you at nighttime. Ignore how you can't move, it's just the 7th born's demon powers causing sleep paralysis. To them it's just a future meal he can share with his family. Don't worry, he was only checking on the human. he would never eat your soul... Let's hope yes? Just ignore the scratching on the walls you're ears pick up when Lucifer has to lock him away... Again.Don't question why you feel their sins often. Their not doing it on purpose... Most times.

Ignore when you hear their voice and you go to the room and see their not their. Probably on the ceiling. They forget that human just can't decide that being on the floor is so boring and love the wall.

For demons they are very unaware that humans aren't used to seeing demons or don't have the same strength. It also goes through same way for humans. Demons don't have what we consider adrenaline.. Well they do but not exactly. They can push themselves harder when they are in panic but it doesn't wear off like ours. It also isn't as good as what humans ares. Demons are strong anyways they can use more power then needed so they don't really have any their bodies can take all of their power unlike how we restrain ours so their brain doesn't really go past it's limites when adrenaline is added. So imagine their shock when you were in the underground tomb and as your going to get murdered you can suddenly pick up Beelzebub and Luke and run like fuck to get them safe.

It probably also surprised belphegor when all the sudden the weak human had enough strength where you could fight back and run to get yourself hurt. Of course you didn't manage to escape in time. But you left him with a hard to heal nose and a scar. (will definitely be writing a fic where you do survive because of your adrenaline)

Another thing is that demons have a natural sense of hierarchy in their families. The oldest you are the higher you are in power. This is mostly because the oldest tend to be stronger than their younger siblings. So while belphegor definitely does get pampered by his older siblings so do you. You are the youngest and the weakest. Sorry just true most human if not all can be as strong as a demon let a alone a avatar of a sin. So yes, in the later game if you complain or show any sign of pain you better get ready to deal with 6 clingy demons. Lucifer will simply do that in private if not life threatening.

I also fully believe that in heat demons are very.. Unhinged. For an example you wake up to a very happy Satan and Beelzebub at the foot of your bed with body covering them as you have a demon or an poor animal that crossed their path. Their only trying to show they can provide! Cue confused demons as you scream and call for another demon to help. WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?! "Why are you screaming? Are you not in the mood for food? no no stop crying" "Not hungry but they haven't eaten in awhile!" WHAT THE FUCK?! I Suggest you sleep with your door locked. Not like it would stop them but it gives you warning to expect a dead body.

Do expect to randomly be pulled in a nest made by anyone during this. Fight all you want you are getting smothered in blankets and soft items AND YOU ARE GOING TO LIKE IT. The main nest makers in this household are going to be Mammon are belphi. A close one is Lucifer but he doesn't really do it in public. His room is under strong lock and key during this.

Do expect to get harassed when you try to wake up. You try to get up and your getting tackled by the all the 7 sins. You will be cuddled because your "scent" Lord kill me I'm so sorry is stronget at the morning. Your clothes? GONE. Your blankets? GONE. NOT SEEING THEM AGAIN your dignity? NON EXISTENT. You will be robbed of everything you own and will be found in one of the brothers nest. Which then you will be washing it so much because I mean... Do I have to explain? Especially Asmo douse anything you get back from the the embodiment of lust with the finest laundry detergent, Holly water either from Michael or God themselves and hand sanitizer.

Yes the demons are gonna be sore. If you have a period you know when everything and anything that can be sore is sore. That's that from them. If they are winged they will always have their wings out. 1 because achey. 2 presenting to either get or doing the dick downing. They are also going to preen/clean their wings every so often. 1 a day at max. Do be careful where you step please. You try to leave the nest by some miracle you do. Tails and wings are everywhere. One wrong step and your setting off every demon in the HOL.

This is shit. This is very crappy. Please make more creative/ animalistic hc.. I beg 🙏

once again asks and requests are open and I yearn to see one

[loversberceuse]

v-valkyrie lore🤲🤲🤲 valkyrie lore pls, how did we save his eye🤲🤲

(i am in love w/ your writing btw, and the entire concept of this all is just so interesting i am extraordinarily invested🥺👉👈)

that is so sweet, thank you so much :) i'm happy you enjoy it!!

valkyrie lore, you say...

(TW for blood and injury!!)

