#it felt like my spine was going to collapse in on itself

[astralnymphh]

WELL. F MY LIFE THEN. JUST F IT. now i have to indulge in a commentary reblog.. we know i only do this with masterpieces such as the one i'm about to ramble under.. here we go! gracie has gone and done it again.. my descent to madness is evident in each comment made

Her bed was made.  That’s the first thing you noticed when you crept into her space.

ugh this eerie symbolism.. like it's such a simple thing (AESTRA TRY NOT TO BE INFATUATED WITH SIMPLICITY CHALLENGE) but at this time and in this story, it digs a deeper meaning. just the observation of aberration and shiftings within a room someone has been rotting in. it curdles in the spine quite hauntingly. very nicely done!!!

After walking into that room in the ski lodge and seeing her and Joel bloodied and battered, you cannot get the metallic taste to go away. Everything you ate tasted like it.

this too!! like hello?? memories stippling so hard into one that it affects the other senses.. i can, like, feel the torment beaming off this little paragraph; the torture of a vision, and now an abnormal taste no one should know. jesus..

She finally changed out of the socks that were partially soaked with blood.

THIS!! JUST LIKE THE FIRST PARAGRAPH! it's so simple but put so oddly that it creates this whole other background.. it's like a storm slowly brewing. it does accentuate and ascend to ellie deciding that she wants revenge (Hah. Like the band), because she is finally lifting herself from the rot that leeched. nothing can motivate a person besides an idea. a desperate, destructive idea.

It’s like a release that you have been waiting for. She starts to cry, the air escaping her lungs as she heaves to let out another sob.

whenever i hear that someone is releasing what they've "bottled up" i tend to view it as a purely emotional thing and not a physical thing that you see besides crying. but it's everything that makes up the cry. the air, the breath, the upwards movement of extrication, the squeezing of warmth in your eyes. truly an art in itself to nail crying in a written form. makes ellie feel so much more human.

She grips onto you like you're the axis to keep her world spinning.

jesus cunt.. jiminy christmas.. what else am i supposed to say but JESUSSSS.. POETRY..

Her malicious and unhinged behavior was beginning to frighten you a bit.

THIS IS SO REAL THO?? IT JUST IS?? i'm so finitely sure this is a part of what dina felt at times. like, oh my god. to not watch your lover transform—but to watch your lover transformed, and to have missed this change in the blink of an eye. when had this monstrosity begun, and how deep does it go? thank you gracie for having such a blessedly perfect understanding of ellie from a lover's perspective!!

You watched her twist it and rip it out the side, their blood splattering all over the wall. When the man collapsed, she simply tucked her weapon into her sheath and kept moving. It was so brutal and unnecessary, but she kept telling you they deserved it.

same as this one. to see this twisting of a woman, and understand immediately that she is wrong; she is not correct nor incorrect, but she is in the tooth too deep, rotting it to a point of loss, what she needs the least. she wants to find and serve justice, but she will only drive it away. you can't push hard for anything.

“Els?” You snap her out of her trance-like daze. She has not said anything in about an hour. Your voice is soft and so is your touch on her shoulder. You want to try to pick her brain, something you have been unsuccessful at doing the last couple of weeks. She winces.  “Yeah?” She utters. A bit of phlegm in the back of her throat makes her sound hoarse.

AGAIN. WITH MAKING ELLIE A HUMAN. YOU DO IT TOO WELL I CAN'T ACTUALLY FATHOM ANY OF THIS.

You wished you could read her mind. It would make your relationship with her way easier. After two years, you would think she would be better about sharing her feelings, but she mostly left you to interpret her body language.

canon relationship with tlouuniverse!ellie good god (By Korn).. something about this insecure, or in better words, inherent depiction of ellie makes me love her more. i think ellie would love to tell her girlfriend everything that runs on in her mind. i think it always sits in the base of her throat. but, she can't. there is no reason. she just can't. I LOVE YOU GRACIE.

“I think we need to surprise them at night,” She states, her voice a bit robotic. You just bite the inside of your lip and nod. She was making all the plans, you just had to go along with it.

more canon behaviour breuh.. literally this happened right after reader tried to get in touch with that hidden inside, that true ellie. yet, it was masked over. this alludes so well to a metaphor of possession, which.. they aren't always spiritual. i would even argue that possessions were never meant to be. i think these possessions that come from within, from a bud of despondency, or rage, are true possessions that happen often. it's disgusting to see the one you love taken by it. ergo, Good Job!!!!

You never saw her eyes change when she took a life.

i don't even need to say anything at this point. it speaks for itself.

She heaves and you know tears are spilling from those beautiful green eyes.

"AND YOU KNOW TEARS ARE SPILLING FROM THOSE BEAUTIFUL GREEN EYES." I REPEAT. "AND YOU KNOW TEARS ARE SPILLING FROM THOSE BEAUTIFUL GREEN EYES." UGHHHH I'M KILLING YOU IN YOUR SLEEP. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY. I'M ANGRY WITH INFATUATION.

Before you knew Ellie, you knew Joel. You did not understand their relationship, but you knew it was fractured. Joel never talked badly about her, only reminding everyone around him how proud he was of her. Whenever he caught you around the stables, he would ask if you were still hanging out with her. You would always blush and reply quickly, “Yes, of course”. He would smile and tell you how grateful he was to see she had a friend like you.

i love this too much.. joel proud father no matter what.. this adds such a layer to this little universe in this little fic.. i could hug that old man if he wasn't a. fictional and b. 6 feet under.

“How am I supposed to live with that?” She was hurting so badly. Her violent heart has finally had enough.  “You learn how to manage it.”

You stand up so you can face her. Her gaze has softened now and she almost looks like the same girl who confessed her feelings to you at the Harvest Festival two years ago. A little bit older, aged with the falling away of time, but still beautiful and vulnerable. Her green eyes sparkled differently, but your Ellie was still there somewhere.

Girl I'm killing myself in the middle of TjMaxx how do you write such beautiful things.. sabrina carpenter would arrest your Writing.. ugh

The silence tells you the answer but you just look over at Ellie. She has blood pouring out of her nose and it trickles down her neck.  “She got away.”

the one that got away.. stop because that song actually puts tears in my eyes. i will never ever get over this scene of ellie in-game and now. in fics. man you were right about this fic HURTINGGGGGGG.

Every time she would touch you in that way, she was meticulous and very generous. You would try to return the favor and she would shrivel up and tell you that she was okay. It made you feel some type of way, but after the fifth time it happened, you realized it was because she did not feel in tune with herself in that way.

broken ellie who is broken during sex.. most realistic depiction of sex with farm!ellie (from a fully canonical plot) that i've seen on this app. like omg it's so disgusting and heartbreaking to read.. stop this right neow..

You told her that she was beautiful every day. No matter what she was doing, or how she looked, whenever the thought entered your mind, you would say it out loud. Her response was always, “No, you.”

Alright.. you got me kickalicking my feet with this one HUEEHAUHHUEUHEA

She looks at you, tears already welling in her eyes.  “Babe…” You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. “Where are you going?”

NO.. GO BACK.. NO.. DON'T DO THIS.. BJORK HELP ME..NO..NO!!

“I thought I told you that I want to be alone.” And now she would be.

You sick and twisted bastard you're going to receive 100 kisses by post mail I hope you ENJOY YOUR HOLIDAYS and SIT WITH THIS and realize how great of a writer you are no matter how deep in the depths of listlessness or demotivation you are.. please continue writing for ellie oh y god

i bet on losing dogs

pairing: ellie williams x reader

post about palestine - please be aware and know who your content comes from. this post informs you about the tlou writers and creators, as well as how to help the Palestinian people.

description: a slow progression of how you lost ellie.

word count: 3.7k words

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader is in a relationship with ellie, only angst, small mentions of intimacy, descriptions of violence, mentions of blood, ellie is grieving big time, ellie trauma dumps, ellie gets hurt, reader is described to be scarred and disfigured after seattle, reader is scared of ellie, dark themes in general.

author’s note: just know this was sitting in my docs for a while cause I had a hard time sticking with the grief I felt writing it. I finished it a couple weeks ago and just kept rereading it. I can't keep looking at it anymore. have it. i'm sorry in advance.

Her bed was made. 

That’s the first thing you noticed when you crept into her space. The snow had been piled in front of the door, indicating that no one had come or left. Your boots dusted snow across her old oriental-looking rug. Her back was turned to you.

She looks so small. Her hair is greasy, tousled up in a small bun at the base of her head. She was wearing the same clothes you left her in the day before. 

“Els?”

She turns to you, not stunned, just a bit disoriented. Her eyebrows are furrowed the second her eyes meet yours.

“I thought I told you that I want to be alone.”

The statement crushes you. You inhale deeply, trying to relieve the heaviness on your chest. 

You shake your head, “I’m sorry, I can’t watch you rot in this room anymore.”

She's quick with her rebuttal. “If you would have listened, you wouldn’t have to watch. Just leave me alone.”

But you physically cannot. You have spent days pacing your house, thinking about her withering away in her detached garage. You try to sleep, but you know she’s not, so how could you? 

And you had this bitterness in your mouth all the time now. After walking into that room in the ski lodge and seeing her and Joel bloodied and battered, you cannot get the metallic taste to go away. Everything you ate tasted like it. 

“Ellie-“

“Please, I don’t want to talk.”

Her voice is shaky. You notice she’s picking at her cuticles again, they are red and irritated. She finally changed out of the socks that were partially soaked with blood. 

It had been three days since Joel was taken from her. 

You try to hold your ground, blinking back some tears that slip when she approaches you and takes your arm. She’s guiding you to the door, grabbing the handle. When the door creaks open, you snatch your arm away. You are trying to be patient, but this was the second time she was trying to throw you out. She had done the same to Maria and Tommy the day after Joel died.

“I thought you were fuckin’ dead, Ellie.”

You promised yourself you would not burden her with your emotions. But you could not help it anymore. 

“What?”

She shuts the door, letting more cold air seep into the frigid room. She shifts onto her other heel, crossing her arms. It’s a physical way of blocking out your emotions, a gesture that is so subtle and probably absent of intention. 

“I can’t lose you, too, okay?”

Her eyes finally find yours, “You’re not gonna-”

You reach out to her, pulling her hand out of the crook of her arm. “I am here, okay? I am right here.”

She uses the leverage of you grabbing her hand to reel you into a hug. As soon as your chin rests on her shoulder, she’s dead weight in your arms. It’s like a release that you have been waiting for. She starts to cry, the air escaping her lungs as she heaves to let out another sob. You just hold her, the anxiety of leaving her alone for the last three days now escaping you. You finally felt like you were doing something for her. 

She grips onto you like you're the axis to keep her world spinning. Her whole life depended on the feeling of your body around her. 

You sat with her for a whole day in silence. Not saying anything; just waiting for her to say the word. You knew what was next for Ellie.

She was going to get revenge. 

-

Your shirt was stained with blood and sweat. You told yourself the next department store you saw, you would hunt down a 20-year-old shirt to replace it. 

You were exhausted. You could hardly keep up with Ellie the last mile back to the theater. It was only the second day of trying to hunt down this crew Ellie was hell-bent on destroying. Two days in Seattle and you two have discovered a lot without having any initial leads when you arrived. 

And you did not fault her for being so aggressive, but after the things you saw today, you’re starting to wonder if this was really what she needs. Her malicious and unhinged behavior was beginning to frighten you a bit. 

It started when you entered an abandoned hotel. A couple of infected got taken down by your bullets, but when other non-infected people came running your way, you hesitated. You saw the looks of confusion on their faces when they saw you and Ellie. While you stood and held their gazes, Ellie raised her rifle and executed each one of them without even flinching. The shots were louder than you remember, echoing off the walls peeling of wallpaper. 

Then today, you both arrived at an old elementary school. You were caught up with holding off a couple of people in a long hallway. You yelled for Ellie to wait it out, wanting the people to charge you so you could take them out, but instead, she lit up the entire hallway. When the last person came running at her with a baseball bat, she dodged them and shoved her blade right into their necks. You watched her twist it and rip it out the side, their blood splattering all over the wall. When the man collapsed, she simply tucked her weapon into her sheath and kept moving. It was so brutal and unnecessary, but she kept telling you they deserved it. 

She found who she had been looking for. A girl named Nora. You were in charge of keeping watch while she got intel from her. You heard most of the conversation, but when you heard the sounds of metal clinging, you stepped away from the door. You had to resist the urge not to run in there and stop the torture, but your feet were stuck to the concrete. You did not move, you did not dare. 

She is now digging dirt and blood out of her fingernails with her blade, trying not to accidentally knick herself. Her auburn fringe covers her forehead, greasy from sweat. She is still covered in blood, but you two have not said much since you arrived back. 

She went too far and she knows it scared you. But frankly, she did not care. This was necessary. 

“Els?” You snap her out of her trance-like daze. She has not said anything in about an hour. Your voice is soft and so is your touch on her shoulder. You want to try to pick her brain, something you have been unsuccessful at doing the last couple of weeks.

She winces. 

“Yeah?” She utters. A bit of phlegm in the back of her throat makes her sound hoarse. 

“Can you please let me check on you? Just take off your coat.”

Your hand is still on her shoulder. She does not respond or move, so you take it as she’s submitting to your request. You grab the collar of her rain jacket and slowly start to drag it down her shoulder. She’s still not saying anything. 

You wished you could read her mind. It would make your relationship with her way easier. After two years, you would think she would be better about sharing her feelings, but she mostly left you to interpret her body language. You got good at reading it for a while. But then Joel died. And now she is a silent and bitter ball of rage. Anything you thought you knew about her has fallen to the wayside. 

You slowly take off her layers of clothing, being sure to avoid touching the wounds that have made her skin their new home. 

The one on her shoulder was pretty bad, you think to yourself, she better let me stitch her up. 

