#it never ceases to choke me dead

[nothatsmi]

The Kings men, chapter four

Okay i'm literally shaking posting this, i've been working on it for days i lost all objectivity about it.

Someone requested this scene when I asked for recommendations on an older post, so this is tkm chapter four:

"Andrew sprawled on the couch in the lounge while Kevin went ahead to change out. Neil hesitated, changed his mind and started after Kevin, and changed his mind again. He stood behind the couch, folding his arms across the back of it, and peered down at Andrew. Andrew had one arm folded under his head and the other draped over his eyes to block the light. 'One of these days you might as well practice with us,' Neil said."

This scene is so long I had to cut some parts (including the incredible "You let us run ourselves into the ground and clean up behind us. You play the game like you play life. That's why you're so good at it.").

Not to mention Andrew's height fear, one of my all-time favorite aftg quotes ("When you said you were afraid of heights, you were joking, right?" "Andrew, you can't be. What were you doing on the roof?" "Feeling." -tkm ch.5).

Update: I cut the (too long) comic into smaller images so that you can open it and have a better quality, hope it works!

[bitchface24-7]

Can you do Jayce and Viktor finding out that one of them got reader pregnant (Viktor thinks there’s no way he could got reader pregnant because of sickness) but when the baby is born they look just like Viktor?

OOPS… - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: y’all fucked up, literally and figuratively. You’re pregnant. You didn’t plan for this, even though you should’ve; y’all fuck like rabbits. But now you’re at the end of your pregnancy, you can’t help but wonder which one of your partners knocked you up.

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of morning sickness, changes in appetite/appearance, weird cravings, giving birth (not detailed), pre-established relationship (YALL ARE MARRIED) Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/m/f

p.s. cute and funny request… may I pray this never finds me. I'd probably only get pregnant for them and they're not real. To any reader who's experienced this and or has kids, you're a trooper and I salute you, cause fuck that!

PART 2

The three of you had an accident you can't help but think as you look at a positive pregnancy test. Most babies are oopsie babies, you comfort yourself.

You never planned for this, this was never in your equation. But you feel a small sense of fondness, its proof of your love; your boys.

You wish somehow this baby was both of theirs. They could have Viktor’s eyes, Jayce's nose, your smile. They'd be perfect. But that's impossible, so only of your lovers knocked you up.

You wonder who did it.

Oh well… now you gotta break the news to them first. Then you can speculate who fertilized one of your eggs.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Essentially ten months pass by in a flash. Your stomach gets bigger and bigger, your back and feet ache, you can’t stop throwing up the first trimester, your cravings are wild and your boys get you whatever you want no matter the time. Even if it’s dead at night.

Everything was normal that day until your water broke. You three rushed to the hospital and got set up in a delivery room. Jayce and Viktor are nervous, pacing, and worriedly looking at you. Giving birth can be incredibly dangerous, and they don’t want to lose you.

They’re by your side the whole time, holding your hand, putting a cold towel on your head, motivating you. They made the process as easy as they could. The three of you even joke around.

“I can’t wait to see which one of you knocked me up.”

Jayce and Viktor choke a bit before laughing, “It could be either of us honestly. We’re kinda like rabbits.”

“Jayce!”

“What?”

“It’s probably Jayce’s. I can’t imagine my illness makes it good for my own fertility.” Viktor adds quietly. His tone low and a bit melancholic. You and Jayce look at him and deny his statement. “You don’t know that! Have you been gotten tested or is it an assumption?”

“Assumption.”

Then you scream, and your boys panic pressing the call button on the side of your bed. Two nurses rush in and ask to check your dilation, you agree.

One nurse checks, then the other nurse. One states you’re fully dilated and the other rushes to call for the doctor.

Now it’s time to deal with one of the most painful moments of your life.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You’re panting, your entire body hurts, and you think you may have broken Jayce’s hand. It’s all worth it when you hear your baby cry.

“It’s a healthy boy! Congratulations!” A nurse says as she lightly cleans your baby, making sure not to let the fluid from birth stay on his skin for too long; we don’t want him to become hypothermic.

She hands your baby to you and his cries immediately cease. He looks up to you and you gasp lightly. He’s Viktor’s. He’s 100000000% Viktor’s.

They’re identical.

You tear up lightly and sniffle. It’s like looking into a tiny mirror of your partner. Same eyes, even though babies are typically born with blue eyes; your baby has Viktor’s golden eyes. Same eyebrow shape, same nose, same lips. They even share the same beauty mark by their eye.

You laugh a bit and your boys look over to your tiny boy. Jayce’s eyes widen as he chuckles, and pats Viktor on his shoulder. Viktor just stands there speechless.

“I carried you for essentially ten months and you come out looking just like your daddy? You’re perfect!” You coo at your baby, your baby coos back at you and you have to hold back a squeal.

“You can’t have kids, huh?” Jayce jokes and Viktor grumbles. Viktor’s demeanour isn’t very scary due to his beaming smile as he looks down at his baby. Your baby. Jayce’s baby.

“So, what’re we naming him?”

You blank for a second. Shit, you didn’t think of that. Oops.

“I never planned on having kids, so I never planned any names.”

Viktor looks blankly at you, “Me neither.”

The two of you look at Jayce. He shrugs lightly, “I didn’t expect to have kids but I did come up with names when I was younger. I always liked James for a boy, and Rose for a girl.”

“You romantic. Rose, really?”

“At least I thought of names, leave me alone Viktor.”

You giggle at them, “James it is. James Talis. It does sound nice huh?”

Viktor and Jayce stop bickering and look at you with hearts in their eyes. Oh, it’s official. You’re now four.

Welcome to the world, James Talis. You’re already loved more than you could ever imagine.

The only men I’d give birth for. Hope y’all liked this!! Love ya ❤���

[saltburnedme]

My requests are open! Message/comment to be added to the tag list!

Paring: Oliver Quick x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3520

Summary: You’d only been visiting family at Saltburn for a few weeks, but this time you couldn’t shift the feeling of something or someone watching you.

Warnings: SMUT (ONLY READ IF YOU ARE 18+) unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), choking, stalking? Kind of?, two way mirrors, vague horror ish themes, dubious consent, generally fucked up smut overall

Writers note: Hi friends! This is my first Oliver fic, I’m planning on writing more so let me know if you have any requests. I’ve only seen the film once so I apologise if my writing of him isn’t quite right yet.. just read his parts with his accent and I think it works! Please share, comment, like and all of those good things 💕💕

Part 2

21 days, almost a full month, that’s how long it had taken you to get to grips with the enormity of Saltburn. Most of that time had been spent mistakenly walking into a linen closet which supplied one of the many bedrooms believing it was the entrance to your room. You’d even drawn yourself a map by this point and somehow, you still managed to get lost, the house was almost as much of a maze as the actual maze in the garden was. You had checked off your room, all of the shared spaces and most of the other bedrooms, inhabited or otherwise, all marked down perfectly on your little map. There was only one wing of the house which you were not allowed into, Elsbeth called it the ‘bachelor pad’ something you know Felix would have at the very least groaned at. He’d been sharing this space with his guest, another student named Oliver. He was quiet, a bit of a mystery overall but from that you assessed that he was a man who liked his privacy, making you chalk up their reluctance to have you in that space no more than a matter of comfort. A comfort you wish that you could say you felt also.

You visited Saltburn many times as a child, the family themselves were distant relatives of yours which is why you always summered there when your parents were away on business. You’d never felt uncomfortable there before, but this time something was different even though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Maybe it was the heat getting to you, maybe it was the ever changing list of house guests that visited or the way that it seemed the eyes on the paintings of long dead aristocracy seemed to follow you around the room. Something had changed, if only you could put your finger on it.. or a toe.. maybe even an out stretched palm if you felt confident enough, anything to make this restlessness end. Every night that you laid in bed, you felt something, someone, watching you. You had checked, you’d opened every door, searched every shelf and wandered into every linen closet in the vicinity of your room and every time, nothing. Your well drawn map granting you no ease of mind, even with all of the labels you’d added to it over the last few weeks. The constant tossing and turning ceased only by one saving grace, you’d remembered to pack your vibrator.

Every night like clockwork your little buzzing friend would find the tingling mound between your legs, slipping in and out seamlessly like always, making you cum within a few minutes. That was until tonight, maybe you should have expected it. 21 days in a row of usage, the batteries were sure to go flat at some point, you just didn’t think it would be so soon. Placing it into the draw of the bedside table you go back to the constant pacing feeling in your mind as you attempted to sleep. The watching feeling was back, the hairs on your arms standing up, the feeling of the familiar prickling at the back of your neck as if something dangerous was approaching from the shadows. But sleep finally took you, once again.

The sound of knuckles tapping against the wood of the door early every morning tore you from your sleep, a much needed sleep. The curtains being torn open and the light hitting your face remind you of where you are almost immediately, at least this time with the maids in your room you knew who was watching you. ‘Breakfast is ready’ she says as she leaves the room as promptly as she arrived, off to wake another of the Saltburn family without a doubt. Crawling out of bed in your white night dress, you throw on a matching robe over the top, fumbling your slippers on, briefly checking your reflection in the full length mirror mounted to the wall across from your bed before wandering down the long halls to the breakfast table. Taking your usual seat you notice no one else has awoken yet, your tired eyes settling on the food in front of you, you almost fall asleep sitting up eating. The exhaustion of the last few days finally catching up with you. ‘You looked frustrated last night’ a low voice utters quietly a few seats across from you, the low muttering making you jump out of your skin with shock.

‘Excuse me?’ You question, a puzzled look on your face which could have been mistaken for anger, your words coming out harsher than you expected. You see the man across from you almost retreat into himself, he’d barely uttered a word to you in the last 21 days and now this? Your mind immediately flashing back to your frustration at your vibrator unceremoniously dying on you, surely that isn’t what he refers to tho.. right? ‘Oh Oliver, I’m sorry, I’m so tired that came out poorly. what do you mean?’ You question, making Oliver un tense slightly.

‘I saw you looking for something last night’ he begins. ‘Anything I can help with?’ He questions.

‘Oh, That. I was just trying to get a better lay of the land. Every time i visit I swear this place is rearranged, it’s like a new house every time.’ You reply.

‘Sure, that must have been it’ he replies, no follow up, nothing. Although it was more of a conversation than you’d managed with him this whole time, you expected maybe something else would have come from this. He could have offered to help you, anything. Although you hadn’t spoken that much you’d find it hard to argue that you hadn’t developed a little crush on him, his dark hair in contrast with his piercing blue eyes, surely that would make any girl swoon.

Just as you finally thought of something to say, the thought of offering him an invitation to explore the mansion with you to further expand your map, the rest of the family arrived, keen to discuss plans for the day. Your hopes of getting to know Oliver better shattered once again.

You continued your day like normal, a dip in the pool, a little bit of reading, another trip to a random room to expand the map and eventually dinner and straight to bed.

Once again you were kept up, tonight you indulged in wine a little bit more than usual, the knowledge of the lack of batteries to fuel your only release weighing heavy on your mind.

Crawling into bed you listen to the creaking of the wooden floorboards in the hallway, the sound of the old house almost swaying in the breeze as if that were possible. You try to ignore the familiar ache between your thighs as you long for sleep subtly grinding against the palm of your hand as you crave the release you know you can’t have. The feeling growing stronger and your movements becoming more unsubtle as you move the covers off of you, the fabric of your night dress pooling up around your hips as you grind, longing for that familiar feeling. ‘Ugh, fuck sake’ you groan, it’s of no use. You roll over frustratedly, your face buried in pillows as you let out a silent scream. That’s when you hear it, the floorboards creaking, the sound too loud to be from the hallway and it wasn’t just creaking this time, footsteps. But it couldn’t be, you’d locked the door to your room, the only other way in was through the window which you had ensured was locked.

‘Hello?’ You ask tentatively, sitting bolt upright in bed at this point. You weren’t sure if you prayed for an answer or not, at least if there were an answer you’d know for certain that you weren’t alone. But no answer came.

2:41am, you’d checked the clock at least 20 times by now every time you had almost drifted to sleep another creak on the floorboards would tare you from your dreams. It sounded almost as if they were getting closer, they’d began earlier by your mirror and by now they were approaching the head of the bed. Sometimes you even thought you could feel something touching you, lightly re arranging the way your hair fell on the pillow, or something lightly tugging at the blanket that covered your body. But this time you felt it for sure.

The weight on the bed shifted, while you lay in the middle, the bed dipped on the side, the unmistakeable feeling of someone sitting at the side of the bed. Another second and you felt it, a hand on your ankle wrapped tight. Terrified you sit, unable to move. You never imagined this is how you’d be in this position, you’d scream and fight when you’d imagined this scenario previously but you were wrong, so wrong. You lay there silently, only when you felt the grip on your ankle tighten did you even let on that you were awake as you were harshly dragged down the bed, now splayed out in the middle. Before you could scream a hand smacks over your mouth with a slap, silencing any sound that could have come out of you.

‘What were you thinking about?’ A voice in the dark asks, an accent of some sort laced in his words surely belonging to the owner of the strong hands currently pinning you against the bed. ‘Who were you thinking about?’ The voice continues, more demanding this time as the accent becomes clearer, Oliver? Surely not. The sweet, quiet man who sits across from you silenced by his own nervousness every breakfast, it can’t be him. You try to answer, your words muffled by the hand over your mouth, although you’re sure it would be less of an answer and more of a demanding to get out of your room.

‘Was it me? Tell me it was me.’ He demands, his hand dropping from your mouth to your throat, wrapped around tightly grasping at the column of your neck.

‘I-I Uhm’ your reply coming out as nonsense. He was right, you had been thinking of him. You’d seen his physique while sunbathing, sneaking a glance when you believed no one would notice. But now with his hand wrapped around your neck and his body pressing into yours your mind was blank.

‘Answer me’ he demands, hand tightening as his face grows ever closer to yours. At this distance you swear you can almost see the moonlight shining through the window reflecting off of his blue eyes, glimmering at you.

‘You.. it was you’ you stutter out quietly, your words shocking even you as they come out breathy and quiet.

‘What a good girl you’ve been for me’ he says, his grip loosening on your throat as he glides his index finger down your cheek.

‘Bu-but how did you.. where.. what’ you question, a full sentence becoming too much for your brain to handle, but the man on top of you seems to have gotten the gist of your line of questioning.

‘I’ve been watching you’ he replies. ‘You and your little map. Wandering around like you own the place’ his words laced with venom. ‘I’ll admit you did make it harder for me. You thought you were so smart checking everywhere, you never bothered to check within your own room’. He continues as your eyes fight with the dark, darting around every corner of the room. That’s when you spot it, the light reflecting off of the mirror slightly wrong, it was almost as if the glass was rippling, the reflection always seeming a little off, it was a two way mirror. From the spot where it was mounted on the wall, you realised that it was pushed slightly further than usual, the story all making sense in your mind suddenly. You hadn’t been imaging things, you had heard footsteps inside the room, someone was watching you, Oliver.

‘Our rooms share a serving corridor as these old houses do sometimes’ he says as if it was an obvious fact, something everyone would know. He could see a million questions whirling behind your eyes, snapping you out of your thoughts as his soft fingers against your cheek suddenly turn into a slap, grasping your face turning your lips into a pout. ‘Now, I know what you do to sleep and I took the liberty of removing the batteries from your useless little toy there’ he sneers at you, you can almost feel his smirk against your lips as he comes in closer. This was nothing like the man you had vaguely come to know over the last few weeks, he was mean, cruel even and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you admitted that you liked it, you loved this version of Oliver. ‘I thought, just maybe if you’d get impatient enough you’d come to me yourself. But the little miss never came’ he continues, finding himself amusing at his own pun. ‘So I came to you’ putting extra emphasis on his words to make a point as to almost poke at you. ‘Now, I can either leave and go back to my room or I can help you with your predicament. Would you like that?’ He questions, still holding your face in his hands ensuring you look straight into his eyes as your head nods, partially guided by Oliver’s hand moving your face for you. ‘Good girl’ he places a light peck onto your lips. ‘The former was never really an option anyway, did you really think I could leave all this now that I have you here?’ His question sounding more like a statement, he didn’t care about your answer, he decided you belonged to him the moment he stepped into the room. His hand slips from your face, grasping your throat once more before climbing further onto the bed, throwing the covers off of you and pushing your night dress up.