Sneaking out of your hideout in the dead of night seemed genius at the time. The plan was simple. Run out, head to a local shop for supplies, and come back before anybody even noticed you were outside.

Yeah, right.

Getting out of your hideout has been much easier than you'd expected it to be. It does make sense, considering you have no yandere after you. How lucky.

You decide to exit through the back door of the small mattress shop you had managed to take shelter in when the chaos had begun. While it is a comfortable place to sleep, the lack of general supplies makes the location less than ideal. Oh well, it's definitely better than nothing at all. You grab your backpack off the hook next to the door. While there isn’t much in it right now, it does hold some medical supplies.

You gently shut the door behind you and begin your cautious walk to the shop. The night air, though usually crisp and clean, is now stale. There's no lights on in the city anymore, no more fast food places open, no more normalcy. Despite the odd feeling of the new world you now have to get used to, you push yourself to walk further away from your safe haven.

Rounding the corner to the alley you like to take as a shortcut to the shop, the stench of copper wafts up to your nose. Stopping in your tracks and turning on your flashlight, you decide to look around the small alleyway. While there's nothing directly nearby, a shadow at the end of the alley draws your attention. With a bout of confidence, you decide to approach.

There's a mysterious figure sitting on the ground, leaning their back against the wall, head in their hands. You tilt your flashlight away from their face as to not blind them, and you kneel down just far enough away enough to be considered a safe distance. You squint your eyes to make out the figure. After a bit of silence, a faint dripping sound becomes audible.

Startled, you muster up the courage to speak, "Is.. Is everything okay?"

The figure, for the first time since you'd seen them, decides to move their head up to look at you. They let out what seems to be a soft chuckle, but it's easy to be unsure considering the situation. "I've been better, but this isn't too bad."

Although you're happy to get a good look at their face, you can't help but notice that the left side of it is absolutely caked in blood. “How.. Uh.. Aren’t you bleeding..?”

The figure shrugs, “Yeah, I am. But it’ll stop eventually, right?”

“I dunno if that’s how that works, but.. Is there anything I can do to help?”

They slowly reach up to move their red-tinged hair away from their face, and you move the flashlight a bit closer to get a better look.

Upon closer inspection, it seems as though they’ve lost an eye. This person seems to be a guy, his hair dyed blonde at the ends. Despite the pain he must be in, he still offers you a soft smile. “No idea! Can you?”

You’re unsure of where the person that did this to them went, so you immediately look around to be sure it’s safe to stay here.

“If you’re worried about where the other person went, it’s fine. He’s gone, no worries.” He continues to smile. For once, though, it’s not unsettling. He seems to be trying to make light of the situation by making jokes. What a weird guy.

You sigh and scoot closer to him. “I can help. Luckily for you, I brought my bag with me. I just have bandages right now, but we could fix it a little better later. Is that okay?”

His working eye narrows, and he stares at your face for a couple of seconds. After this small pause, he shrugs yet again. “Okay.. That’s fine.”

You nod and take your backpack off, gently tossing it on the ground beside you. As you begin to look through it, the man moves a bit closer to see what’s inside. You grab the bandages and push the bag closer to him. It’s better to establish trust in this situation, so you figure letting him see what’s inside is a good first step.

“Okay, I’m going to move closer and wrap your eye up. Are you okay with that?”

He’s busy looking through your bag, and he just offers you a nod. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

With his approval, you scoot even closer to him. Unfortunately, you’re close enough to him for your knees to be saturated in the liquid that was falling from his face just moments ago. What an uncomfortable feeling. Despite this, you begin to unwrap up the bandage. Once you think there’s enough, you start to wrap it around his face. “Everything feel okay?”

“I dunno, I can’t see now.” He chuckles, a real one this time.

You sigh at his joke, continuing your work. “Okay, that was.. That was funny. I laughed.”

“But.. You didn’t laugh.”

“I laughed in my head.”

Wrapping up his eye is complete, and you attach a few strips of medical tape to keep it secure. It’ll work, at least for now.

He finally moves to stand up, and you offer an arm to help. He doesn’t take your arm, but he does use the wall to support himself on his way up. “I’m Valkyrie, by the way, but you can call me Valk if you wanna.”

You introduce yourself as well, grabbing your bag up off the ground as you do. “If you wanna come with me, we should hurry. It’s not exactly safe out here.”