“I think we need to surprise them at night,” She states, her voice a bit robotic. You just bite the inside of your lip and nod. She was making all the plans, you just had to go along with it.

“Okay,” You whisper, grabbing a medical kit nearby. You made sure to pack it back in Jackson and it came in handy more than once already.

“Do you even want to know what happened earlier?”

Your heart sinks. You do not want to know what happened. You knew she got what she needed from the girl, but you truly did not know if you wanted to hear the details. The idea that Ellie did more than just beat her makes you physically sick. If she could do that to a stranger, what was she going to do when she got her hands on her? You were not innocent in the chase. But your heart always skipped when you had to pull your trigger at another human being. It was not easy to watch life leave someone’s eyes. But for Ellie it was different. She acted like they were just things. Inanimate objects that needed to be pushed out of the way. You never saw her eyes change when she took a life. 

You grab the needle from the med kit and a nearby lighter before settling on the couch beside Ellie. Her shoulder blade is covered by all the blood creating new dark maroon freckles. 

You tilt her shoulder back to better look at it before finally responding. 

“Didn’t think you wanted to talk about it.”

You know that’s not the answer she wanted. Her shoulders fall forward and she places her face in her hands. She lets out a long sigh, disregarding you as you try to patch her up. She quickly turns around to look at you. 

Her eyes are dark, her lips pursed. 

“I got her to talk. She paid with her life.”

You want to see your Ellie, but whoever sits before you is a stranger. 

You did not want to think about Ellie killing a girl by violently beating her. It seemed so personal and evil. You decide there’s no answer worth saying to her confession, so you just turn her back around and begin your slow, tedious stitching.

Once you finish off the last suture, you stand and bring over a bowl filled with rainwater the night before. You were going to use it for drinking, but you decide it’s better to use it to clean around Ellie’s battered body.

You grab a rag from your pack and dip it in the chilled water. You ring it out and bring it to your stitch work. She is shaking now, but you are so scared to hold her in your arms. 

“The night before Joel… we got into that big fight. I was so fuckin’ mad at him. I went to his house to confront him again.”

She heaves and you know tears are spilling from those beautiful green eyes. “Ellie-“

“I told him I was going to try to forgive him for all the shit he did. I should’ve…” 

You drop the red-stained cloth into the bowl and pull her back into your chest. She’s sobbing, her entire body shaking as you finally accept her into your space. 

Before you knew Ellie, you knew Joel. You did not understand their relationship, but you knew it was fractured. Joel never talked badly about her, only reminding everyone around him how proud he was of her. Whenever he caught you around the stables, he would ask if you were still hanging out with her. You would always blush and reply quickly, “Yes, of course”. He would smile and tell you how grateful he was to see she had a friend like you. 

You loved Ellie. You loved her with every fiber of your being. She helped you through a lot of your grief when you arrived in Jackson. She held you through countless nights when you cried about losing your dad. You never thought you would have to do the same for her. Everyone, including you, thought Joel Miller was indestructible. 

“Ellie, how were you supposed to know?” You ask softly before gently pressing a kiss in the middle of her back. You had never kissed her there before.

“How am I supposed to live with that?”

She was hurting so badly. Her violent heart has finally had enough. 

“You learn how to manage it.”

It was the only way you pulled through. Grief is love expressing itself through other means. When you lost your dad, it was not violent. He was sick and his body was so beaten down, he had no chance of surviving the disease taking over his body. Your grief was managed by reminding yourself that you had to keep living for him because if not, you would be disappointing him. You did not know if heaven was real, but you did believe in energy, and you felt him sometimes especially when you needed him the most. 

Ellie’s grief was different. It was forceful and unyielding. She could not let the hatred go and you did not particularly blame her. She watched Joel get beaten so badly that his face was almost unrecognizable. She had to watch a random woman take him away from her, forever. You could not compare your grief, but you did know that with time, she would know how to better manage it. She just could not get over the contempt for others who wronged her. It was embedded within her to seek out retribution. 

She cried a bit, letting out a long sigh. “The only way I see it is if I give those people an ounce of violence they showed Joel in his final moments, I will be at peace.”

You knew the truth. There was no peace in situations like this. But were you going to tell Ellie that? No, you were not. You traveled hundreds of miles for her to do what she felt was necessary. And while you did not agree with all of her actions, you had been complacent. You were no better than any other person with a violent and impulsive lover. You enabled this journey to come to fruition, so you had to take accountability. 

You stand up so you can face her. Her gaze has softened now and she almost looks like the same girl who confessed her feelings to you at the Harvest Festival two years ago. A little bit older, aged with the falling away of time, but still beautiful and vulnerable. Her green eyes sparkled differently, but your Ellie was still there somewhere. 

“Okay, baby.” That is all you could say. “We will finish it.”

-

When you come back to consciousness, your vision is fuzzy. You are completely disoriented, but you know you are face down on the concrete. You start to feel around for something familiar, not sure if your gun or knife is nearby. You felt defenseless.

“Ellie?” You croak out. As soon as you talk, you can feel blood dribbling down your throat. You hear stirring beside you and your blood runs cold. Is that her?

You lift your hand to rub whatever is in your eyes out. Dirt? Mud? When you look at your hands, you get confirmation that it’s blood. You’re covered in it. 

The movement gets closer and you look to your right and see Ellie’s battered body slowly stumbling towards you. Panic rises within you, unsure if she was mortally wounded or not. She collapses beside you, sitting up partially. She reaches for your hand and you realize that you can hardly move your foot to try to push yourself upwards. Everything hurt. 

“Baby, I’m here.” She finally says. Your worry subsides for a moment as you try to sit up. 

“Are you hurt?” You cry out as you press yourself upwards, the pain in your foot shooting up your leg. It’s almost the worst pain you’ve ever been in. You can hardly breathe once contort yourself to settle next to Ellie’s practically limp body. 

“Yeah, but I can walk.”

You finally remember why you’re in this room. You try to scan the room, but the dimmed lighting and blood in your eyes isn’t helping. “Is Abby dead?” 

The silence tells you the answer but you just look over at Ellie. She has blood pouring out of her nose and it trickles down her neck. 

“She got away.”

-

Every day after Abby got away was completely different. When you arrive at the farmhouse on the hill, you hope to see your old Ellie again, and sometimes you do. 

When the golden light trickled between the leaves in the forest and you two bask in the rays as you forage for berries, you tell a stupid joke and her laugh is guttural. She belly laughs and tells you that you’re so “dumb” before she wraps her arms around your waist and presses a kiss into your temple. 

But then there was nighttime. When she finally fell asleep and you would stay up with a candle burning to read, she was ravaged by nightmares. She usually couldn’t escape them, so you would throw your book on the side table and hold her tightly so she could come back to reality. 

The day would break and she would bring you up some breakfast in bed. She was terrible at cooking, but no one can really mess up scrambled eggs. She would serve them to you with a big goofy grin and long kisses. 

Intimacy was few and far between, but you knew not to press it too much. Every time she would touch you in that way, she was meticulous and very generous. You would try to return the favor and she would shrivel up and tell you that she was okay. It made you feel some type of way, but after the fifth time it happened, you realized it was because she did not feel in tune with herself in that way. 

You told her that she was beautiful every day. No matter what she was doing, or how she looked, whenever the thought entered your mind, you would say it out loud. Her response was always, “No, you.”

After a year of domesticity, you woke up one night to the sound of rustling downstairs and an empty bed. When Ellie did have a bad nightmare, she would occasionally go downstairs and sit on the front porch. But it was a chilly night and you knew better. 

The day before Tommy made an unexpected visit and made an already awkward interaction absolutely deplorable. He had to bring up her and blame Ellie for the outcome of the Seattle event. The entire situation led to you forcing him off the property and telling him to never come back with that bullshit. 

It was a subject you and Ellie never discussed after leaving those city limits. She told you she was done, that it was all over. You would never fight her on it, especially because you knew it was really over. There was no way you would be going after someone who almost killed you and disfigured you. Every time you looked in a mirror, you were forced to see the scars that littered your cheeks and forehead. A sick reminder of the bitter fight between you two. 

You slowly walk downstairs, seeing Ellie’s figure in the kitchen. She has her backpack on the floor, loading a gun into the side pocket. 

“What are you doing?” You ask bluntly. She turns around and you take note of her outfit. A couple of layers. A large brown jacket, jeans, and her Converse. She was going somewhere.

She looks at you, tears already welling in her eyes. 

“Babe…”

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. “Where are you going?”

You creep up to her slowly, your bare feet creaking across the hardwood. 

She’s a foot away when she finally puts her hands out to stop you from coming closer. 

“I… I think Tommy is right.”

If it was possible for someone to rip out your heart without opening up your chest, it was happening to you right now. This would be the worst pain. 

“Right about what?” You manage as a whisper. 

She takes in a long breath, “About Abby. About going after her.”

“No… Ellie, he’s not right.” 

You try to move closer, but she takes a step back. She’s treating you like you are infected. But even that would not matter, she’s Ellie. 

It makes you feel every negative emotion when she says the words, “I need to finish this. I told you… I told you I wouldn’t be at peace until I-”

“So why did we even come back, Ellie? How is this fucking fair to me?”

“You wanted to. We… we were fucked up. We didn’t have a chance.”

“And you think you do now?!”

She shakes her head, almost appalled by your statement. “I wasn’t broken like you were.”

You close your lids tightly, unsure how you could even look her in the eyes. Your fingernails are digging into your palms. You had this feeling for a while. An unsettled force that would occasionally bloom in the pit of your stomach when you watched Ellie. You would remind yourself that it’s over. The plot for revenge was buried deep in the ground. 

So when she stands in front of you, ready to take off, you feel like you can’t breathe.

“Ellie, if you go, I will never forgive you. I will not wait for you.”

She’s silent, contemplating even for a moment. She has this look of determination. She has already made up her mind. “That’s your choice.”

She starts to pick up the bag, but you make one more silent plea before watching your life walk out the back door. You grab her hand quickly, stopping her from taking any steps. 

“I thought you fuckin’ loved me, Ellie. I thought you said we were done.” You sob out,  “You think Joel would want this for you? Do you really think he would want you to walk out that door?”

Deep down, you know that Joel would have gone to the ends of the earth for Ellie, especially if the roles were reversed. But he would also want her to have a life after him. And you were more sure of that than the latter.

She pulls her wrist away from your grasp. A look of pure betrayal playing across her features. You had not spoken his name in months. It sounds like a curse word to her coming from you. “You don’t know what he would want.”

“And you do?” 

“He would have done the same for me.”

And she leaves. You think back to the first words she said to you when you entered her room over a year ago. 

“I thought I told you that I want to be alone.”

And now she would be.

-

[hauntedpotat]

WE DID THE HILL A DAY EARLY

HELP

For context at band camp there's a really steep hill and when we march on the streets we go up and then down said hill, while playing etc

I'm not kidding it's probably a 70 degree angle and I know math stuff

I hate it so much because I have snare drum and I can't lift my knees very far without hitting the bottom of the drum so the entire percussion section is just struggling for like 30 feet

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

What if instead of threatening to take Ford's eyes, Bill just took Fiddleford's?

Tate still remembered the night his father's sight was taken from him.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

He felt the storm coming even before the first lightning struck. From the very moment he opened his eyes that morning until the very moment he lay back down to bed, he could feel a vicious tension brewing in the otherwise serene household.

Storms were very uncommon at Tate's house, and on the rare occasions they did arrive, they never stayed for long.

Yet, after a quiet breakfast full of anxious, unmet glances and clattering cutlery that rang far too loudly in the silence of the table, he knew that this storm was going to be unlike any other storm he'd witnessed before.

A prickling, disquieting static seemed to have made itself at home underneath his skin, that day. It had made every hair on his body stand on end, and an odd stinging sensation to dance across his spine and tongue; an uncomfortable urge to duck and take cover low on the ground nearly overwhelming his every sense. It was like waiting for the shattering thunderclap to sound after the sky turned white with a blinding flash of light. He knew what was coming, and the anticipation was unbearable.

His mother and father had acted as though nothing was wrong; as though they didn't feel the looming presence of the darkening clouds growing like a murky gray forest on the ceiling.

He hadn't been able to fathom at the time how adults could seem so all-knowing, and yet simultaneously be so utterly clueless about the very obvious happenings that surrounded them. Now, though, he just found it strange how adults often tend to assume children don't feel the stifling weight that they hung around themselves; as if children didn't breathe the same bitter choked air as their parents did. It wasn't even as though they did a very good job at pretending; his parents always were terrible liars.

When the lightning finally struck, it set the house ablaze.

He heard the thunder from his room, and felt the crackling heat crawl up the stairs and seep through the gap beneath his door. He'd laid in his bed, hand clasped nervously across his chest and looking up at his room's cloudy, weeping ceiling as a cacophonic explosion of noises came bursting from the living room downstairs. The fight had erupted with such unprecedented force that in Tate's young mind, he'd felt genuine fear of the house collapsing atop them all from the sheer force of the yelling.

The smell of burnt tongues gently wafted through the air, and Tate briefly wondered if it hurt his parents when they scorched their mouths with such scalding words just as much as it hurt for him to hear it.

It was a big fight; a terrible, big fight; so loud, and so very angry, and helpless, and desperate, and betrayed, and sad.

The back and forth screeching seemed endless, and eventually the screaming words began to muddle and merge into one another until they hardly even sounded human anymore. Suddenly there were animals wailing in the living room downstairs, and Tate could do nothing but listen helplessly and grip his interlocked fingers tighter; hoping that if he stayed still enough, then the growling beasts that were shattering plates downstairs wouldn't come upstairs.

But then,

then,

something changed.

The shift was all too sudden; too abrupt; too quick even for the usually sharp witted child to catch on, and before he knew it, the screams of anger suddenly shifted into one of pure, unadulterated horror.

