#just moves limbs around and whiplashes

[corcnaiism]

───※ ·❆· ※───⁣　 @c4garuda　　: ⁣　dance with noctis and deidara in a modern au?

naturally,  noctis  was  there  to  do  some  analysis  of  the  club.

not  for  his  own  tastes,  no.  

he  was  actually  doing  proper  “business”  for  the  band  by  going  around  &  figuring  out  whether  to  take  up  an  offer  given  to  them  by  this  exact  establishment.  him  &  the  boys  have  begun  to  thoroughly  research  their  potential,  temporary  employers  due  to  an  incident  way  back  when  that  left  a  major  sour  taste  in  their  mouths.  they  can’t  be  too  trustful  to  those  they  know  nothing  about,  &  it  was  always  better  to  have  one  or  all  four  of  them  look  into  the  place  before  taking  up  a  gig.

better  to  be  safe  than  sorry.

in  the  midst  of  his  look-around  at  one  of  the  many  booths  available,  his  thoughts  have  been  interrupted  by  a  hand  that  had  seemingly  come  out  of  nowhere.  that  snapped  him  back  to  his  senses,  dark  blues  eyeing  the  hand  &  the  face  that  matched  the  extended  limb.  with  how  dim  the  lights  were  &  how  loud  the  music  was,  noctis  couldn’t  really  tell  if  this  stranger  was  high  or  drunk  or  both,  or  maybe  just  some  person  who  found  him  to  be  lonely  &  wanted  to  invite  him  for  a  dance.  

he  was  more  of  a  mosh  pit  kind  of  guy.

　　❛  i  don’t  dance,  thank  you.  ❜

polite  and  straight  to  the  point. 

[aphrogeneias]

The party moves slowly around you.

Or maybe it's just the haze you find yourself in, sitting on your boyfriend's lap. You'd tried to get up twice, but Eddie wouldn't let you, hands planted firmly on your hips, moving to your thighs and up again. It makes your head lighter than it already is.

You don't know what they're talking about. The boys flail their limbs excitedly, gesticulating about whatever it was that made them raise their voices like that. Eddie laughs, and you feel his chest vibrate behind you, making you feel warm all over.

It's like all the disappears. The loud music, the friends of a friend of a friend, the clattering the bottles and the smell of weed, the cheap lights rotating on the ceiling. He surrounds you — the rough material of his jeans on your bare legs, the scent of the cologne he got from Wayne, the warmth from under the worn cotton of his Judas Priest t-shirt.

The hand that's running up and down your spine, gently at first, and then pressing a little harder. Caressing the nape of your neck, calloused thumb squeezing lightly. It raises goosebumps down your spine.

You lean back a little bit, just to ask "What are you doing?"

He doesn't look at you when he answers. "Nothing."

Eddie kisses your shoulder. Nothing, he says, but his hands say otherwise. One presses on your thigh, rings leaving tender indents on the naked skin right under your skirt, another pressing on your spine, rubbing it a little roughly, up to your neck and back down again.

You squirm on his lap, but that just seems to amuse him more. "Stop it!" You whisper, turning so you can face him.

"'M not doing anything, baby."

The kiss he presses on the side of your neck is sweet, but the hand that pulls on the hair on the nape of your neck is not. It gives you whiplash — he gives you whiplash, this boy of yours. His friends remain none the wiser, still excitedly discussing whatever it was you couldn't concentrate on.

You swallow down a whimper, pressing your thighs together, but the hand between them stops you. You huff and pout, even though you can feel the wetness starting to gather on your underwear, and wonder, through your daze, if he feels it too.

If he does, Eddie says nothing. He gives you another kiss, this time behind your ear. "Relax. I'll get us home soon."

Around you, the party still goes on.

[maxlarens]

pairing(s): engineer!george russell x driver!reader

brought on entirely by this ask thank you anon i owe you a great debt😭 also light angst beware.

You’re more angry than anything.

What a stupid mistake, taking the turn like that. Too hard too fast too reckless. Never careful enough, like George always presses you to be. You feel shame churning in the hollow of your chest in the back of the safety car.

You’re on the way to medical. You would be even if you didn’t have an ache in your neck. Something sharp in your chest. You’ve fractured a rib, you think. Broken it even. You know this feeling, the whiplash of a crash. Waiting to have your injuries confirmed.

You think of the car, the smell of smoke registering as you took a second to reorient yourself. To remember all of your limbs. Ringing in your ears, then George. George, prompting your reply over and over. Tone clipped, hurried, near-frantic, still-professional. The car is on fire. You need to get out of the car, now. And your limbs snapping back into awareness, into motion—

You’re fine now. Angry mostly.

You let the doctor check you over, refer you for an ultrasound for the rib. It hurts when they press on it. You’re left with a manila folder to give to your team and an order to take it easy for the rest of the day.

Outside the medical building you can hear the cars on track. It puts something sick in the pit of your stomach. At least it’s only FP2. You’ve not utterly ruined a race, and the team still have time to fix your mess. Still. Still.

You turn a corner to make your way back to Mercedes hospitality, you find George instead.

He looks like someone’s taken a livewire to him. His head of usually soft curls is messy, hair standing half on end. He’s got those serious, shell-shocked eyes that always appear when his smile vanishes. You frown as his head snaps to you, alerted by the sound of gravel underfoot.

“Shit,” you blink and he’s already halfway to you, “Are you alright? What did they say?”

His hands are on your shoulders, pulling you toward him and you’re not thinking anything in particular about that. Just grappling with his sudden closeness. His apparent worry. So apparent that someone’s sent him here to medical, to you instead of having his valuable input on the pit wall.

“I’m fine,” you push his hands off you, “I’ll just need an ultrasound. It’s nothing.”

“Did they check you for smoke inhalation?” he presses on, despite your attempt at deflecting, “Your car was on fire.”

You shrug, shake your head, “I dunno, George. They checked my breathing I guess.”

You hear a sharp intake of breath and feel him start to move toward the building. You grab his wrist, haul him back, knowing he’ll march you in there and demand they check if you don’t reassure him.

“I’m fine,” you insist, “No smoke inhalation. Not even a cough.”

He’s looking down at you, jaw set, the line of his mouth severe. So serious as he checks you over like he has x-ray vision— as if he can see things the doctors can’t because he’s more worried than they are. You’re keenly aware of your fingers looped around his wrist, the feeling of his pulse, his skin, the tender way his hand reaches to grab your wrist in kind.

Your relationship feels different here. In this moment.

The closeness of a driver and her engineer has never escaped you. From the moment you met him for the first time in Brackley— tall, cheerful, a bit awkward, a little overbearing— you’d known that you’d be close. That’s the nature of it. You didn’t have to be charmed by his sincerity to predict that.

But you’d grown closer than you would have ever thought. You know his quirks, his idiosyncrasies. How he has his tea, the clothing brand he buys all his clothes from, the way speaks to waiters like they’re old friends, the overly friendly nature that masks a man who’s just nervous people won’t like him. He knows yours.

Your proclivity for being reckless on track, because winning is everything and what are you if you’re not a winner? How you have three shots of espresso in your coffee every morning. The way you cry your eyes out at father-daughter moments in movies. Your ache to be loved and your accompanying fear of commitment.

George is like no-one else. No ex, no best friend, no situationship knows you like George does.

Inside and out.

Anyway. Your hand on his wrist, your aching rib, him standing outside medical when he should be on the pit wall. It makes your head spin.

He closes the distance between the two of you. Hauls you into his flat chest and weaves his fingers into your hair, cradling the back of your head like he might lose you. Something wells in the top of your throat. The back of your neck feels gooey, soft, as he holds you. As if all the tension is easing out of you.

You take a deep breath, wrap your hands around his waist. Fireproofs against the bare skin where his Mercedes polo has hiked up. He says something into your hair that you can’t hear. The tone of it gets you anyway, the fondness.

You hiccup, hating yourself for it.

Then you’re crying. Shock of the crash wearing off, unable to ignore the comfort of being held up physically and emotionally by George. Tears, wet, hot are streaming down your face. Soaking George’s shirt.

“You’re okay,” he says into your ear, rocking the two of you back and forth in the gravel, “You’re okay, I promise.”

You know you are. Logically. But hearing George say it makes it easier to believe. You think, even, that he might be saying it for himself too.

[strangeshoepatrolbandit-alt]

Saudade.

Summary: Anakin wanted you. Vader has you. Anakin spent his Jedi years bashfully crushing on you, but it was wrong and forbidden for a Jedi. Vader is going to make it his life's work to get you to fall for him now that he can have you... because what if you didn't like Anakin?

Warnings: Being taken hostage, mentions of death and murder, non-vegan food consumption, drugging, passing out, waking up from passing out, distrust, flashback of The Clone Wars.

Part one.

Series Masterlist

~☆~

You didn't spend long in the ships cells. Maybe a day or two before you were moved to what is considered 'your private chambers'.

You went from "filthy Jedi" to "Ma'am". Whiplash on its own.

Your room was dark, spacious, and surprisingly comfortable. The color scheme was dark gray, and the lights were dim. There was a bed with dark cotton sheets, a desk near the door, and a wardrobe on the other side of the room. Plus, a door that led to a bathroom with a shower, toilet, bath, and sink in it. The cupboards had towels and rags already in them, and there was even a bath robe. You had the necessary soaps in the shower and a container of blue salts by the bath.

The wardrobe in your room also already had clothes in it. They were your size, and so... fancy. Weird, you thought. The dresses were nice, like they were made out of the best materials around.

Your privacy was interrupted when you were delivered some food to satiate your hunger. Sliced meat paired with the right fruits and cheeses, joined together by crackers. Fancy stuff you have never had before.

You sat at the desk, staring at the food you were given. They were fools if they thought you would eat the food given to you by your captor. Darth Vader.

Just three years ago, you were a Jedi on a mission. In the middle of said mission, all communication with your superiors went silent, and when you got back to Coruscant, back to the Jedi Temple, everyone was dead from the hands of a Sith. One you knew as Darth Vader.