He offers you a warm smile and holds an arm out for you to take. You accept the offer, linking your arms together, and the two of you start heading back towards your little mattress shop.

Maybe this is a good thing. You’ve found yourself a companion, after all. While you’re unsure of whether or not he’ll stay, you do secretly hope he does. Maybe, just maybe, you finally have someone you can call a friend.

Alrighty, this is a good start! I’ll write more Valk lore later, but this is all we have for right now. :)

It is a general backstory! If you want more of what happens after this, I’d be happy to write it.

Thanks for the ask again, and I hope you enjoyed!

[thesightstoshowyou]

i humbly request the lovely asa emory for 24 on the six word stories:3

p.s. you can literally take this whatever direction you want because anything you write is fucking incredible

Your wish is my command, bestie! ❤️ Thank you so much.

24. "It's good to know you're safe."

Warnings: Mentions of blood, finger and fingernail trauma, sadism and a little masochism I guess?

It’s finnicky, this wiring. The spring has given him trouble as well. He’d had to modify one from another device and shorten it to the exact length required. One millimeter off and the trap would fail.

The wire snaps for a third time. Thin steel whips against the tips of his fingers and slices two of them open, one of his nails cracking down the center with the force. Asa grits his teeth and grips his bleeding digits, little drops of blood marking his path across the worn carpet as he retrieves a rag.

Asa breathes in through his nose and squeezes his injured fingers until the pain makes him flinch. He resists the urge to just smash the whole thing to pieces and start over. Instead, he circles around the table on which the contraption sits, studying its mechanisms.

The design itself made sense as he’d drawn out the plans. It’s specific purpose required it be constructed from scratch, which Asa had done many times before, but this particular execution continues to prove challenging.

Asa tilts his head in thought.

Challenging, perhaps, but not impossible.

The screen to his left flicks on, revealing one of the east wing hallways. Motion detection. Asa watches a figure stumble into view, shouldering the wall to stay upright. Scarlet streaks are left behind on peeling wallpaper as they move.

Right on time.

Quickly, Asa wraps his wounds with electrical tape. Deft fingers retrieve a new length of wire to wrap and twist it in a new direction. It holds. Set the trigger.

A satisfied grin pulls at the corners of his mouth.

Slipping the mask over his head, he tightens the laces, then snaps on a pair of gloves. With one quick glance at the monitors, Asa strides from the room to traverse the labyrinth of hallways.

You stumble right into his arms, unsteady as a baby taking its first steps. It’s difficult to contain his smile when your face contorts, terror and dismay pulling a strangled sob from your throat. His eyes are drawn to the deep gash in your upper arm, your own little droplets of blood pattering onto ancient floorboards.

“P-Please, I did-did what you said, I g-got through the whole floor, please—

“It’s good to know you’re safe.” He does not conceal the intention in his voice. You don’t miss it, clever thing you are. The Collector revels in the way your eyes widen, your lip trembles, your head shakes back and forth in a silent plea.

He wraps his hand around your lacerated bicep and squeezes, steering you in the direction from which he came. Your simpering echoes down the hall.

“This way. I’ve made something for you.”

[moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown]

“I’d lay you badly but I’d lay you gladly” (Roman Roy x fem!reader)

An: I’m gonna try. Let’s see how this goes. As an asexual (demisexual panromantic) I can feel it in my asexual bones that Roman is so part of the asexual club. Like he’s panromantic for sure he will date and flirt and be with anyone who makes him feel ~wiggly~ so to speak. I think he felt it with Gerri, and felt it with Tabitha. He feels like that pull toward them. And if given the chance he probs does want to bang. Like, he just never has that talk of ‘oh if I just stop thinking and let this person who I trust more then anything know what’s going on in my brain space then it works’ like our man is just. I love him because I am him.

I’m gonna tag @romeulusroy because I heard they were having a bad day and maybe soft roman can help

He liked looking at her when she didn’t know he was, he liked the feeling she gave him. A rush inside that he’s felt so few times in his life. Roman liked her smile, the way her lips split to show her teeth, the way her nose wrinkled when she didn’t like something. He liked her. Liked her? No he was pretty sure he loved her. Well what he assumed was love, he was pretty sure he’s only ever felt the emotion a handful of times.