"Fiddleford, your eyes- good lord, your eyes! Let me look at them!" "Don't touch me! I- I must call Stanford, he's done something to me. Him and that demon, they've cursed me." "For Heaven's sake! Please, forget about that damned Stanford of yours for one moment and listen to yourself! My husband's gone mad, mad!"

And suddenly his parents were human again.

Tate was restless in his bed as his heart seemed to beat bruises against his ribs, his sweaty fingers digging crescent shaped grooves into his skin as fear enclosed its frigid claws around his throat in a vice-like grip. He couldn't breathe.

The storm was over, and it should have reassured him, and yet he was anything but.

Curiosity and fear had been what forced him to kick the sheets off himself and creep his way down the rickety wooden steps. He had to know what happened, he had to know what damage the storm had caused, he had to know.

His steps were far from quiet, and the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet hardly did him any favors, but no one answered the calls of the squeaking wood. No one came peeking out from the living room to stop the obviously sneaking presence that was tip toeing through the halls; No one called out to check on their little child; all was silent, and calm, except for his mother's soft sobbing coming from the kitchen.

When Tate eventually found his father, he saw

devastation.

The storm had been merciless. It had left nothing behind but a shuddering husk of a man. His father was shaking like a leaf, shoulders tense and back hunched over as though bowed by an incredible burden. The telephone receiver was held in his hand like a lifeline; as if it was the only thing in the world that was keeping him tethered to sanity, and somehow, Tate didn't doubt that it was.

Curled up on the floor in the dark, muttering and trembling, he dared say his father looked... small.

It almost felt surreal to see his father in such a state, like witnessing a God collapse, or a star's light dim to nothingness. His father had always been a solid, permanent pillar sho seemed able to hold up the whole world on his shoulders, and still stand tall and proud despite the weight.

And yet, the crumbling remains of a once impermeable monolith now lay scattered across the hallway floor and splattered across the walls.

The sight had scared him.

At the time, Tate hadn't known what had happened. Even to this day, he still wasn't too sure he understood what exactly had taken place in that living room for his father to have so sudddenly gone from seeing to blind in the matter of seconds.

His mother had tried, in vain, to explain it to him later, to try and make him understand when he was eventually old enough to hear the gruesome tale; but still, he struggled to fully wrap his head around it.

"It was as though his eyes just sunk into his skull," his mother had recounted to him with a haunted look in her eyes. "They suddenly just vanished into the empty sockets of his face, like someone pulled them out from inside his head. There was no blood, no resistance, no tearing. It was as if his eyes were simply plucked out of sight by some invisible hand."

There had been blood on the walls when he had found father back then, a long trail of gorey wet red smeared all across the lovely yellow wallpaper. He realized only now, recalling the memory, that the blood back then had not been from his father's eyes, but from the deep gouges he had dug into his face with his nails, his searching fingers desperately looking for eyes that weren't there beneath his empty eyelids.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

Tate had never heard his father's voice sound so raw, so afraid. It was so unlike the familiar comforting drawl he'd grown to love and recognize, it almost sounded alien, coming from his father.

"I can't see, Stanford, I can't- my eyes, they're gone. Why are they gone? What have you done?" "Answer me, damnit, what have you done?"

His father never got his answer, because whoever was on the other side of the line soon hung up, and his father was suddenly left blind and alone.

[st4rg8te]

A Captured Dragon (BL)

Yandere! Half-brother X Crown Prince! Reader

[tw: graphic depiction(s) of violence, obsessive behaviour, betrayal, imprisonment, gaslighting, non-con kissing, incest!!!, teeny tiny bit of feminization]

✦✧✦✧

“You have done nothing to deserve that title. You were only lucky enough to be born the King’s son.”

A lot of things in life were beyond your control. 

But fate had been kind to you, gifting you a life that most could only dream of. Born into the royal family as their beloved Crown Prince, the world bent to your will from the very moment you drew your first breath. 

Spoiled, indulged, and never once tested by struggle—perhaps you were destined to fall from the start.

✦✧✦✧

✦✧✦✧

It’s getting harder to tell the days apart.

The world around you blurs into a cycle of sleepless nights. Your mind is a fog, heavy with the weight of guilt and fear. Each hour blends into the next, until time itself feels like a punishment.

The nightmares don’t help either.

Every time you close your eyes, they come—haunting, vivid dreams where blood stains the corridors and screams pierce the air. The sounds of blades slicing through flesh, of bodies collapsing onto blood-soaked floors, echo endlessly in your ears. It is relentless. 

You see the palace engulfed in flames, your servants and people—those you’ve known your entire life—crying out in terror as they are cut down by the cold steel of soldiers.

In every dream, you stand helpless, watching as they beg for mercy. Your people reach for you in desperation, their faces twisted in agony, but you can’t move. 

In every dream, at the center of it all, is him.

Daewon.

Your half-brother.

While you grew up in the limelight, basking in the affections and adoration of others, your half-brother was cast into the shadows. Born from a lowly maid, his very existence was a blemish on the royal family's image. He was the son who would never be acknowledged by his father—neither loved nor remembered.

Despite that, you had treated him kindly.

When did everything go so wrong?

After the slaughter, you were taken away and imprisoned. The room you were kept in was dark and empty—there was no light, or any warmth. It was a far cry from the luxury you were used to.

Occasionally, food and water would be brought to you—a guard would come every few days, sliding bowls of stale rice and cloudy water across the floor without a word, without so much as a glance in your direction. You felt like an animal.

But worse than the silence of your captors were the visits from Daewon.

You hated those days the most.

“Brother.” His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t make out his face within the shadows.

So you bury your head further into the damp pillows, hiding from the monster in the room.

It isn’t long before you feel the bed dip under his weight, the chain on your ankle rustles against the sheets. He kneels beside you, leaning close enough for you to smell the faint traces of blood still lingering on his robe.

“You haven’t been eating,” Daewon’s voice was soft, almost tender, but you could hear the dark amusement laced beneath it. “Is the food not to your liking?”

You keep your eyes shut tight, fists clenched under the thin blankets.

It'll all be okay. Soon enough, he would leave you alone.

Cold fingers brush against your cheek, and you flinch. He chuckles at that, a low, mocking sound that makes your skin crawl.

“Did you know that these meals are what I had to eat as a child?” He whispers, his breath hot against your ears.

You briefly open your eyes, glancing at the food scattered across the floor, remnants of your earlier fit of rage—destroyed, just like everything else in your life. 

“There were many days when the servants never even came. My mother often gave me her share, just so I wouldn't starve." 

You grit your teeth—

"Why don't you just kill me already?"

The words hang in the air, and a suffocating silence stretches between you.

But then, Daewon's firm hand suddenly grips your chin, forcing you to meet his dark gaze.

“Kill you?” A cruel, guttural laugh escapes him, sending a shiver down your spine. “But death would be far too easy.” 

“No... you have to live. You’ll live and endure. Just like I did.”

He had lived a life of invisibility, where no one cared to look beyond the stain of his tainted blood—no one, except you.

And the thought of it drives him mad.

His hand falls from your chin, trailing down until it rests against your chest. With that simple touch, your spirit breaks just a little more.

You hate him—hate him more than you’ve ever hated anyone. 

Without any warning, you feel the press of his soft lips against your own. His body heat seeps into yours as he forcefully pulls you closer and presses you flush against him.

You are too tired, too hungry to resist.

"No, stop—" You protest breathlessly, the words barely escaping your lips as your mind reels, still foggy from the kiss. A dizzying mix of shock, confusion, and disgust floods your senses.

"This is wrong, we can't—"

"They will never fully accept a half-blooded bastard like me as their king."

“What?” You swallow hard, blinking up at the man.

"But surely, they'll accept a 'bride' from the royal family.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. 

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours again, harder this time, more possessive. The taste of him—bitterness and control—invades your senses completely.

A twisted smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and you finally understand.

This is a debt of suffering, a price he intends to collect over and over—until you were broken.

"Don’t worry. For everything you’ve done for me, I'll repay your kindness tenfold."

✦✧✦✧

[A/N]

This was not proofread, sorry for any mistakes!

[rosemariiaa]

~Holding On~

˖˙ ᰋ ── pairing- Paige x Azzi

˖˙ ᰋ ── rosie’s note: not really much to say.. but this was kind of sad to write. I’m taking requests for a while until I start on something new , so send what you want to read lovelies 💌

˖˙ ᰋ ── request: • can u write pazzi oneshot where paige has thanatophobia and has panic attack and azzi id there to comfort her •

˖˙ ᰋ ── theme: fear of dying

enjoy!!!

The apartment was quiet, but inside Paige’s head, it felt anything but. Her breathing was shallow, erratic—her hands trembling as her mind spiraled down a dark, endless tunnel. The walls felt like they were closing in on her, the fear wrapping itself around her chest like a vice. She was trying to keep it together, but it was slipping, all of it slipping.

She couldn’t stop thinking about it. The end. That moment when everything just… stops. What if it came sooner than she thought? What if she wasn’t ready? What if she left everything and everyone behind?

Her chest tightened, her heartbeat thrumming too fast, too loud. She pressed her back against the cool wall of her room, gasping for air that didn’t seem to reach her lungs. The world felt like it was fading, like she was falling, and she couldn’t stop it.

Azzi wasn’t supposed to come over tonight. Paige had tried to be normal during practice, tried to laugh and joke like always. But the moment she was alone, it crept back in. And now it was suffocating her. Somehow, through the fog of her thoughts, she heard her phone buzz. Azzi. She didn’t have the strength to answer it.

Then, the door opened. Paige’s breathing hitched when she heard Azzi’s voice, soft but concerned. “Paige? You didn’t answer my texts. You okay?”

Azzi’s eyes immediately landed on Paige, crumpled on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if trying to hold her body together.

“Oh my God, Paige,” Azzi whispered, rushing to her side.

Paige couldn’t even speak. She could barely breathe. She felt a cold sweat trickling down her spine, her vision swimming. Her mind was racing, chaotic and frantic, screaming things she couldn’t control.

Azzi dropped to her knees beside Paige, her own panic rising, but she pushed it down. She needed to be strong right now. Gently, she cupped Paige’s face in her hands, forcing her to meet her eyes. “Hey, hey… I’m right here. You’re okay. Breathe with me, okay?”

Paige’s eyes were wide, unfocused, but she tried to latch onto Azzi’s voice. It was like a lifeline, a rope pulling her from the deep end, but it was hard. Everything was hard.

“I can’t,” Paige managed to choke out, her voice raw, broken. “I can’t… Azzi, I… it’s like… I can’t stop thinking about it. I feel like I’m going to die. I— “You’re not going to die,” Azzi said firmly, though her voice cracked with emotion. She wrapped her arms around Paige, pulling her close, holding her as tightly as she could. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Paige’s body shook as she collapsed into Azzi’s embrace, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Azzi held her, one hand stroking her hair, the other rubbing circles on her back. She didn’t say anything for a while, just let Paige cry, let her panic run its course. The weight of the fear was crushing, suffocating.

“I’m scared,” Paige finally whispered, her voice so small it almost broke Azzi’s heart.

“I know, baby. I know,” Azzi whispered back. “But you’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

They sat like that for what felt like hours, the weight of Paige’s fear slowly lifting, little by little. Her breathing started to even out, though the trembling in her hands remained. She could feel Azzi’s heartbeat against her own chest, steady, grounding her in a way she hadn’t thought was possible.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Azzi asked quietly, her fingers still running through Paige’s hair.

Paige didn’t answer at first. She didn’t know where to begin, how to explain what it felt like to be so terrified of the end—so terrified of something inevitable. Finally, she whispered, “I think about it all the time. About dying. About not being here anymore. It’s like this… weight. I try to ignore it, but sometimes it just… it takes over. And tonight, I just—” Her voice broke, and she clutched Azzi tighter. “It’s too much.”

Azzi closed her eyes, trying to keep herself from crying. She hated seeing Paige like this, so vulnerable, so scared. “You don’t have to go through this alone,” she said softly. “I know it feels like you’re carrying it all by yourself, but I’m here. Always.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Paige whispered, her voice barely audible.

“You won’t,” Azzi said, her voice fierce, determined. “You’re stuck with me, okay? Forever, if I have anything to say about it.” Paige gave a shaky laugh, though it was more out of exhaustion than amusement. “Forever, huh?”

“Forever,” Azzi confirmed, leaning down to press a kiss to Paige’s forehead. “We’re in this together.”

Paige nodded, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She didn’t feel okay, not completely. The fear was still there, lurking in the back of her mind, but it felt… manageable, at least for now. With Azzi holding her, it didn’t feel like it was swallowing her whole.

“I love you,” Paige whispered, her voice soft and fragile.

Azzi’s heart swelled, and she kissed the top of Paige’s head again, pulling her even closer. “I love you too. And I’m going to be here, no matter how hard it gets. You don’t have to be scared alone.”

They stayed like that, tangled together on the floor, the world outside their small apartment fading away. For now, it was just the two of them, holding onto each other through the storm. And for the first time in a long time, Paige didn’t feel quite so afraid.

————-

tags: @thaatdigitaldiary @patscorner 💌

[prettyshinnythings]

Resurrection Chapter 2

pairings: Sauron x Reader, Adar x reader

Warnings: This is for readers 18+. This chapter contains mentions of smutty activities. There will be smut in the next part if anyone wants that! Please do not read if you're under 18.

This is my first fic on this blog.

Chapter One

Chapter Two:

My breathing hitched in my throat as I stepped from the outside world and into the tent where Adar kept his prisoner king. Inside the tent, there was barely any light, what little light there was came from a dim lamp beside the support beam keeping the tent from collapsing in on itself. Cautiously, I hold my bag to my body, my fingers gripping the sturdy leather of the bag. It had been my idea to bring something to treat whatever wounds the king sustained in Adar’s interrogation. I knew that he could get quite rough whenever he felt the situation called for it. 

Breathing a deep sigh, I take a step further into the tent, allowing the flaps to close behind me, and making the room darker. 