You were adamant about not eating the food you were given, but the snack drew you in. Soon enough, you were eating the salty and sweet food. The meat was perfect, the cheese was mild, and the fruit was juicy. The crackers had a dusting of salt on them, something that paired well with the other flavors.

It was delicious... something that you didn't want to admit.

You suddenly felt parched, dehydrated. You looked over the tray they gave you.

There was no drink.

The second you stood up so that you could head to the bathroom and drink from the sink faucet, you got dizzy, making you fall to the ground.

A groan escaped your lips, your vision went blurry, and your limbs were heavy. You somehow comprehended the doors to your chambers opening and the white boots of a stormtrooper walking up to you.

After that, it went black.

×

The door opened with a release of air, and the Stormtroopers stepped inside. You were limp in one of their arms, held bridal style as they walked over to where Darth Vader was stood.

They stopped a few feet behind him, and he took his time with turning around, eyes looking through the lenses of his helmet and instantly spotting you.

"Perfect."

×

You woke up three days later, not that you'd know that. It was three in the afternoon, that part you could tell, given since you had a clock next to your bed. You blinked a few times and reached a hand up to wipe the gunk out of your eyes.

You were starving, and on top of that, you felt as dehydrated as you did before you passed out.

You tried to recall what had happened, but your memory was useless. You couldn't remember a thing.

Just passing out after eating and having a stormtrooper walk in, then waking up on "your" bed.

A knock echoed around the room, coming from the doors.

Whoever was there didn't wait for a sign. They just came in, another tray in hand. It looked just like the one from the other day, only there was a cup and a bowl on it.

The Stormtrooper didn't utter a single word as he walked over to your desk and set the tray down before walking back out.

You crossed your arms. As if you'd eat the food they gave you. Never again. The first time you did, you ended up passing out and sleeping for three days. There must have been something in the food.

You wouldn't eat it.

You would starve if you had to....

With a huff, you threw the covers off of you, getting up and stomping over to the table, ignoring your lightheadedness.

You looked down at the bowl. It was soup.

The contents weren't like a broth. It wasn't clear. It looked like their was a bit of cream in the brown liquid. You could see chuncks of meat and potatoes in it, plus some leafy greens.

It smelled good...

Really good...

Without thinking, you sat yourself down in the chair and picked up the spoon that was provided, scarfing down what was given to you.

It was good. Delicious even!

It kind of reminded you of the meals you would eat back at the Jedi Temple, the ones that were more for protein rather than taste. But this one felt like it was for both protein and taste.

You remember the dining hall and sitting with all of the people you had grown up around. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano. All people that are now gone out of your life. Probably dead.

You wondered why you were here. Darth Vader had a reputation for killing Jedi. That includes ex-Jedi who don't even practice the Jedi ways anymore.

Before you knew it, your food was gone, and so was the drink they had given you. You neatly put everything back onto the tray before standing up from the desk and walking over to the closet.

Every single dress looked like it came out of a higher-ups closet. They looked like they were fit for a queen or an empress. Even a senator!

You weren't used to any of this.

They had intricate designs and extra pieces that went to them. Plus, they were all in dark colors.

They were pretty.

You grabbed the first dress that didn't look too flashy. It was dark purple and had a smoothe material that went down to the floor. You also grabbed a black lace cardigan that also went down to the floor. Plus, your undergarments.

You gathered the clothing and walked over to the bathroom, setting them down on the counter and deciding to finally make use of the appliances given to you.

You stared at the sleek shower, them the bath with salts...

Maybe a shower would be a good choice.

×

You sat on your bed, taking in your situation.

You were once a new Jedi Master. Now you're a hostage to a Jedi killer.

[Flashback.]

The air was filled with ash, as always. Your muscles were sore and tired as you sat in your friend General Anakin Skywalker's tent.

Your palms were covered in dirt, ready to be washed away at your next shower.

Anakin was out giving a talk to the clones. It had been a hard day against the Separatists. Many were in the medical tent, just where you were an hour before Anakin hurriedly came in and dragged you to his own tent, internally worried about the gash on your right thigh.

His talk went quickly. He came back in, a hard look on his face. Not because of you, but because of himself.

"Starshine." He spoke your nickname, the one he won't give you a reason for. At least it wasn't 'Snips' like he gave to his Padawan, Ahsoka.

"Ani." You repeat his own nickname back to him. It might not have been a special one that had hidden meaning, but it was still his nickname from you.

Anakin went over to his small cot, sitting next to you and putting a hand on your right thigh, looking down at the wrap that digs into the fat of your thigh. "Are you alright?"

A small smile spread onto your face. "I'm fine, Ani."

"Fine isn't what I'm looking for."

His hair was growing out. Small, light brown waves curled onto his neck and forehead for the first time in years. His body has even started to mature, changing from the lanky-ish figure that he had about a year ago. Maybe it was because he was now a nineteen year old. Maybe it was the war.

His long fingers traced over the top edge of the wrap, stopping when they reached your inner thigh, only to go back and forth again.

"I'm okay, Ani. Really. This is just a minor setback." You tried to reassure him.

His eyebrows were furrowed together as he watched his hand. "A minor setback is a big setback in a war like this, Starshine."

A breath left your lips, almost like a sigh. "Me getting cut isn't going to make us lose, Anakin. Have faith."

His jaw clenched as he finally looked up into your eyes. "Not hope?"

The small smile on your lips softened as he spoke. "That too."

[End of flashback.]

Hope.

Have hope.

No matter the situation you're in, have hope.

Not fear.

Don't back down.

Don't give up.

Don't give up on your hope.

~☆~

Updates will be really slow. Don't expect me to update weekly or monthly. My schedule is erratic. I will abandon you, just to come back randomly and abandon you again. Sorry, babe. :(

Taglist: @songbirdcannabe @sonnensplitter @divxnee @anakinslvt @sweetcheesecakesblog @artemissunn @valsarchives @slut-4-ani

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I would love to see some tooth rotting fluff with Alejandro Vargas!😩😍 I absolutely love your writing and can’t wait to see what you come up with!! Congrats on 5K!!❤️❤️

—Hold Me Longer

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Mornings spent in the sanctity of warm sunlight and bare skin.] ❞

His head rests on your chest, and through his hair, your fingers travel in slow, steady, intervals. In this room where the both of you rest, light seeps in through the curtains to connect with bare skin—a waking morning just peeking its eyes over the horizon as the stars and moon disappear. Yet in these walls, the magic of night still remains in the way Alejandro’s breath cascades over your flesh; your own ruffling the very hair you caress. 

The man grumbles, arms around your waist tightening as he groans awake. When he feels what you’re doing, he sighs and settles back down, squeezing your body as your legs spread down at his sides. The sheets rustle, tangled below. 

Neither of you finds a need to speak, and as you continue your appreciation of his soft, dark tendrils, lips press into your collarbone in even motions; digging deep as stubble grinds against your flesh. 

Alejandro hums, practically purring, as you drag your nails over his scalp.

“Good morning to you, too, Vida Mía,” the man teases you, a smile felt along your thin skin over the bone. His tone is laced with sleep. 

You shiver under him at the feeling of his vocal cords—the low scrape of words, taking in his warmth as you murmur in your throat. 

“Do you have to leave?” You ask, fatigue in your voice. 

He moves upward and presses his lips into the stoop of your neck, after a moment he shakes his head, making a small noise.

“No, not today,” Alejandro smirks, and you feel it as your eyes flutter, tilting your head to the side as he shifts his body farther up your own; that sliding of skin and heavy muscle. “Today, I’m all yours, eh?” 

Lips return to your neck, and your fingers tighten on the man’s hair, pulling with tired limbs. Your breath hitches as a soft nip is leveled at your pulse, a nose pushing into your heated flesh.

A soft smile makes its way over your face. “Any plans, then?” 

Alejandro chuckles deeply, his chest hitting yours. He moves his head to kiss the side of your lips. 

“Ah,” he breathes, sagging once more back into you as the morning grows the slightest bit brighter. “All of my plans are right in front of me.” The man’s head slots into your shoulder, and into you he mutters with a low tone as he sighs through a smirk. 

“Hold me longer.” You let your face nuzzle into his head, eyelids slipping shut once more. 

“Deal.” 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[leejenowrld]

Hii, thank you so much for writing the fluff of jeno taking care of y/n when she’s sick and yess I would love a one on soft aftercare 💗💗💗💗

yes ofc!!

word count - 1.4k

Your breathing goes frantic, tears streaming down your face as you’re screaming out his name. Jeno leans down to you with a gentle kiss on your lips, you can feel his smile. With all the strength you can muster, you try to bring your arms around him but then you remember you had been handcuffed.

You look at him with a pout and he coos. grabbing the key and removing the lock on your hands. You instantly grab his arms, kissing him back softly, tears still streaming down and pussy still shaking with sensitivity but you feel so good, he always makes you feel good.

You protest when he tries to lean up and lift his cock from inside of you, you want to stay like this for a few more moments, he knows that. He sighs, using his finger to wipe the mess he had left on your face, his cum, your tears, his spit, before grabbing a tissue from your bedside table and wiping off the excess.

“You good, baby?” He questions, breaking out in a grin as he breaks the silence.

“Y-Yeah, so good—for me.” You say with difficulty, words mixed with heavy breathing but you try your but to meet his grin.

He coos about how cute and good you always are for him. “I love you. I’ll be right back.” With a heavy moan, he leans up and takes himself out from inside of you, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he sees all the juices and wetness from your passionate love making trailing down the insides of your thighs. He knows he’s gonna have to clean you up.

“Don’t you dare fall sleep.” He points his hand out to you with a warning and you hum, trying to shake your head but before you know it, your eyelids become heavy and your head is lolling to the side. It was a bad habit you had, it took you mere seconds to fell asleep after fucking and it always made Jeno annoyed because he hasn’t had the chance to clean you up, massage you and shower you yet.

Your eyes open so quickly it’s whiplash. You feel his strong arms gently reach out to your sides as he lifts you up, carrying you bridal style to the bathroom, softly dropping you into the running bath. He lowers himself down and comes in behind you, legs wide as you sit in the space in between him, your body facing his, you truly can’t move your legs or else you would’ve wrapped them around his waist.