He sighs, the view of you almost making him cum on the spot. Oliver never imagined he’d actually do it, sure he’d thought of the thousand ways he could take you, he wanted to bend you over and fuck your brains out over the breakfast table every morning for the last month and now, in this single sigh he released a months worth of frustration. His desperate hands kneading at the supple flesh of your thighs, roaming up to where he was at his most desperate for you. The moment the pad of his thumb pressed against your clit a jolt of electricity raced through your body, moving you with a shocked flinch against the bed. His eyes bore into yours as if almost warning you to stay still, a warning you would absolutely heed. His eyes transfixed on yours as his thumb swirled around your sensitive nub, gathering slick from your entrance just to return to your clit, your climax building from the moment he touched you. You were almost there, your peak was in sight you could feel it building when he tore his hand from you. A smirk pressed against his lips as he bent down to kiss you, he was proud, he ruined your orgasm and he was proud of it. Just as you settled into the lack of his touch, his lips hovering against yours he plunged his fingers into you, without warning a loud gasp leaving your lips. You knew you’d fucked up the moment the sound left your mouth, his fingers being pulled from you once more.

‘Good girls stay quiet, do you understand me? We wouldn’t want the rest of them finding out how much of a whore you are now would we?’ He sneers, your heart rate increasing as you nod your head again. ‘Such a good girl for me. I’ll make sure to reward you, just stay quiet for me’ he continues, his words softer this time as his fingers return to your warm, wet entrance.

It was harder to stay quiet than you expected. His pace was relentless and now as he kissed down your body, your night dress torn from you and the remaining scrap of fabric now discarded to the floor, the want to moan for him was overwhelming. This was only made worse when his lips wrapped around your sensitive mound. His tongue and fingers moving at the same time, sucking on your most sensitive parts like a man starved. He was desperate for you and now, you were for him. You couldn’t resist it and he could tell, your climax was imminent as you rocked your hips against his mouth. From watching you he knew that you covered your mouth with your hand or bit down onto your fist when you came in an attempt to muffle the sounds. To compensate for this, at the moment your shaking orgasm rippled through your body he shoved his fingers into your mouth, the taste of your own juices heavy on your tongue as he suckled and licked you through your peak, his eyes still fixed on yours.

You thought that was it, he said he wanted to help you and he had, you’d half expected him to leave when he tore his own shirt over his head, pushing his boxers down his thighs as he pushes your legs further open with the weight of his own body. With one hand next to your head and his other white knuckle grasping his cock he glided his length through the slick of your pussy. His lustful gaze had left yours now, favouring watching his tip spread you wide for him. Just as your eyes left his face to watch the sight between your legs you were interrupted. ‘Look at me’ he demands ‘I want to see the look on your face when I split you open’ his words being of continuous shock to you, where had your quiet kind man gone?

Although you’d hate to say he was correct, he was. Even with your drenched hole and your legs spread wide for him the burn as he entered you was real. He was unbelievably thick and long, his length impaling you again and again as he begins thrusting into you relentlessly. He was as desperate for release as you were, maybe you should have known, your sweet man in his full right mind would surely never break into your room and do this to you if he wasn’t desperate you reassured yourself. This can’t be the real him after all, it had to be an act.

These thoughts stayed with you for merely seconds as your eyes rejoined his as they flutter open, your mouth hanging open in a silent moan just like his. As if you could both feel the sound about to release your lips came crashing together, muffling the sound of your joint moans as his tongue slips into your month. It was a dirty, sinful act and you loved every second of it. You’d never felt this desperate for anyone in your life. You wanted him to cum inside you, breed you and make you his.

‘Once I cum inside you, you’re mine. Do you understand? I fucking own you’ he says, making you question if he has a future in a career in mind reading. He doesn’t wait for an answer taking the feeling of your walls tightening around his length as the only reply he would ever need again.

His pace quickens his body pressed against yours as his hand clasps over your mouth silencing you, your head held still as he glares into your eyes. You can feel it, his climax nearing, his thrusts becoming sloppier and more erratic as he breaks his own rule, groaning loudly into your kiss as he cums within you, his liquid filling you to the brim. The sound reverberates against the walls, someone must have heard that you think as he continues to fill you up. Just as you think he’d stopped, almost possessively he begins to move again. The feeling overwhelming both of your senses as he fucks his cum further into you before pulling out and repeating the same process with his fingers, watching a little bit trickle out before pushing it back inside you once more.

‘You’ll keep this inside you, you understand? You don’t get to clean yourself up’ he demands. ‘You’ll be a good girl for me tomorrow, at 10pm sharp you’ll get into the bath across the hall and wait for me. Got it?’ His demands continue as he places one last harsh kiss onto your lips, your eyes flickering closed for only a second, re opening when your kiss has parted. Just like that he was gone. His clothes, every part of him had left you almost without a trace. Your night dress torn on the floor you ponder how you’ll explain that to the maids in the morning as they’ll have to fix it. You cover yourself with the blanket again, your head pressed against the pillow as you finally go to sleep, the best you’ve slept in 21 days.

Part 2

Message to be added to the tag list! - current tag list: @idontevenknow1359

[honeyedmiller]

Ride, Cowgirl | Joel Miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: smut, dom!reader, (semi) sub!Joel, shy! reader, reader is unsure of themselves for .2 seconds, Joel is sweet and encouraging, some fluff and aftercare, takes place in Jackson, implied unprotected piv, choking, riding, spitting, edging, pussy job, face sitting, no use of y/n. I’m sorry this is literally just pure filth lmaooo hope u enjoy :-) 18+. minors, do not interact.

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: you tell joel one of your fantasies that’d been on the back burner, but he encourages you to bring it to life.

not revised (per usual) so sorry if there’s any mistakes!

It was a cozy fall morning in Jackson. You and Joel lazed in bed on your day off, enjoying each other’s company.

So far, it’d been nothing but stolen kisses and soft whispers of endearment, so, naturally, you had no fucking clue how the conversation got to where it was now.

“No, now y’have to tell me, sweetheart. Swear I won’t laugh.” Joel coaxed, brushing your hair out of your face. You groaned and shrunk into the pillows of the bed, trying to hide your face from your beloved boyfriend.

“No, Joel. It’s stupid anyway.” You argue, shaking your head.

“Oh, c’mon. It can’t be that bad, can it darlin’?”

“Yes. It’s unrealistic.”

“Just tell me.” He’s smiling down at you softly, patiently, waiting for you to tell him what you’ve always fantasized about doing in bed.

“Fine. I’ve always wondered,” You swallow thickly, taking a deep breath. “What it would like to be a dom. Just for a little.”

Joel raised an eyebrow at you, looking at you in shock. Out of all the things he was thinking you’d tell him, it definitely wasn’t that. You were generally a shy person, and quite frankly didn’t seem to have one dom bone in your body. But, you’ve surprised Joel time and time again, so he wouldn’t put it completely past you that you’d had a hankering to try something like this.

“Fuck, it’s stupid, I know.” You start, reprimanding yourself for saying anything in the first place.

“No, it’s not stupid darlin’. Jus’ didn’t expect something like this from you.” Joel cooed, kissing your forehead.

“I know I can be, I guess, more reserved… but I save my true self for you and Ellie.” You reasoned, giving him a shy, lopsided smile.

“I know you do, baby. Is this something you really want to try?” He’s serious now, eyes scanning your face.

Of course you were apprehensive, but if big, bad, mean Joel was going to let you live out this fantasy of yours, you couldn’t dare pass it up.

“Yes,” You squeak. “But I obviously wouldn’t go to the full extent. Just… wanting to be in charge only once.” You shrug. You didn’t mind Joel being the dom all the time. Quite frankly, it was hot, and despite his age (which you couldn’t give two fucks about, because the world fucking ended twenty years ago for fuck’s sake), he kept things real interesting in the bedroom.

If you were to ever say your sex life with Joel Miller was boring, you’d be lying straight through your fucking teeth.

That man was insatiable for his age, and his libido was incredible. He never ceases to amaze you, even ‘til this day.

“Okay,” Joel said softly. “Let’s do it.”

Your eyebrows shot up to the top of your forehead. Was he seriously going to go through with this? I’ve-killed-half-of-Salt-Lake-City Joel, ready to be a submissive to little ‘ol you?

“Are you serious?” The shock in your tone was transparent, sitting up in bed a little to look at him in all seriousness.

“Absolutely. If that’s one of your fantasies, I’ll help you live it. But,” He paused, giving you a stern look. It was half playful, half dead serious. “You tell no one that we’re doing this, okay? I have a reputation to uphold here.”

You snorted at his last comment, rolling your eyes. “Please, Miller, I don’t talk to anyone about our sex life anyways. I like to keep the dirty things we do to ourselves, thank you very much.” The smug smile that curled onto your lips made Joel’s twitch.

“Alright, so, how do you want to do this?” He asks, folding his arms behind his head.

“Wait, you mean we’re doing it now?”

“Why not? Ellie’s at Dina’s for the weekend, so we have allll day baby.” Joel smirked up at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Fuck, um, okay. I don’t know where to start.” Nerves took over you as you were painfully regretting this decision to go through with it.

“Start with telling me some simple ground rules. That usually gets you in the mood.” Joel unravels one arm from behind his head, reaching out to rub your arm gently.

“Right, okay,” You trembled nervously, but you took a deep breath to get your mind into a dominatrix headspace. “First things first,” You stare down at him, lust clouding your vision. “Only speak when spoken to. Don’t touch me unless I give you permission, and you’ll only address me as ma’am. Got it?” You look down at him, trying to hide your nervousness as best as possible.

Joel’s cock stirred at your words, acquiescing with your rules.

“Say it.” Your voice is stern as you get on top of him, straddling his thighs. It took everything in him not to reach up and grab you. You wore nothing but an oversized shirt of his, and the sight of you in it with a daring glint in your eyes drove him absolutely wild.

“Yes ma’am.” He agreed.

“Good. Now take off your boxers.” You instructed, lifting your weight off of him so he could slide them off of his body.

His cock was already leaking pre cum, the tip swollen and begging for attention. The sight nearly made your mouth water, but you had to keep your façade up. He looked up at you, waiting for your next set of instructions.

You moved up on him again so your bare, aching heat was hovering over his erection. You lowered yourself onto him, teasing his length with your slick folds. Your arousal made it easy for you to grind yourself onto him.

He clamped his eyes shut, hissing at the feeling of you teasing him so.

“Mm, feel so fucking good honey. This cock is all mine, you got that?” You peered down at him, and he nodded frantically.

“What did I say about speaking when spoken to?” You snap, even surprising yourself with how promiscuous your tone was coming off as.

“Y-yes ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Good boy.” You smirk, and he groaned at that.

“Quiet.” You warn, moving your hips again to your leisure. Joel’s cock throbbed underneath your aching cunt, and not being able to touch you or speak was driving him fucking wild.

You continued your movements, and you could tell Joel was close when he started to pant really hard. He wasn’t going to cum that easy. Just as he was about to tip over the edge, you lifted your hips, causing him to throatily whine.

“Fuck, darlin–”

“What did I just say about you being quiet?” You snap, leaning forward to wrap one of your hands around his neck. You were careful not to crush his windpipe, but gave the sides of his thick throat some pressure with your small hands.

Never in his life did Joel think being choked would be hot. It really wasn’t something he was fond of, but right now, with you, it was the hottest thing ever. Seeing you go from shy and quiet to choking him and being in complete and utter control made him nearly lose his mind.

“Open your mouth.” You commanded, and he obeyed immediately. You spit into his mouth, moving your hips back down to where your throbbing cunt met his pleading cock. His eyebrows furrowed as he swallowed what you gave him, biting his lip in agony as you started to grind on him again. And, once more, you denied him access to cum.

You knew once Joel went back to being his dominant self, he’d punish you back ten fold, so you had to tread lightly. Desperate whimpers and moans elicited from his throat, and you let go of his neck to look down at him.

“You’re just not getting it, are you?” You scoff, and you move off of him again. This time, you shift your body so your dripping heat is hovering right above his mouth. “Maybe this’ll help shut you up.”

You waste no time in making yourself comfortable on his face, and he immediately reacts. His tongue is ravishing you like a starved man, sucking on your clit with care before licking up and down your slick folds. You start to rock your hips on his face, your clit catching on his nose just right.

Joel had the right mind to tease you this way and deny you of an orgasm too, but he knew you wouldn’t be so forgiving to him since he was the one who encouraged you to carry out this fantasy.

“Touch yourself, honey. But do not cum.” You told him, and he moaned into you. He began to tug at his silky flesh, and he thumbed at the slit on his swollen and neglected head. His tongue was buried deep into you, and the suckling and slurping sounds he made were nothing short of obscene and extremely erotic.

You felt Joel tense again, nearing his release once more. He just prayed to whatever was out there that you’d let him cum this time.

“Wanna cum, honey?” You coo, tangling your fingers in his hair. He nods below you eagerly, continuing to devour you. You were so close to the edge yourself, so you moaned in praise. “Beg for it.”

You lifted your hips to let him speak, and you’d never heard his voice in such disarray, ever.

“P-please ma’am. Please let me cum. Ple-ase.” He was nearly whimpering, voice strained and teetering on the edge of a full whine.

You move your hips back down, and you’re once again on his mouth. He wastes no time in trying to get you over the edge, and when you’re just about there, you give him permission.

“You can cum, my love.” And just like that, both of you unraveled at the same time. Loud moans were to be heard from your bedroom at the agonizing release of both of you.

You shuffled back down Joel’s body so you were straddling his thighs once more. You looked at his slick-covered face, smirking at the sight.

“You did so good, honey.” You kiss him, tasting your arousal on his lips.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He responds, hands twitching to touch you.

“You can touch me, Joel,” You murmur, kissing him again. His hands immediately go to your waist to hold you steady against him before exploring your body slowly. You moaned softly when his hands reached your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “But I’m not done with you yet, cowboy.”

He looks up at you with a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He was honestly so proud in a sense that you gained so much confidence being in a dominatrix headspace.

“Permission to speak, ma’am?” He asks politely, smiling smugly up at you. You raise your eyebrow at him and nod, listening intently.

“Ride, cowgirl.”

You laughed, your dom façade already breaking. You lined Joel’s surprisingly hard cock up with your entrance, rubbing the tip against your folds a few times before you sunk down on him completely.

You moan at the sensation, him stretching you to fullness something you’ll always find so fucking hot.

“Feel so good, baby.” You encourage, starting to rut your hips back and forth. It wasn’t long before you found a steady rhythm and tossed Joel’s oversized shirt that engulfed your body to the side so he had a clear view of your beautiful body.

Forgetting the no touching rule, he reached out to massage both of your breasts. You almost moaned at the contact, but quickly took both of his wrists into your hands, holding them above his head. You were careful not to move fast, though, because you knew his shoulders were nearly shot.

“No touching.” You smirk as you bounce on him now, groaning when his cock hit that spongey spot in your cunt that made you see stars.

“Mm, fuck, baby, who’s cock is this?” Your words were sickly sweet, dripping like honey as you gazed down at Joel with a ferocious look in your eye.

“Fuck, yours, ma’am. It’s all yours.” He moaned, loving the way your sweet, delicate pussy took him so well every single fucking time. It’s like you were just made for him, and the sensation was truly like no other.

“That’s right. Mine. Don’t you forget it.” You lean down and kiss his neck with fervor, kitten licking the spot you know drives him crazy just once. You felt his cock twitch inside of you, and you knew he was close again. You clamped down on him, riding him with such determination. You wanted to see his face when he unraveled for you; because of you.

“You’re so fucking handsome, you know that?” You start praising him, returning the sweet words he always tosses your way when you two have sex. “So strong. So sweet and loving. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, honey.” You kiss him lovingly, every dom thought and bone in your body dissipating.

You knew it was only a matter of time before you’d say enough was enough. You liked when Joel was in charge. He fucked you so well, and the aftercare was always so tender and loving. He was so gentle, patient and kind with you. You truly loved him with your whole being.

You felt Joel’s hips stutter, breaking you from your thoughts. “It’s okay, my honey. Let go.” You finally said, and it only took him a few more thrusts of hitting that sweet spot inside you that had you coming undone as well.

You kissed him as you both unraveled, swallowing each other’s moans as your movements came to a halt. You slowly get off of him, pulling him into you as you cradled his head against your chest. You kissed his forehead a few times as you ran your fingers through his graying hair.

“I hope I didn’t push it too far.” You whisper, tracing the outline of his jaw with the tip of your index finger. He looked up at you, completely fucked out and more than satisfied.

“You did amazing, baby. That was hot.” He praised, and suddenly, your shyness returned to you full-force. A crimson blush colored your cheeks, and you hid your face into the top of his curls.

“Yeah, well, I prefer it if you’re just the dom from now on.” Your voice is diffident. Joel laughs, leaning up to kiss you lovingly.

“I think that can be arranged, baby.”

-

I think I’m gonna start doing a tag list. Lmk if you wanna be tagged for future works of mine! But until then @cool-iguana as promised I’d tag you <;3 ily

[darlingdeaddove]

I love the idea of having the idealistic punk loser older brother with the band and skateboarding and video games and teasing me but still beating up my bullies and playfighting with me and letting me smoke and drink with him way too young.