Once when he was a kid and found a baby duck in the backyard pond of his mothers villa, it was so small and he helped it back into the pond where it’s family was. He remembers the feeling of warmth watching the mother goose bump it’s little tail back into place. He imagined every duck he saw after was somehow that one duck growing and visiting him.

He remembers the feeling when connor had popped him on the bathroom counter and bandaged up his scraped and bleeding knee. Connor was what he assumed his friends parents were like. He liked feeling cared for. Even if it was rare.

He likes listening to her ramble about her bullshit job of being a coffee runner most days, how she wishes she could punch Karl or frank or even his dad in the face when they forget her name, even though she’s worked under Gerri for at least 2 years.

He loves waking up next to her, always before her, something in him, maybe because of military school, maybe because he always wanted to be up before his siblings to hope that his dad would let him join him at the office, or to get the best pieces of bacon or toast for breakfast. Not anymore, now it was to be able to have the few moments of staring at her. Her softened face against the pillows, her worry stripped from her forehead. The moments when he could scratch her scalp lightly with his fingers and she would just sigh in her sleep.

He loved her. He would marry her if the fear of a marriage being the prison of unhappy people. From his parents to Tom and shiv and even Kendall. Though he would push all of it away if it meant a forever of seeing her like this.

He remembers the conversation that made him fall. Hard and fast and slamming him into the cold pavement.

“I’d lay you badly but I’d lay you gladly” it was a joke, she had laughed slightly looking down at her computer typing a report or email for Gerri or Karl or whoever was yanking her around this week.

“Roman we both know neither of us would enjoy that” it stung, she was right, but it stung.

“I mean I would rock your world for like a solid 3 seconds before you realise I have zero clue what’s going on” she had looked at him, cocking her head to the side, eye brow raised

“Roman. Can I ask you something.” He was caught off guard, his own walls coming up slightly, shrugging he looked around

“Yeah what’s up” he didn’t know why he couldn’t look at her suddenly but he just couldn’t.

“Do you know what asexuality is?” Asexuality? Obviously he did, biology and science was one class he knew he passed with more then a barley passing grade.

“Like fucking ameba and shit. They fuck themselves and bam! Another single celled whatever” she laughed, he turned to her then smiling a bit more

“I mean in the biology, organisms sense yeah, but like I mean in people,” Roman shrugged again shaking his head a little

“Some new fancy label the ‘woke’ mob has made to make people like my dad and Kendall rage for no reason?” She shook her head at that

“No Roman it means you don’t really like banging. Like, you could live with out it. So to speak, you could go your whole life never caring to want it. It wouldn’t change anything. And weird bathroom door Jack off sessions aside, it means your just not that into the whole sex thing” he felt his face flush at her mention of his brief weird relationship with Gerri. He simply looked at her

“I mean sex is…super cool….I love fucking, all night, we could do it right now, and it would be…explosive” he knew she could hear through his wavered tone

“Roman, do you know why I haven’t even pushed having sex?”

“I don’t know your weird and religious upbringing scared you for life with trauma?”

“Good guess but no…I’m asexual. Like, sex is just, a thing, I don’t care if we have it, or not, we could never and I would be 1000% okay with that. I don’t need you to bang me, how ever satisfying or not it would be, because I just, don’t need it.”

Roman stared at her then, his brain buzzing, heart slamming in his chest, he assumed like grace and Tabitha, one day you would clamber for him to attempt the unsuccessful routine of making out, hand stuff above his pants, a seemingly awkward game of red light green light before both of you gave up and you walked off to finish yourself in his bathroom.

“Roman, i haven’t brought it up, because if we never have sex ever, I wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t matter.”

He wanted to scream, and cry and hug her. He didn’t know why but he did. He simply stood up, walked over to her, yanked her up and kissed her. His hands holding her cheeks, hoping she understood what he meant in it.

When he pulled away she smiled at him nodding

“One day we may, who knows, but one thing is for sure. We’ll both lay each other badly”

“But gladly?”

“Yeah, but gladly”

[hippolotamus]

WIP Wednesday 📚 ⛈️

Hello friends! As @malewifediaz pointed out this is the last WIP Wednesday of 2023 (!) so here's an extra-special-way-past-everything-else-i-love-it-so-much snippet from come close (let me be home) [all prev snippets here] please enjoy the t e n s i o n 😈

Buck shakes his head. Whatever objections he had in the beginning, he can’t let Eddie out of this. “No. Christopher adores you. You’re all he talks about. You’re not just his father, Eddie. You’re his hero.” He can sense Eddie’s objections and barrels on before they can be voiced. “You spend your free time with him. You care about his life, what he’s done that day. Do you have any idea what that means?”