The way he’s looking at you is filled with so much intensity and love, it still has you shy after three years. Your cheeks flush with red and you feel giddy, he still has this effect on you. “Hi, my love.” You whisper, becoming embarrassed over your random and out of place words but his reply comes shortly after.

“Hi, my pretty girl.”

You relax as the scent overtakes you, a bath bomb that he knows is your favourite, he’s purchased it time and time again. He grabs your favourite body wash that he keeps in his bathroom, firstly using a cloth to gently wipe away every trace of the sweat and the cum that had accumulated all over your body. Then following with his hands to massage your limbs with love, the sensation of his touch on you making you lean back and shudder, you were nearly transformed to your orgasmic state from earlier before, especially as his fingertips lightly brushed against your pussy, an area still throbbing with heavy sensitivity.

“You’re such a good girl, you took me so well.” He praises into your ear, words filled with sweet love as he presses soft kisses against your cheek. “You’re always so good for me.”

“Do you want me to cook for you or do you just wanna sleep?” He’s asking but he already knows the answer, he chuckles when you agree to the latter with so much enthusiasm.

“I haven’t slept in like, 3 nights.” You whisper quietly, your words barely audible but you’re so close to him that he can feel your voice buzzing against his body.

“Just a little longer and then we can sleep, just hold on for me, ok? Just stay awake for a few more minutes.” He explains to you softly, smiling against your skin when you nod immediately.

He helps you out of the shower, holding you up against his body when you nearly fall, lifting you up gently to sit up against the countertop when he realises you cannot stand or sit without any support. He grabs one of his fluffy towels and wipes your body clean and dry.

He grabs one of his long shirts and effortlessly pulls it over your head, a proud smile as he admires the sight. His girl, eyes heavy with lust and tire, trying your best to stay awake for him as you give him a lazy smile, sitting so good for him and looking so beautiful in his clothes.

He carries you up again, immediately sighing as you drop onto the soft covers. You outstretch your arms, a sign that you would only sleep in his arms but he tells you one minute. He silently feeds you water, ensuring you drink a good amount and staying hydrated, ignoring every protest. If it wasn’t for him shoving your water bottle in front of your lips every now and then, then you’d be so dehydrated.

All he wears is his boxers before the weight on the bed dips and he makes his way over to you, discarding his pillow as his head falls on yours. You become lost in his eyes, cupping onto his cheeks softly and leaning in to kiss him but his words distract you from doing so. He suddenly removes himself from you and you pout, crossing your arms but your annoyance subsides into giddy happiness when you feel him kissing every inch of your body, just like he had done all night long, but this time he was apologising with his words, his lips trailing up your legs and up your chest until he met your lips.

In a tender moment, your lips met in a soft, lingering kiss, and the delicate dance of intimacy unfolded. Fingers traced the lines of faces, weaving through strands of hair with a gentle caress. The kiss deepened, tongues entwining in a slow, rhythmic exchange—an unspoken dialogue of desire. Soft smiles adorned your lips, accompanied by signs and muted moans, creating a shared symphony of pleasure. The outside world faded as hands explored the contours of each other's skin, emphasising a connection expressed through tactile language. In that quiet space, your intertwined actions spoke volumes, revealing a profound connection that left you breathless and yearning for more.

Jeno's words hung in the air like a gentle melody. "I'm always so proud of you." he whispered, his voice a soft caress that carried an undercurrent of affection.

"I love you, Jeno." you expressed, your words a simple yet profound declaration. His response, a warm smile, conveyed a depth of emotion that echoed through the quiet moments they shared.

"I love you the most." he playfully asserted, his smile growing. The room held a serene ambiance, the lingering echoes of their intimate connection painting the atmosphere with a comforting warmth.

As you shyly shared, "It was so good tonight," a hint of vulnerability colored your voice. Jeno, ever attentive, responded with reassurance, "It always is." his coo a balm to any lingering uncertainties.

Playfully changing the subject, he lifted three fingers, injecting a touch of humor into the moment. "How many?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes. Squinting and trying your best, you deliberated before answering, "Two."

He tsked in mock disappointment, and you, ever quick to defend, playfully retorted, "Yes, I'm fucked out of my mind, but I'm also blind. You know that." The shared laughter that followed painted the room with a lightness, the intimacy of the night unfolding in the gentle exchange of words.

As you drifted into the tranquil embrace of sleep, your breathing settled into a rhythmic melody, harmonizing with the quietude of the night. Jeno, observing the peaceful scene, couldn't resist the tenderness in his smile. Softly, he planted a gentle kiss upon your forehead, whispering words of love into the stillness. "I'm going to marry you," he murmured, a sweet promise hanging in the air. As sleep's gentle tendrils wrapped around you, Jeno, too, succumbed to its embrace, finding solace in the shared dreams that awaited both of you.

[unfriedough]

HIII

ok so I know it says you do fem but r u also able to do gender neutral? If not, it’s ok!!

Anyways

Hcs of Zuko w a S/O who’s like, blunt as hell, and doesn’t rlly express emotions a big majority of the time lmao

‘Taken’- Zuko x female!reader

Masterlist <3

An: JASMIN DISAPPEARING FOR ANOTHER FEW MONTH?? Why’re you surprised?

Also, this isn’t gender neutral. I know you asked for it but I said on the guidelines that I’m only writing female :( I didn’t wanna blow off the whole request tho

Summary: hc’s of zuko and you being falling for each other - but both of you such at love.

Warnings: reader was meant to be blunt but idk how to be blunt.

A shrug.

That was all Aang got when he asked for your opinion on Zuko’s joining of the team.

(“Couldn't care less,” you said when questioned about it later, on the soft beach of ember island)

Truly, it didn’t make a difference to you

Yes he was needed - firebender and all - but it’s not like he’ll be teaching you right?

Wrong.

Turns out you can learn loads from just different fighting styles and stuff, and you were intrigued in the foreign moves

Zuko would 100% get worse at what he was doing under your scrutinising gaze.

I mean that's how he interpreted it

Really there was no emotion

The firebender definitely asked you about why you were watching - took much courage though (poor boy)

“You’re good at what you do.” you paused, “Sometimes,”

“Sometimes?” he rubbed his neck, confused.

“Yeah, sometimes I’m surprised a twelve year old beat you that easily,”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged.

“You think you’re better than me?”

You cocked your head to the side, furrowing your eyebrows, “I think we both know the answer to that,”

So that’s why you're now in this position.

Zuko’s pinned under you, arms immobile, heaving heavily

“Fine! I surrender!”

“No, I won,” you said, getting up and dusting your clothes.

“Whatever,” he walked away

That very night, Zuko laid awake in his hard bed space, thoughts of you plaguing his mind. He replayed the spar like a thrilling movie, his heartbeat soaring as he recalls just how close you were to him.

He didn’t like the feeling rising in his heart, it felt like it was bursting. He placed pale, slender fingers onto the centre of his chest sighing heavily to attempt to rid himself of this awful feeling.

“You’re breathing too loud,” you whispered, careful not to wake other people in the room.

“What do you want me to do?” he frowned, sitting up, and matching the intensity of your glare.

“Breath like a normal person, not like a fish just discovering oxygen,”

Nothing better to describe his face than this: ._.

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” he whispered back, confused.

“Good night Zuko,”

He grinned, “It was funny,”

“GOOD NIGHT ZUKO” you whisper shouted.

You assumed he would relent, but the sleep deprivation mixed with the high of having a small (huge) crush gave him the confidence to talk to you just a little longer.

“Do you wanna fight me?”

“With the intention to knock you out? Sure.”

And now you’re both outside, and I guess he had the upper hand. 

He wasn’t tired, and you were exhausted

Your muscles were fatigued, but you weren’t going to back down

After an embarrassingly short rematch, you’d found that Zuko had beat you, and you laid defenceless.

“I win,” he mocked, getting up.

“Did you really?”

He whipped his head back around, any faster would’ve given him whiplash, “Um? Yes?”

“Are you sure?” 

“YES!?”

“Okay then, whatever you say,”

You rolled onto the sandy area, spreading your limbs with a heavy sigh.

Zuko looked up slowly at the sky, hesitantly nearing your resting body.

“I don’t bite prince,” you rolled your eyes.

“I wouldn't take your word for it,” he giggled.

You simply looked at him, not a glare though, or a smile or smirk or scowl or anything.

You seemed to be thinking about something, an internal war. On one hand, you wanted to reach out to him, pull him closer to you, tell him how you felt. And on the other, you didn’t want to. It was too mushy and feely for your character, you felt embarrassed you even thought about it. You looked away promptly, unable to conceal the frown on your features.

“You okay?” he asked, worry laced in his words.

“Sand’s not comfortable, it’s gonna give me a headache,” that wasn't a lie, it was disgustingly hard to get comfortable when laying on bare sand.

Zuko gathered up whatever confidence he had left, and scooted so he was sat criss-cross above where your head rested.

He gave a dopey smile, before opening his mouth to say something. You looked upwards at him, his grin contagious, contaminating your annoyed features.

“You could lay your head on my lap?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you scooted up, carefully rested your head onto his body, a look on your face.

And after a little more staring, he came to realise what it was,

You were shy

All the signs pointed to it; your averting gaze, fidgeting fingers, feet working antagonistically from point to flat (like when you point your feet and then like put them how you stand idk how to describe it ), and your quickened breathing.

He leaned down slightly, his nose practically touching yours.

“Hi,” you breathed out, fighting the urge to look at his lips.

Who gave him this confidence ??????????

Sleep deprivation that's what

“Hi,” 

You reached your fingers into his hair, slightly tugging down at him, trying to infer what your words failed to tell.

His eyes glistened with adoration, before fluttering shut as he contacted your lips.

The firebender’s lips were cut, you assumed maybe he did that, a stress coping mechanism you’d frequently told him to quit

When the kiss broke, neither of you moved.

You stayed on that beach the whole night - eventually even falling asleep.