Letting me sit on the shitty couch in the garage while his band plays terribly. Giving me a couple beers and letting me strip down to an oversized homemade band tee and my patterned boxers. Giving me a joint to smoke so I don't notice how my brother and his friends are all looking at me. Staring at my young, bare legs spread while I lay drunkenly watching them. Watching my boxers ride lower as I keep scootching around.

Eventually just putting on a track, big brother comes up to me followed by his friends. Easily taking the joint from my hand and taking a long pull before passing it back and unzipping his pants. "Finish your drink," he commands with a slight slur. I do as I'm told and poor the drink down my throat while him and his friends pull off their pants and boxers and surround me.

My big brother positions himself at my boycunt, the leaking tip leaving sticky trails down me already. One friend sits at my head and tips it back so I line up perfectly with his hard cock. "Yo dude your brother is a fucking easy loser huh?" he says in a deep voice. I hear my big brother laugh.

Suddenly a sharp pain crawls up my spine and makes me gasp; big brother pushed his fat tip into me! I try to protest but get met with another huge cock entering my mouth, stopping just before my throat. "Does he bite?"

"Not when he's this fucked up, I've been able to do lots of shit to this kid," big brother replies. What does he mean? I don't remember anything like this happening before. Another sharp pain as they both force their cocks fully inside me, balls slapping against my face and ass as I hear a slobbery kiss from above me. "Don't worry dude, he won't remember a fucking thing. Have fun. Love you."

I feel big hands grab my tiny body, rendering me completely helpless as they start to thrust in and out of my holes. Big brother's other friends watch us, cameras on my holes and face and tiny little body as they jerk off. I hear them mutter about money, and getting better cameras one day. Big brother holds my cunt on his throbbing cock, I feel it like a heartbeat inside me while his (boy?)friend uses my throat up. "Who's next?"

The two older boys pull out of me, leaving me choking and whimpering while my brother's other friends approach. Getting me on my hands and knees with a collar and leash to hold my head up. One lines up behind me, poking at my ass. "Ever used his ass before man? Wanna prepare for the screaming if not," he says in a husky voice. Probably his oldest friend, an actual adult in his 20s! Using my tiny ass!?

"Nah never, but go ahead it'll make good film," my brother says, cracking another beer and pulling out his own phone to film his two older friends rape his baby brother. I try to protest, but my intoxicated state and tiny body makes it impossible. A cock slams into my ass, making me scream loudly with my sore throat. How no one hears me from outside is a mystery, but all 4 boys groan happily at my screaming and crying.

Suddenly I'm lifted onto his cock, my tiny body sliding down with a big wave of pain and slight pleasure. He reaches around and strokes my tdick, making me whine happily and cease crying. "Fuck he's so easy, look how quick he is to shut up. Must love having icky old man cock in your ass huh, little boy?"

I whimper and nod, looking dead into a couple cameras with a lustful and pained face. The last of my brother's friends line up to enter my cunt again, sliding into it easily now that big brother stretched me out. He's not as thick, but his cock is so long it feels like it's slamming into my brain!

I let out several cries and whines as I get fucked by two cocks at once again, my body completely limp as they use me like a toy. Eventually coming to their climax, not even asking big bro before holding my hips down on both their cocks as they fill me up with cum. The oldest one pulls my head back to spit in my mouth, biting my neck hard before pulling out and dropping me onto the couch again.

All the boys back away, tidying themselves up while big brother comes to clean me. Cooing, praising, wiping my sore kiddo holes with his cock to clean me up. Sliding in to me gently to fuck the bad cum out of me. "Don't worry little brother, I'll make sure your insides are all nice and clean again." I whimper as I ride his cock, nuzzling into his shoulder as safe big brother cum flushes into my boycunt, making my tummy poke out from being so full. "Mmm much better."

"Hey dude, bring your little bro to every practice from now on. He's a good addition to the band," one of the friend says from afar while he grabs his things.

"Yeah of course," he says back before turning to me. "Guess I'll have to keep you nice and clean more often..."

[athanza]

A Time For Us - part 1

Shouta Aizawa/fem!past-love hero OC (not self-insert)

Plot: Trying to cheer up her teacher, Eri manages to resurrect his long-lost love who died seven years prior while protecting him from a villain.

Tags: Hurt/comfort, angst, age difference (both adult), crying, fluff, referenced character death, not canon, romance, alternate universe, if I've missed any let me know! ♡

Warnings: Angst, crying, referenced character death, may tug at your heartstrings, sorry lol. Again, if I've missed anything let me know, I'm still relatively new to fic writing and tags etc.

This is a non-canon, stand-alone fic but the idea came to me and I had to write it. I hope you enjoy! ♡

Part 2 | Part 3

Part 1

The last remnants of winter chill hung in the air as the season began to change; the leaves left over from autumn beginning to show underneath the melting snow.

Eri played quietly with her new doll in the passenger seat of Aizawa's car as they drove through the streets of Musutafu city.

"Is it ok if we make a stop somewhere for a moment before we get back to UA?" He asked, his eyes on the road.

"Where are we going?" She replied, hugging her doll.

"Just have to see an old friend. It won't take long, don't worry."

They drove for ten more minutes before stopping at a cemetary. It wasn't like a regular cemetery full of the usual gravestones and incense, it was smaller and she realised all of the surnames were the same.

"Wait here, ok? I'll just be a minute."

She nodded, curious as to what was going on.

Aizawa closed the door after him and Eri watched as he walked up to a specific grave that sat under a tree, overlooking the city. She unbuckled her seatbelt and crawled into the driver's seat to see better.

There it was again, that tight feeling in his chest that happened every time he came here, that tight, heavy feeling. His footsteps were muffled by the damp grass, the water coating the toes of his shoes; they stopped as he reached the grave and he took a breath, the first one since he left the car.

Pulling a yellow rose from his scarf, he placed it in the small vase in the base of the headstone, replacing the dead one from last year that was now only a stem.

"I'm sorry I'm a late." He said, lighting some insence and placing it beside the rose. "Things have been tough this year. We've all been pushed to our limits, my students most of all. I'm doing my best but..." he sighed. "I know, I can almost hear you telling me to be kinder to myself...I'll try...for you."

The tightness in his chest began to choke him and he swallowed back his tears.

"Mr. Aizawa?" Came Eri's sweet voice, breaking the heaviness that hung over him in this place.

"E-Eri, I told you to wait in the car."

"I wanted to meet your friend."

She had the sweetest expression on her face. Her kindness never ceased to make him smile. His expression softened, not that he was angry, he just didn't want her to see him like this.

He smiled softly and held out his hand. "Come here."

She smiled and took his hand, walking up next to him.

"Eri, this is Saiyu. She was a very good friend of mine. We were classmates at UA a long time ago. Saiyu, this is Eri, my newest student."

"It's nice to meet you, Miss Saiyu!" Eri beamed, and the tightness returned to his chest, but it wasn't heavy this time.

He smiled.

"Let's go," He said, not knowing how long he could hold the tears back.

"Don't you want to spend more time with your friend?"

He was struggling now. "Midoriya and the others are waiting for us, remember?"

"Deku!" She beamed and ran back to the car giggling.

He was glad she was still so young and easily distracted. He couldn't be here any longer, he'd reached his limit.

...

When they arrived at UA, Midoriya, Mirio, and the others were eagerly waiting for Eri's visit. Her visits always cheered them up, and Eri desperately needed that positive connection. He was glad she had them, after everything she had been through, she was finally experiencing love for very first time. The students needed her too, she brought a light back to UA that had started to dim after the most recent events. She brought them hope.

"Deku! Mirio!" She giggled as she ran up to them. "Hiiiii!"

"Hey there Eri!" Deku smiled.

He supervised her as she played with the class, proud at how far she'd come since she was found.

Suddenly, All Might burst through the door with all the enthusiasm of his past selves, before immediately coughing up blood.

"HellO! I am here!" He boomed triumphantly.

"Uncle All Might!" Said Eri, her eyes lighting up.

All Might chuckled "Hey there little one!". He picked her up and she laughed, giving him a ping of warmth that he greatly needed that morning.

"I was just showing Deku and the others my new doll!"

"Wow!" He smiled warmly.

"Do you need me?" Said Aizawa, knowing All Might should be at the police station right now.

"Yeah. Just for a moment. Tsukauchi has some more intel for us."

"Don't worry about Eri Mr. Aizawa. She'll be ok with us for a few minutes." Yaoyurozu chimed in.

Aizawa and All Might stepped out of the room and the girls immediately swept Eri up and started braiding her hair. Eri loved it when they did her hair, her eyes went all sparkly and she felt so happy. But then she remembered earlier that morning.

Aizawa was trying to hide it, but she could tell he was upset. She couldn't understand why he was trying so hard not to cry, it's normal to be sad when someone isn't there anymore.

"Who's Saiyu?" She asked.

The others caught the change in her tone and suddenly looked worried.

"Saiyu? I don't recognise that name. Is she a student here?" Ochaco tried to think but she had no idea.

"No," Eri replied, "She's Mr. Aizawa's friend. She's at the cemetary."

That immediately changed the vibe of the room from happy to suddenly a little bleak. The others were taken off guard, they didn't know who Saiyu was or why Aizawa had been at the cemetary to see her.

"Mr. Aizawa was really sad. He didn't cry, but I could tell. I don't want Mr. Aizawa to be sad."

"Wait." Said Deku. "She must be talking about Saiyu Yamada, the illusion hero.

Her hero name was Mirage. She was one of the most powerful illusion heroes of our time. She could make an entire city see anything she wanted them to.

I heard she worked closely with Mr. Aizawa when they graduated UA. She wasn't a hero for very long though, she was killed fighting a villain in Jaku city only 2 years after their graduation from UA. That was seven years ago now."

"That's awful." Said Mina.

Kirishima looked saddened. "Yeah...to become a hero only to be killed so soon afterwards. If they were friends, it makes sense that Mr. Aizawa would visit her grave."

"He must have cared about her a lot."

"Let's change the subject." Said Ochaco, "I don't think Mr. Aizawa would appreciate us gossiping like this."

"You're right." Came Aizawa's voice from the doorway. "I don't."

The students froze and panicked.

"Mr. Aizawa! We're so sorry! We didn't mean to pry!"

"I'm sorry Mr. Aizawa. I didn't mean to tell." Sniffed Eri, her horn starting to spark as her eyes watered. "I just didn't want you to be sad."

"It's alright." He replied, placing a hand in her head, knowing she didn't mean anything by it, and knowing he didn't need to use his quirk on her this time. But he couldn't deny he wished she hadn't told his class about...her.

"Uhh anyway!" Said Mirio nervously. "How about we go make snow men before all the snow is gone?"

Eri immediately perked up and she smiled, a drop of snot still hanging from her nose. "Yeah."

"Is that ok Mr. Aizawa?" Asked Deku.

He nodded. "Just make sure she wears her coat."

"I will!" Eri had already ran out the door as she said that and the others ran hurriedly after her, grabbing their coats on the way out.

When they were gone, the room became quiet, almost too quiet, even for him.

"Yesterday was the anniversary, wasn't it?" Said All Might.

"Yeah..."

"I had no idea, we've all been so busy lately. I should visit her myself."

"I'm...still waiting for it to get easier..."

All Might placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as Aizawa stared sorrowfully at the floor. "I know. Me too."

A tear fell from his eye, and he immediately wiped it away. He didn't notice Eri hiding behind the door, having come back for her coat.

...

The students were having a great time making small snowmen with whatever remnants of snow they could find, Kirishima instigating a snowball fight and setting Bakugou off on an unnecessarily competitive battle.

It wasn't long though until Deku realised he couldn't see Eri anywhere.

"Hey, Yaoyurozu?" He asked. "Where's Eri?"

She panicked a little, realising she also couldn't see her. "I don't know. She said she was just running back to get her coat. She's been gone a little long though..."

"I'll go and check on her." Said Deku, hurrying off back to the dorm.

When he got there, he found Aizawa and All Might, but Eri was nowhere to be seen.

"Have either of you seen Eri?" Deku asked, starting to panic a little bit himself now.

"Huh? No. I thought she was with you."

"She said she was running back for her coat but she's been gone a while and we can't find her."

A different type of tightness hit Aizawa's chest this time.

"Damn!" He said. "Get the others and spread out. If she's upset she could activate her quirk."

Deku nodded and sped off.

They looked for her for 30 minutes before they realised she was no longer on campus.

"Where would she have run off to!?" Said Ochaco.

"Damn it!" Said Aizawa. Then it hit him. "Wait. The cemetary! All Might!"

All might was already in his car, waiting for Aizawa. "I've got it. Get in!"

"Do you need us?" Said Kirishima.

"No, it's too dangerous! Stay here, I can deactivate her quirk once I get her in eyeshot!"

They sped off campus as fast as the car could carry them and the others were left standing there wanting to do something but not being sure what. Aizawa was right, being near Eri when her quirk activates was dangerous. But it was Eri they were talking about, they cared about her.

The panic swelling in Aizawa's chest was sharp and his heart was beating so hard he could hear it.

"If she tries to do what I think she is...I..." Aizawa thought. Was it even possible? ....should he let her...?

The car sped through the streets at rocket speed until they finally pulled up at the cemetary. The car had barely stopped before he leaped out.

"Eri!!!" He yelled. "Eri, don't!!"

The sparkly yellow glow filled the cemetary and blinded him, making him unable to see her and therefore, making him unable to use his quirk. He grunted in pain from the brightness before it suddenly went away as quickly as it appeared.

He kept running, reaching her just in time to see someone burst out of the ground and he froze....it was her....she was alive.

Saiyu broke free from the earth and gasped her first breath of air in seven years before collapsing, but not before Aizawa could catch her.

She still had some of her injuries from the battle years ago, but not the worst one, one the one that killed her. She was weak, and barely concious.

"Sh-shouta?" She said weakly. "Did I do it? D-did I...get here...in time?"

At that, she passed out. Aizawa sat there for just a moment, frozen, for the first time in years.

He looked worriedly over at Eri who was passed out, but ok. He was in complete disbelief, holding Saiyu in his arms when he thought he never would again. Listening to her breathing, seeing her chest rise and fall with her breaths. He couldn't believe it.

"Sh-shouta." Said All Might, as equally in shock as Aizawa was. "Is she...?"

"We need to get them to recovery girl. Now! She-" he paused, never thinking he would ever say these words. "-she's alive."

...

Part 2

[heliads]

hi!! Can I request Harry Potter x f!reader, where Harry and y/n are dating and during the battle reader gets severely injured almost dead by Voldemort and Harry doesn’t know until after he defeats him he goes looking for reader but can’t find her, getting scared he goes looking for her and finds her under a pile of rubble realizing she’s about to die he uses the resurrection stone or wand to bring her back to life/heal her. Sorry if it’s really I’ve never requested before!

just read manacled so i'm desperately craving to write some hp angst so this request was perfectly timed thx anon xoxo

'someone take me home ' - harry potter

masterlist

The air is dark, choked with the ash and smoke of Harry Potter’s only true home.

Although he is not the one setting fire to the turrets, sending trolls in to demolish the stone parapets, or hurling curses through glass windows, Harry still feels responsible for the destruction. He is the one who challenged Voldemort by trying to hunt down his Horcruxes. He is the one who has brought this needless death and destruction into the castle. When Voldemort made his pronouncement that all of this fighting could cease if they would only turn Harry over to the Death Eaters, Harry had felt the weight of that guilt settle onto his shoulders like a cloak. It is his doing, all of this. He is the one to blame.

The only way he can make up for it is to end this, once and for all. If he does not kill Voldemort tonight– if he cannot end this war quickly– every life lost, every shred of memory and pride lost in the broken castle’s rubble will have fallen because he could not get the job done. Harry is responsible for everything that happens here tonight. He has to be responsible for winning it, too.

Harry is close to the end. So close. He has already died once tonight. He does not want it to happen again. For a moment there, when he went into the woods alone to meet his soon-to-be killer, armed only with a wand, a wish, and a deeply seated terror that would not leave him, Harry had not thought that he would come back. Dumbledore had not had the chance to specify that in his memories, that Harry would survive the Avada Kedavra curse for the second time in his life.

Harry had not known at all. Through Snape’s memories, he had seen that he would have to die for Voldemort to be killed, but there was no guarantee that Harry would come back. When Harry came away from the Pensieve burdened with that terrible truth, he had assumed that the blinding flash of green light would be all. When he said goodbye to Ron and Hermione, he had left them thinking that he would never return. Walking away from them was horrible, the price of seven years’ worth of incredible friendship. The only thing worse than that was leaving Y/N.

Y/N L/N. Harry’s girlfriend. They started dating during their fifth year, coasting on the thrill of sneaking around behind Umbridge’s back to run the DA. He’d liked her for longer, of course, he swears half the boys his year had a crush on Y/N at least since their second winter at Hogwarts, but Harry was the one who got to keep her around. He never forgot how lucky that made him. And, leaving her behind in the ruins of Hogwarts Castle to end his life, Harry reminded himself of it then, too. Even if he was going to die, he had lived a properly good life before the moment the Killing Curse was spoken aloud. He should have no reason to mourn all of the moments he would never have when he already experienced and enjoyed so many.