He bites his tongue before his own past comes spilling out. Before he can once again tear open all the old wounds and allow them to bleed onto the floor, staining the Diaz estate.

“No, I suppose you’re right,” Eddie concedes, as if he can sense what Buck isn’t saying. He changes the topic by redirecting his attention to the book in Buck’s hands.

Their fingers brush and Eddie’s overlap his own, wrapping around the binding. The touch is as electric and charged as the storm outside, sending a tingling current through his nerves, making goosebumps erupt from wrist to shoulder.

“Interesting choice,” Eddie says. “I’ve always liked this one.”

Buck thinks if he could breathe it in, if he could somehow taste Eddie’s words, the flavor would be warm and smoky like his preferred brand of whiskey. That it would burn going down his throat, taking all of his sharp edges with it, smoothing out the increasingly raw lust that bubbles to the surface every time he’s confronted by being alone with him.

“Yeah?” Buck asks, unable to tear his gaze away from where Eddie continues to leave searing, invisible patterns on his skin.

Eddie traces the ridge of Buck’s knuckles, slowly down and back up again, pausing at the top like he’s not sure if he should continue. But he does then, his palm moving forward at a torturously slow pace. He’s being so considerate and careful Buck hardly dares to breathe in case it would break some sort of unspoken magic weaving between them. Eddie comes to a stop, encircling Buck’s wrist, sweeping his thumb over the delicate bones there. Buck thinks there’s no way Eddie can’t feel the way his pulse is racing.

“Actually, I think it might be my favorite.”

Maybe there was a spell or enchantment to Eddie’s movements, because Buck can’t seem to stop himself from tilting forward and resting their foreheads together. He longs to swallow the nearly inaudible gasp that escapes Eddie’s mouth.

“Buck,” Eddie murmurs, a quiet warning that he knows how dangerously close they are to crossing a line they can’t come back from.

“Eddie.” An acknowledgement, a plea, and a cry for forgiveness all in one.

Buck’s attention flicks to Eddie’s tongue as it darts out across his lower lip and his eyelids flutter closed. Eddie’s voice is low and husky, rough with desire. “I should- I should return to bed.”

“Y-you should,” Buck whispers, even if it’s the last thing he wants.

They don’t leave, though, rooted in place by whatever unholy thing that’s been building between them since the horse ride that first morning in the park. Buck touches his nose to Eddie’s and Eddie still doesn’t release Buck. By now there are millimeters of space between them. All it would take is a gentle sway for their lips to meet.

And then, like everything Buck longs for, the moment is gone. Obliterated with a single crack of thunder and bolt of lightning. Embarrassment washes over him as Eddie stumbles back, pulling away, his mouth open as if he’s about to say something. Buck doesn’t stick around to hear it, instead mumbling an apology as he races for the hallway, not stopping until he’s reached his bed chamber.

Behind him the door clicks shut, his breaths coming in ragged pulls as his shame only continues to deepen. Because he nearly gave in to the man he didn’t even want near his sister to begin with. When he finally lets his body relax, sagging against the heavy wood, a quiet thunk catches his attention. He looks towards the sound and realizes he’s still holding the book from the library. The one Eddie said was his favorite.

tagged by @callmenewbie @wikiangela @buckaroosheart @malewifediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings thank you loves 😘

no pressure tagging mi amor @disasterbuckdiaz @stereopticons @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @hoodie-buck @daffi-990 @your-catfish-friend @vanillahigh00 @rmd-writes @apothecarose @welcometololaland @lizzie-bennetdarcy @jesuisici33 @giddyupbuck @jamespearce9-1-1 @spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @lemonzestywrites @thewolvesof1998 @weewootruck @thekristen999 @loserdiaz @heartshapedvows @underwater-ninja-13 @fortheloveofbuddie @eowon @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @elvensorceress @spagheddiediaz @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @buddierights @911onabc @the-likesofus @spaceprincessem @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @pirrusstuff @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @buckbuckgoose @statueinthestone and anyone else who wants to share