The prisoner doesn’t say anything as I softly walk along the uneven dirt ground. He does not even bother to acknowledge me until I sit on the stool resting in front of the support beam. I set the bag down before sitting on the stool, my eyes finding the man sitting across from me. He has dark brown locks that fall just past his jaw, and his face is handsome, even with the bruising. He lifts his eyes to meet mine slowly, his stubble-covered jaw lifting up in defiance of the pain that I know he’s in. When he looks at me, an undetectable look flickers in his eyes. A moment of recognition that I could not understand. I had never seen this man before, but there was something about him that felt familiar. Even with a cut on his lips, he still manages to smirk up at me. 

“Well, look at you…”

His gaze intensifies as he looks at me over. The dress Adar had suggested for me to wear fit along my body like a second skin. The dark black fabric made me look like I was a member of a lavish court in a wealthy kingdom. The lower cut of the dress seemed particularly interesting to him. 

“... Adar sent in someone pretty to look at. Tell me, love, are you supposed to get me to talk?”

My eyes move from his handsome face to the chain around his neck. Seeing him like that sent a curious shiver up my spine and I was not entirely sure why. Did I like seeing him in chains? I try to shake the thought from my head and force myself to meet his gaze once again. The look on his face has changed slightly, as if he had read my mind. A dark chuckle escapes him as I attempt to remain focused.

“I simply want to ease your suffering, your Majesty. I know Adar can be quite rough when he feels like he is not getting what he wants.” 

My voice is small, and reserved, as I look at him. I attempt to focus on my breathing whilst I do this. Whoever this man was, I felt this pull that I had never felt before. Like the man from my dream. 

My words bring about new amusement on his handsome face. Again, as if he knew what I’d just thought. 

“Have a lot of experience with Adar’s roughness have you? What exactly is an elf doing with a Uruk who is terrorizing my people? Do you love him?”

I feel my stomach turn at his questions. The latter half sounded almost angry as if I was his lover who had betrayed him by being with Adar. I cannot discern what it is exactly that has upset the king, but I do not bite the bait.

“I simply wanted to help you. If my presence is a problem then I will let the guards continue to do what they do to get answers out of you. Though I would hate to bring any more harm to you, your Majesty.” 

Remaining calm, I reach down for my bag and attempt to stand up from the stool. I knew it had been a bad idea to try and get him to talk. But the second that I stand from my spot, he breathes a pained sigh.

“You do not have to go. Forgive me, I am just curious. You do not have to answer if you do not want to.” 

The smirk remains on his face as he says this. His eyes watched me closely to see if I still decided to go. 

Cautiously, I dare to move closer to the king of the Southlands. I sit beside him, placing my bag on the ground near my feet. I do not speak as I reach into the bag and pull out a cloth and a bottle of gin. Opening the gin I take a swig of it and sigh in contentment as I feel the warmth of the gin cascading down the back of my throat. A welcomed sensation that contrasted with the coldness of the tent. I give the king a small smile as I tilt the bottle in his direction, offering him a sip. Hesitantly, he lets me put the bottle to his lips as I pour the gin down his throat. Once I feel like he’s had a few decent swallows I pull the bottle from his lips. 

We lock eyes for only a moment when I pull the bottle away, his gaze seeming to darken at my closer proximity. I feel my breathing hitch and I have to force myself to look away. Turning my attention to the cloth, I pour a decent amount onto the cloth before daring to speak to him. 

“Can I touch you?”

I whisper, momentarily daring to look at him once more. He swallows hard and nods, unable to speak suddenly. With his permission I lean in, my hand holding the cloth on his bloodied lip. He does not flinch when the alcohol touches his skin and I start to clean the spot as gently as possible. I move the cloth from his lip after a few moments before pulling it away from him, the blood almost completely gone. 

“I am sorry that he has hurt your people, my lord. He does not tell me what he does once he leaves the confines of our shared tent. He thinks I am too weak to handle the truth of what he does. What he has his children do.” 

I pour more gin on the cloth and move it to wash his face, clean his face, and softly exfoliate any potential cuts he may have received. Not once does he look away from me, his gaze calculating as he anticipates what I will do next. 

“Adar saved me when I was a younger elf maiden. My parents were both slain and I was the only survivor. He has taken care of me for a long time. I know our pairing seems odd, but he was the first one to care for me and keep me safe.” 

I pour more gin on the cloth and then turn my attention to his hands, carefully cleaning them. He has strong hands. I wonder what they would feel like around my…

I mentally shake the thought from my head before letting it fully form. His voice cut through the silence that had befallen us once again. 

“You look like someone I knew once. You could be her exact copy…”

He pauses as I finish my work. He waits until I put the lid on the bottle and put it back into my bag with the cloth before speaking. 

“... Would you come closer?” 

He asks the question quietly but it is my willingness to comply that shocks me. Without speaking a single word I stand up and move my body to straddle his. Our eyes locked together as I sat in his lap. I am unsure of why his question compelled me to do this, but here I was. Here, mere inches away from his face. 

His eyes move from mine to my lips, the smirk he had worn earlier slowly creeping back onto his face. 

“Show me your chest and torso.”

My breathing hitches as he says this, my mind in a compliant haze. Without any hesitation I pull my arms out of my sleeves. He licks his lips when I pull the fabric down and reveal full access to my exposed breasts. I feel my heartbeat quicken as he watches me pull the fabric further to show the top of my torso. I had been born with scars along my chest and torso. It looked like I’d been cut deeply by something very sharp. My whole life those marks had marred my skin, to the point where I did not wear certain clothing because the scars were so unappealing to look at. 

He seems deeply transfixed by my scars as his bound hands reach out, stopping before making complete contact with my flesh. 

“Can I touch you?”

He asks as I had only moments before. Without thinking twice I nod, watching him closely. Slowly he uses his fingers to lightly trace over the marks on my torso, his brow furrowed as he does. I could not quite understand what the look on his face meant, but there was a pain etched into his expression like I was some ghost he never thought he would see again. 

“I know…” 

I start breathlessly, my body suddenly on edge. I feel a chill move up my spine and my stomach turns in anticipation of what he will do next. A wetness started to form in between my legs. A dark chuckle brushes past his lips, seeming to note the way my body has changed beneath his touch. 

“... I know they’re ugly to look at. I was born with these markings. My parents used to try and cover them up because they are so unsightly.”

His fingertips are light along my body, so light that I almost feel like I imagined them. My comment causes his brow to furrow as his eyes flick up from the markings to my face. His bound fingers lightly move from the marks on my torso to the one on my chest right above my heart. 

“You’re beautiful. Your birthmarks do not take that away.”

My heart skips when he says this and suddenly I am all too aware of how close his lips are to mine. There is an arrogance that moves across his face when he sees that I have fully taken in our current predicament. 

“What do you know of Sauron your majesty?”

I whisper, his lips ghosting over mine. My eyes flutter shut and he chuckles. I am trying to stay on task now that I realized how much I had quickly played into his hands. I was in his lap with the whole top part of my body exposed to him. This was certainly not what Adar had wanted.

Adar.

“Call me Halbrand.”

He rasps and kisses me deeply, my lips are powerless to deny how good he feels against me. I am quick to return the kiss with as much passion as he offers me. I gasp when his bound hands grasp my breast, his thumbs toying with my hardened nipple. He shudders against me when my hips roll against his. My body is desperate for friction. I can feel myself getting caught up in this heated exchange. I would give myself over to this man without a second thought… well until I thought of Adar once again. This time when I think about him I break the kiss and look at Halbrand. My heart is beating so fast that I am surprised that he cannot see the outline of it thumping in my chest. 

“Halbrand… Please tell me about Sauron.”

I pull my head back to look at him, my body’s desire for him reflected in my face. I wondered what he thought of me at that moment. Did he think I was an easy fuck? Or did he feel it too? This strange connection that I could not understand. A dangerous look pulsates beneath the surface of the smile he gives me. He tilts his head back against the wall and I feel the frustration boiling within me at the smug look that overtakes his face. 

“He is closer than you could ever imagine, Sweetling.” 

My eyes widen at the nickname and instantly I remember being called Sweetling before…

In my dream. 

How could he have known about it? 

“Is this funny to you Halbrand? Do you enjoy being locked in here? If you tell me what you know I can speak with Adar. I could convince him to let you go without you befalling any more harm.” 

At this, he looks at me with a raised eyebrow. He looks me over once again, amused that he has given me nothing but I was here partially naked before him. 

“How will you convince him, hmm? Will you suck his cock and tell him how much you love him? Will you let him fuck your pretty little pussy? Is that what you will do? Meanwhile, Middle Earth is suffering, but I bet that does not matter to you as long as you are his whore.”

When he finishes speaking all of the wind in my lungs feels as if it has left my body. Halbrand looked back at me like I had done something awful to him. As if I had betrayed him in some personal way. I cannot stop the tears that form in my eyes at his words. Instead, I get up off of his lap and pull my dress back up over my exposed chest, concealing myself once more. I refuse to look at him as I bend down to pick up the bag, but when I do his hands grasp my arm. I want to pull out of his grasp but find that I cannot. I am too overcome with emotion to push him away. No one had ever said those words to me before. Sure, I knew what the uruks thought of my relationship with Adar. Some loved me, others did not. I knew what people thought of me when they found me standing at Adar’s side. But no one had ever voiced those feelings out loud. 

“Halbrand.”

I whimper, forcing myself to look over at him. The tears in my eyes have softened his expression as he watched me cautiously. 

“What is your name, Sweetling.”

He asks, his tone careful. 

“(Y/n).”

I feel like a child who has been scolded when I speak to him as if I was in trouble. 

“(Y/n), Sauron has taken a new form. I know not where he resides, only that he does not look the same as Adar remembers.”

The information he provides does not have a moment to sink in before Adar’s voice sounds from behind me. 

“Halbrand, do not touch (y/n). She is mine.”

My blood seems to freeze when Adar calls me his. Suddenly, it did not feel as comforting as it had this morning when I had awoken in his bed. Halbrand does let go of my arm and when he does I reach down to grab my bag before walking over to Adar’s side. He peers down at me with an unreadable expression. Almost as if he knew that I had gone too far. As if he felt the shift that had happened the moment Halbrand’s lips were on mine. He pulls me in against him, his hands on my waist. Adar’s lips find the side of my face, but there is no comfort that I feel from the action. 

“She was someone else’s at one point was she not lord father? Or at least someone whose likeness she shares. But you knew that already didn’t you?”

Halbrand’s voice breaks through the uncomfortable tension that had manifested in the room. At this statement, I peer up at Adar in confusion. What could Halbrand have meant? I take a few steps back from Adar, my eyes wide as I look at him. A deep sigh escaped my lover before he glanced past me to Halbrand. 

“During the first age, Sauron had a messenger who became his mistress. The name Morgoth gave her was Thuringwethil. But she was known amongst the uruks who served Sauron as a different name. (Y/n), was the one he loved more than anything. He would have done anything for her, but on the night of his coronation, something terrible happened. He had sent her to take one final message and during that journey, she was killed when she came across the hound of Valinor. Sauron never learned of her passing because I killed him before he was able to learn the fate of his mistress…”

I feel my skin crawl at his words. Not because I was disturbed by them, but because they felt familiar to me. As if my body could recall every memory he recounted. Adar’s gaze finds mine, his lips pulled into a tight line. 

“...When I found you I was shocked by how much you looked like Thuringwethil. Every single part of you is her perfect likeness, apart from the fact that you are an elf. You have her face, her hair, her body, and those same scars that Morgoth had etched into Thuringwethil. When I found you I knew that I had to have you. That having you was the perfect revenge against Sauron and what he put my children through. If Thuringwethil was his true love in his past life then I wanted to make sure that, he would never have her again.”

When he finishes speaking, he takes a step forward, his hand outstretched to take mine in his. I am in shock by everything he has just said, so much so that I just stare at him. My body is unmoving as if I had turned into a statue. Everything I had known to be true had been flipped on its head. Every piece of my relationship with Adar seemed to pass through my mind like a demented illusion. And worst of all, it hurt because I had believed that Adar had loved me for me. Not because I looked like someone he had known. Not because of his anger with Sauron.

“How do you even know that I am her? What if I just look like her?”

I ask in quiet desperation, pleading for some sort of explainable reasoning. Adar gives my hand a squeeze and nods.

“Sometimes, when you dream you say his name. His true name that not many know. You said it this morning when you woke up. I do not believe that is a coincidence.”

My brow furrows as I think back to the name of the man from my dream and I feel my heart stop. Cautiously, I look up at Adar before mumbling feebly. 

“Marion.”

[anchoeritic]

「 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬. 」

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jake sully x fem!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: nsfw(18+), minors dni. clit play, overstimulation, fingering, pet names (babygirl, sweetheart, etc.), choking kink, hair pulling.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: teasing jake all day doesn't end in your favour… until it does.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is a short piece, i'm sorry. buuuut i hope you still enjoy. reblogs and feedback are always appreciated, never pressured! and this is also a repost, oops.

was it a typical thing for a man to fall to the feet of a beautiful girl? to beg for a taste of her?

he knew what he was getting himself into, he knew what they outcome would be like, and he still couldn’t resist you.

you knew what you were doing and knew about the effect you had on him.

you always paid close attention to him when it came to little things: like holding your eye contact with him and watching as he smirked to himself.

or watching the way he would cross his legs to cover up the growing bulge between his thighs.

you had done it all on purpose, wanting to get a rise out of him, and you definitely did.

and jake was tired of it, which leads to how he cornered you. yep. against a tree.

“you know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” he growled, wrapping his hand around your throat tightly.

giggling at him, you looked down at his lips, catching sight of what may be devouring you later.