To distract himself in those cold, empty woods, Harry had reached into his pocket for the small, dark stone left to him by Dumbledore in the shell of a Golden Snitch. It’s probably not wise to carry a Deathly Hallow through the Forbidden Forest in search of a Dark Lord, but Harry was, after all, headed towards his certain death, so he figured that a little bit of risk was acceptable under those circumstances. Turning the Resurrection Stone over in his pocket, Harry had let his eyes flicker closed as he thought of something– as he wished for it, more than anything, more even than he needed to be alive– and then his eyes had opened, and he had seen his parents.

His first thought was that they looked just like their photographs. They smiled at him, reaching out wispy hands to guide him onwards. Remus and Sirius had joined not soon after. It was easier to be brave when he wasn’t alone, and it must have just been his mind imagining it, because he swore that just before he emerged into the clearing containing Voldemort’s camp, Harry saw Y/N there too, smiling and calling out to him.

He just wanted to think of her one last time, that was all. It meant nothing. Y/N was alive with Ron and Hermione. The one-hour truce had probably ended by then, so they would all be fighting again, but his two best friends would keep the love of his life alive. Of course they would. He made them promise.

Harry had removed that worry from his mind, and then he had died and subsequently come back to life. When he was lying on the cold ground, when Narcissa Malfoy had bent over him and asked him as quietly as she dared if her son was still alive, Harry has to admit that he was not thinking about the good of the mission to kill Voldemort, nor how he could keep up that crusade if he stayed alive. No, he thought about seeing Y/N one more time, and so he told her that Draco was still living. Harry didn’t even know if it was a lie or not, it didn’t matter, it worked. It could be true. Harry had no way of telling if Draco had passed away. All he could do was survive, clawing inch by inch until he could make it back to the grounds of the castle and tell for certain who was dead and who was alive.

The ruse, however misguided, had worked, and then Voldemort had crowed with sickly joy and dragged Harry’s body back to the castle. Harry was forced to remain stock-still, terrified to move so much as a muscle lest he give himself away and incur a second Killing Curse.

Now he is back, back here, back in the present moment, back in the castle. Harry is alive and everybody knows it. Harry heard the cheers erupt when he flung himself away from Hagrid to stand opposite Voldemort again, but he dared not look back. One distracted glance gives Tom Riddle a chance to kill him, and Harry cannot– he will not– give himself away like that after everything. His friends need him. Y/N needs him. Harry must do this, he must win.

Harry is no stranger to dueling, both with friends and enemies. When Voldemort points the Elder Wand at Harry, the wand that technically is under Harry’s control, Harry feels the moment thrumming in his veins like a bloodlust even before his opponent casts the spell. His wand hand rises of his own volition, the spell rising to his lips by reflex alone.

Two incantations are chanted at the same time. Avada Kedavra, Voldemort shrieks across the dusty courtyard, his voice like a death rattle. Expelliarmus, Harry shouts back, his heart leaping into his chest. He has never meant a spell like this before, and he swears he never will.

For a moment, all is still, all is quiet. The Death Eaters and students alike watch with bated breath as the two spells arc across the courtyard, but then Voldemort’s bright spark of green rebounds the second it comes into contact with Harry’s, sending both tumbling towards the Dark Lord. The Killing Curse hits Voldemort, and just like that, with no pomp and circumstance, no drama befitting the one who has caused them all so much violence and grief, Tom Marvolo Riddle dies.

Harry doesn’t believe it. Truly, he doesn’t, until he forces his limbs to walk over to the body of Voldemort and stand, staring, at the corpse until he is certain it does not move again. Slowly, surely, the Death Eaters peel away, and the students and members of the Order of the Phoenix come back again, surging around him like an ocean wave, rejoicing in their victory.

Ron and Hermione reach him first, one at each side. They embrace him, half crying, half beaming. Hermione’s saying that he’s done it, he’s won, and Ron is grinning at him proudly, telling Harry that he knew he could do it. Harry waits for the fourth person to join their party, but for some reason, she never does.

Harry pulls back slightly from their embrace. “Guys,” he says uncertainly, “Where’s Y/N?”

Ron and Hermione exchange confused looks. “She was just here,” Ron says vacantly. “Wasn’t she, Hermione? I swear I saw her a minute ago. We were fighting together, then a bunch of Death Eaters split us up. I got back to Hermione as soon as I could, but–”

“But you didn’t see her?” Harry interrupts. His voice sounds harsher than he intends, but a sudden, icy panic is beginning to flood through his system, and he cannot think about anything– he will not think about anything– until he is certain that this fear is unfounded.

He looks desperately at Hermione, the reasonable one, the one who always comes up with answers in times of crisis like this one, but she shakes her head quietly. “None of us have seen her since the fighting started up again,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“No,” he says forcefully, “No, that’s not right. Y/N is alive. We just lost her in the crowd, that’s all.”

It must be true. Harry won’t look at either of them, won’t see the slow rush of guilt that’s creeping into both of their faces. Y/N has to be here. She wouldn’t just leave him like this.

Harry pushes past the two of them, fighting his way back through the crowds. He scans every face he sees, ignoring friends and professors the moment he’s sure they aren’t her. When he doesn’t see her immediately, Harry looks not at the crowds but the grounds, the walls, to see if she’s lying down somewhere. She could still be resting, or maybe she has a broken leg or something and can’t move. There is still a way that she could be alive. There is still a way that she could come back to him.

No sign of her. Harry is about to leave the courtyard and try searching somewhere else, and then he sees a hand crumpled near a pile of rubble. The hand, bloody and streaked with dust, is connected to an arm, an arm which lies limp from a shoulder, which leads to a chest which leads to a face, a face he knows, a face which is Y/N’s.

Harry is kneeling on the ground in a flash. The body of a fallen Death Eater is somewhere to the side, and Harry has the brief, proud thought that Y/N managed to kill one of them before she– He cuts himself off just in time.

Y/N seems perfectly fine by all accounts, were it not for the ash beginning to tint her face a lifeless shade. It gets everywhere, that stuff, but it won’t matter, they’ll have time to clean up later, once it is all over. It is all over, he realizes belatedly, but not quite yet. Not until she sits up again and smiles at him like she always does.

Harry waits for this to happen, for her chest to rise and fall, for any sign of movement. Nothing comes. It is only sitting here, waiting, watching for nothing, when he realizes at last that Y/N is dead. He missed his chance to save her. Y/N is dead because Harry couldn’t beat Voldemort fast enough.

The grief crashes over him in spasming attacks. He cannot lose her, not like this. It was easier to be the one dying when he knew she would go on to live a long, happy life, but this is wholly different and much worse. Y/N deserved far more than a death at seventeen. She deserved far more than Harry letting her down in this final way.

He can’t allow this to happen. Harry has killed the Dark Lord, he has freed the Wizarding World from death and destruction, he will save his girlfriend and it will be his last victory. Harry claws at his pocket for the Resurrection Stone– he almost lost it in the Forbidden Forest, but not quite, and now he has it still– and presses it with shaking hands against her heart. Harry closes his eyes and wishes with everything he has that she would come back.

He doesn’t want to open his eyelids. If it doesn’t work– he can’t look at her again, fallen and still. He stays in the darkness until someone tells him in a light voice, “You can look now, Harry. I’m alright.”

Harry opens his eyes and almost sobs again. There, sitting up, is Y/N. She smiles at him. “Don’t look so surprised. You know what the stone does, don’t you?”

“I do,” he croaks, “but– I was so afraid, Y/N. I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t have to,” she whispers back. “We’ll always be together now.”

He wants this. Harry reaches forward and embraces her. He can hardly feel her hug him back, but she’s probably still injured from the fight. She’ll have to get up to the hospital wing as soon as possible, Madam Pomfrey can make her as good as new in a second’s flash.

Harry steps back so Y/N can stand up, and then he starts to lead her back through the courtyard. Ron and Hermione have caught up to him by now, and they stare at Y/N with undisguised shock.

“She’s back,” Harry says exultantly, as if they couldn’t tell that already.

Hermione nods faintly. “Harry…”

Her voice trails off. Ron lays a comforting hand on her arm, then turns to Harry. “You found her, then?” 

For some reason, he doesn’t seem nearly as happy as Harry thinks the situation deserves. He’s just found out one of his best friends is alive, after all, but instead he seems as if he’s just come from a funeral.

“I did,” Harry confirms. “I’m going to take Y/N to the hospital wing now, just in case.”

Y/N nods in agreement, which makes Ron and Hermione exchange knowing glances again.

“What?” Harry asks, somewhat cross.

“Nothing,” Hermione says a little too quickly. “It’s just– Oh, Harry, you have the Resurrection Stone, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Why do you ask?”

The look in her eyes is deeply sorrowful. “You have to let go, Harry.”

He shakes his head. “What are you talking about? I just got Y/N back, I have to make sure that she’s alright.”

He moves to brush past them, but Ron holds out an arm. “Here, I’ll take Y/N to the hospital wing. How about you stay and talk to Hermione for a little longer?”

Y/N looks unhappy about this, and although Harry doesn’t quite want to be parted from her yet, he can’t technically see any problems with this, so he agrees, and watches mournfully as Y/N trails away behind Ron. She’s moving slower than usual, but again, that must be due to injury.

Hermione takes him by the arm and steers him away from the quickly burgeoning crowds. “Harry,” she begins slowly, “Do you remember what Xenophilius Lovegood said about the Deathly Hallows, about the Stone in particular? How it drove the second brother mad because his bride came back from the dead, but she was never really the same?”

“I do,” Harry says vaguely, not entirely sure what this has to do with him, “But that’s not the case with Y/N, though, she’s fine. I reckon it’s because I have the Elder Wand too, you know?”

Hermione sighs. “Harry, that’s not the Y/N you lost. She’s different. I think she’s closer to a ghost than a person.”

“No,” Harry says unsteadily, “She’s just like I remember, honestly. I don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s nothing like a ghost.”

Hermione takes a slow breath in and out. She’s obviously fighting tears. “That’s because she hasn’t been herself lately, even before she– even before she died, Harry. The war has been hard on all of us, but her especially. It’s taken quite the toll on her, so much so that you would see a ghost of the girl you knew and still think it was her.”

“That makes no sense,” Harry protests, but a persistent feeling of doubt is starting to shadow his mind.

“I can prove it,” Hermione insists, and reaches into her pocket to pull out a photograph.

Harry holds it in his hands and stares. He remembers the moment this photo was taken more than he recognizes the actual people inside of it. This was one of the last days they had to themselves before the war broke out in earnest and everything went to hell. It had been in the spring, all four of them in the Gryffindor Common Room. Colin Creevey had taken the photo while they were unawares and to punish him, they’d confiscated it. Harry had no idea Hermione had held onto it, but now he’s pressingly grateful that she had.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all look the same, albeit a little younger, a little less beaten down, but Y/N– the Y/N in this photograph is nothing like the girl he’d just seen. This Y/N is vibrant, laughing uproariously at a joke one of them has just told. The version of her in the photograph turns with a start when the photo is taken, but she’s still grinning up at him, still happy. Harry feels as if a saturation charm has been cast upon the photo, it’s the only thing that would explain why she looks so bright and alive here.

Alive, unlike how she looks right now, because she isn’t. Harry had tried to bring her back, but it hadn’t worked completely. Just like in Lovegood’s story. He thinks back to the past few months and he remembers how Y/N had been, how the light had slowly drained from her. The constant running had been hard on all of them, but it was worst of all on Y/N. She was the one forever thinking of new places to go, new things to try, wearing the locket for the longest, never putting up a fight. Slowly but surely, it had coaxed the life out of her, so much so that Harry couldn’t even tell when she was just a shade he had brought back from the dead.

Hermione nods slowly, seeing that Harry understands at last. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

“So am I,” he murmurs bleakly.

“Are you going to end the enchantment?” She asks him.

Harry feels like he’s drowning, engulfed in the ash and flame surrounding him. “I will. Just– let me say goodbye first.”

“Of course,” Hermione says. “We’ll be here when you need us.”

It’s more than he can ask of her right now, both to pull him out and to support him when he’s reeling from the shock of it all. They must be devastated too, Hermione and Ron, both of them have friends here who have died in this final battle and throughout the whole war, but they’re putting him first again. He’ll never be able to thank them enough for that, but he can try.

An idea occurs to him as he walks over to Y/N. He’s still got the Elder Wand in his pocket. He hadn’t needed it for the Resurrection Stone, he hadn’t even been touching it, but maybe– just maybe–

He casts a quick summoning charm to bring his invisibility cloak over, then pulls the Resurrection Stone out of his pocket. The Elder Wand in his other hand completes the triad. All three Deathly Hallows, all together at last. Dumbledore had wondered what having all of them together might do, how one might finally become a Master of Death. He had mused once that perhaps one had to accept the inevitability of one’s own death, to brush it off and greet Death as an old friend, as the third brother had done in the tale.

Harry has done this already. Died. He accepted it then. Facing Y/N, he accepts it now. He may die from doing this, but it would be alright. Y/N deserves to live. Harry embraces his fate, whatever it may be. He has the Hallows, but he would give them up for her, he would give up anything. Even himself. He has not meant a spell like this before, except once, and he swears he never will.

There’s a sudden rush of wind around him that forces Harry’s eyes shut, just for a moment. When he opens them, Y/N is still there, but she’s a shade no longer. This time, when she surges forward and hugs him, he feels the embrace completely. 

“It’s really me,” she laughs, shocked, “I don’t know how you did it, Harry, but I’m really back.”

“You promise?” Harry gasps, half choking on his own surprise.

“I promise,” she smiles.

Harry glances back over his shoulder to where Hermione and Ron are watching with dropped jaws. One look at his friends is all he needs to know at last that yes, this is real. He’s finally won. The Dark Lord is dead. His love is alive.

At last, at long last, the last of his burdens disappear into the faint light of morning. Harry Potter is free.

harry potter tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @frenchgirlinlondon, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[hybriddhthepoet]

Beneath the Iron Veil

By HybridDH Art by ghosty_entity https://x.com/ghosty_entity?s=21

In the heart of night’s deepest clutch,

Where brimstone burns and hammers thrash,

I toll away ’neath the soot-black sky,

Bound to the forge where the weaklings die.

This hellish pit, this eternal grind,

The swing of my hammer, both curse and bind.

The iron resists, my spirit depletes,

In the relentless echo of my heart’s bleak beats.

The damned forces, they wear me thin,

A soul corroded by the din.

Yet I stand firm in the blistering glow,

A forged man, no semblance of woe.

Through the veil of night, I chase mere bread,

In the mines where hope fears to tread.

The coal sears my flesh; I am marred,

Deeper still where the exits are barred.

It’s a choking hell, this miner’s cage,

Where the air is thick and the walls enrage.

But stop I can’t, it’s a maddening lure,

The grind that promises but never ensures.

My body’s a wreck, oh, I’m breaking down,

Yet I can’t fucking stop, can’t bear to drown.

I need to halt, to breathe, to cease,

Yet the chains of labor deny my peace.

These days stretch endless, a cruel jest,

Each sunrise mocking my lack of rest.

What is this life if not a trap?

Where dreams are dreams, and bridges snap.

I’m not the sage, not the learned man,

Just a husk, driven since this all began.

Whittled by duty, by life’s sharp knife,

Carved out of the shadows, devoid of life.

Yet, there’s a beauty in this brutal fight,

In the sweat-soaked days and the coal-black night.

The flicker of hope in a lover’s touch,

The fleeting peace that offers much.

Every strike sparks a bit of my soul,

In the blistering forge that takes its toll.

And though I curse the heavens, forsaken in toil,

I’m tethered to this accursed soil.

Why, oh why, must this be my fate?

To grind and suffer, to spurn and hate.

When will God lend His goddamn hand?

Am I not His creature, shaped by His command?

Yet, amidst the forge’s unforgiving flame,

I find a fierce will no god can tame.

For though I’m cast in the deepest mine,

Each hammer’s fall marks a design.

A life of steel, of fire, of pain,

A spirit tempered, born again.

For each day I rise, broken, anew,

To face the dark with a grim view.

I’ll keep swinging, keep making my mark,

In the belly of earth, in the endless dark.

And when I’m gone, let them say I stood tall,

Against the tide, against it all.

For I am more than this soot, this sweat,

More than the iron, the forge’s threat.

I am the fire, the will, the might,

A smith of my fate, in the dead of night.

So let the winds of hardship howl and moan,

In the mines of sorrow, I’ve found my throne.

A king of ashes, of dust, of bone,

In the silent depths, I reign alone.

This is my saga, grim and long,

A testament written in sweat and song.