You on his lap, and him lying down uncomfortable in order to keep your head comfy on his lap

Zuko woke up before you, rubbing his eyes as Katara came into view

She had been on a stroll, with the intention to swim, when she came across the scene

She’d never seen you look so soft, or Zuko look so tender

Her eyebrows flew up as she made eye contact with the boy, eyes snapping between your curled up figure and his sandy-hair covered face

Then furrowed again as she clocked in the scene

Zuko’s face glowed red as he realised Katara saw this, and even more so when he felt you shift, burying your head in his knee area to avoid the light of the scorching fire nation sun, a quiet groan leaving your lips.

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of the firebender’s mouth as he watched you intently, a blurry emotion behind his irises.

“Can I ask: what?” She whispered, eyes blown wide.

Her voice, albeit quiet, brought you out of your trance.

You yawned, spreading your limbs then covering your face from the sun.

Suddenly, you gained enough consciousness to acknowledge your surroundings, and you quickly opened your eyes, despite the blinding light.

A gasp left your lip as you sat up, making eye contact with the flushed fire bender.

“Good morning?”

“Hi.”

You said at the same time, an awkward silence over taking.

Your eyes suddenly followed a sound of shuffling - only to see katara standing there looking rather out of place.

“Hi.” She said.

“Hello,” you replied, embarrassed.

“I’m just gonna-“ she pointed off to the side, before basically running away.

You both watched her leave, then turned to look at eachother.

The fire bender was dazed in the view of you, the way your eyes twinkled, and your lips remained pouted.

But the way that your face was illuminated, despite not even facing the sun, you looked straight out of a movie.

He was so entranced, that zuko was convinced that if the moon was to see you - it would be jealous of your effortless beauty.

You, on the other hand, were about to slap him for staring.

You tilted your head to the side, so confused that a question mark could’ve popped up above your head.

Immediately he looked away, attempting to rid the feeling of his heart in his throat.

“Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to stare? 

Bye he was so embarrassed

“Shut up.”

You narrowed your eyes, pushing him onto the sand so that he was under you,

“And what if I don’t?” You leaned in, whispering.

His heart was running laps, his mind equally pacing.

“Hm? What would you do?”

He sat quietly, eyes wide, as he took in the proximity. Your lips just looked so…

Hey is it just you or is he about to kiss you?

It’s not just you because he did!

It was a sweet, long lasting, testing the waters type of kiss

And that’s basically how you started dating 

Did I or did I not get carried away?

Anyways now that you're dating !!!

Being his S/O was definitely something you could get used to

Zuko is absolutely the type of guy to give you constant princess treatment

He’d act like you’re already married - at this point you’re just missing the ring

He always made it a point to make sure you were fed and hydrated, warm too

Maybe he’d abuse that warmth power a little

You’d be lying in the same tent and he’d be like “Come closer you’re cold,”

“Zuko im room temperature im not cold,”

“No You’re cold come here,”

“Just say you want a hug,”

“Shut up,”

He tugged you closer so you laid against his chest unable to see his face - probably cuz he was redder than his tunic.

It was all the tiny things he did that get you really comfortable being affectionate

Even though he himself was shy, he knew he had to be the one initiating touch

Another instance is when you go eat - he'll ensure he sat closest to you, and always brush hands with you when passing you your bowl. Of course he thought he was slick when he would sit close enough so your knees touched - but you noticed.

You noticed but you didn’t tell him you noticed, you knew he’d be embarrassed if caught red handed.

As someone who felt like he was never enough, physical affection was something that really made an impact on him

Something as simple as tracing his scars with gentle fingers, or rubbing his arm soothingly after a particularly rough day

Although your words couldn’t convey how you felt, you weren’t raised to be touchy feely, you knew he understood what you meant

He could hear the words of affirmation even while you slept, he could feel the comfort radiating off of your curled body in his tent

He knew you felt comfortable around him, and that alone was a great achievement in his mind

Zuko was used to coming off as gruff and mean, but you know it was a facade - a coping mechanism

You knew he was the same thirteen year old mommy’s boy that he was years ago

These hc’s are so long 😨

You always made it a point to treat him gently - despite being such a blunt person

You found yourself holding your tongue more often, being nicer to people around you because you got used to only having compliments for Zuko.

Maybe, you’d even try to put your affections into words - and although not formulating like you wanted, with fumbling words and fidgeting hands - the thought was what counted

He knew being super fluffy was a struggle for you, and that you were trying your best to be your best for him

He could see your effort - and you could see his.

The gang definitely saw you as a weird pair at the start

They found out once they saw Zuko laughing, hiding his face and you smirked at him.

Your hands rested on his torso as you willed him to take you seriously

You just said he looked nice when he trained - you both know what you meant

His shirt was clinging to his skin and his hair stuck to his face - my man was just out of a movie scene.

After the gang had long dispersed, you spoke your mind.

This brought the shyness out 

Unfortunately, it was Aang who saw the interaction

“Zuko? YN? What’s so funny?”

When the rest of your friends heard Zuko, YN, AND FUNNY in the same sentence, they peeked.

“Nothing,” Zuko mumbled, his ears tinting.

You flinched your hand away from him, coughing awkwardly.

“Wait a minute,” Sokka narrowed his eyes at you.

“Why’re you guys on the floor?” Toph asked.

Zuko lifted his head, looking at you with panic, you returned just the same

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “I don’t know..”

The prince looked to you for help, only to find you trying to hold back a laugh. 

Your lips tucked inwards and eyes pointed downwards.

He looked forward again, side eyeing you so aggressively.

“What am I watching?” Sokka asked quietly.

“I wouldn’t know,” toph mumbled.

You were laughing as Katara seemed so puzzled, and yet so sure of what her discovery could mean.

“Wait a minute,”

“Well that’s my cue!” you got up abruptly, dusting your clothing before practically beelining to the house.

The group was left staring at Zuko, who was on the verge of burning you alive

Eventually they got it out of him

Jk they got it out of katara

“Wait, what were you gonna say?” Aang asked katara.

“I was just gonna ask about that one time  she was asleep on his lap,”

Zuko looked like he was contemplating drowning himself

“SHE WHAT”

“Yeah on the beach before… like two days ago,” she paused, “What was that about?”

“Umm, she was sleepy?”

“Why didn’t you sleep in a room then?”

“…Fresh air.”

“Fresh air?”

“Fresh air. Mhm”

“And what about when you kissed?” Toph added.

She was blind, but she knew how to sandbend.

It just so happened that that night seemed to be a sleepless night all around, the young earth bender was perched on a small chair, where her feet could touch natural ground so she could experience the surroundings.

(Or because she wanted to know what you and Zuko were doing, she’s blind not deaf)

“W H A T” sokka yelled, everyone staring blankly at Toph.

“Yeah, two days ago, this very beach, sparring in the middle of the night… ring a bell Zuko?”

“Not at all.” He stood his ground.

“Cut the crap,” Suki giggled, “it’s obvious!”

“What’s obvious?” He played stupid.

“Tha-“ suki was cut off by the dramatic show Sokka was about to put on.

“Oh YN! You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met!” He twirled, “I just wanna-“ he made a loud kiss noise.

The gang erupted into laughter, mainly because of the poor fire boy's reaction. His face was not only red, no, his eyes were wide, his mouth agape.

He dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

“I think that’s enough teasing,” katara giggled.

Aang and her went off to go do- whatever they do.

Suki, sokka and toph remained. As they were busy laughing, 

You overheard what he said as you were just around the corner, and decided to take a jab at his previous theatrics.

You walked up to them from behind, kicking sokka’s knees inwards.

He yelped as he fell to the ground, immediately looking up to the source.

You towered over him, the ghost of a smile on your face.

You paused, a rare smirk making an appearance on your face.

“I’m flattered, but unfortunately I’m not single,” 

An: I’d like to imagine chaos would start here

[be-ee]

|“You betrayed me.”

-

⋆𐙚₊Ft/Tw: Yandere! Scara x Reader, Yandere themes, descriptions of electrocution, swearing

⋆𐙚₊ A/N: Sorry I haven’t been posting lately. School and writers block has been the biggest whiplash to me. I had this laying round in my drafts and thought ‘well, let’s give them something!’ Anyways do with this what you will.

⋆𐙚₊ before you go just an fyi that I have NEVER written yandere before.

The silence was deafening; the air thick and tense. You wouldn't dare lift your eyes. Not now. "Y/N." A firm voice calls. There's a tinge of affection in his words. His words are calm, and patronizingly low considering the situation.He takes a step towards you.

Then another..

And another..

"Y/N. Look at me."

You don't move. "I'm sorry..please" you croak; voice unsteady.You are shaking. This is it. You've fucked up, and this is the end. Tears well in your eyes.You don't think you can do this, not today. The man walks over to you, slowly and deliberately.

"Please..Please. I'm so so sorry" You repeat, breath catching in your throat as you struggle to breathe. Scaramouche hums. You feel him wrap his arms around you. He rests his head on top of yours and whispers into your hair "And you were doing so well too...Was that all fake? Are you sorry for that too?" He asks, tone light, but with an edge to it. You can’t bring yourself to reply.

"Answer me." He barks, pulling back and tilting your chin upwards so he can look you in the eye.

"Y-Yes, I'm sorry" You say, tears beginning to spill from your eyes. He frowns at you. "Are you sorry for plotting to run? For pretending? For being in cahoots with that DAMNED bastard? Or are you sorry for being a liar?" You flinch at his words, and he lets go of your chin. You look down.

“You betrayed me” he laughed. Nearly choking on his own words, as if the prospect of it shocked him. You were just so…kind.

Loving, even.

You were an amazing actor.

Scaramouche tilted his head up; If it weren’t for it being Scaramouche, you might have mistaken the furrow of his eyebrows to be in sadness.

But that’s not possible. Not with the Balladeer.

"I'm sorry.. I-I'm sorry for all of it, please Scaramouche"

He doesn't say anything for a while, but his grip on you loosens. He moves his hands from your shoulders to your hair, stroking it gently. "You're not sorry," He says plainly. "But you will be." He yanks your hair back, and you yelp. Your eyes are wide and full of tears. He has a dark, empty expression. It's as if he is looking through you. He sends waves of electricity throughout you. effectively causing you to shake convulsively; drool dripping from your open mouth.