“maybe i do,” you smiled, “what are you going to do about it, sully?”

the grip around your neck tightened, your face growing warm. you were now choking on your words, unable to speak full sentences, only babbled words and whimpers.

tears welled up in your eyes as they rolled back. a shiver was sent down your spine, feeling your panties dampen at the feeling of his fingers wrapped around your throat.

“you should be scared, sweetheart.”

turning you around, he had your face pressed up against the thick wood.

your hair was far from looking like it always did, his other hand tangled between the many strands, grabbing onto it. saliva had slid from the sides of your mouth, blending in with the tears that had fallen prior.

his hand was firmly gripping on the back of your head, holding you in place.

“are you going to do something about it, babygirl?” he taunted, giving your hair a soft tug.

you shook your head softly, letting out a broken whine in response.

he knew for sure that he had you bottomed out to him at this point. you were under his command from now on and it wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

his other hand slid down from your hair, slipping itself down your pants and cupping your cunt.

breathy moans escaped from your lips as you felt his finger graze over your clit in circular motions.

“c’mon, let me hear you.”

moving your hips, you increased the friction, adding onto the pleasure of his fingers.

“jake,” you cried, grabbing ahold of his arm.

the digits on your clit started to move faster, going in eight figures.

his cock grew as he watched you get off to his fingers, the sight in front of him causing him to lick his lips.

a natural beauty, you were. you were a rare one. the universe had favourites and it really showed, you were definitely one of them.

“i’m cumming,” you cried out.

hearing your pleads, he attacked your neck with kisses, trying to push you over the edge some more. “go ‘head then, baby.”

“cum all over my fingers.”

and you did. you screamed as you felt a wave of euphoria crash over and down on you.

your thighs trembled, ready to collapse under you. you would’ve been on the ground if it wasn’t for jake and the security of his arms.

you felt so dirty, sinful. you just let him touch you: a man you were forbidden to fall for.

you knew it was bad, but it felt too good.

lost in the mix of lust and love, you pulled him down by his neck, your lips connecting once again.

you could never get tired of this feeling.

[system-to-the-madness]

Cherry Blossom Rests 🌸 Inumaki Toge x Reader

Pairing: Inumaki Toge x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 1 223 Warnings: mentions of wounds, blood Summary: After a mission, Toge and you rest under a tree

Sakura Festival Masterlist - Masterlist

“Toge, can you move your arm away? My neck hurts.”

“Okaka.”

“Asshole.”

With a groan you sat up enough to be able to grab Toge’s arm and move it away from where your head had been resting on it. Any other day you would have appreciated him offering his arm up as your headrest, but not today. You were sore all over from the mission you had just returned from. Your body was littered with small cuts, dust stuck to your skin and your sweat drenched clothes, and every muscle in your body felt like it had been robbed of any and all strength.

The mission itself had not really been dangerous, only exhausting. So much even, that you had fallen asleep in the train back home, and as soon as you had made it up the sheer infinite number of steps to the school, Toge and you had collapsed under the closest tree, not even bothering to make it back to your rooms. Here, on the school grounds you were safe from the prying eyes of public, so you had not made the effort to go further, and instead decided to rest here for a moment. Or a few moments. You had been laying underneath the blooming cherry tree for almost an hour now.

Toge protested loudly as you flopped back down, spread out like a starfish, but without the support of his arm this time. You knew he considered it his sacred duty as your boyfriend to always make sure you were as comfortable as possible.

“Toge, my neck hurts, stop it,” you protested as he tried to wriggle his hand back under your neck. “I just want to lay like that for a moment, okay? We can cuddle later.”

At your side, he whined, but pulled his hand away. You sighed quietly, focusing on the way your spine seemed to stretch out on the ground. It felt like a weigh was being removed. Experimentally you turned your head, trying to stretch out the tension in your neck, when suddenly something warm and heavy flopped down on your chest.

If you weren’t so familiar with this exact sensation, you might have been startled, but you knew what had happened, and so you just groaned a little from the way your chest got compressed by the suddenly added weight. Toge had thrown himself on top of you, arms around your waist, head resting on your chest, his bright hair tickling your chin.

“A warning next time,” you grumbled, but brought your hand up to his head anyway, running it though his strands. They were sweat and dirt coated. It had been over an hour since the fight had ended, but his body was still warm underneath his by now chilly clothes.

“Saamon Tsuna,” You should have seen it coming.

“You’re such a spoiled brat,” you sighed, craning your neck to press a kiss to the crown of his head.

Toge turned his head, resting his chin on your sternum and glanced up to you, indigo eyes scanning over your face as if he was uncertain whether you meant it. Of course, you didn’t, and he knew that, but sometimes you couldn’t shake the feeling that he still doubted your feelings for him. Was it really so hard to believe that you loved him? That idiot. But he was your idiot, and if you had to, you’d reassure him of your love for him until he got sick of it… which was a bold statement considering he always insisted he could never get enough of you.

“Okaka”, he pouted. I’m not a spoiled brat. “Takana-zuke.” You are.

“Oi,” you complained. “What did I do?”

Toge just kept pouting, giving you a moment to take in his appearance. You had been too exhausted to give him a proper once over, earlier only having made sure he was not injured too badly. Like yours, his skin was littered in cuts, his uniform dirty and still wet from sweat. At the corner of his mouth, he had missed a droplet of blood, that had by now dried and turned a dark shade of brown against his pale skin. He had used his technique too much, again. Over the past months he had gotten quite good at estimating how long he could use it, and how the impact of different commands shortened that time. But there were still moments where he went over his limits, and you hated it, hated seeing him hurt.

Reaching up, you ran your thumb over the corner of his mouth, trying to brush the dried blood away, but instead Toge turned his head to kiss your thumb.

“Hold still,” you demanded, “you have some blood there.”

Toge just rolled his eyes and pouted, but let you clean the small stain away, before looking at you expectantly.

“Tsuna Mayo,” he requested.

You furrowed your brows. “What do you want me to do?”

He rolled his eyes again, signaling you that he had expected you to understand him, before he pushed up on his hands and shifted himself so he could kiss you on the lips.

Something about Toge’s kisses always took your breath away. Sure, there were the heated kisses you shared in the privacy of your rooms, but even the smaller, almost innocent ones always made you swoon. His lips were soft and warm, his breath fanning over your cheeks in a familiar way as he pulled back after a moment to look down on you underneath him.

“Okome,” he whispered, making you smile. I love you.

“Okome,” you repeated to him, and satisfied you watched as a smile of his own spread over his face.

“Sujiko,” he smirked, lowering himself down again, so he could rest his head on your chest again.

“What’s that supposed to mean,” you complained. “You can’t make fun of me for saying I love you when you were the one who started it!”

“Shake.” Yes, I can.

“You’re awful,” you whined, your hand immediately finding its way back into his hair. “Why am I putting up with you again?”

“Takana-zuke okome.” You love me.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” You picked a cherry blossom petal out of his hair, the colour of the petal almost identical to that of his strands.

“Okome.” And I love you. Toge’s voice had gotten quieter, heavy, and you knew he was about to fall asleep.

“I know,” you whispered, carding your fingers through his soft hair. “And I’m so happy you do.”

Toge only hummed in affirmation, his eyes fluttering shut as he kept his ear pressed to your chest, listening to your breath and heartbeat. Warm sunbeams fell through the branches and blinded you, making you close your eyes too. Rationally you knew you should get up, go back to your room, shower, get patched up and write the mission report. But you really didn’t want to disturb your sleeping boyfriend. Besides, when would you get the next chance to cuddle with him on a spring afternoon under the blooming cherry trees? You sighed, relaxing against the ground. Nobody would mind if you took a little longer with that report. And if they did… their offence, no matter how big, could not compete with the feeling of peace that flooded your body from feeling Toge sleep with his arms wrapped around you.

@delzinrowe

[hvsngi]

ㅤ⠀⠀⠀ ⎯⎯ㅤ 煙⠀⠀░░⠀⠀SMOKE n' CHOKE⠀⠀◌⠀⠀m. lee⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ╰⠀⠀✹⠀cw:⠀nsfw ─ ⠀male reader smoker!mark⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ under the influence smut ( both ) praise⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ pwop soloist!reader dacryphilia btm!reader⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ established relationship⠀⠀⠀✿⠀⠀⠀⠀503 words

⠀⠀✹⠀⠀the thick smokescreen around you and mark could almost shield one's eyes from the sinful acts happening behind it. a guttural moan trickled past your kiss-bruised lips as mark slammed his hips against your ass, hitting the bundle of nerves within you at full force. your vision went white, the beginning of euphoria beginning to burn on your skin. the influence of the drug you'd smoked beforehand was amplifying the feeling by 10 times, something your body simply wasn't made to handle.

"so fuckin' tight," mark breathed, his lips by your ear. you could feel his warm breath wrap around your spine, arching your back up away from his chest. tangible and utter bliss plunged itself deep into your bloodstream as you let out another pathetic whine at how deep he was. "you're so good, y/n. so f—fucking good to me." his words were going to your brain, causing you to fall apart in his arms.

it was like that with mark — the brain-melting dirty talk he exuded. especially now, after you had gone off on tour, leaving him all alone whilst you ventured to different countries. he simply couldn't contain himself, even more so when he had a little weed in his system. he was always happy to indulge in you when he got high and horny. you were like a reward he couldn't resist. he ached for you when you were gone, and when he had you, he had to make sure you only craved him.

your face was buried in the cushions of his sofa, muffled cries absorbed by the cotton below. "mark," you choked out, trying to think of anything except the way he was currently molding you to the shape of him. each thrust made you conform to the curve of his body. "too much. it's too — too much."

mark hummed, slowing down a bit. "can you give me one more, baby?" you had already come twice, and he was asking for another one. god, he'd be the death of you. when you nodded, he wrapped his fingers around your dick, stroking it to the same rhythm as his thrusts. tears filled your eyes at the overstimulated feeling you got from it, but it felt far too amazing to stop.

when he noticed the tears in your eyes, he reached up with his other hand to wipe them away. "aw... my poor baby. so fucked out n' crying. so cute." he punctuated his statement with a harsh thrust, making your body jolt forward with the force. your eyes rolled back as he continued on relentlessly, losing any coherence you might've had left to the hands of your boyfriend.

after a few more thrusts, you came again for the third time, tightening around mark hard as stars blurred your vision and your arms gave out. you felt him spill into you moments later — warm and plenty — with a praise of 'so perfect. my perfect boy.' falling from his lips. pulling out, he collapsed next to you, tugging you into his arms.

"so... when's the next tour?"

you felt your eye twitch. "mm. i love you too, mark." he laughed and buried his face into your throat. "i love you, y/n. so much. my perfect, beautiful boy."

[sircantus]

Techno had been exploring a cave system with Phil when he felt it.

A rumbling vibration traveling through the rock too deep for humans and several types hybrids to sense.

It took Techno a moment to realize what it meant. And when he did…

“Move!” Techno roared. “Back to the surface! Now!”

Phil startled at the unexpected shout, but they’d known each other for too long to hesitate even if the danger was unknown.

Phil sprinted back the way they had come, Techno only a few paces behind him.

Phil held a torch aloft, and Techno a sword. Techno banished the sword to his inventory as he ran, but had no time to do the same for the pickaxe strapped to his belt.

As they ran, the rumbling increased in volume and intensity, there was no way anyone could miss it now.

How far was it to the exit? How deep had they been?

The cave had started to show deep slate, so perhaps sixty blocks below the surface.

That didn’t account for how far they’d travelled in any other direction, though.

They had entered the cave from a deep fissure in the earth, traveling into the cave network from there.

They were near halfway back when Techno heard the rock breaking above their heads. Diving forwards, Techno shoved Phil as far as he could.

A flash of pain in Techno’s abdomen as he hit the ground was quickly buried by the stone that slammed into his back, crushing force pinning him to the floor in a shower of dust and smaller rocks. The impact knocked the breath out of him and Techno wheezed, gasping at the stone dust filled air for breath.

The cave had collapsed, blocking off the direction the pair had just run from completely, catching Techno on the edge of the newly formed barrier.

“Techno?” Phil must have come to check on him while Techno was still regaining his breath. Phil had set his torch down near Techno as he checked his pulse.

“Mate, can you hear me?”

Techno’s response was a wheezing cough.

“Okay, okay, can’t talk?” Phil had grabbed the torch again, and lifted Techno’s chin, holding it close to one of Techno’s eyes, then the other before settling the torch aside.

Next Philza grabbed one of Techno’s hands.

“Can you squeeze my hand?”

Techno squeezed it.

“Squeeze once for yes, twice for no.”

Techno squeezed Phil’s hand again.

“Are you bleeding anywhere? Can you tell?”

Phil must not be able to see most of Techno what with him being covered in stone at the moment.

One squeeze. Yes.

The pickaxe attached to Techno’s belt felt like it had decided to introduce itself to his intestines, so he was most definitely bleeding from it.

“Alright don’t worry mate, we’ll get you out. If I move enough of this we should be able to get you walking.”

Two squeezes. No.

Philza frowned. “Why no? Wait, are your legs hurt?”

Techno- couldn’t actually feel his legs. Or his hips. And he really hoped that wasn’t a spine injury, but it probably was. He wasn’t sure how to tell Phil that, though, so-

Yes. One squeeze.

There was no way Phil would be able to get Techno out of here on his own. Cave-ins like this were dangerous enough on their own, but the first one had been caused by an earthquake, and there could still be aftershocks.

Here with Techno was just about the most dangerous place Phil could be right now. Techno had to convince him to leave.

He gathered his breath.

“Go.”

“What? Techno, no- I can’t leave you!”

Techno tried again.

“Go. H’lp.”

“Oh.” Phil said, looking to study the stone above Techno, “This is definitely a two person job, maybe three. I can ask Niki or Ranboo-“

A pause.

“Promise me you won’t leave me.”

Techno couldn’t suppress a snort of amusement.

Techno couldn’t go anywhere, he was trapped under a literal ton of stone.

But he knew what Phil meant.