For even in darkness, deep and sheer,

The forge’s fire makes everything clear.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Captain Rex x Jedi Reader

Summary: After a blast on Umbara, Rex saves you and you are forced to remain in a bacta tank the rest of the campaign. You try to reach out to Rex through the force and he hears your warnings about Krell’s betrayal. When the truth comes out, Rex is consumed with guilt.

The skies over Umbara were poison.

Choked in mist and war.

And somewhere beneath it all, you bled into the dirt.

The blast had taken you hard—chest scorched, body broken. Rex had been the first to reach you, his voice cutting through the chaos, calling your name like it meant something more than rank or Jedi title. He held you as the medics arrived, armor slick with mud and grief.

He didn’t let anyone else carry you.

Not even Fives.

Not even when General Krell barked at him to return to the line.

Once the 501st finally breached the airbase, Rex made sure you were stabilized in the nearest field medcenter. They submerged you into a bacta tank, pale and silent, your saber charred and clipped to Rex’s belt instead of your own.

He stood watch over you every night when he could—alone, visor off, hands balled into fists. Fives had noticed. Hardcase had joked about it once.

He never joked about it again.

_ _ _ _

The First Warning

It came while Rex was reviewing troop formations alone.

A sudden pressure behind his eyes, like a gust of wind had blown through his skull.

“Rex…”

Your voice, faint—like a ripple across still water.

He froze, datapad slipping from his hands.

“General?”

No answer. Just the distant hum of machinery and the low buzz of the bacta tank nearby. He turned toward it. You floated within, unconscious, brow furrowed like you were fighting something that didn’t live in the waking world.

Then—again.

“He is not what he seems…”

Rex’s heart skipped. “General? What—what does that mean?”

But the connection faded, leaving only silence and misty breath against the tank’s glass.

The Second Warning

Rex didn’t sleep that night. Or the next.

Krell was pushing them too hard. The losses were piling. Something was off.

And then it happened again.

He was armoring up when he felt it—a cold sliver down his spine.

“They are not your enemy…”

“He is.”

Rex’s blood ran cold.

“Who?” he whispered into the dark. “Krell? You mean Krell?”

But again, the connection blinked out like a dying star.

He ran his gloved hands through his hair, helmet dangling from his side.

It made no sense.

Krell was a Jedi. Brutal, sure—but wasn’t war brutal by nature? Could he really be turning against them?

_ _ _ _

The Betrayal

And then they were deployed. Told the enemy had stolen clone armor. Told to open fire.

The forest exploded with blasterfire and screams.

And then—

"Cease fire!" Rex’s voice tore through the chaos. “Cease fire!”

It was too late. Bodies littered the jungle floor.

Clones.

Not Umbarans.

His own brothers.

He fell to his knees, helmet slipping from his fingers, the sound of battle replaced by the echo of your voice—

“They are not your enemy. He is.”

He finally understood.

Krell.

He had known. You’d tried to tell him. From inside that tank. From wherever your mind had drifted in the Force, tangled in pain and bacta and fear for the men you both loved.

He felt sick.

Krell needed to pay for this.

_ _ _ _

After Krell’s capture—after the rage, the betrayal, the ghostly silence of the men—

Rex stood outside the medcenter again. Watching you.

You were healing, slowly. Still submerged. Still fighting to wake.

He placed a gloved hand against the glass.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You tried to tell me. I didn’t listen. I should’ve—”

He swallowed hard, guilt a coiled wire around his throat.

“I’m not losing you too.”

And somewhere inside the Force, you stirred.

_ _ _ _

The Force shifted.

Like a breath held too long, finally exhaled.

A weight lifted.

A darkness lifted.

You surged back into consciousness before your eyes even opened—gasping silently in the thick blue haze of bacta, heart racing, the phantom echo of betrayal still ringing through your veins.

He was dead.

Executed.

Dogma.

You felt it.

The weight of his blaster in his hands. The fury. The confusion. The pain.

It is done, the Force whispered.

The war on Umbara was over.

But the ghosts would linger.

You woke gasping, dragging in breath like it hurt. The medical droid flinched back with a startled beep. Your lungs ached. Every inch of you was stiff and raw from mending bones and torn flesh. But you were awake.

And more importantly—alive.

“Captain!” someone called outside. “She’s waking up!”

You barely had time to get out of the tank before boots pounded toward you. Rex stormed in, helmet tucked under one arm, eyes wide and wild and disbelieving. You gave him a weak smile.

“Took you long enough,” you rasped.

He stopped cold. A dozen emotions flickered across his face. Disbelief. Relief. Guilt.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said quietly.

You leaned back against the pillows, wincing. “You didn’t.”

He stepped closer, slowly, like he couldn’t quite trust the sight of you.

“But I lost them,” he said, voice low. “And I didn’t stop it.”

Your heart cracked open.

“I tried to warn you,” you whispered, reaching out. He took your hand instantly, holding it like a lifeline.

“I know,” he said. “I heard you. In my head. I thought I was losing it.”

You gave his hand a soft squeeze. “You weren’t. I was with you. As much as I could be.”

Rex’s shoulders dropped. The weight of war carved deep into his bones. For a moment, he looked every bit the tired, worn man behind the armor. And you loved him more for it.

_ _ _ _

The medcenter was quiet. Clones moved like shadows—silent, grieving, stunned. You sat upright now, draped in a simple robe, IV lines gone. Still sore. Still healing. But awake.

Rex lingered by your bedside long after the others had gone. He hadn’t spoken in minutes.

Finally, he said:

“They were mine.”

You looked up.

“My brothers. And I shot at them. I followed orders. I didn't question it. Not until it was too late.”

He was shaking. Just slightly. But it was there.

You moved closer, taking his hands again.

“You trusted Krell because he wore the robes. Because that’s what they trained you to do,” you said gently. “You weren’t wrong for trusting him, Rex. He was wrong for abusing it.”

His jaw clenched.

“I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve—”

“Stop.” You reached up, brushing a hand against his cheek, the first real touch you’d shared in weeks. “You did what you could with what you had. And when it mattered—you stopped him. You saved who you could. And you survived.”

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

“I don't feel like I did.”

You leaned in, brushing a soft, chaste kiss against his forehead. The kind only you were allowed to give him. The kind no one else could ever see.

“You did,” you murmured. “And you’re not alone.”

Rex didn’t say anything, but his fingers tightened around yours, grounding himself in your warmth.

The battle was over. But the war, within and without, would go on.

[beardedalcoholic]

Battle Gods

First Medical officer of the Galactic Union Revka Jihar looked on in awe as the human zipped from one console to other.

Sliding her chair from one side of the room to the other only to go back she displayed a true mastery of her job. Coordinating rank upon rank of human shock trooper forces into position, confirming approval of Human Medium Force Allowed, checking and double checking the health status of hundreds of humans, receiving reports from multiple divisions of engineers and mechanics about the status of one drop group or another…it was overwhelming to the Kalarian to watch.

“Shock Troopers stand by to stand by for final approval on drop, med squads confirm ready stations for injured, eng corps get those fucking launch tubes in the green before I come down there and fire you out one by one until I am satisfied my boys won’t hit atmo looking like strawberry jam, Hell Jumpers get to your pods and strap in we have yellow light on drop and I am not waiting for any Late Lucys should we get green.”

The rapid-fire communication of the humans had never ceased to amaze Revka, how they could say so much with so few words using only inflection, context, tone, body language and a myriad of other factors that they themselves seemed un-aware of.

Keys rattled like gunfire beneath First Rank Orbital Shock Drop Coordinator Amelia Hargrove’s nimble fingers, screens bloomed in thin air only to be replaced by others as they were dismissed. Within barely a handful of human minutes Frist Rank Hargrove sat back limply in her chair with her arms hanging down the sides as she breathed deeply in seeming exhaustion, Revka knew better though, he had seen this human go cycles without rest or nutrition.

An alert from the single remaining screen in front of the human grabbed her attention and her head snapped up from its slumped over position, the gleam of anticipation and sudden movement reminding Revka of the humans’ predatory lineage. Jumping to her feet with enough force to send her division command chair sliding back on tracks laid into the floor to the edge of the large room they occupied Amelia commed the captain of the ship.

“Captain Shelsa, Shock Trooper Command…I have green on all drop requirements, personnel and approval…Awaiting Final Command.”

Amelia Stood disturbingly still and focused as she awaited the order from her captain to release the humans upon the world beneath them. Revka stood in the back of the room next to the abandoned chair, furiously making notes upon his digital clipboard without even looking down at it.

Being the first species other than human to witness the deployment of Shock Troopers into an active battle field Revka was not about to miss a single documentable moment of what he was witnessing. The tension in the air radiating from the human in the middle of the large room was almost enough to choke him, the human had not moved in the slightest since her last communication, her muscles seemed to bunch beneath her skin tight command suit as the micro-cycles slid by, until…

“Shock Command, Captain Shelsa…you are green for trooper drop, repeat you are green for drop…Amelia!” First Rank Hargrove’s head snapped up at the sound of desperation and pain in the captain’s voice.

“Yes Captain? I am here.”

“…Amelia, these, monsters attacked earth…they struck down schools and hospitals…these invaders took my baby girl from me without warning or reason given…invoke the Battle Gods….”

First Rank Amelia went dead silent and painfully rigid from this last command. It was well known humans had music for all occasions and that they would perform different tasks with more or less efficiency depending on if music was being played to them and depending on the task or musical selection.

Revka felt his feathers bleach of all color at the last command…it was not a command given with hopes of leaving survivors, the Battle God Queen was something of a legend among different species due to the effect said music had on humans…but these last words were spoken with such cold venom Revka had to grip the deck plates with his talons to keep himself from bolting in fear. Revka watched as the Orbital Shock Drop Coordinator calmly answered in the affirmative, slipped an Augmented Reality Visor over her eyes and seemed to deflate as tension left her body.

Walking to the middle of the room First Rank Amelia began to glow softly as synaptic relays lit up across her suit, lines of light racing from her toes to her visor and everywhere in between, muscles slid with liquid grace beneath her suit as she stalked forward.

It started gently…hands lifting to flow through screens only she could now see through her visor…hands and arms moving like the conductor of a symphony Revka had seen on earth. With each movement a new small screen came to life around Coordinator Amelia, each screen containing a new face…the faces of her boys…the faces of humanities most feared ground-based battle troops…the Orbital Shock Troopers known only as the Hell Jumpers.

No words were spoken at first, Amelia simply stood there under the gaze of over five hundred trained, battle hardened, soldiers. Soldiers that were about to be dropped from orbit onto a planet light years away from home into a raging warzone with nothing but a small pod made to break away on impact to protect them from the heat and violence of atmospheric entry. None looked scared, no tears were shed in fear or pain, this was simply another good day to die for these individuals Revka realized.

“Kikiki! Kakaka!” The suddenness of Coordinator Amelia’s cry and movement nearly had Revka molting a full tails worth of feathers. Amelia slammed one foot down to her side so that she was bent at the knees.

“Kauana kei waniwania taku tara” Hands slapped into her thighs and stomach muscles in time to her chant.

“kei tarawahia, kei te rua i te kerokero!” Feet stomped and hands slapped as she continued her chant, voice raising to echo throughout the room.

“He pounga rahui te uira” Amelia’s voice rang with a clarion call to battle, it vibrated with the rage of an entire race that had been wronged as she raised a fist and slapped her arms.

“ka rarapa ketekete kau ana” Revka felt sorry for himself as he watched the display before him as he had not thought to make arrangements for his newly born clutch of whelps should he perish on this mission.

“To peru kairiri mau au e koro e!” Looking at the many images of the Shock Troopers arrayed before and around the still stamping and chanting Coordinator Revka could see that each one was focused upon her with a burning intensity.

” Hi! Ha! - Ka wehi au ka matakana,” Eyes narrowed, teeth were bared in rictus smiles, pulses throbbed in necks, nostrils flared in anticipation as the chanting grew somehow louder and more fervent.

“ko wai te tangata kia rere ure tirohanga” First Rank Amelia stamped and pounded her feet into the ground as if to defy fate to move her, as if she was seeing the future and challenging it to be anything other than what she demanded it to be.

“ngā rua rerarera” Hands slapped and struck with force that would shatter the bones of Revka’s species like she was trying to beat reality into submission and bend it to her will.

“ngā rua kuri kakanui i raro! Aha ha!” With one final strike First Rank Orbital Shock Drop Coordinator Amelia Hargrove let loose a sound that would haunt Revka’s rest cycles for the rest of his life.

The sound that echoed throughout the room seemed to contain all the suffering that had been felt at the hands of the enemy, all the pain of loss and the rage of those who could not do anything to seek retribution for those wronged. Screens lit up as each trooper dropped from the belly of the ship into the planet’s gravity well, each and every face pulled into a mask of rage and determination beneath face shields snapping into position.

Revka thought that perhaps the spectacle was over now that the humans had been sent planet side…until Coordinator Amelia’s arm snapped out and with a few deft movements brought up a simple non-standard screen.

The media screen floated barely a hairs breadth from the end of Amelia’s finger tips as she scrolled down a list of songs. With little more than a thought a song was selected and broadcasted to every shock trooper, soldier and crewman.

Drums beat and strings were plucked with a sense of anger lurking behind the sounds, after only a few seconds of this First Rank Amelia began to sing in a tone of voice unlike anything Revka had heard from the normally bubbly and flirty Coordinator, like gravel grinding in honey and rising into an angry cry tinged with desperation.

I feel the pressure is building in me

 My stomach's sick, it's getting harder to breathe

 I hear the screaming, I feel the disease

 It's burning me up and there is nothing to breathe

Will you crawl with me

 Will you stand with me

Would you follow me

Would you believe with me

Tell me you'll breathe with me,

 tell me you'll die with me

Come on, get on, let me hear your war cry!

Come on, get on, let me hear your war cry!

Come on, get on, let me hear your war cry!

Yell it out, do or die

Let me hear your war cry!

The battle that followed after the start of this terrifying song was less a battle and more a chaotic slaughter of the enemy. Humans that had been forged of star matter and tempered over eons of living on a death world and driven by madness channeled from a world in pain through musical Battle Gods dark and ancient tore across the land. They fell from the skies in gouts of flame like avenging angles come to strike down the very gates of Hell, no enemy was spared, no mercy given nor asked.

The battle had been long and hard, the final count of the dead had come out to one hundred and seven troopers lost out of over five hundred…a small number but one that was felt like a hammer blow among those that knew them.

Revka had stayed and watched the entire time as Coordinator Amelia somehow split her attention between directing troop movements and battle plans all while continuing to dance and sing to various songs of battle and victory. When the final call of victory came over the open channels the music was allowed to stop and First Rank Amelia fell still. Her arms hung limp at her sides…screens showing haggard and haunted faces of her soldiers, her troopers, her boys signing off one by one as they went to seek medical aid or further orders, synaptic relays dimming from a fiery blaze to a pale glow until they too fell silent and dark.

Revka walked slowly from his position in the back of the room towards the silent and still figure of the human known among the crew as Battle Siren…the one human who was expected to endure the responsibility of coordinating hundreds of war machines, who was given authority to make decisions in battle and who had to carry the weight of those decisions. As he got closer Revka noticed a new taste on the air, sharp and salty…not sweat, he didn’t have sweat glands and the skin suit Amelia was wearing prevented her body from needing to sweat…tears? Yes, Revka could taste the salt of tears on the air.

Slowly coming around to face the Battle Siren Revka was somewhat surprised to find a river of tears slowly falling from under the AR visor. With a deep breath as if she was emerging from deep waters Amelia lifted the visor from her tear-soaked eyes and seemed to stare through the bulkheads and deep into the void, then in a soft whisper she said a single sentence that would be taken to the Galactic Council and repeated again and again among those who thought to strike out against the humans.

“They sowed the wind with their strike against our young and injured…so too did they reap the hurricane of our vengeance.”

With that single sentence spoken a new sound began to emanate from the Coordinator, a long drawn out note not unlike the tune of a bell. Revka backed away and made his way out of the room, the Battle Siren had begun to sing a new song but not one of war and conquest, rather a song of pain and history filled with conflict but also about seasons changing and hope prevailing. The humans may have had a great pantheon of voices to channel inspiration from when going into battle, but so too did it seem that they had ones for peace and healing.

[aratribow]

What would happen if yanqing died.

I need more angst about Yanqing and jing yuan pls

AHHHHH I ACTUALLY HAVE SO MANY YQ MCD WIPS? That my lazy ass never completed..

But I present you ONE polished thingy. (Don't mind me adding in a ship as well ^^)

An au where Kafka was a bit too late with the spirit whisper, where Jing Yuan was a bit too late to save Yanqing from the shard sword aimed for his chest.