"Do you have any idea how much pain you caused me..?" He growls, voice cracking as he looks into your eyes. "And for what? For him?" He spits, glaring daggers at the body behind you.

He lets go of your hair, and you slump down, breathing heavily. With tear stained eyes you watch Scaramouche. "You're such a pathetic, lying whore." He says, turning his back to face you. You stare back at the floor, trembling. You feel the urge to apologize again. But you don't.

You don't say a thing.

You're done talking.

"Be grateful I don't kill you right here.." He murmurs, walking towards the door. "but try that again and i'll tear your limbs from your body" He states before slamming the door shut, leaving you alone in the room.

[takeyourcyanide]

Rationality; a Supposed Loss and Deterioration

AO3

Fandom: Soul Eater

Character(s): Franken Stein, Spirit Albarn

Word count: 2 408

Tags: Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Age Regression, Age Regression/De-Aging, It’s Not Paranoia If They’re Really Out To Get You, Triggers, Paranoia, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Short One Shot

Summary: Stein spends the entire day pacing after receiving a particular alert. Spirit comes home, and is not very happy with his agitated demeanor.

Notes: A mutual of mine once said that it seems that I use writing as defragmentation. That perfectly describes whatever this is, and another fic I might post. This is sort of an exploration, as well - a dissection to a degree. A lot of my fics are.

Multiple trains of thought raced within Stein’s skull, all being derailed once their tracks would abruptly break, sparks flying from where they’d be cut off by sometimes nothing and sometimes something. The same sound he’d heard in the morning was playing endlessly in his mind, the same feeling, that sensation which spread throughout his limbs, gnawing on his insides, remaining almost effervescent in the way that it’d bubble up and nearly cause his body to bust open.

His extremities twitched every once in a while, odd muscle spasms often occurring, as he paced back and forth and back and forth through the short corridor of his and Spirit’s small apartment for hours on end. Soon, he found that his calves would ache with each step that he took, the floor rubbing against the forming and formed callouses on his toes, even his lower back seemingly a little sore.

But he could not stop his vessel from moving, not until that sensation which left him ticking, his head often jerking to the side, his shoulders rolling and cracking, dissipated.

There were still some leftover tremors in his hands, which he found almost funny. The same individual who’d regularly involve himself in any form of danger for the sake of feeling alive and euphoric was the same individual who was shaking at a mere sound, at a message of sorts, at something he could not even name without becoming jittery and agitated.

Surely they were coming for him. Surely. They’d ask who that ‘they’ even was, and perhaps it was those included in that… broadcast. Perhaps it was anyone. But it must’ve been those included.

Stein was lucky not to have experienced whiplash with the amount of times he’d whipped his head around, up, and even down, to check for any sign of an approaching figure. He could feel their presences. They were inside of his apartment. And each time he’d arrive at the end of the hallway, near a source of light and near the kitchen, he’d freeze briefly to cautiously check for those figures, before turning around after hearing and feeling someone’s breath on his neck, only to be met with nothing, except for the occasional oddity. He was being teased, taunted. Mocked, even.

For a moment, he flapped his hands, he beat on his arms, he pulled at his hair, he ripped the skin off of his lips with his teeth.

There was nothing he could do about it. If he were to hurt or even murder someone, perhaps Spirit since he had been awfully conspicuous lately, he’d be deemed as criminally insane. Imagine if he were to tell the judge and jury just why he’d been so violent. He didn’t want to be stuck in a psychiatric institution for the rest of his life because he got a little too agitated one day. But what about those coming for him? Would it not be self-defense? Was Spirit involved as well? He wasn’t, was he?

He darted back down the hallway, no longer walking, but running from the presences. He stopped once he entered his bedroom, making sure to check everywhere for the same person that was… broadcasted loudly to him. Once he found nothing - though he still knew there was someone in his apartment waiting to get him, playing with their food before devouring him - he grabbed his stuffed, stitched-up rabbit swiftly, holding it by one of its long, floppy ears and bolting out of his room, shutting the door behind him.

He brought the plushie to his chest for a moment, his chin resting on its soft head, as he embraced the toy, hoping that maybe it could soothe some of that pent-up sensation coursing through his body. And while it did nothing to get rid of what seemed to be his anxiety and agitation, it did cause a pleasant warmth to spread in his heavy, pressured and dense-feeling chest, contrasting, yet blending in with the noise.

He trudged closer to the kitchen, closer to the blaring light, ignoring the pain in his feet and legs, and the aching in his knees and hips.

“Oh, hey, Stein.”

There was a figure. The figure of his weapon, standing in the kitchen, digging through the cabinets. He hadn’t heard him come in. What else hadn’t he heard? What if someone else came in - or, really, broke in - and he was much too lost in his own internal landscape to notice?

He whipped his head in every direction he possibly could, their oppressive presences replacing and becoming the air he breathed.

He silenced a whimper. He silenced a strained, somewhat frustrated, exhausted groan. His body was becoming gradually more cumbersome to move and maintain any semblance of control over.

How was he supposed to interact with the scythe like normal? He needed to. He could not, but he needed to. He wasn’t in the mood to be yelled at and chastised. Therefore, he needed to, though he knew he wouldn’t. He did not wish to interact with him at all.

“Stein? What are you doing? You pacing again? Why are you just standing there?” Spirit tilted his head in suspicion, walking up to Stein, apparently having given up on finding a snack. “You really need to go shopping. It’s your turn, you know. We have, like, nothing.”

“What time is it?”

“What?”

“What time is it?”

“God, I wish you’d stop mumbling for once. I have no clue what you’re saying-“

“What time is it?” He, even more agitated than before, repeated with an accidentally whiny emphasis. He was antsy, he could not help it. He hadn’t the energy to interact, not when he knew how annoyed Spirit would be, how far from calm he’d be - which would only continue to worsen his growing distress. Spirit always had to be mad about something. Why couldn’t he ever just shut his fugly mouth and leave him be?

“It’s seven o’clock.”

“What day is it?”

“It’s Sunday. I went on a date. Remember?”

‘Barely.’

He was much too focused on the prospect of hearing an alarm again to remember what year it was, much less what day it happened to be.

“You’re always on a date.”

Spirit scoffed as though it weren’t the truth. He was always so offended, always on the defensive.

“That’s not true!” He moved towards the living room, Stein curiously following him. He wanted to gauge the now sitting boy, to figure out precisely what he should be suspicious or not suspicious of him for. He should always be suspicious, and he always was. They were conspicuous. Did he sell his information to the one broadcasted? Surely not. Though he couldn’t help but question it. Perhaps he did. He did not want another broadcast.

“Can you turn off the emergency alerts on your phone?” He did not want to ever hear another one, though he certainly would at some point. Just voicing what they were was enough for him to shiver, the sensation worsening as it rolled down his spine.

“Ohh… You got one, too, then?” He kicked back on the sofa, his feet lying crossed on the coffee table. “Yeah.. it was kind of unnerving. Some guy’s wanted for a bunch of murders and kidnappings and shit, and apparently he was last seen somewhere, like, half an hour or so away from us. He’s on Lord Death’s list- I heard some first years ended up with the mission.”

That did not answer his question. And he did not want to talk about it.

That same painful sensation sent shocks throughout his chest, throughout his arms and legs. His forehead began to throb, leaving him to wonder if his brain was finally about to explode, the rims of his eyes a little sore. He clumsily, sloppily rubbed one of his eyes with his free hand, as he yawned, finding that he’d forgotten to wear his glasses for the entire day. No wonder his eyes hurt.

“Honestly, that rabbit just screams you,” he pointed at the stuffed toy in Stein’s hand. “With all of the stitches, and how mangled and disturbing it looks. It’s pretty cute, though. …Are you going to sit down? Do you wanna watch something?”

“Mm-mm,” he hummed in disagreement, beginning to rock himself on his feet, that antsy, restless feeling not leaving him. Noisy, noisy, noisy.

“Why are you being so pouty? It’s annoying.”

Pouty? What had he done wrong? And even if he was, how could he not be a little pouty? After a long day of chronic agitation and failing to repress regression episodes, was he not allowed to be a little pouty? After being quite literally woken up by one of the few things that is able to illicit something akin to a fear response from him, was he not permitted to be a little fussy? No, he was not. He was not some sort of baby, after all. Everyone gets unnerved by things sometimes. Get over it. Suck it up. Don’t be so pathetic.

But how was he being annoying? He wasn’t venting to him, he hadn’t told him anything. He wasn’t seeking his comfort, or any sort of assistance from him. He wasn’t pestering him for anything. What was he doing that was so terrible?

“And you’ve been even weirder than usual lately. I wish you’d at least respond to me. I don’t know what psychiatric thing is going on with the you, or what psychiatric thing you want me to believe is going on with you, but It’d be nice if you’d pretend to be normal or human for even just a little while.”

“He’s coming for me,” he muttered under his breath, little titters escaping him despite his increasing agitation, as his lips twitched to the side. Spirit had often told him that his face twitched when he’d speak, when they’d converse. He noticed a lot of facial twitching, and twitching in general. Involuntary spasms. He found it odd. He found everything about him odd.

“Who’s ‘he?’” He gazed at him, looked him up and down with an expression that made it obvious just how bizarre he thought he was. He stared at him as though he’d said the dumbest thing in the world. He appeared almost repulsed by him. “No one’s coming for you. You’re fucking ridiculous. You used to actually be somewhat logical. I seriously can’t even speak to you anymore- no one can,” he sighed, his eyes seemingly telling him he perceived himself as being above him, as being better, more logical. How insulting. “Whatever. Gone are the days of having a rational conversation with you.”