“Pr’mse.” Techno managed to get out, knowing it was probably a lie as he said it.

But Techno needed Phil to leave, to be safe.

Techno gave Phil’s hand one last squeeze, and he hoped Phil knew what it meant.

For you, the world.

And then Phil was running towards the cave entrance on his way to get help.

~~~

It was only a few minutes after Phil left that Techno felt the rumbling start again.

The aftershock caused a second collapse, sending rocks falling down on Techno’s shoulders, arms and head. At least one rock must have made its mark against his skull, because Techno’s awareness missed the rest of the rockfall.

When he came back to consciousness, it was with the weight of stone pushing in all around him, pressing him to the floor. It was oddly comfortable. Techno could still feel the pickaxe in his belly, shifting slightly every time he breathed, but now the feeling was only strange, not painful.

Part of him was aware that it probably wasn’t a good sign to be devoid of any pain, but he already knew how things would end when he sent Phil away, so really the lack of pain was a nice bonus.

The torch Phil had left with Techno must have gone out in the second collapse, because Techno couldn’t see anything.

There was nothing for Techno to do except think. Had Phil made it out? He should have had enough time if the rest of the tunnel was unobstructed, and he could probably fly out of the fissure that was the entrance.

Techno really hoped Phil made it out.

It felt like the debris on top of Techno was slowly increasing in weight, or maybe Techno’s strength was failing. Either way, it was getting harder and harder to draw a full breath.

Techno concentrated on that now, on getting from one shallow breath to the next. How much time had passed? He didn’t know. Everything seemed muddled and far away.

“Thank you.” A voice said, cutting through the nothingness that surrounded Techno and filling it. “You kept my husband safe.”

Techno had never heard the voice before, but he knew who it must belong to. Knew even in his soul as surely all things did. Kristin. And if she was here that meant-

Techno hadn’t noticed before, but he now realized that he wasn’t breathing, and he couldn’t feel his heartbeat inside his chest. He didn’t think he had a body anymore, but he could feel Kristin holding him.

“Do you want to watch over my husband with me?”

Techno did. Phil had no sense of self preservation and could use all the help he could get. And Techno had told Phil that he wouldn’t leave him just yet.

“Well then, let’s be off.”

OH MY GOD?? (DEVESTATED) OH MY GOD!! (Delighted)

I adore this. Its painful but i adore it, especially since theres Kristin showing up ten out of ten im absolutely thrilled to have had read this

[nevertheless-moving]

Angsty Continuation of this Crack Szeth/Kaladin Time Travel AU:

"Sir, may I speak with you? It's a matter of some importance."

Dalinar looked up sharply, locking eyes with his Captain of the Guard.

Some of the clerks he had been meeting with had bristled, affronted as ever by what many saw as the unreasonably jumped up dark eyes. His intrusion into the room with barely a knock probably hadn't helped their opinion.

Dalinar ignored them for the moment, choosing instead to maintain eye contact. A chill ran down his spine.

Stormfather. When had the Captain started looking so…worn out? The man's gaze had always been strikingly intense, tired shadows kept at bay by a fiery rage. But now… Dalinar had perhaps seen that expression before, in a dying Chasmfiend. Embers of an unfathomably immense blaze, finally burning itself out. The heat it gave off still enough to scorch a man, but dying nevertheless.

He felt a twinge of guilt. Surely… he hadn't done that? Almight knows he asked a lot of the young man, too much perhaps. But storms… no, something must have happened. He had just seen the man, what, yesterday? Perhaps it had been a week since they had spoken more than in passing, but still. A week of overwork didn't burn through a person like that.

The Highprince cleared his throat. "I assume this has something to do with security?"

Captain Kaladin nodded firmly.

"Very well. Zaninel, Sherath, you're dismissed."

They left without a word, and barely a glare. Perhaps they had also caught something in the Captain's expression.

Kaladin closed the door behind him as he entered. He proceeded to the table, then all but collapsed into the chair across from the Highprince.

Dalinar raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

The darkeyed man rubbed a hand across his forehead, palm seeming to linger across the brands there. He started, sitting up.

"Sorry sir," he said hoarsely. "I forgot myself."

He pushed his weight forward as if to stand, but Dalinar waved him back.

"Its alright," he said. "I'm not one to make a soldier stand when hes clearly on his last chip."

The Captain sagged back.

"I apologize for the breach in decorum, I… last night…" He sighed, squaring his shoulder's and seeming to steel himself. "Well, sir, there's been vital matters I've been debating how to best present to your attention, but now one aspect has come to a head. Bridge four had… a visitor to our fire last night, scared the light out of my men. I've been trying to figure out what to do with him all night."

"A visitor?" Dalinar frowned. "This man is a security concern?"

Kaladin barked a humorless laugh. "It would be fair to say that, yes."

Dalinar waited for more of an explanation.

Kaladin sighed heavily. "I'd like to make a request sir."

"A request."

"That you not immediately put this man to death."

"Not…immediately?" Dalinar felt like an idiotic river spren, only able to mimic words/ But for the life of him, he had no idea where this conversation was going.

The captain nodded, drumming his fingers on the table. "I think he's of more value alive than dead, sir. And… I swore to try and help him regain some measure of his sanity. I can't do that if you kill him on sight."

"Kelek's Breath!" Dalinar said with some disbelief. "This madman if yours, he's truly so alarming, that you think I would do such a thing?"

Kaladin nodded, and Dalinar felt dread pool in his stomach.

"Who is this man?" he whispered.

"His name is Szeth."

"Szeth."

"Yes sir."

"That sounds like a Shin name."

"It is sir."

Dalanir stared down at the Captain, uncertain at what point he had stood up.

"Captain Stormblessed," he said with calm he didnt feel. "I can think of only one Shin man that I would desire to kill on sight."

Kaladin winced, then looked up locking those exhausted, burning eyes with his. "Yes."

"The assassin in white is here." Dalinar stated flatly.

"Yes."

The Highprince took a deep breath to steady himself. "The assassin who killed my brother?"

"Yes."

"The assassin who has been killing world leaders, throwing kingdoms into chaos."

"Yes."

Dalinar grabbed the lapels of Kaladin's jacket, towing him up with an enraged growl. He breathed heavily for a moment , attempting to restrain himself as he stared at that tired, dark expression.

"I trusted you," he hissed. "I trusted you with everything I had, everyone I loved, and you've been working with the Assassin in White."

Storms, did he feel tears in his eyes? Surely this betrayal couldn't hurt worse than Sadeas, but the dagger sharp pain in his sternum said otherwise. Had it all been a ruse? The tower, the retreat, Oathbringer…all one large, intricate lie to trick an old fool?

"No." The captain said firmly, meeting his unsaid questions with a steady, inarguable honesty.

"No, your maj — Sir. No, I have not been working with him. No, I had nothing to do with your brothers death — I was a child at the time, and Szeth and I hadn't even met. When we did first meet, I fought him. Then we fought again. I thought I killed him. I… I actually did kill him, from what i understand."

Kaladin Stormblessed's expression went very far away, but his words continued with that discordant lighteyed crispness he had had from that start.

"He was brought back by… a higher power. I'll explain what I can, but honestly, there's a lot a don't understand. He still very disturbed, but he is trying. He's taking another step along the journey, each day. Szeth is only a danger to himself now."

Stormblessed paused, then looked pained anew.

"Well…mostly. He's prepared to serve you, including as a killer. And…he's indicated that he's similarly willing to listen to my commands. He trusts me, sir. It…I realize this puts you in an uncomfortable position."

Dalinar felt his fingers unclench, and he lowered Stormblessed gently to his seat. There was no question in his mind if he could accept the Captain's word on this, he knew as instinctively as ever that this mans could be trusted.

Knew it more now than ever, seeing in those eyes a man who would rather break himself than break his oaths.

The pain of betrayal ebbed away, leaving a mess of emotions and thoughts in their wake.

Dalinar sat back heavily, rattling the maps and folios on the table.

"Storms!" He scrubbed a hand across his face. "You realize how mad this is, right?"

Kaladin laughed humorlessly. "Very much so."

"I —" Dalinar didn't know where to begin. "Where is he right now?"

"My office — my quarters in the Bridge Four Barrack."

"And he's under guard?"

"I have the Lopen and Rock switching off with him, but like I said, hes rather not a threat to anyone right."

"The Lop— wait, isn't Rock your cook's name?"

"Yessir. And you’ve probably seen Lopen before, he's hard to miss —small, loud, Herdassian."

"The one with one arm? You have a cook and a one armed man guarding the most dangerous man alive? Guarding a known shardbarer?" Dalinar found himself standing again, voice close to a shout. He forced himself back down.

Kaladin smiled weakly for some reason. "He gave me his shardblade, actually. As part of his surrender."

Dalinar glanced at Kaladin's hands, as if to find a shardblade he hadn't noticed.

The Captain opened his mouth, but Dalinar raised a hand. "…I'm not going to enjoy your answer on the location of that either, am I."

"Probably not, no."

Stormlight AU Masterlist

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 47: The Maestro's Diversion

Prev > Masterlist > Next

September 1925

TW: mind control, body control, captivity, kidnapping

Despite Alexander's attempt at soothing him, Oliver felt himself growing more and more anxious as the ballet continued. As much as he tried to focus on the dance, but now that he knew about the strange man's identity, he couldn't help but sneak glances over at him and fret. 

Objectively, he didn't look that dangerous - a very slight older man with a sharp gaze -- but there was a certain something dreadful about him that Oliver could sense from across the theater. Or perhaps it was just his imagination, borne of the fact that Alexander was still very much on edge.

The ballet itself did not calm his nerves either. The dancing was growing more and more feverish and abstract, the costumes wilder, with bright red beads and ribbons that seemed to signify wounds. The climax was what appeared to be a human sacrifice, where the prima ballerina danced upon an altar, red ribbons tied around her hands and feet and neck, finally collapsing among raucous, atonal music.

Oliver's anxiety was reaching a fever pitch as the ballet came to a close. He clapped politely as the dancers took their bows, glancing over at the strange man.

He was clapping, but he wasn't looking at the stage any more. No, his eyes were trained directly on Oliver. They locked gazes, and Oliver felt a chill run down his spine.

"We will wait until most of the audience has cleared out," said his master. "Then we'll go attend to my master in his box. We may be in luck. He may be in an unusually pleasant mood."

Oliver had no idea how that icy gaze could count to Alexander as "unusually pleasant." "Must we meet him?"

Alexander didn't answer.

"Couldn't we just... leave?"

"No."

Oliver had never imagined he could feel so much dread simply watching men in tuxedos and women in fancy evening dress chatter and mingle as they made their way to the exits. His hands hurt, and he realized that he was gripping the arms of the chair so hard that they were making imprints. Alexander said nothing, stoically staring down at the empty stage. 

Alexander was being so terse, so stiff, so unlike his normal self. But Oliver, of course, had no choice but to follow, no matter how badly he wanted to dig in his heels and not go. He feared that any struggle right now would not be met with Alexander's gentle spell correcting him, but with something far worse.

They made their way around the theater in silence, entering the box and entering the presence of Alexander's sire.

He looked upon Alexander with harsh judgement in his eyes, which Alexander took stoically, and then he looked upon Oliver with...

It was something like approval, perhaps even the ghost of a smile, and it was somehow even worse than his look of disdain.

"Good evening, sire," said his master with a practiced bow. "Was the ballet to your liking?"

"It was passable," the Maestro said, his voice like a musical instrument from another place and time. "While far from perfection, the bold direction was at least more interesting than what usually passes for art in this city. Unusually, I find myself craving the new more and more these days." He was staring at Oliver, not Alexander, as he said this.

"It seems as though you've spent the last few seasons confined to your chambers, sire," said Alexander, with measured words. "That may account for your desire for novelty."

"...A fair observation, child," he said. "Let's speak more of the new and novel, then. This must be your recently acquired thrall, young Oliver, is it not? I've heard that there was quite a stir at the auction house."

"He has very fine blood, sire, as you no doubt can tell. He is naturally docile and obedient, and has great potential."

The Maestro nodded slowly as he looked Oliver up and down. "Come, Oliver. Kneel."

Oliver's breath caught as he felt the tug on his body, puppet strings entangling his arms and legs, as he stepped forward. He remembered his master's words, and had been bracing himself for this, willing himself to relax and stay calm. Oliver would be unharmed, Alexander thought, as long as he behaved. So he didn't resist as his body fell to its knees before the Maestro, his posture straight, his hands clasped in his lap, his head tilted slightly downward, demure.

Alexander's sire took him by the chin and brought his face upwards, his fingers delicate and cold. He examined Oliver as though he were a specimen under glass, searching every inch of him for something that Oliver didn't understand. Oliver could feel the control wrapped around him, as though his very heart was forced to beat in time with the Maestro's whims.

"You've made an appropriate choice for once, Alexander," said the Maestro after what seemed like an eternity. "This is a fine acquisition, and you were quite right to not let him fall into the hands of the likes of Jameson. Well done, child."

Alexander looked every bit as surprised as Oliver felt. "Thank you, sire."

"In fact, I find myself inspired for a new acquisition of my own. As you've correctly observed, existence has become ever so dreary, and I need a new diversion." He leaned back in his seat. "Which is why you're going to pluck the prima ballerina from her perch."

Oliver nearly choked on his breath as Alexander's eyes went even wider. "The ballerina from this show, sire?" he said in a strained tone. "I don't mean to question you, but are you absolutely sure? She's well known and her absence will certainly be noticed."

"Of course. Don't take me for a fool by stating the obvious." His glare was boring a hole into Alexander. "It doesn't matter how well known she is. Once she's in my grasp, she will not be found."

"Yes, sire. My apologies."

"You must fetch her for me. Your power is much gentler than mine, befitting a lovely flower. Bring her here, so that she may dance for me and only me."

Oliver couldn't help his gaze flitting over to his master, who seemed to be struggling to keep his composure. Was he actually going to do it? Simply kidnap the ballerina, on his sire's orders?

"As you wish, sire," he said, meekly. "Oliver, come along."