Ps: Yanqing is a bio renjing child here, but Ren didn't know about his existence because he left to get milk and never came back. ^^

Warning: Yanqing MCD

The sun sets, the bird ceases its song, and the lion mourns: (title suggested by @itsredpaint )

He distantly watched as the window curtains flew with the breeze, a chill so familiar. Lying motionless in the assigned bed at the alchemy commission, Jing Yuan felt numb; if the scratchy material of the sheets felt mildly prickly – then he couldn't tell. His barely taken breaths, the only sign of his survival.

There's nothing left.

The momentary fragile trust that took everything, for just a fraction, was broken on a whim.

Another loved one lost to the winds, too young and tender for the graves, too young and tender to wonder if even the ashes will remain.

Jing Yuan was supposed to die there, die at the hands of the Lord Ravager, he had everything prepared beforehand, so why. He was not supposed to be stranded on the mortal world with nothing left of his own, he had already lost plenty, what more was there to lose anymore.

For the moment, he couldn't even recognize if the dull throbbing pain from his chest was entirely the work of Cloud Piercer or not. The lingering remains of Destruction still pulsing through his chi didn't help either.

In the quiet solitude of the night, Jing Yuan's harsh breaths kept him up, the ragged pathetic sound so bitterly familiar.

If he was just a little bit faster…just a little bit faster to save the only sun left in his life.

(The other sun had already been lost to the stars, with nothing left of her other than the telltale bravery of her ill fated luck sewed into the few remaining strands of her lilac hair.)

With a bated breath, he realised that he would never see his retainer again. He would never get to see his dust blonde hair, which, despite being deftly tied up in a high ponytail, always ended up covered in dirt from the spars. The way it gleamed with a gentle sheen of gold whenever Jing Yuan combed through the knotted strands of his freshly dried hair after a long day of work, the action soothing his nerves into a pleasant buzz of tranquillity with Yanqing nodding off on his shoulder. He would never get to see the vivid shade of molten gold in his eyes either, which would crinkle at the edges with a beaming smile at the mention of a favoured sword.

People around General Jing Yuan always remarked as to how his retainer's eyes completely resembled his own, he wondered why, for he always thought that if there was someone who could rival the Sun, it would be Yanqing. not anymore, though

Confined in the cage of his short-sighted immortality, the Divine Foresight mourned. Could he have saved his disciple, his lieutenant, his retainer, his son if only he hadn't undermined the play orchestrated by fate itself? If only he hadn't trusted his life with the phantom of a man once loved and cherished.

Seeing nothing but the blurry lines of the ceiling, he dared not to blink as he let the tears cascade down by themselves, framing his face in a warmth he could only ever dream of now.

Despite being consumed by the guilt of failing yet another, he did not fail to discern the presence that breached the privacy of the room. If not for the silent footfalls, then for the tenseness permeating from the body.

He blinked once, twice.

"He was your son, too." Jing Yuan said, voice barely audible, barely held together against the lump in his throat, threatening to choke him. If not for the dead of the night, void of any activity around, the words would have been lost, blown away by the chilled breeze coming in through the windows.

With eyes still focused on the ceiling, he noticed the body wince in his periphery.

Jing Yuan never thought that it would come to this, but now? Now he wanted this person to mourn alongside him, to share the pain that tore his barely beating heart out and reduced it to shreds. But perhaps it was even more foolish of him to think that Ren would care.

If he had, he wouldn't had left, not when Jing Yuan needed him the most, not when Jing Yuan missed him so bad it hurt, a tender wound damaged again and again with no respite, with no chance to heal, to the point where Jing Yuan felt the kindling fire die within him…and he let it.

The only time he dared to show face was to kill their son, to take away the only light left in Jng Yuan's dying world.

Because what would it matter to Ren when it was Jing Yuan who had to raise Yanqing all by himself. It would be Jing Yuan, who would ever know about Yanqing's child-like antics despite the act he proudly put up for his role as a lieutenant.

It would be Jing Yuan who would remember his pleading eyes at barely the end of the month, and despite the visible disapproval he would still fulfil the wishes, just to see a triumphant smile grace his son's face for winning a war that didn't exist in the first place.

It would be Jing Yuan who would cherish his joy at the agreement of eating outside at a favourite restaurant, relishing in the simplicity of it. It would be Jing Yuan who would know of his boundless determination, his passion, his courage to overcome obstacles at such an early age, his dream of becoming the sword champion...that would remain a dream in itself.

Perhaps…if he had kept him away from the ruthless reality, and if he had just provided the comfort of a father and not the sternness of a mentor, a General, then…perhaps-

Despite being surged by the bitter feelings, he could hardly feel it in himself to move, it seemed to further drown him within the sheets instead. Perhaps it was for the best because he couldn't tell what he wanted to do with his limbs or his body anymore. His grip on reality, failing him.

Before he could choke even further on his misery, he felt a rough bandaged hand coming to rest on his forehead – just then, he finally found his body moving as he violently recoiled against the hand. If it was the tender hand of a lover before, now, it was just the hand of a murderer that dripped with the blood of his child.

Something must have been written on his face besides the silent stream of tears, for he saw the body retreat back quicker than it came to be. He wondered if he would retreat back through the door, never to show face again, just like last time.

But Jing Yuan could care less. If Ren wished to stay for some sick godforsaken reason, just to haunt him in his last moments, then he probably should. Jing Yuan didn't have it in himself to stop him, he'd rather have that same blade plunge through his heart and seal the final deal for him.

He knew the mara wouldn't be long after this, he had lived enough already, and his son was the last straw.

"Baba.... it hurts.." Yanqing said as he had coughed out a string of viscous red that shouldn't be there, not at this age, not now.

Jing Yuan remembered the feeling of pure rage dissipating only to be replaced by unadulterated anguish instead as he collapsed to his knees beside his child. There was a gaping wound that shouldn't have been there-

No, it shouldn't have been there, and yet it was.

Yanqing had laid there, in his arms, seeping precious blood into the ruined tiles of the Dragonvista Hall. Jing Yuan recalled feeling helpless as he watched the blood gurgle from Yanqing's mouth, making it hard for him to breathe. The strength in his tender face long gone as he watched the colour receding rapidly, leaving nothing but pure fear in its wake. His son was scared, scared and he could do nothing to soothe the pain.

He used to pull his son close into his arms, secure him there and read him stories or recount tales from the past at nights Yanqing couldn't sleep. He wonders if he should have paid more attention to the beating heart against him, comforting in the constant rhythm of alive, alive, alive-

His grip on Yanqing faltered as slick blood sluggishly gushed out of the wound on his tiny body. How could someone this small lose this much blood?

Before he could’ve tried to bring his son a false sense of security, the least he could've done for his frightened child, he saw his breath even out and his eyelids flutter shut against the remaining tears streaming down his face. The tears that washed away the grime on his young face only to leave tracks of evident pain behind.

Jing Yuan couldn't do anything when yanqing slowly nudged his face into his neck, with his last remaining strength, to breathe out a final…apology.

"Baba, I'm sorry....I...failed you."

Before he could retort back to dispel the thought, (How had he failed to notice this brewing insecurity? What kind of father-) he felt the body completely slump into his arms, warmth dissipating from his body already.

Oh how he wished for the cold to be from Yanqing's frost, and not from his dying body.

He couldn't remember how long he sat there, but it must have been enough for Dan Heng to approach him and rest a (reassuring?) hand on his shoulder. He might've spoken something but Jingyuan could hear nothing over the blood boiling in his veins, over the unresponsive body in his arms, pulled close to his own to at least share a portion of his own body heat in desperate hopes of convincing himself that his son was still alive. He clutched him tightly enough to probably hurt, but hurting would have been good, it would've meant that he was still breathing.

The haze eventually cleared when he felt the dam finally break in its wake.

Jing Yuan swayed forward into his lap with his hands covering his face, hiding himself from the world, from himself, and from him. He heard a loud whimper before registering an inhumane cry of pure agony, not realising that the sound was torn out from himself.

He wanted to slam his fist into the mattress, feel the wooden frame of the bed break underneath his hands. He needed to let out the pain somehow, but he could find no purchase when he felt a pair of hands firmly, yet gently, remove his tightly clenched fingers clutching the bunched up sheets. He felt bitterly vulnerable as he struggled against the firm hold, pushing him back down onto the bed, the rough material of the bandage grating against his wrists. He cried out at the cruelty that denied him the simple notion of curling in on himself, the need in his body to clutch something, someone close against him growing stronger by the second. What more could Ren want from him?

"LEAVE!” He lashed out, sobbing with broken hiccups. He hated how exposed he felt, having nowhere to hide his face.

"Leave like you always did! Leave like you were always meant to, because leaving is the only thing you are good at-"

The words promptly got stuck in his throat though, as he distinctly felt a drop of tear hitting his face. The following whimper made Jingyuan finally turn back to gaze into Ren's contorted face, his lips pulled into a wobbling snarl with his brows tightly knit together. Ren hovered over him as gold met red and more tears struck his skin as they emerged from eyes barely kept open.

Despite a faint voice in his head urging him to wipe away tears if his past lover, Jing Yuan couldn't find it in himself to be merciful for this once. He has shown enough mercy in this lifetime, he wanted to be selfish for once.

"You killed our son, Ren. It was me who had raised him, and now it again has to be me....to see through his funeral." Jing Yuan weeped, still reeling from the onslaught of guilt. “How many more Ren? How many more?”

If Jing Yuan went overboard with his demands, then he did. The patience meticulously crafted over the years shattering in mere seconds.

He saw Ren violently wince, and it…shouldn't have been as satisfactory as it was, but he couldn't deny the cruel satisfaction of watching the murderer collapse under the realisation of his own crimes. Perhaps this is what Ren wanted to feel as well when he chased Dan Heng across the universe.

Ren finally left the hold around his wrists as he sank onto the ground to his knees, his face dejectedly pushed into the mattress, going completely still despite a hand still faintly holding onto Jing Yuan's own. If it was an apology, then Jing Yuan couldn't tell.

[chaoticbardlady99]

I Wondered if I Could Come Home? (Dadstarion x F! Reader) Part Five, MDNI 18+

Synopsis: Astarion takes off after a frustrating day with Eowyn, leaving both of you feeling abandoned. Astarion makes things right. Poor Eowyn has a tummy ache and I continue to be terrible at writing synopses.

Content Warning: Abandonment wounds, dead dove, fainting, SMUT, PIV, bathtub smut, also it's long.

Part 4 : Part 6 : Master List

 “It’s going to be okay,” you sing through your tears, Eowyn continues to wail, “it’s going to be okay- we have each otherrrr and mommy loves youuuuu and we will be-“

 You choke on your own lie.

 It’s been hours- four and a half, in fact- since Astarion blew up and stormed out. Eowyn hadn’t stopped crying- her little tummy hurts, but she is also hungry so the confusion hasn’t been helping and neither has the insane amount of spit up. 

 She knows her dad has left, you know her dad has left, and you are both coming to terms that it’s just you two now. Your head is throbbing and your vision is spotted- you feel like you could collapse at any given moment. 

 Astarion had probably changed his shirt for the sixth time and he was going to change it a seventh when you suggested he wait until she is asleep so that he won’t have to do so much laundry. It had been an innocent suggestion- you were going to clean his laundry anyway because you know the whole spit up thing was making his skin crawl.

For whatever reason, that had set him off.

“How dare you tell me what to do when your devil child refuses to give me even five seconds to think!” He seethed, fangs bared like when he killed Cazador and you were frozen- Eowyn also stopped crying and whimpered, “I can’t take this anymore! I can’t fucking do this!”

 You are still shaking in the aftermath of that and you refuse to go up to your room. You aren’t ready to see all of his things gone. He can get in through the window and that’s how he left last time. 

 Last time. You sob. I am such a moron. Why did I ever think he would actually stay?

  Eowyn spits up more and more- you are trying to help her feel better and hope Shadowheart comes back today from her trip. You would take her to a healer but you can’t leave the house looking like this and with no one to watch Eowyn… 

 You had been so prepared to be a single mother before Astarion came back. You had had it all down to a T- you had a plan in place. Shadowheart was going to stay with you and help you until you got into your rhythm. Isobel and Dame Aylin were going to be here. It had all been so well planned, but you told everyone it would be okay! You had Astarion! You were going to do this parenting thing together! 

 The door opens and Shadowheart comes walking in- all smiles with bags in hand- but is immediately over there in a second. She uses lesser restoration on Eowyn and calm- why didn’t you think to use calm? Her crying ceases and she relaxes in Shadowheart’s arms falling asleep. 

 You laugh- you laugh so hard you become hysterical. Shadowheart tries to help you sit on the couch, but you are frozen in place.

You think you may have truly, truly lost it this time. 

  You now have to tell her that she was right and letting Astarion back was trouble- the only person in the entire world who can seem to calm your child down because you are too busy being a sniffling mess. 

You are a failure of a mother, Tav. How dare you break Eowyn’s heart by allowing her to meet him at all. 

 The laughter doesn’t cease- you feel basically crazy. The last thing you remember is hearing someone rush up the stairs before falling to the ground.

     +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 Astarion has never moved faster and yet he still only barely grabbed you before you hit the ground. 

 He had finally felt like he blew off more than enough steam to be able to come back and apologize a hundred thousand times over for his reaction. 

 And for his genetics because he is certain that’s where Eowyn got her pipes from.

 He had felt himself snap and he knew it was because he was starving. It wasn’t just that Eowyn was crying and sick, he felt helpless, but it made him feel good that she felt much better laying against him when her temperature was all over the place.

 You had looked exhausted and Astarion was once again reminded that he can’t be left alone with Eowyn just yet. He felt like an utter failure. 

 Astarion destroyed an entire bandit camp and then another and then another until he was-

Well fed

Entirely decompressed

Confident enough in his capabilities to go back and be the parent you know he is capable of being.

  He went to the healer’s shop to get something to soothe Eowyn’s tummy, but the healer was out of herbs. She told him where to find more and he even brought back extra so that the shop had it in stock. She paid him and tried to flirt with him, but he made it abundantly clear that the vomit on his shirt was from his child that he adores along with his absolutely lovely partner that carried her. 

 That little side quest turned into going to the local market to get all your favorite foods, new bath soaps, a very comfortable pair of pajamas he thinks you would look adorable in, and a ring. Astarion isn’t sure when he will pop the question, but he wants to and he saw the perfect ring- how could he not buy it? 

 He even bought new soap that is your favorite scent. Astarion knows you intend on washing his clothing after this affair, but once he gets Eowyn and you down for a nap (you worry so much about her sleeping with her tummy like this), he would wash all of the clothes soiled in the span of mere minutes- yours, his, and Eowyn’s.

 He knew something was wrong when he walked up to the house and the door was wide open with Shadowheart’s things lazily left out on the patio. Astarion had felt paralyzed- did he leave and something truly bad happened? Did that hag come back?

 Your hysterical laughing did not help- he knows that laugh. You laughed like that when Orin kidnapped Lae’zel and you proceeded to promptly pass out. It’s your, “I have finally fucking lost it” laugh and it means you probably have the migraine of the century. 

 With Shadowheart’s help, they got both you and Eowyn upstairs and in bed. Eowyn was softly snoring in her crib, looking peaceful for the first time in 72 hours. You, on the other hand, look anything but peaceful. 

 Your face is tear stained, your eyes are puffy, and your skin is ever so slightly paler than it should be. You are shaking and Shadowheart promptly informed him that you have a fever, but she has everything to help you. 

 The two silently work together to grind up the herbs and other medicinal items. Astarion knows she wants to ask what happened and honestly? He has no idea. 

 Okay, well he does, but he didn’t realize how “end of the world” like it would be for you both. Astarion would never-

Oh.

 He stops suddenly and blinks away tears he didn’t realize he had. 

 How had Astarion not thought about that? You used to be able to cope if he blew up and stormed off- worried that Cazador or your other foes would hurt him- but the last time he blew up on you, he vanished. 

 He left without leaving a trace of himself behind and then you didn’t see him for months. Eowyn’s first experience with him is that he threatened you and then abandoned not only you, but her as well. 

 Astarion’s memory of the day’s earlier events makes him put his head in his hands. 

 He remembers how terrified you both looked when he snapped and Eowyn’s whimper echoes through his head.

 Astarion couldn’t figure out why you hadn’t gone into the bedroom and tried to nap- it had been both of your plans before he so horribly ran off. Now he realizes that you were trying to avoid seeing his absence- you really were not expecting him to come back ever again. 

“Astarion?”

 He bursts into tears when Shadowheart says his name with a counting house worth of worry. He doesn’t deserve it- he is a monster. 

“I got so overwhelmed,” he chokes out, “I was so hungry and I wasn’t thinking- I just… I just left. I said mean, terrible things and I scared them both.

“I’m the reason she passed out. She thought I was never coming back.” 

  Astarion hears Shadowheart get up and he really is expecting to be stabbed through or something, but instead, she puts down two wine chalices and opens a bottle. She pours them both extremely large glasses before sitting down to get back to work. 