Stein immediately walked away. What was even the point in trying to argue with him, or explain his side of things when he’d only be looked down upon, when he’d only be told he was being ridiculous and apparently faking some sort of issue? What was he even faking? What incentive would he have to fake anything? Attention? But being strange in the eyes of others did not typically bring anything good. He didn’t think he was acting all that different than usual. But any time he was even more “off,” or was having an even worse day than is typical in terms of the noise, he was often accused of apparently exaggerating or lying. But what the fuck was he lying about? He hadn’t told him anything? Was he lying about them coming for him? Was it because he’d giggle when he’d tell him that? But he didn’t mean to. His laughing didn’t mean was happy or faking. It just happened. It happened a lot when he’d get agitated and anxious. It could happen in his brief moments of euphoria, but he wasn’t euphoric. Why couldn’t Spirit understand that his body did things against his will? He didn’t feel like laughing. He didn’t know why he did. It was paradoxical, sure, but it just happened. If anything, giggling meant he wasn’t feeling too well a lot of the time. Not always, of course. But sometimes. Sometimes his happened at random, when he wasn’t feeling particularly any way. Sometimes it was a result of something negative, and other times it was a result of something positive, though that was fairly rare.

He opened his bedroom door, peaking into his room and checking for anything about to jump him. He checked behind the door, shutting it and locking it. And he crawled into bed, his comforter over his knees, as he held his rabbit tightly to his chest, rocking himself back and forth in an effort to calm himself.

He did not want to pathetically cry, he was not the type to cry, he never experienced the urge to cry. He hadn’t cried in God knows how long, so why now? Was it because of those idiotic regression episodes? But even when he was physically small, he did not weep. He wanted to be rational.

He nibbled on his lips, he nibbled on the fingertips coming to rest unconsciously against his lips.

He was supposed to be the logical one. He was supposed to be rational. Was he not logical anymore? Where was he? He was lost. He was supposed to be the smart one. He was supposed to be intelligent. He was supposed to be rational.

But they were coming for him. But he was supposed to be calm and rational. He typically was, was he not? He was grounded, down to earth. Where has he gone? Perhaps he’d finally lost himself to the madness. But he wasn’t supposed to irrational.

He knew this would happen, didn’t he? But he was being rational. Someone coming for him was the truth.

Where was he? Where was everything? Where had everything gone? He was finally gone, most certainly in the eyes of others. They’d made it clear how insane they thought he was for a variety of reasons- whether it be his violence or.. this.

He was supposed to rational. There was nothing left. But he was rational. This was rational. What did he mean by ‘gone are the days of having a rational conversation with you’? What did anyone mean by anything? Why did he have to interact with those who did not want him around? And where was he?

But they’re here. That is the truth. He was not. That, too, is the truth. There was a weight on his chest. And he wanted to brutalize Spirit.

[whumpbug]

HERE IS THE PART 2 OF THE KIDNAPPING FIC!

sorry guys the boys had too much fluff and needed angst to balance it out

i decided to post this now instead of during the whumperless event because. this scenario is inherently not whumperless. SO PLS ENJOY and as always ignore any medical inaccuracies as well as the fact that i sort of lazily wanted to get the whumpers out of the way as quickly as possible (ʃᵕ̩̩ ᵕ̩̩)

tags: @whumperofworlds @gala1981

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Archie’s head was going to explode.

It was the first thing he noticed when he started the slow process of regaining consciousness after.. after what?

What had even happened?

Archie groaned. It was a sickly sound; it bubbled up from his chest and came out as more of a choked sob.

He automatically took stock of his surroundings. 

He was on the ground-- concrete, by the feel of it. There was a stale breeze around him, but it didn’t feel like he was outside. It felt more vacant and empty.

Where the hell was he? How did he get here? He could have sworn he had just been on patrol, as usual, when he received a broadcast message about..

Simon.

Archie felt his heart sink. His eyelids flew open.

He immediately recoiled at the harsh overhead fluorescent lighting. He was gaining his wits about him, one by one, but it was happening so slowly. His mind felt so foggy. He felt like he couldn’t form a coherent train of thought, but he knew one thing. He had to save Simon.

With great difficulty, he managed to roll over to his side and brace himself on his elbow. A wave of nausea rolled over his body, one that did not feel like it was caused by a typical concussion.

No, it felt more like an uncomfortable wooziness coursing through his veins. It felt vaguely like time when he woke up after his emergency appendectomy, like his brain wasn’t catching up with reality.

He lifted his head the smallest bit and stopped in his tracks.

That was when he saw it

The bruises on his knuckles. The bloodstains on his hands and down his forearms, and subsequently, the unconscious bodies sprawled around him.

No. No, please. No.

His breath felt like white-hot fire in his chest. He began to hyperventilate. 

This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Please let them be okay. Please just make it stop--

“--mph! Mmph!”

The muffled voice caused Archie's head to whip up from where it was hanging towards the ground in a daze. His eyes met the source of the voice and--

Oh god, Simon.

Archie pulled himself together so fast it nearly gave him whiplash.

Simon was bound to a metal chair, arms and legs tied and a gag placed around his head. By the look in his eyes, he was awake, aware, and vehemently trying to talk to Archie.

Archie let out a strangled whimper as he reached an arm out, trying his hardest to begin the arduous crawl towards Simon, but he found his limbs were moving as if through molasses. 

Still, he was determined. Even if it took everything in him, he was going to free Simon. He could deal with the blood and bodies in a second, he just needed Simon to be okay.

He placed one arm in front of the other, yanking his bruised and battered body across the cracked cement. Tears pricked in his eyes. He felt so weak. Everything felt like he was in some hazy dream, and the lack of control he had over his limbs made him feel sick.

Eventually, his fingers found the leg of the chair, and Simon’s ankle. He began to clumsily work out the knot of the ropes, thankful the captors hadn’t had the foresight to use a more complicated one.

Once Simon’s legs were free, Archie pulled himself up on the chair with immense effort and yanked off the restraints around his wrists. At that point, his body had decided it had had enough, and he collapsed listlessly beside the chair, whining lowly in his throat.

His vision was swimming. He could only vaguely see Simon rip off his gag before he rushed to his side and crashed to his knees beside Archie.

“Archie. Archie, hey. Look at me. Eyes open, okay? Eyes on me,” Simon blurted, voice more desperate than Archie had ever heard it. A shaky hand found Archie’s carotid artery.

Archie obliged to the best of his ability. He gripped Simon’s arm, not caring that blood smeared on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Wh… wha’ happened..” Archie slurred as Simon gently propped him up on his knee. “The blood..”

Archie laboriously motioned a hand towards the unconscious bodies around them, feeling his breathing start to pick up again. Simon bit his lip and cradled Archie’s face with a gentle hand.

“It was a trap. I was the bait. You.. you fought them off.. they stuck you with a tranquilizer, but you were only out for a few seconds before you were fighting them again. I think.. well.. they were going to take blood samples and stuff. They had syringes. You uh..” Simon trailed off.

Archie didn’t need to hear the rest to know that he was the one that did this.

He had lost control. He had seen the needles and they were just reminiscent enough of that day in the alleyway to set him off. He shuddered imagining what he looked like, red and furious and blinded by panic.

Maybe it was the drugs still coursing through his veins, or maybe it was the fact that Simon had seen him in such a state, but hot tears began running down his face. Once the dam broke, he couldn’t stop.

He leaned towards Simon, utterly defeated. He tried so hard not to let his trauma run his life-- to try and move past it-- but god, he feared all it did was make him a rabid animal at the smallest sign of danger.

He wept.

Simon leaned down and gathered Archie in his arms, gentler than he’d probably ever been in his life. He brushed a blonde curl from his face and thumbed away stray tears.

“Shh.. It’s okay.. Archie, it’s okay.. you did what you had to do to protect us.. it’s okay,” He soothed, holding Archie close to his body.

Archie clung to him like a lifeline, digging his nails into Simon’s shirt. He felt so out of it, so emotionally and physically exhausted, but Simon was so steady and present. Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind.

“Th-they didn’t hurt you, right?” He whispered, scanning Simon up and down with drowsy eyes.

Simon huffed a small laugh. “No Archie.. I was just bait. You got here before they laid a finger on me.. I’m perfectly fine, see?”

Simon brought Archie’s head to his chest in a secure hug. He knew Archie didn’t need to get that close to hear his heartbeat, but he figured the closeness couldn’t hurt.

Archie visibly relaxed at the rhythmic sound of Simon’s heart beating in his chest.

At least he’s okay. At least it wasn’t all for nothing.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe while we let this tranquilizer run its course, okay? I’ll call the police about this place on the way.”

Archie nodded almost instinctively, lifting his arms to drape around Simon’s shoulders.

Simon smiled fondly, and leaned down to pick him up, holding Archie close to himself. Archie buried his face in the crook of Simon’s neck and let out a soft sigh. 

He could deal with the mental gymnastics of trying to decipher his feelings about the situation later. Now, he just wanted to close his eyes and let his worries wash away for just a moment.

He was okay. He was going to be fine. He was safe now.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[mjrtaurus]

There was something distinctly maternal about a ship at sea, he thinks.

Her to and fro sway rocking him back and forth in his hammock, like a child in the crib. The ebb and flow of waves against her hull sounding for all the world like some great creature breathing all around him. It was soothing. So, so soothing. Easing him down into oblivion, if only for a handful of hours. Safe and sound, cradled in the belly of the Wind Granma…

In his waking hours, he wonders how much of it all comes from homesickness. How much of it comes from missing his mother, wherever it was she had gone…

As if sensing the turn of his thoughts, the warm weight resting in his arms- right over his heart- stirs. A candle flame of a presence in his mind’s eye flickers to awareness.

Well, to as much awareness as a week old infant can have.

Dark eyes open a sliver to watch the baby- such a tiny, tiny baby- flail a limb. Little fingers reflexively curl into a fist, which thumps against his chest like the tiniest of punches. No fine motor control just yet, but Dragon likes to think the little one is letting him know that he’s aggravated with him for disturbing his sleep.

Then the fussing starts.

He unfurls himself from his hammock with a hum, wings shuffling against his back beneath his shirt.

“Hungry already, hm?” He asks the bundle in his arms, gruff voice soft and gentle.

Luffy’s fussing turns into squalling.

Definitely hungry.

Ideally, getting a bottle ready for an infant was a job to be done with two free hands, but he could make it work. He’d done it plenty of times before over the course of his “criminal” career. The only hard part was holding onto a very wiggly, very impatient baby while the water heated. Once that was done, though, the rest came easy.