"No, that won't be necessary," said the Maestro, laying his hand on top of Oliver's head before he could stand up. "I will be content to watch over your thrall while you take care of business."

The hand on his head felt oppressive, and Oliver fought down the urge to beg his master not to leave him here, alone with his sire -- to not steal away a dancer with a bright future and plunge her into a nightmare. But he could already tell from the look on his master's face that he was going to follow his sire's wishes.

"Thank you for watching over him, sire. I will return with your new thrall." 

With that, his master left the box, and Oliver was left alone with his master's sire, whose full focus had turned back to him. The Maestro ran his hand through Oliver's hair, and then tilted his head up to look at him once more.

"Hm, yes, a precious find indeed," he said, more to himself than to Oliver. "You will answer my questions truthfully, child. Do you fear me?"

The correct answer, Oliver thought, was to tell the Maestro that he did not fear him, that he was always happy to serve a vampire. But Alexander had warned him so strictly about being honest... "Yes, sir."

"Good. You're correct to do so," he said, apparently satisfied. "What do you fear from me?"

That question was far more complex, a half million nightmare scenarios crowding Oliver's mind at once. "Many things, sir," he said. "Primarily that I'm aware that you have the power to harm me at any time, in any way you wish. I hope you will be merciful, sir." 

"Merciful, hm." He seemed as though he were considering an idea he'd never heard of before, and Oliver worried he'd overstepped. "Well, you have been honest so far, so I will be honest with you, child. If you continue to be as truthful and obedient as you are now, I will have no reason to do you harm tonight."

"Thank you, sir," said Oliver, not feeling all that reassured. He felt the control over his body loosen, but before he could move, he realized what the meaning of this was when combined with his previous words -- this was a test, an obvious one at that. He steadfastly remained in the position the Maestro had placed him, trying to keep his posture straight.

"Perhaps I'm in a rare good mood from the fine night air and a half-decent ballet, but I find myself enjoying you, child. Do not take this as an invitation to be bold," he said in his musical voice. "Tell me, do you like being enthralled by my Alexander?"

Although his feelings on this were somewhat complicated, the first response that came to mind was both safe and sufficiently honest. "Yes, sir, I like it very much."

"Does he treat you well?" the Maestro intoned.

"Yes, sir," said Oliver with uncertainty, increasingly worried about this line of questioning. "I want for nothing, and the feedings are gentle and pleasant."

"I see. And does he afford you a great deal of freedom?"

So that's where this was leading. He was trying to get Oliver to admit to his master's soft treatment of him, no doubt so his master could be scolded or punished. His instinct was to protect Alexander -- to tell the Maestro that Alexander was very strict and kept him on a tight leash.

But Alexander had been adamant that Oliver must be honest, and he felt sick at the idea of disobeying a direct order from his master. "He offers me some freedoms, but not others, sir."

"Elaborate. What freedoms do you have?"

"I am not allowed to leave his manor, sir, but I am allowed to inhabit any part of it, except for my master's private chambers. When I am not feeding or waiting on my master, I am given free time to do what I wish." His heart thumped. He knew that was the wrong answer. He fought to keep himself in position, and felt the claws of control tightening around him again.

The Maestro's gaze drilled into his soul. "That is disappointing, but wholly unsurprising," he said after a long, tense minute. "Interestingly, that's the first time I've felt any sort of resistance against my control. You're otherwise obeying perfectly. Why choose that moment to struggle?"

"I want to be honest, as you ordered, sir, but I also don't want to say anything that could bring down punishment upon my master."

"Loyalty, then. An instinct to protect your master. Despite his continued shortcomings, he seems to have done a passable job when it came to enthralling you, especially compared to previous thralls," he said. "That's also my sweet Lily's work. I could sense it in you from the moment you opened your mouth. Obedient, loyal, but with too many thoughts in your head, as is her preference. Unfortunate, really." He gave Oliver a long look. "I suppose it can't be helped. For once my wayward children have brought me something worthwhile. You can always be perfected in time."

Oliver's heart filled with dread. "...Thank you, sir," he said, not knowing what else to say to that.

Before the awkward interaction could continue, Oliver heard a gorgeous, ethereal voice coming from outside of the box. He breathed it in deep, and it filled his mind with a sensation like morning fog, dampening the racing thoughts that the Maestro had criticized. The melody was beckoning him, wrapping around his limbs, enticing him to stand and follow.

Alexander. His master had returned. Follow me, follow me, he sang, a vampiric pied piper.

The pull of his song was strong enough that his master's previous command to obey the Maestro and not resist was completely overridden. He would have sleepwalked to Alexander's side in a heartbeat if it weren't for the Maestro's control preventing him, weighing down his body even as his heart yearned, and Oliver felt that he might be torn in two if this continued.

The struggle was ended when Alexander entered the box and bowed to his sire. Behind him was a young woman, thin but athletic, wearing a simple house dress that contrasted sharply with her dramatic stage makeup and the elaborate hairdo that was halfway to falling down. 

It was, of course, the prima ballerina, who had apparently been ensorcelled in her dressing room, just after changing out of her elaborate costume. Her eyes were so far away, so dreamy, as she walked gracefully, a soft smile on her lips.

Oliver's heart sank. He knew from experience how hard it was to escape Alexander's power -- and even worse, she was being given over to the Maestro's thrall. She might never see the stage again, never dance for an audience, never see her family or friends, never laugh and talk with her fellow dancers after a rehearsal. She was to be locked away like a doll in a music box, rotating slowly on command, and she most likely didn't even realize her fate yet.

The Maestro rose from his seat and wordlessly examined her as he had done to Oliver. Alexander was still humming something under his breath, something intended to keep the ballerina calm, and Oliver let the spell soften his thoughts as well, all too eager to dissociate from this scene.

He watched as, with the slightest change in expression and quirk of an eyebrow, the ballerina struck one pose, then another. She was nearly up on her toes despite wearing slippers and not proper shoes, twirling so slowly, and although her face maintained a placid expression, there was fear in her eyes, now.

"Acceptable," the Maestro murmured, as she turned and assumed a different pose. "This will do for a diversion this winter, I think. Well done once more, Alexander."

"Thank you, sire."

"It's been a long time since I've come calling, hasn't it? I do believe I have the evening after next free. I trust I'll be offered quality refreshments?" He gazed at Oliver meaningfully, as the meaning of his words penetrated through the fog.

This strange, distressing vampire wanted to drink from him. Surely his master wouldn't allow that. Surely he was only for Alexander.

"...Very well, sir," said Alexander through gritted teeth. "You're welcome at my manor at any time, of course."

"Excellent. You're dismissed, then. Take your sweet Oliver home, and I'll take my new prize." He picked the ballerina up as effortlessly as he might a kitten, and she lay unmoving in his grasp.

"Good night, sire."

"Good night, child."

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Well, this went well.

Next week, Fitz has a plan.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme @strawbearydreams @ghost-whump

[64yrsold]

me

“Do you like it?” I smirked, fingers finding the hem of my dress. I twisted the silky fabric until it wrinkled, watching his eyes roll over me.

“What do you think?” He grinned, dragging a thumb over his bottom lip. I blushed, waiting for his greedy eyes to meet mine. They stayed downcast, travelling along the edge of my thigh.

I fixed the thin strap over my shoulder, “Is it too much?”

“What’s too much?” His brows pulled together, a thoughtful crease adorning his forehead.

I sighed, gesturing vaguely.

He shook his head, confused.

“Like,” I groaned, covering my cleavage with my palm. He smirked, shadowing my hand with his. His touch felt new, his warmth brighter, the smell of smoke on his fingertips louder.

“Should I tell you to change?” He kissed my cheek, stilling my breath. “Is that what you want, baby?”

I just laughed quietly, feeling my heart throw itself against my ribs.

“You look pretty,” he murmured, finding a novel spot below my ear to kiss, “You look hot, very hot.” His voice was sultry smoke on my skin. Breathing it in made me feel numb, drunk and euphoric.

“Mhm,” I whispered, the sound catching in my throat and slipping into a moan.

“Should we stay home?” He smiled, letting his hand drag to the small of my back. He followed my spine, pressing my body to his. “I’d rather stay home.”

“I wanted to make you wait,” I settled my hands on his chest, pulling off his tie, “Watch you squirm through dinner.”

He gasped, “You’d do that to me?” He hummed, nosing my jawbone. He tutted against my neck.

“Maybe,” I squeaked, my confidence evaporating against his lips.

“You wouldn’t,” he murmured, biting sweetly at my jaw. “You’re less patient than me, darling.”

“That’s—“ I sighed as he pressed his lips to my neck, struggling to swallow with my heart in my throat. “That’s a lie.”

“Really?” He pulled away, grinning down at me. My heart ached at the curls collapsing down his forehead, which now brushed against his eyebrows. Maybe half an inch longer since the last time I’d seen him.

“I’m an expert at waiting,” I mumbled, feeling a bit too earnest. He picked up on the thickness of my voice, splaying his hand against the middle of my back and hooking his chin over my shoulder. He held me tightly, and I swayed with each wash of his breath. “I’m alright.”

“Sure,” he whispered, fingertips tracing the outlines of my shoulder blades.

“I just missed you,” I said, voice muffled with my face buried against his chest. “And I don’t want to go out.”

“Perfect,” he laughed, squeezing his arms around me before pulling back. “Because I have a surprise for you.”

“Do you?” I smiled, watching his eyes come alight at my excitement. He nodded, pursing his lips to hide a grin. I imagined I could wait a thousand winters to see the sun against that smile.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, and threw me over his shoulder, his hand gripping my thigh. I shrieked as he carried me to the bedroom, keeping my eyes squeezed shut. “I’m putting you down, darling, don’t fall.”

My feet hit the hardwood floor, and I giggled stupidly as he steadied me.

“One second,” he shouted as I listened to his frantic footsteps. I was tempted to peek as I heard the sound of his lighter, but stayed still, my arms crossed in front of me. “Okay, open them.”

I opened my eyes to find our bedroom aglow, candles lining the room. I blinked, finding him outstretched on the bed, surrounded by rose petals. I covered my face with my hands, shaking as I muffled my laughter.

“You don’t like it?” He laughed, both of us spiralling into fits, spurred on by the other’s giggles.

“I love it, love it,” I gasped between laughs, “So, so, sexy.”

He hopped off the bed, wrapping his arms around my waist, “Just trying to remind you of all the good times we’ve had in here.”

“Oh, I didn’t forget,” I grinned, smothering my smile with my palm.

“Come on, baby. Take that dress off.”

“All it takes is a couple rose petals, you think?” I tilted my head to the side, watching him nod enthusiastically. He caught my wrist, sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulled me onto his lap, letting me push him flat against the sheets.

“Rose petals and me,” he tugged on the strap of my dress, “The thought of me inside you.”

Heat crawled up my neck, “Bold of you.”

“I just wanted to see you blush,” his face softened, “Beautiful, every inch of you. Let me see you, please.”

I rolled my eyes, blowing out the candles beside the bed. I reached for the zipper of my dress as he frowned.

“Not fair, baby. It’s too dark now,” he pouted, grabbing my hips.

“Too bad,” I shrugged, and unzipped the dress, pulling it over my head, “Should I put it back on?”

He grinned, flipping us over. His hand pressed into the mattress beside my head, and I dotted his wrist with kisses.

“No, thank you,” he whispered, pressing our lips together and finally bringing me home.

//

[egotisticaleverything]

madpat smut fic plssss (just go wild atp)

Great To Be A Liar

WARNINGS: Violence, descriptions of dead bodies, mental manipulation, gaslighting, kinda/not rlly dub-con, P in V, unprotected sex, praise kink, degrading kink, oral sex (f receives), Heathers references, sex next to a dead body, in the words of an AO3 author DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

A/N: I was so glad to get this because oml I need to make more egos content lmaooo hope you enjoy.

Word count: 1.5k

"You’ve ever taken German?" Your boyfriend perked up, still holding the gun, loose in his hand as he waved it around almost carelessly.

"No, French." You responded quickly, shooting your attention in his direction, worried by his sloppy grip on the firearm.

"Okay well, these are Ich Lüge bullets," He continued, "My grandfather snagged a shitload of em' back in WW-Two." He carried on as you listened intently, "They're like tranquilisers. Except they break the surface if the skin, enough to cause a little blood but no real damage."

"So it looks like the person's been shot and killed, but really they're just lying there unconscious and bleeding?" You ask, assuming the rest from his explanation.

"Right." He confirms, sitting back down on your bed, "See, we shoot Nate and Mark, make it look like they shot each other and by the time they regain consciousness, they'll be the laughingstock of the whole town."

"Are you sure about this?" You ask one last time, running a hand through your hair still slightly shaky.

"I've never been so sure."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You stood there shaking, unsure of how to proceed. You were stood over the body of your former colleague as blood pooled out from the wound on his neck, the shot you took wasn't pretty, It was a violent one. It was point-blank. In addition to the bullet itself causing damage, the exhaust gases trailed behind and caused additional harm. It looked like something out of a horror film, but no. No this was real. You did this. Not just you but-

"Sweetheart!" Your boyfriend called out in a sing-song voice, "I caught the runner." He smiled, dragging Mark by the collar of his uniform and practically tossing him onto the tiles.

Another wave of shock washed over you as the second man's body collapsed.

"You lied." You finally spoke, voice hoarse and weak, pathetic.

"Pardon my dear?" He asked in the same chipper tone, unsettlingly happy.

"You lied!" You practically screamed, bolting towards him and punching him in his chest. It was a fruitless effort, yet you continued punching him, repeating those two words like a prayer as if it would undo what you've done. After about a minute your punches fell weaker and your knees buckled as you collapsed into him with a soft sob. "You lied..." A final shaky whimper left your lips as his arms curled around your waist, settling with a loose grip.

"You only believed me because you wanted to Darling." He looks down at your weaker stature, "You've wanted them gone for months, you knew I was lying. You lied to yourself, even if you didn't know." his usual psychotic smirk returned to his face as you looked up, finally looking him in the eyes.