“I can’t imagine this is easy for you,” she begins slowly, “you went from only having to worry about yourself to yourself and Tav and now Eowyn.

“I have noticed how hungry you are- I brought back some blood from the local butcher on my way home for you. I appreciate your refusal to drink from Tav until she is back to her full strength and I can really see the effort you are putting in. Not only with Eowyn, but in your relationship with Tav too.

“She may not be able to handle you leaving in a storm without experiencing a panic attack for a while,” Shadowheart says glumly, “but I think if you communicate your needs that she will listen and come up with a solution that works for everyone. She isn’t Cazador, Astarion. She loves you and she worries and cares for you as much as you do her. If you needed to go hunting, she probably would have, and I mean this quite literally, kicked you out of the house until you felt better. Your needs are important to her- she isn’t going to deny you or torture you for having them.

“Eowyn, on the other hand,” Shadowheart snorts, “well, I don’t think she cares what any of us want. She knows she’s too cute for that nonsense.” 

 Astarion and Shadowheart continue crushing the herbs in silence and he takes a long drink from the wine. He contemplates everything she said and he hates how transparent he must be for her to see why he was struggling to speak up about how hungry he was. It’s not your fault for not noticin- you were barely making time for your own needs. 

 There is a compromise somewhere. There has to be.

“Thank you.”

  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  Your bones hurt and you are freezing and hot at the same time. Everything hurts and the smell of Astarion’s cologne makes you want to cry.

 You must be hallucinating because you are certain his voice is in the doorway talking to Shadowheart. 

Oh how I am going to miss you, my Love. You think glumly. Thank you for the time we had together. 

 Your broken heart has manifested into physical illness and you wonder if you are even capable of taking care of Eowyn like this. You can hardly take care of yourself. 

 It also makes you wonder if you should have taken Jaheira’s advice in the first place and put her up for adoption. However, you quickly nix that thought- you couldn’t imagine a life without your sweet little girl and you will be brave for her. You have to be- there is no other choice. 

  A cool hand against your temple causes a sigh of relief to leave your cracked and dried lips. You cried so much and completely neglected to rehydrate. 

 You try to get up and prepare yourself to face Shadowheart and your shame.

 But it isn’t Shadowheart- it’s Astarion with a look of concern on his face and he helps you sit up. 

“Here, my Love,” he says as he supports your shaking hand as you drink the water, “I bought food as well- all of your favorites so when you are feeling up to eating, let me know.” 

 You nod and stare at him. You can’t tell if he is a mirage or if this is really him. Everything looks so hazy. 

“Are you really here?” 

 You wince at how cracked and rough your voice sounds. Your tone is pathetic and melancholy. 

 Sadness consumes Astarion’s face and he wipes away the tears from your cheeks.

“Yes, my love,” he assures you, “I am here and I am not going anywhere.” 

 You nod your head, emotional and tearful. 

 He climbs into bed behind you and pulls you to his chest- leaving a trail of soft kisses up your neck and behind your ear. You hum happily and your chest glows.

 He came back, you think, he came back and he never left. Never even intended on leaving again.

 “What are you thinking about?” He whispers, neither one of you wishing to wake Eowyn.

 You aren’t sure if you should share your thoughts. You don’t want him to think you don’t trust him or make him upset and have him actually leave.

“My love,” he begins, “I am sorry I scared you and Eowyn.”

“You didn-“

“Tav,” he says softly, but firmly, “don’t lie. I know I scared you and I know I scared her. I am not fragile, neither is our love, and I am sorry.”

 You begin to cry again- your whole body is racked with them. Maybe you hadn’t gotten over him leaving yet. You really thought you had worked past it, but it’s like you are experiencing all the pain from when he first left and told you he wanted you to die screaming. It’s like a massive hole has been punched into your chest. 

 You feel him hold you tighter to him and you only cry harder, the pain from the past and the day has taken it’s toll on you. He whispers apologies into your ear and leaves gentle, sweet kisses. 

“I promise- I am never going to leave you like that again,” his own voice cracks with unshed tears, “I will never abandon you again.” 

 You shake your head, trying so hard to not make him feel like he has to stay.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to,” your voice comes out like a hopeless whine, “I don’t want you to feel trap-“

 He interrupts you with a deep, long kiss. You nuzzle your nose against his and the sigh of happiness that leaves his mouth warms your aching heart.

“I want you to throw both of those thoughts away,” he wipes away your tears, “I am exactly where I want to be and that will not change. I love you and I love Eowyn- I love our family and our life together.

“You have given me a gift, a wonderful, beautiful gift,” he smiles at you, “thank you- I won’t forget it nor will she ever let me.” 

  You both lay there in each other’s embrace- Astarion continues to assure you that Eowyn is okay and you finally agree to take a bath together before taking a nap. You both still smell like baby spit up and some intimacy is needed.

 Astarion basically already has the bath drawn by the time you get to the bathroom. He insists on washing your hair and your body before you wash him.

 Astarion rubs your stressed muscles and the tightness in your shoulders away with his touch. You feel like you could fall asleep and know what peace feels like for once.

“Does this feel good, my Love?”

 You hum happily, his fingers now massaging your scalp and making sure every inch is covered in soap and the tight dehydration headache seems to go away as he continues his ministrations. You feel bad that you aren’t helping him, but you wouldn’t even know where to begin and your body is so tired. 

 Astarion begins to trail sweet kisses up your neck- hoping to continue lulling you to sleep and he knows when you are already sleepy that kisses like this help to relax you. You could melt into him- truly. 

“You are still a bit feverish,” he nuzzles his face into your neck, “how do you feel?”

 You hum lazily, “achey, tired, but happy. I am very happy.”

 You feel him smile against your skin and he regales you with his hunt from the day, bragging about the amount of bandits he was capable of taking down on his own. You add dramatic gasps and cheers- he gripes that you aren’t taking him seriously (he has taken to calling you his silly goose lately so who isn’t taking who seriously?), but you also can tell he adores it. 

  At some point, you do eventually wash him. You are slow and a bit lazy, but you focus on cleaning his blood stained hair, making sure there isn’t any left. He is worried about Eowyn seeing and being scared. He said he needs to apologize to her as well and he must look presentable.

 You haven’t noticed him staring up at you, admiring your entire body against his and your face as you concentrate.

“I love you,” he whispers, “I love you so much.”

 You look down at him with surprise and smile brightly.

“I love you so much!” You place a chaste kiss on his lips before returning to your work. “And I am very jealous of how silky your hair is.” 

“You should be- my hair is the best, after all.”

“I know- I am grateful that Eowyn has your hair and not mine.” 

 Astarion seems to chuckle to himself, his restless hands begin tracing shapes and running up and down your body. It doesn’t feel sexual in nature, more like he is committing you to memory. 

 “200 years,” he murmurs.

 “What?”

“I spent 200 years of suffering under Cazador,” he says softly, “I was getting ready to give up. I was really considering walking out into the sun and freeing myself of him forever.

“Then I am bringing someone to him and we are kidnapped by those tentacle-eyed freaks. I thought my life was truly over and I would never truly know what it feels like to be happy. Safe.

“I hate to give any meaning to my suffering because there was not, but I am grateful that after 200 years of pure shit- I get to be here with you. In our home- safe, in love, a father, and so incredibly happy. I can scarcely believe it some days.

“My time with you- now and every second moving forward is and has been the counterweight to it all. You are the counterweight to it all, my Love.”

 You are stunned- a few stray tears falling down your face and your smile feels tooth rotting sweet. It makes you feel good to know that you have brought so much happiness to his life. At one point you thought you had truly destroyed his life after he left you there in Cazador’s Dungeon. 

 You are grateful that he doesn’t regret Ascending. You don’t know what you would do if he did.

“Marry me?” He whispers, his voice shaking and nervous.

 You think you may have heard him incorrectly. Did he just… propose?

“W-what?”

“Marry me, please,” he begs, you think for a moment you see a flash of worry in his eyes like you may reject him, “I will do whatever I need to to show you I am serious about you, about us, and our family if that is what you are concerned about I-

“Yes!” After your brain digests everything he said and you accidentally interrupt him in your excitement, “yes one hundred times over!” 

 You feel sparked to life- all the tiredness in your bones becomes less noticeable and he pulls your face to his, kissing you deeply with no intentions of stopping any time soon. 

 Your hands explore each other as if you are both touching each other for the first time. It’s slow and wonderful- you have been with each other in this sense before, slow and soft sex, but this feels entirely different. 

 His thumb teasingly rolls your clit while he slides a finger inside of you- a wanton moan escapes your lips and your eyelashes flutter as he prepares you to take him. His other hand is gripping your hair to keep your lips on his- the punishing pace he keeps as he scissors his fingers inside you and stimulates your g-spot. His thumb never stops it’s relentlessly teasing and you almost feel embarrassed by how eagerly you pant against his mouth with pleasure. 

 “You are being so wonderful for me, my Sweet,” he nips your lower lip, “I want to be inside you- do you feel ready for that?”

 You nod eagerly- you have been healthy and cleared for sex for a couple weeks now, but he had been far, far too afraid which you respect immensely. You have been dreaming about connecting with him on this level again though- it’s intimate and important. 

 Love and loyalty- a bond that cannot be broken and your bodies fit together like a puzzle piece. 

 Astarion slowly thrusts up into you and you meet his hips half way down. You moan and whine against each other’s lips. He pinches your sensitive nipples and he smiles into your mouth when you gasp- breaking the intense make out session between you. You can feel your breast milk drip down his fingers and he makes you watch him lick his fingers clean. 

 He peers up at you as if asking permission to drink and your lashes flutter as you consider what he is asking.

 You nod shyly and his smile is wide, his eyes almost hungry.

  The cold, wet feeling of his tongue against your sensitive nipple and a single, hard thrust into you makes a cry of pleasure fall from your lip. Astarion begins to drink from your breast- tongue, teeth, and lips-  and you clutch the back of the bathtub as he indulges. 

 Strings of curse words and praise leave your mouth as he continues- eventually moving onto the other and you watch in awe as his looks up at you. Astarion’s pupils are blown with lust and desire- his eyes are drunk and exhilarated from your blood and breast milk. 

 His hands settle on your hips and begins pulling your thrusts to meet his harder. You feel dizzy and lightheaded- blood and breastmilk drips from you and into the water below. Astarion releases your nipple and your head falls into the crook of his neck. You muffle your moans by singing them into his shoulder. One of your hands finds purchase in his hair and the other explores his torso and neck. 

“Gods you are perfect,” he growls against your lips, “in every single way- you are perfect.” 

 He ruts into your sex relentlessly and the gentle kisses between you become sloppy and needy. You feel your orgasm wash over your body in a wave of pleasure and you giggle happily when he fills you with his seed. 

 The sloppy kisses are still lazy and needy, but in a far gentler way. Both of your hands are entangled in the other’s hair and never ever want this to end. 

 Unfortunately,  crying from Eowyn interrupts your moment alone before you can even think about further aftercare protocol. 

 Astarion groans, putting his head back and pouting.

You laugh, readying yourself to get out of the tub, “our child would be a total cock block.”

 “Yes, well,” he says, pulling you back into the water, “she will not be a ‘relaxation’ block either, my Dear,” he presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “you continue to enjoy yourself and I will take care of Eowyn.” 

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel alone.”

“How could I?” He says with a large smile, “my fiancé is just in the other room and our daughter is very good company.” 

 Fiancé.

 You are smiling ear to ear, even before Astarion gets out of the bath and gets dressed. You can’t help but admire how beautiful he is as he gets out and he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Like what you see, my Darling?” 

“Oh, I certainly do,” You hum in approval, “and I just love you for who you are in general.”

 He is leaning over and pressing a kiss to your forehead after he slides on his shirt and his pants.

“It’s truly, disgustingly, wonderful how kind you are to me,” he says before pulling away, “it makes me want to be kind back.”

 “Oh you are very kind, my Love,” Eowyn throws some kind of toy against her crib in frustration and you giggle, “it sounds like you are being summoned.”

 You sink back into your bath and listen as Astarion’s muffled voice earns a squeal of happiness from Eowyn. You can hear him singing some song he made up on the spot- all filled with compliments for her- and your smile only grows wider.

  Eowyn is going to have the healthiest self-esteem anyone has ever seen in their lives. Astarion would probably destroy the entire world if someone so much as looked at Eowyn wrong. 

 It warms your heart to know that, in spite of all the sadness those five months apart brought you, that it all ended up working out for the best.

*****************************************************************

“I am sorry I scared you, my adorable little menace,” he says softly, Eowyn’s crying had stopped abruptly upon seeing him and she started to shake before spitting up on herself. 

 It broke Astarion to see how afraid she was- she was even too scared to cry and be upset about the spit up dribbling down her face. He picks her up, aware of how tense she is before wiping her face gently. Eowyn’s golden eyes follow his every movement and she slowly relaxes as she realizes he isn’t upset anymore.

“I will never ever abandon you, my sweet little girl,” he promises, “I am so sorry- I love you so much and I am sorry I scared you. I hope you can forgive me.”

 Eowyn probably doesn’t know what he is saying word for word, but she seems to understand enough and she gives him a gummy, drooly grin with a happy, high pitched cry. It’s probably one of Astarion’s favorite sounds and he loves her smile- adores it even. 

“Eowynnnn with her beautifulll eyes and her wonderfulll smileeee,” he sings lazily, “you are the greatest thingggg in this worlddddddd and so issss your motherrrrrr.” 

 He keeps singing his weird song- he doesn’t know when he became an idle singer, but Eowyn enjoys it very much and in turn, he has come to enjoy it. 

 Astarion grabs a fresh pair of clothes for Eowyn and goes to the kitchen. He fills the sink with water and sets up the weird contraption that Shadowheart gave them to put in the sink. It’s supposed to keep her from being submerged under the water, but Astarion is still skeptical. 

 He continues to rock her until the water is ready and it seems like he submerged the lower half of the tub seat just enough for her. Eowyn goes into it happily- not even blinking when she is in the water. You have bathed her a few times already and Eowyn really likes her baths. Today, it seems to also help with soothing her tummy. 

  Astarion washes every single one of her curls with care and precision- gently untangling any knots and providing lots of praise when one is particularly difficult to untangle and he has to be a bit more aggressive than he would like. She is a champion through the whole thing, lazily looking up at him as she sucks on her binkie. 

 Shadowheart had given him a mint elixir to help soothe her upset tummy and it seems to have worked very well- there is no more odd stomach grumbling from her and she seems relaxed. He will definitely be keeping this on hand for the future. 

 She is basically asleep again when he begins to rub grape seed oil into her skin so that it stays moisturized and puts her in, what he argues are, her favorite pair of pajamas (his reasoning is definitely NOT because he bought them…).

 Astarion thinks about bringing her upstairs and putting her to sleep in the crib before taking a nap himself, but he isn’t ready to part with her. He hurt her feelings and he wants to rectify this- for his own sad feelings and hers.

  You are already asleep in your shared bed when he gets upstairs and Astarion gently lays down on his back, putting Eowyn on his chest and she falls asleep with her ear pressed where his heartbeat should be. You naturally curl up next to him too and Astarion has never felt more full of happiness in his entire life. 

 At one point, laying still and not being able to move would have been torture. Now? Astarion lets his mind wander into bliss as he listens to both of your heartbeats and soft snores.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

The big questions

Summary: Guzi asks his dad where babies come from. Qi Rong has never wanted to disappear as bad as he does in that moment

--

Qi Rong absentmindedly munches on an assortment of human fingers when his ears pick up the sound of little footsteps. He has half the mind to hide his unorthodox snack away before Guzi comes into view, and he has a look in his eye that makes Qi Rong want to sigh already.

The boy definitely has a question.

“Daddy, I have a question!”

Called it.

“What is it, little morsel? This ancestor knows everything so you can ask me anything!” Qi Rong goads, laughing heartily, taking enjoyment in his own arrogance.

Guzi grins widely, looking up at Qi Rong with an eager expression before asking, his voice echoing through the cave. “Where do babies come from??”

Silence befalls the entire establishment, to the point that not even the screams of the humans boiled into the soup a room over ceases, as if they had also been shocked into silence.

“From fucking.” Qi Rong answers crassly, clearing his throat as if to hide his embarrassment.

Guzi appears more confused than anything, a frown on his face. “What’s that?”

Qi Rong silently curses himself for his reply. Of course, Guzi doesn’t know what that is, he is too young to have even heard of something like that, let alone know what it means. Qi Rong has explicitly forbidden his goons to ever speak inappropriately around his…this child as well, so he couldn’t have heard of it.

“It’s, uh…” he starts, and is thankful that he can no longer blush on account of being dead, “It’s when two adults sleep together.”

“Oh, sleep together?” The boy repeats, understanding on his face. “Like we do when I have a nightmare?”

“NO!” Qi Rong shouts, horror painted across his face, “Absolutely not, and don’t ever fu- freaking say that again! That is NOT what we are doing when you have nightmares!”