The abrupt silence as Luffy latched onto the bottle was always enough to get a quiet huff of laughter out of him, no matter his mood. Furious to content in less than a second. No emotional whiplash whatsoever.

Definitely a Monkey D.

He watched the babe for a long moment. Looking at every dip and curve of his tiny face… he looked very little like him, taking more after his grandfather than he himself. No downy little wings to be seen on his back. It was for the best. It just meant making the connection between them would be more difficult.

The crew manning the ship thought the boy to be an orphan that had been left with them. It wasn’t as uncommon an occurrence as one might think, really. A parent or parents who couldn’t give their child the life they deserved, leaving them with people who could find them a family that could.

Like with all civilians- with children especially so- they swore themselves to secrecy about having them aboard and moving them to safety. Not even the write-ups and reports mentioned them. If they were compromised at any point, it would keep their identities safe.

The same was done on Luffy’s behalf.

Restlessness was seeping into him by now, as was the usual for most nights anymore. The cabin’s walls were feeling just a little too close for comfort.

“Let’s get the both of us some fresh air, hm?” He told the baby, tossing his cloak over his shoulders and closing the brooch. The thick fabric draped over Luffy like the wing of a bird.

The door to the cabin creaked on its hinges as he opened it, but the sight before him- or more specifically above him- made up for the obnoxious noise. They were leagues out to sea, with no light pollution to dull the glory of the moon and stars above them.

He pointed to them, naming them and their constellations, telling them their histories, their significance, the regional variations, all of it that he knew. Luffy wouldn’t remember a bit of it, but the little golden flame of him burned brighter whenever he talked to him like this. To anyone else running the skeleton crew, he was just soothing a refugee child back to sleep. To him, he was making the most of what little time with his son he had left.

The thought alone was enough to make his heart sink down to the planks beneath his feet.

The hand he had been using to single out the stars rested against the railing near the prow. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he could see the glowering eyes of the Wind Granma’s figurehead begin to glisten, as if she was grieving with him.

One more day, and they would be at Dawn Island.

One more day, and he would have to say goodbye.

[sora-fish]

SWTD!PD au headcanons, GO!!

Under the cut because this is probably gonna be long- plus little bit of a violence warning, just a tad

William

• Is always intangible- cannot be NOT intangible, he doesn’t have control of that

• Speaking of which, he really doesn’t have most of his Wisp abilities. The wisps kinda have moved onto the next whisperer.

• Survivors guilt…. (Is it still survivors guilt if you also died?)

• Probably haunts the house PD lives in after this, like, PD won’t see him for a couple days and then one of them walks into the kitchen too see William attempt to grab the bag of shredded cheese (and failing)

• William is especially uncomfortable around chemicals/explosives, which is a good thing he doesn’t go near them often.

Vyncent

• The only person without significant physical change, just lost the greats (comes with its own set of guilty thoughts)

• Lost all chance of going home…… Vyncent :(.

• He’s basically been taking the reins and making sure everyone is ok, pushing this shit DOWN. He was the one that got them a new apartment with his various credit cards.

• Instincts always are at an all time high, GOING HAYWIRE, bro cannot sleep properly unless PD is all in the same room.

• Stress levels are still beyond the roof, he hasn’t really had a chance to actually like- settle down and process what happened. He’s just been dealing with all the stuff afterwards cause he thinks he’s the only one stable enough for that.

Dakota

• Most physically mutated, kinda spider like, but if spider limbs were fleshy

• very very insecure about this unfortunately, it makes all of them (including Dakota) uncomfortable to be around so he tries to keep the new limbs to himself.

• Maybe kinda thinks about taking a bite out of one of the other 3 every once in awhile. Only a little bit.

• Trains too make sure he can use this new ‘power’ for the greater good, that and too work himself to the bone and forget anything happened. They all have their unhealthy coping mechanisms and this is Dakotas.

• Ms. G has tired to talk to PD after finding out they were even alive, and Dakota was so ashamed that he hid and has not talked to her sense their last phone call in the base.

Ashe

• Dead for the longest, so being brought back caused lots of whiplash- for example, it was dark and quiet for so long, she has trouble with those senses and stuff

• Being dead ALSO left damages too her body that they can’t really repair. Kinda like trickster Headcanons but instead it’s the fact that ocean water kinda messed things up

• Misses papa :(((

• Was the first to die, and she did so earlier on than anyone else, so she does not know what happened. She wants to know but the 3 others haven’t said anything.

• Less mutated then Kota, but has patches of skin that are still more ‘fleshy’, it hurts to the touch and she has one on her chest- it moves when her heart beats.

[kitsune-oji]

Idk if this is a cute request idea 😭 but I was thinking any gender reader goes to an event/party with Asmo and Mammon. they feel fine going into it, but get overwhelmed/start getting quite anxious because they're not really a fan of super loud crowded places but they wanted to go to try and "get out of their shell". What the brothers do to help you, try helping you enjoy it or take you out of there completely? Thank you. I hope you have a good day :)

Party People (not)

This was a wonderful idea, anon! Thank you!! Very very cute and I can relate so it was easier to write. I had a lot of fun and I hope you like it too

Asmo x/& gn!Mc x/& Mammon

Word count: 1'179

Warnings/tags: Reader called "bud" and "darling", overstimulated Reader

It had sounded like a good idea at the time, going out with Asmo and Mammon and just partying the night away. While it wasn't really your scene and you felt way out of place, you still wanted to do it. To go out and dance with them, laugh with them. How could you ever have a bad time around the avatars of greed and lust? They were The party animals and if anyone could get you into the spirit of clubbing, it would be them.

Fairly enough, despite the nervous jitters in your limbs you took a deep breath and went along with them. Asmo had helped you pick something out that was flattering but just as far as you were comfortable with and Mammon waited for the two of you in a car, looking sleek as he whistled when you approached.

The car ride was fun already and you felt yourself relaxing. Since you felt safe around your demons, it couldn't be too bad. Tonight would be fun. At least you told yourself this, hoping that it would hold true.

Once you arrived at The Fall however, the anxiety pooled in your stomach again and you swallowed hard. It looked so intimidating with all the people, the loud music and the flashing lights. It was all so new and so very very scary. Yet you kept going, Asmo tugging you with them towards the entrance and past the bouncer who only nodded and bowed slightly towards your demons as he let you pass through.

It was loud. Very loud.

The demons inside weren't so close that you couldn't move through but there was nowhere to go where you wouldn't be surrounded by people from all sides. The music was booming, though you knew it was even louder near the dance floor. Through it, the people tried to be even louder to make themselves heard and all it boiled down to was a lot of talking from everywhere, drowned out by the music just enough that you couldn't understand what they were actually saying without getting closer. There was no way you'd do that.

Not that you could, anyhow. With the whiplash you got, you hadn't really noticed where you were going. Now you were standing between Asmo and Mammon at the counter as the bickered and somehow got into an argument over what drink you'd like more. You wondered why they hadn't just asked you but shook your head at the thought. You would never make much sense of these brothers anyway.

It was ok, you told yourself, finally with a drink in your hand and sipping on it. The ice touched your lip and the liquid going down your throat felt refreshing. Like a small respite from everything around you, just until the feeling passed and you were thrust back into the talking and booming and flashing and movement around you.

You took another deep breath, letting it out slowly. You could do this.

But you couldn't. You really really couldn't do it at all and by the time your demons noticed, you were already struggling to breathe, clenching your eyes closed and holding your hands over your ears to block it out. Block everything out.

It wasn't enough but you couldn't move, couldn't just open your eyes and walk out, you couldn't even breathe right so how would you? Gentle hands touched your arm and wrapped around it when you didn't flinch away. You knew that touch.

Asmo guided you somewhere, maybe outside but no fresh air greeted you. You walked up stairs and doors opened and closed and then everything was muted and the lights shining through your eyelids were gone too. After being sat down on a couch, you felt Asmo shift to kneel in front of you. When you let your hands fall from your ears into your lap, he took them in his. Softly enough that you could take them back again but strong enough to offer stability, to ground you.

Before he could say anything, Mammon's voice reached you. The door opened shortly before it was closed again and the sudden return of sound made you flinch.

"A little warning next time, Mammon? Gosh, you can't just open the door out of nowhere like that", Asmo hissed through his teeth, cutting his brother off before you could understand what he wanted to say.

A pause.

"...sorry."

That made you open your eyes. Mammon just apologising like that was weird and kind of concerning. Asmo's features smoothed out just as you looked at him and you shifted your attention to Mammon instead.

He looked a bit put out but slowly walked towards you with a crease in between his brows that looked a lot more like concern. For you.

"Hey, bud", he whispered, "Are ya ok?"

Asmo looked at you as well, patiently waiting for your answer. For a moment, you tried to ask yourself this question first. Were you ok?

With everything now muted, alone with your two demons in a room so dimly lit it was almost fully dark, it was a lot easier to breathe again. Your hands in Asmo's were cradled softly and the two of them being so worried about you made your heart feel much the same.

"I think..", you started, trying to feel what words are right, "I think I'm ok now, maybe?"

Immediately, their expressions smoothed out. With a relieved sigh, his shoulders sagging, Asmo smiled up at you from where he still sat.

"We were worried, darling."

"Yeah, you just kinda shut down out there."

With a sigh of your own, you explained how everything had overwhelmed you to the point you couldn't think clearly anymore. They listened, asked for clarification and apologised for dragging you there.

"No, no! I wanted to come here, you didn't force me and you couldn't have known that it would mess with me this much. I didn't know either, I thought I could handle it when I'm with you and... while I feel safer with you around, it's just too much still. I'm sorry for messing up what was supposed to be a fun night out."

Asmo tutted at you, "None of that now, you don't have anything to apologise for either. As you said, you didn't know and it's not like you struggle on purpose."

You shook your head in agreement. Nobody got overwhelmed on purpose.

"So don't worry yer pretty lil head, yeah?", Mammon chimed in next to you, "As long as yer fine, that's what matters."

"Do you want to go home or do you wanna try again? I think going back home would be nice, we could just have our own little party" - Asmo leaned closer to you and squeezed your hands gently - "celebrating us. ♡"

You couldn't help the chuckle escaping you, even as Mammon complained that he wasn't going to let Asmo exclude him now.