"I- No, I didn't." You retorted as you attempted to shove him off you as his grip on you tightened.

"You don't have to lie, Dear, it's me." He smiled, bringing up one of his hands to stroke your hair, "I know you, you know me." his tone made a shiver run down your spine as he continued, "You don't need to hide yourself from me."

The more he spoke the more unsure you felt, did you want this? You weren't quite sure anymore, the more words he fed you the more you believed you wanted it. The more you believed he was right. Just like he wanted, almost as much as you secretly deep down wanted them dead. Even if you never knew it until he told you, you did. you always did. As his words lulled you back into a sense of twisted security he continued to stroke your hair, loosening his grip on your waist again he stepped back slightly.

“See? Everything is alright,” He moved his hand from your hair to place it under your chin, tilting your head to look up at him as he spoke, “That’s it… Good girl.” He coaxed, rubbing his thumb along your jaw, spreading the still warm blood that covered his gloves as he leaned down and pulled you in, kissing you softly.

A weak moan escaped your lips as he moved his hand from your waist to cup your ass, placing you up on the desk as his kisses grew more frantic and hungry. Your arms reached up and wrapped around the back of his neck as he slowly made his way down, your jawline to your collar and eventually just above your shirts neckline.

“May I?” He asked, as if it was even a question at this point. He had you wrapped around his finger like the pathetic shell of a woman you were.

You frantically nodded, causing him to practically tear open your shirts buttons, leaving small bites and kisses as he went. The cooling sensation of his saliva trailing down your abdomen sent shivers through your entire body, every hair felt as if it was standing on edge. He soon found himself kneeling between your legs as they dangled off the edge of the table, he looked up once more for approval causing you to instantly undo your pants for him, granting him access.

“You’re eager aren’t you?” He teased, pulling down your pants tantalisingly slow. You impatiently whined as he did so, before being met with his hot breath against your wet pussy as he looked up at you. “So wet for me eh? Or did all that murder turn you on?” That smug look still displayed before he suddenly buried his face in your cunt not dating to give you time to think about what he said. He mercilessly lapped at your pussy, nose bumping into your clit as he did. The mixture of sensations sending waves of pleasure through your body, the low vibrations of his groans added an extra layer of energy causing you to let out an ear ripping moan. You buried your hands in his hair, pushing his head deeper between your wetness as you gridded up against him. No coherent sentences were anywhere near being formed in that brain of yours, you were practically short-circuiting as he ravaged you. Soon a tightness in your core began to build and you felt your movements gaining franticness as you approached your climax. Your thighs wrapped around your boyfriend’s head, so hard you were surprised he didn’t burst. A wave of bliss washed over you as you reached your high, cum drenching his face as you rode it out. The only thing leaving your mouth was an unintelligible string of curses and blubbering as Mad finally detached himself from you, face drenched and chest heaving.

He stood up and slowly undid his belt, “We aren’t even close to finishing.” He breathed, still slightly puffed out. His pants soon hit the floor accompanied by the metal clash of his belt, as he stepped back between your legs he loomed over you. Slowly he pulled down his boxers letting his cock free, leaking pre-cum like a faucet as it lay flush against your thigh. “Ready?” He asked one last time, a hand travelling to your hip as he spoke.

“Yesyes-Fuck yes.” You sputtered as he lined himself up before slamming into you without warning. The sudden sensation and fullness sent a shockwave of sensations through your body as he began to thrust causing you to release a loud high pitched scream from the mix of pain and pleasure.

“C’mon Doll, you can take it.” He mutters to you, pushing you back down on the table, “Atta girl, fuck you’re tight…” he continues to thrust, unapologetically hard and fast, absolutely destroying your g-spot as his sweat covered upper body wains over you like a giant, one hand on your waist and one holding him up on the table as he fucks into you. “God you’re such a slut eh’?” He teases sensually, “Letting me fuck you next to two dead bodies. Sick fuck.” He’s degradation causes you to let out another ear-ripping moan. He was right. You’re so dirty, letting a man who tricked you into killing your colleagues fuck you next to their dead bodies? How much of a slut were you?

Soon you felt the same sensation as before, you were coming close to your climax. And by the now franticness of Mad’s thrusts, he was too. As his thrusts grew more sporadic the knot in your stomach tightened before your back arched up, letting out a high pitched groan as you hit your second orgasm. Soon your boyfriends thrusts sped up even more, as he worked you through your orgasm the sudden tightness of your pussy caused his to crash through him, letting out a low groan as he slumped over on top of you.

The room fell silent, the only noise heard was heavy breathing. Soon enough Mad pulled out, quickly tucking himself away with a simple, “we’ve got to go.”

[viridescentelf]

Halsin x TAV Fanfiction "Until we meet again, my heart"

DISCLAIMER: SPOILERS FOR BALDUR'S GATE 3 ENDING. My TAV is a tiefling, so I wrote it with that in mind. You can substitute whatever race your TAV is, if you'd like :)

If you want me to continue, please let me know! I wrote this, because I am truly a sucker for everything Halsin and I wish for soooo much more in the Romance Ending, although I am really happy with the Canon ending of it. I hope you enjoy!

_________________________________________________________

Halsin cupped TAV’s face with his hands and initiated a long, deep kiss. They leaned into him, wrapping their arms around his broad back as much as they could and enjoying the overwhelming surge of belonging, relief, love and peace. The Absolute was finally defeated and Baldur’s Gate could finally return to its former self. The wind blew gently around them, as the city lay before them, engulfed in golden light.

Slowly, the druid released his lips from theirs and stared into the starry eyes of his lover. TAV smiled and noticed that his took a bit longer to form than usual.

“Is something wrong?” they asked carefully.

“No, my heart. Nothing is wrong.” His hands dropped from their face, but he still stood ever so close to them. “But I feel a greater purpose coming out of the shadows. One that I cannot ignore, as much as I’d like to.” His eyes were confusing. On the one hand, the tiefling felt the radiating love they always emitted. On the other, there was a spark suddenly appearing and they agreed, it was hard to overlook.

“What do you mean?”

Halsin sighed briefly, and gently rubbed TAV’s cheek. “We have defeated the Absolute. And I am overjoyed at our victory. But there are so many displaced citizens, refugees, orphans... animals that need my help. Nature needs to heal and it is my calling to help it do so.” There was a slight pause, as he blinked slowly. “I cannot stay with you here, if I am to fulfill my duty.”

A sting. TAV felt their stomach collapse within itself, heat engulfing their spine and neck. They felt as though their body would erupt. But all they showed on their face was a slight consternation that swiftly turned to understanding. They smiled, as much as they could, mirroring the forced one the druid was displaying: “I see. It pains me so much to see you go, but…”, they took hold of his hand on their cheek, kissed it gently and held in their own, “I understand.”

Halsin sighed once more, this time deeply and TAV couldn’t tell if it was out of relief or sadness. He pulled them into an intense hug, one where his arms shook slightly from the pressure. TAV reciprocated and held onto their bear as if their life depended on it. There was no telling when they would cross paths again, so this moment needed to last. TAV felt the druid’s breath in their ear: “My heart, I adore you. This isn’t goodbye. We will see each other again, I promise. But this is something I have to do.” TAV sunk into the embrace even more: “I will miss you dreadfully, until then.”

The embrace lasted eons to TAV, but even that wasn’t enough time. Halsin released his grip, looked into their eyes again and gave them another, long, passionate and gripping caress. Finally, after smiling gently down at TAV for a while, he stepped away, turned to leave and said with his head still turned towards his lover: “Until we meet again, my heart.”

The druid walked away.

TAV stood at the same spot and watched Halsin walk with purpose, once again. They couldn’t help it. The sting, the heat, the overflowing cataclysm of sorrow overwhelmed them and as much as they tried, they couldn’t stop the tears from streaming. Turning to the lake, having the setting sun warm their face, TAV crumpled down on the landing stage and sat there ever so still, letting the tears run down silently.

Not much time passed and TAV’s three closest friends started to gather around them on the landing. Karlach sat down behind TAV and pulled them into a bear hug, her legs dangling with theirs. Shadowheart joined on TAV’s left side, sitting down gracefully and looking into TAV’s tear-stained face. Lae’Zel finally completed the foursome, plopping down on TAV’s right, staring intently into the setting sun.

Karlach tightened her hug and said: “Don’t be sad, soldier. We’re here for you.”

Shadowheart continued to look at TAV, analyzing the state they were in carefully, and choosing her next words with extreme care: “Love can be a wonderous thing. But terrible at the same time.”

TAV nodded, closing their eyes and letting another tear run down. Shadowheart rested her head on TAV’s shoulder, unsure on how else to comfort.

Lae’Zel didn’t say anything, but placed her hand on TAV’s, continuously looking at the horizon.

Finally, Karlach spoke once more: “You really love him, don’t you?”

Those words intensified the heat even more around TAV’s throat. Barely able to control the water leaking out of every orifice, TAV finally nodded intensely and let out a painstaking "Yes". All three companions edged closer to them, offering only their company as solace.

They sat together on the docks for what felt like ages. Being together, having survived the most intense and horrifying battle any of them ever have and probably will in their lives, was a gift they all appreciated greatly. TAV had convinced Lae’Zel to stay with them, which meant they would need to outwit the githyanki, who will surely come after her at every turn. TAV even convinced Karlach to go back to Avernus, promising fiercely to visit as often as possible, letting Karlach come back into Baldur’s Gate occasionally, and most importantly, letting her live. Shadowheart would accompany TAV and Lae’Zel, seeing the little camp of theirs as a new family and one she truly belonged to. Their company would ease some of the pain TAV felt, but it would never fill the hole that Halsin left. They travelled through Faerun together, making camp or allowing themselves a nice stay in a city once in a while, frequently returning to Baldur’s Gate, to see Astarion, Gale, Jaheira or Wyll, but mostly so that TAV could see if Halsin wrote.

It took some time. Too long. To the point where TAV convinced themselves that the druid had forgotten about them. The companions were walking the streets of Baldur’s Gate, Lae’Zel disguised as a halfling by Shadowheart, when a duck fluttered in front of TAV’s face. Surprised, TAV stared at the flapping poultry in front of them and finally noticed a small, rolled up piece of paper stuck to the bird’s leg. Hastily, TAV untangled the note from the animal’s leg. As its duty had been fulfilled, it plopped down on the ground and greedily pecked at the cobble stone for nuggets of food. They unraveled the note and read quickly:

TAV, my heart,

I hope Collin finds you swiftly in Baldur’s Gate.

TAV looked down at the duck vehemently pecking around their shoes. This is “Collin”, supposedly. They continued to read, with a beeming smile on their face.

There have been so many amazing things, that have happened along my journey. I have found a lovely group of helpers, some former refugees, who have assisted me in building homes, repairing the land and adopting children. Most importantly, through my travels, I got to see Thaniel and Oliver again. The former shadow-cursed lands are truly a sight to see. And I want to show you what you have changed here.

If this note finds you, meet me at the Last Light Inn on the day of the full moon.

I have much to tell you and we have much to catch up on.

I miss your eyes, lover.

Until we meet, my heart.

Yours,

Halsin

[yuribeam]

my family’s disabled. EDS and tethered cord confirmed in some but everyone has roughly the same progression of symptoms. my mom and sibling have already had tethered cord release surgery and we’re in the process of looking at my spine.

im in the process of figuring out what’s normal and what’s not, how to identify sensations, how to take care of myself, how to cope with a body that works less and less. i am also autistic, so for me, that means identifying specific feelings and sensations can be difficult

so earlier today i was woken up from a nap by my mom telling me she’s leaving for dinner with my stepdad. im always down for pad thai so i get myself up, together, and out the door in about five minutes. which is not really enough time to assess how my body is feeling, which is difficult for me anyway.

before dinner im already feeling a little lightheaded and clammy and i figure i just need to eat, which i do, and it is in fact worse. i excuse myself for the restroom, thinking it’s because my stomach’s been weird, don’t feel better. silently rushing my mom to wrap up chatting with my family bc i feel like i need to be home. make it home, curl up on the recliner, feel some sharp pains along my spine, watch a little star trek, eat some leftovers, yknow 

then my mom comes into my room before bed and says that she recognized how i was feeling at dinner. cold but feeling overheated, clammy, pale, almost a bit dizzy, hungry but not hungry, needing to put my head in my hands and shift around, uncomfortable but unable to pinpoint what's wrong. she says, i've felt like that a lot too, for decades, and i always think did i eat enough protein did i drink enough did i do something wrong to trigger something i can’t recognize, and actually?

i think it’s just pain. 

which is currently kind of blowing my mind a bit to realize, that although i know people with chronic pain will not recognize their pain the same as able bodied people

i am more likely to feel the side effects of pain than the pain itself 

put another way, i am experiencing my body reacting to pain whether or not i feel more or less than usual of what i think of as pain (sharp, shooting, twinge, spasm, pointy ache..).

I thought of general pain or the constant background pain as just a low ache that maybe comes with some stiffness and soreness, but I am feeling it through other senses and manifestations as well

so im really rethinking about how to recognize and predict and categorize and classify pain. it made me think of the emotions wheel, which you probably recognize a version of if you’ve had therapy 

and i think something like this with words for physical sensations like restless, queasy, tight, collapsible, unsteady, foggy, tensed, and probably better words i’m not thinking of, would be a helpful start to identify how to communicate what is going on with my body 

is this relatable to anyone? how do you recognize and communicate feelings in your body that you’ve gotten used to but are not medically “normal”? what words would you put on the sensation wheel?