Guzi frowns again. “But you said-“

“It’s NOT the same thing!” Qi Rong insists, nearly hysteric. “What you’re asking is – is something else entirely!”

“But what is it?!” the little one presses, and Qi Rong has never wanted some heavenly officials to attack his lair as much as he does right now. Why does this kid have to be so persistent?!

“It’s… when two adults find each other fuckab- uh, attractive, they… touch each other.” Qi Rong cringes at his own words, so sanitized and juvenile that he almost feels sick. This is not knowledge a kid this young should know and Qi Rong is absolutely not equipped to impart it to him.

“Touch each other where??”

Qi Rong pales to the point he nearly turns translucent. He can hear the snickering of his subordinates around the room and flits a hand to make the candles on their heads burn hotter, glaring at them as they run out of the cave screaming.

“Tell me!” Guzi insists when the answer doesn’t come soon enough, and Qi Rong really wishes he could disperse himself right now.

“Uh, everywhere.” He replies, nearly muttering it, “Which is important that you do this…activity only when you’ve grown up, alright?”

Guzi nods eagerly. Qi Rong feels a strange sense of protectiveness come over him, so he continues,  “If anyone ever tries to tell you otherwise or make you do something nasty like that, you tell me right away. I’ll skin them alive and eat them limb by limb!”

“Okay!” the boy answers, “But you still didn’t tell me what that’s got to do with babies…”

Qi Rong nearly chokes on a breath he can’t even take anymore. “W-Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it… after those two people…uh, share a bed, one of them gets pregnant and a brat like you grows into their stomach…”

“Oh…” Guzi frowns again and Qi Rong sighs, a tortured look on his face.

“What is it?”

“Uncle Hua said it works different!”

Qi Rong groans, running a hand through his messy hair. Uncle Hua?! He knew he should have never allowed Guzi to run around Ghost City unsupervised, now he refers to that red bastard as his uncle?!

Guzi continues, “He said that when two people love each other, the seed of their love blooms into a beautiful flower and that’s how babies appear!”

Qi Rong rolls his eyes, “That’s bullshit.”

“I didn’t really believe uncle Hua either which is why I asked you! I’ve never seen a baby in a flower before!”

“Ha!” Qi Rong exclaims, “My boy is so smart!” He ruffles Guzi’s hair affectionately, “Don’t believe anything those two losers tell you! They don’t know shit about making babies!”

[noturlondonboy]

You Would Never Hurt Me

Bishova angst-shot

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova

Warnings: angst angst angst, nightmare, gun, choking

A/N: the girls are having a hard time and I’m so sorry, i just needed to write something short about them struggling

——

Kate isn’t a complete stranger to being woken up with a gun pointed to her head, but she’s definitely not used to it being Yelena itching to pull the trigger.

The cold metal of the muzzle of the gun is pressed harshly into her forehead, biting into her skin. She lays frozen, not even daring to breathe, her body pinned to the bed by Yelena’s weight. Her girlfriend is breathing hard, her teeth bared as soft snarls echo from her throat. There’s a wild look in her eye, the same hollow, glassy sheen that overtakes her in the throes of bloodlust and sorrow.

A strike of fear tries to shoot up Kate’s spine, but she clamps it down and refuses to humor it. Yelena is stuck in her head. Yelena had a nightmare. Yelena doesn’t know it’s her.

Yelena would never hurt her, she tells herself. Yelena would never hurt me.

“Yelena,” Kate dares to whisper, her lips barely moving. The blonde’s hand is pressed firmly to her chest, the flesh of her palm molded by Kate’s sternum. It’s started to move, inching to Kate’s neck, fingertips hooking over her collarbones. Kate doesn’t dare to swallow the saliva that’s building under her tongue.

There’s no response, no change to the way Yelena’s brows are furrowed, no twitch to her lips as they curl over her teeth. Her incisors practically gleam in the darkness.

“Yelena, baby.”

Yelena’s hand lands on Kate’s throat, fingers trembling as they brush over her windpipe, tracing her Adam’s apple and squeezing ever so slightly into the muscle of the sides of her neck. Kate’s breath catches, her eyes wide. Yelena is looking right through her. The gun presses harder into her forehead, the pinch a dull echo through the haze of panic that’s starting to build.

Her girl is speaking now, the Russian thick and slurred, too fast for Kate to pick through and decipher. She’s begun to tremble, chest heaving and gun rattling in her grasp.

“Yelena.” Kate can feel something cold and horrible building in her stomach, underneath her skin. She slowly raises her hands so that Yelena can see them, and hazel eyes snap around, her lips pulling back further as the low snarl that hasn’t ceased for a moment in her throat only seems to grow. “Yelena. It’s me. It’s Kate.”

“Kate is dead.”

Kate feels her blood run cold, and she can’t stop her body from trembling. “What-”

“She’s dead.” Yelena has leaned closer, her hand tightening on Kate’s throat. She’s breathing hard, panting through her nose and between her teeth, and the look in her eyes has only deepened, shattering over her face. “She is dead.”

Her finger is twitching over the trigger, and Kate’s eyes dart over the firearm. The safety is off. The cold metal has cut through her skin, and she’s distantly aware of a thin trickle of blood seeping down her forehead.

The fear overpowers her will, and Kate reacts before she can think. Her hands dart for the gun, trying to push it up and away, her head pressing down into the pillow to get out of its aim.

Kate’s ears are ringing. Tears sting her eyes. The gun went off. The gun went off. Yelena shot it. Yelena shot her-

No, not her, she can still think. Her brain is still inside her skull. Her eyes are functioning in their sockets. There’s a throbbing in the side of her head, and the ringing has turned into a scream, but she’s mostly sure she’s not dead.

The shot seems to have woken Yelena fully, her mouth hanging open and eyes staring directly down at Kate. She seems to take it in all at once- her girlfriend, laying underneath her, pinned down by her weight. Her hand, wrapped much too tightly around Kate’s throat. The pistol that she keeps in her nightstand, pointed only inches away from Kate’s ear, and the bullet hole in the headboard, splintered wood jagged as it pokes out.

There’s a moment where the world completely stops, and for a moment, there’s nothing but Yelena and Kate, one breathing and one not, one scared and one horrified, both with tears on their cheeks and uncertainty on how to move forward in their chests.

Yelena is scrambling off of Kate and out of bed half a second later, the gun dropping to the blankets silently as she yanks the window open and disappears into the cold night. She has to get out. She has to get away. Far away, where she won’t almost kill the one thing she has left to love.

Kate doesn’t move to follow her. She lays there on her back, throat aching and head spinning as she sobs, and the fear only tightens its grip on her shaking body.

[eyelambspider]

Picture You || Farah Ahmed Karim

⤷ summary : "do you picture me like i picture you? am i in the frame from your point of view? do you feel the same?" - Chappell Roan ♡

┊pairing : farah x fem!reader, alex keller ┊content warning : angst, one sided love, unreciprocated feelings, slightly suggestive, mentions of alcohol/smoking, heartbreak ┊word count : 1.1 k ┊a/n : i will also rewrite for a male!reader, but first thought was a fxf fic :)

Ten years had gone by in a flash. Each year, each day dancing across your vision like the most blissful death.

Something did die today.

Something buried deep down and protected by a cage of bone and sinew.

What-... god what you wouldn't do to rip out the beating mass to stop the pain it caused.

It beat like a broken drum against your throat as you laid witness to the suspicions you had-come true-carried out between two lovers in the dark of night,

Alone on the roof, always unable to sleep, you glanced down at the image below of him and her.

Farah and Alex, pressed against the crumbling brick wall in the tangles of a warzone, stealing away a moment to pretend the horrors around them ceased to exist. Indulging in a bubble of human comfort and touch.

Lips tangled together in a feverish dance, sucking in soft puffs of air in between while his lips trailed a shaky line down her jaw until his teeth found the smooth expanse of her brown skin.

No bombs could compare to the crushing feeling of watching her bare her neck to his heated kisses. No torture more exquisite in its pain as she exposed the column of her throat to his eager mouth. A soft, hitched sound spilled from her lips that crackled like napalm.

Farah's eyes fluttered closed as she allowed herself to indulge in something she could never truly have... And it broke your heart into a million pieces to watch.

To not be the one in his place. To not be the one from who her pleasure derived on, depended on.

A white hot coil of barbed wire constricted your throat, choking back a flood of emotion and baseless longing. A searing heat crept up over your body in a way you'd never known. Intense and heavy on your shoulders, the weight of the world suddenly feeling suffocating, bringing forth a wave of glassy tears to blind you from the vision of them entangled together.

Every fleeting moment of her, every image of that beautiful woman conjured up in an instant just to hurt you more.

Her smile, the genuine one that had her lips curling and eyes crinkling with warmth. Her voice, a comfort. Her presence like a lifeline.

Now the truth laid bare before you, blatant and unaltered as Alex's hands gripped her waist. She could never be yours, and it fizzed like a brand against the base of your throat as you watched on in silence.

Farah's soft sigh kissed your ears, ringing out like you'd always imagined it...

Every night, when the resistance would sleep and take shifts watching... In the dead of night, like this one, you would finally allow the image of her appear in your minds eye.

Her big brown eyes simmering with the same desire for you, flickering over your brows, eyes, nose and lips. Your fingers brushing over the ridge of her beautiful nose and cheekbones, a worshipper of this goddess on earth, molding her skin with your fingertips. Burning each ridge and caress into your soul with her in your arms. Laying chest to chest, face to face, lips hovering over each others in a butterflies kiss. Basking in each other like real people did.

If god had given you the chance, you would kiss her like the world was going to end. With a passion deeper than the oceans you would cross for her.

For her.

There was nothing in this world you wouldn't do for Farah. If she asked it, it was hers.

A rogue tear slipped from your eye with a silent plop, still watching as her half-gloved hands tangled in the back of Alex's hair, urging him closer. Drinking in his affections like it was the sweetest wine on her tongue.

Amongst a decade of pining, of stealing away memories with her you treasured and kept close to your heart like starfall, you remembered the night she danced with you.

Where she almost looked at you like that: With the same unbridled heat.

That night was foggy like a dream, one you replayed every time she caught your eye. The resistance was celebrating-for what reason you could hardly recall. Drinks and smoke filled the room of cracked walls, golden light filtering out from the windows as men and women danced and laughed like it was the last.

Farah hardly celebrated, not until it was really over, and you had known she would be sitting right there: outside in the cold, half of a cigarette dangling from her lips.

She turned her head as you appeared next to her and smiled, her eyes crinkling softly at the corners.

You had convinced her to dance. Out here in the cold moonless night, with nothing but the hushed remnants of music cascading from inside where the real party happened.

She wasn't one for dancing, but she still took your outstretched hand anyway, flicking her cigarette into the dirt and smothering the ash beneath the toe of her boot.

Your hands would never forget the way they held her. Sliding across her waist, her rough hand in yours, the image of her smiling eyes and pretty teeth seared into your soul.

Nothing else mattered that night. Not the name of the song playing wistfully in the background, not the reason the resistance was celebrating. Only the way the warm light danced across her skin.

For a night, not just her sister in arms, but a woman who asked her to dance.

And even the war seemed far away with her pressed so closely to you, her rare laugh filling the air as you showed her how to spin in your arms and come back into your embrace.

Over and over like a broken record, the image of her eyes swam across your blurred vision.

This night was like the one back then, cold and moonless.

And instead of her in your arms, she was in Alex's. Her eyes filled with reverence and a passion that would make even god envious of the man Alex Keller.

Another hot tear slid down your cheek, pain bubbling up in your throat until it was choking and hot.

You had to force the shell of your former self to turn away from the sight. Quietly slipping away as Farah's fingertips dug into his shirt and pulled him closer.

She deserved to be happy, whether it cost you your heart or not.

Farah would still always have the pieces of what remained in her hands.

[book--brackets]

Summaries under the cut

The Wolves Chronicles by Joan Aiken

Wicked wolves and a grim governess threaten Bonnie and her cousin Sylvia when Bonnie's parents leave Willoughby Chase for a sea voyage. Left in the care of the cruel Miss Slighcarp, the girls can hardly believe what is happening to their once happy home. The servants are dismissed, the furniture is sold, and Bonnie and Sylvia are sent to a prison-like orphan school. It seems as if the endless hours of drudgery will never cease.

With the help of Simon the gooseboy and his flock, they escape. But how will they ever get Willoughby Chase free from the clutches of the evil Miss Slighcarp?

Leven Thumps by Obert Skye

Fourteen-year-old Leven Thumps (a.k.a. "Lev") lives a wretched life in Burnt Culvert, Oklahoma. But his life is about to change and his destiny be fulfilled as he learns about a secret gateway that bridges two worlds -- the real world and Foo, a place created at the beginning of time in the folds of the mind that makes it possible for mankind to dream and hope, aspire and imagine. But Foo is in chaos, and three transplants from that dreamworld have been sent to retrieve Lev, who alone has the power to save Foo.

Enter Clover, a wisecracking, foot-high sidekick; Winter, a girl with a special power of her own; and Geth, the rightful heir to Foo. Their mission: to convince Lev that he has the power to save Foo. Can this unique band of travelers help Lev overcome his doubt? Will Lev find the gateway in time? Or will Sabine and his dark shadows find the gateway first and destroy mankind?

Greenglass House by Kate Milford

It’s wintertime at Greenglass House. The creaky smuggler’s inn is always quiet during this season, and twelve-year-old Milo, the innkeepers’ adopted son, plans to spend his holidays relaxing. But on the first icy night of vacation, out of nowhere, the guest bell rings. Then rings again. And again. Soon Milo’s home is bursting with odd, secretive guests, each one bearing a strange story that is somehow connected to the rambling old house. As objects go missing and tempers flare, Milo and Meddy, the cook’s daughter, must decipher clues and untangle the web of deepening mysteries to discover the truth about Greenglass House—and themselves.

Revolting Rhymes by Roald Dahl

This book is filled with revolting rhymes. (Be warned: It's no ordinary Once upon a time).

There's poor Cindy whose heart was torn to shreds, because her Prince, he chops off heads!

Snow White's dwarfs although awfully nice, are guilty of one shocking vice . . .

And what becomes of Goldilocks, that nasty thieving little louse, when she goes sneaking around the three bear's house . . .

Loser by Jerry Spinelli

Just like other kids, Zinkoff rides his bike, hopes for snow days, and wants to be like his dad when he grows up. But Zinkoff also raises his hand with all the wrong answers, trips over his own feet, and falls down with laughter over a word like "Jabip."

Other kids have their own word to describe him, but Zinkoff is too busy to hear it. He doesn't know he's not like everyone else. And one winter night, Zinkoff's differences show that any name can someday become "hero."

Ghostgirl by Tonya Hurley

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

And if I should die before I awake,

I pray the popular attend my wake.

Charlotte Usher feels practically invisible at school, and then one day she really is invisible. Even worse: she's dead. And all because she choked on a gummy bear. But being dead doesn't stop Charlotte from wanting to be popular; it just makes her more creative about achieving her goal.

What Katy Did by Susan Coolidge

Twelve-year-old Katy is constantly making and quickly breaking resolutions about how she will change her ways and treat others, especially her five younger brothers and sisters, with more respect and compassion. When Katy meets her Cousin Helen, an invalid, Katy is awed by her kindness, prettiness, and generosity. Katy is determined to become more like Helen, a resolution that lasts only a few hours. Soon, however, Katy gets a chance to become more like cousin Helen than she ever wished as she finds herself confined to her bedroom for four years as a result of an accident.

Merlin by T. A. Barron

A raging sea tosses a boy upon the shores of ancient Wales. Left for dead, he has no memory, no name, and no home. But it is his determination to find out who he is - to learn the truth about his mysterious powers - that leads him to a strange and enchanted land. And it is there he discovers that the fate of this land and his personal quest are strangely entwined.

He is destined to become the greatest wizard of all time--known to all as Merlin.

Babymouse by Jennifer L. Holm

Meet Babymouse--the spunky mouse beloved by young readers for more than a decade! Babymouse wants an invite to the hottest slumber party in town. But will she forget all about her plans with her best friend? This groundbreaking young graphic novel, full of humor and fun, is the first in the bestselling series that’s sold more than three million copies!

It's the same thing every day for Babymouse. Where is the glamour? The excitement? The fame?!? Nothing ever changes, until…Babymouse hears about Felicia Furrypaws's exclusive slumber party. Will Babymouse get invited? Will her best friend, Wilson, forgive her if she misses their monster movie marathon? Find out in Babymouse #1: Queen of the World!

Austin Family Chronicles by Madeleine L'Engle

Vicky Austin and her siblings must adjust to the presence of a new member of the household-Maggy Hamilton, who is orphaned when her father is killed in a plane crash. Maggy is at first petulant and spoiled, but gradually opens her heart to the Austins to become one of the family.