As long as you were with them, whether it was a night out or a night in, you knew it'd end up fun.

[shadowed-vigil]

day 17: sally

noun: a sudden charge out of a besieged place against the enemy; a brief journey or sudden start into activity. characters: warrior of light, grinnaux de dzemael word count: 1926 notes/WARNINGS: noncon/consensual nonconsent if you SQUINT. set during the vault, au/not canonical for my wol

It starts with a chain cinched around her ankle. 

It shouldn’t start with anything. She’s better than this, she’s evaded worse. It’s just — 

She’s fast, but gods, she’s tired. It hasn’t exactly been an easy day; conspiratory whispers in a cleared out bar tumbling into an abrupt interruption, the sheer whiplash of watching a man launched from the top of the stairs at the Knight; the immediate understanding and sense of dread that had accompanied Ser Charibert’s face as he leered over the banister, clearly pleased with his work and eager for more. 

(At least she’d beaten the tar out of him before he’d fled. She had that much to her name, thank the gods.) 

But there was an implication with his attack in the first place; as good as a declaration of war, the walls closing in around her and hers. The confirmation as Lucia relayed the news that the Temple Knights were compromised, that they’d been seized by — 

“This isn’t right,” she’d whispered to Haurchefant, wringing her hands. “I know he’s — well, I know, but —” 

“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he’d soothed, ever an anchor amidst the storm. He smiled at her and gently squeezed her hand. “One way or another.”  ———

She had no way to know for sure what was waiting for her in the Vault. She had her suspicions to be sure — knew there was a fight to be had, that they wouldn’t make it easy for her. 

Adelphel wasn’t exactly who she’d been expecting — not so quick, not so soon. She’d assumed that maybe he was just naive enough to go along with whatever greater plot was at play rather than ask questions. He’s the youngest of them, after all.

She ignores that they’re the same age as she makes the argument in her head, had drawn her weapon all the same. It isn’t like he’d been interested in talking.

Grinnaux, however, has never learned how to shut his mouth.

She’s exhausted by the time she stumbles her way to Chapter House, bloodied and spent and —

“Alone?” he mocks, almost instantly. 

It hurts — wounds her to her core to see him so smug, so willfully mean. She bites her lip to keep it from wobbling. She thought seeing her would hurt him, too. 

(Maybe it did. Maybe, in his way —) 

“No,” she bites back — lies, poorly. “Reinforcements are on their way. It won’t be long.” 

She catches his answering smile, the sneer. 

Still, he indulges her; says, dreadfully soft, already mid-transformation, “Then let’s make this quick.”  ———

So it starts with the chain. 

Better than the gravity manipulation, she supposes — because he might play dirty but he affords her that much to start, the illusion of opportunity, like it doesn’t still paralyze her as he yanks her towards him. She supposes she deserves it for loosing an arrow directly at his head.

(Well — sort of. Because she’d pulled her shot, hope still stirring traitorously in her chest.) 

Furious tears spring to her eyes as she tries to will her limbs to move but can’t, pulse leaping fearfully as she catches the adjustment of his grip on Stampede. Confusion, when he doesn’t just swing at her outright, when he doesn’t hit her when he has her where he wants her. 

Like he’s toying with her. Prolonging the inevitable. 

The unwanted…? 

(Oh, some part of her chides, the whispers of some yet unknown shadow in the recesses of her mind. Perhaps you really are a fool.)

The paralysis doesn’t last long. The moment she feels her fingers twitch, she flings an arm back, reaching wildly for an arrow. 

He even lets her shoot it. 

How benevolent.

It finds purchase past the chainmail beneath his pauldron, breaking past the armor to sink in. It doesn’t seem to phase him in a way that matters, a brief pause as he glances down — and then he just reaches for it to rip it free, lazily snapping the fletching between thumb and forefinger.

“That one was poisoned,” she warns, already reaching for another. 

His answering chuckle comes out cruel, augmented by the aetherial distortion. 

“Is that so?” The first chain tightens, the slip of another snaking up around her other ankle, her wrist. She lifts her bow and he knocks it aside like it’s nothing, grabbing her wrist so tightly she wonders if he means to break it. “Think it’ll matter?”  ———

It doesn’t. 

She’s quick, she’s strong — she is capable, she’s dealt with worse, she — 

Hits the ground so hard it forces the air from her lungs. 

Her vision blurs as she chokes, palms pressed fast and hard against the floor — flexing into claws as she scrambles blindly, heart leaping in her throat when she feels a large, large hand settle against her back, crushing her back down. 

“Don’t,” she croaks, clawing the floor, trying to remember how to breathe properly so that she can scream, “don’t, please, this isn’t fair, this —” 

“No,” he murmurs, “I suppose it isn’t.”  

She writhes and kicks in protest, gasping — still blinking splotches from her vision as she stares bleakly up, the sunlight blinding as it spills through the courtyard windows. Beyond the bloodrush in her ears and his labored breath, she can still make out the faint babble of the fountains, the distant birdsong drifting in from the gardens. 

They’d walked there, together, just the other day. He’d taken her hand and kissed it, his mouth fever warm against her knuckles, watching with amusement as she’d blushed furiously. 

He’d given her something to be properly scandalized over once he was certain that they were alone, taking her jaw in hand and kissing her, full and deep and proper, leaving her dazed and breathless in the aftermath.

She wonders if he’s certain that they’re alone now. He must be, his other hand sliding with promise down the curve of her waist, the sharp backs of his gauntleted fingers snagging her skirts, tearing and ripping as he goes. 

“Grinnaux,” she begs, keening fearfully — can’t even kick her feet anymore, the way the chains hold her fast, “don’t, please, we can’t, you can’t —” 

He laughs like she’s said something funny, tugging her shorts down to her knees, rucking up the tattered remnants of her skirts. She hears the shift of armor, the hollow clatter as pieces hit the floor; feels the sharp nudge of his knee as he forces her legs further apart, spreading her wide. This can’t be happening. He can’t, he can’t — 

She goes very still as he settles over her fully, as she feels something dreadfully large press up against her, prodding crudely at her as he seeks out that slick, wet heat between her legs. 

“That’s — impossible,” she sputters, voice cracking, panicking. “It won’t fit.” 

“Yeah?” He grunts low, pins her down all the more mean. “I’ll make it fit.”

Oh gods, she wishes the floor would swallow her whole. “No,” she tries, “no, you won’t, it won’t —” 

His palm covers her drooling mouth, smothering the useless protest. She writhes in his grip, feels the hard length of him slide against her cunt, teasing, coating himself in her slick. It shouldn’t feel good. She shouldn’t want, doesn’t want — 

His breath fans warm over her neck, lips brushing her temple. “Will you scream, if I let you? Have the others come running — let them watch? They certainly won’t help.” 

Her snarl ends up muffled against his palm, trying desperately to bite down, anything to fight back — like there isn’t an awful, rotten warmth settling low in her stomach, like she isn’t shamefully wet. He adjusts again, cockhead sliding more insistently through her folds — a shift of his hips to notch the tip in.

Her entire body jerks on reflex, straining desperately against her bonds, against him. She claws at the air, teeth sinking into the thick leather of his glove, utterly useless — still somehow enough to have him dislodge his hand as she immediately babbles, words slurring together, “Stop, stop — please, it hurts, it’s too much, it —” 

Miraculously, he does stop. She nearly sobs with relief as he relents, blissfully sliding free from her cunt, leaving her to slump beneath him as she gasps for breath. Perhaps he was still in there, after all; he was still him, he still — 

And then he is him, again, truly — as she feels the abrupt shift behind her, a swirl of aether that leaves him as himself, truly, no distortion to his voice. No longer a primal, but a man. Still large, still heavy, as he keeps her flush between him and the floor. She shivers, his lips warm and soft and achingly familiar as they graze her temple. 

He shifts again, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. “Only because you begged.” 

His hips slam forward and she finally, at last, screams. 

It’s too much, still — always a stretch with him, always an effort to work his cock fully into her snug little cunt. No effort spared at all, this time, as he just fucks into her roughly, seats himself down to the hilt as she bursts into furious tears, thrashing blindly, begging for him to stop, stop —

“When you’re this wet?” he laughs, breathless and snarling and so impossibly mean. “Little liar. Say it like you mean it.” 

She tries. She tries and tries, pleading and sobbing, shuddering so violently she fears she might break with the effort if he doesn’t somehow break her first. All her blind thrashing is for nothing, his aetherial chains holding her fast, his body weight still more than enough to keep her pinned firmly to the floor — as it settles in, all at once, that she is truly helpless. 

Her cunt tightens over him, clenching so hard she feels miserable. 

His laugh is half-groan as he tangles a fist in her hair, gripping at the root to yank her head back, twisting until she whimpers. “You’ve always liked it rough, though — haven’t you, kitten?” His pace increases, the hand on her hip bruising as he holds her steady. “Begging for me to stop like you don’t love the shame, like you won’t come — oh, yes you will, please, like I can’t feel it —” 

To her credit, she tries not to. 

(Tells herself that she tries not to.) 

She still does, though, in the end — tips over the edge as she whimpers helplessly, toes curling in her boots. He lets her shudder through it, cooing softly in her face; the wet, lewd noise with each brutal thrust telling in its own way, echoing off the stone and ringing incessantly in her ears. It isn’t long before his pace sharpens, before he buries into her, makes it impossible to not feel each twitch and spurt of his cock in her aching cunt. He just fucks his spend deeper as he grunts, panting in her ear, telling her to take it, to be still, to be good. 

Like she has a choice.

He stays locked with her, after; one last lazy roll of his hips into the sticky, warm mess he leaves behind, arm still slipped up beneath her hips to hold her flush against him. She makes no immediate effort to move, rendered boneless as she slumps beneath him, her tear-stained cheek resting against the cool marble floor. 

She blinks blearily as he settles over her, a kiss pressed to her temple as her vision swims — as it sharpens, finally, as she catches sight of her bow resting just out of reach. 

She swallows thickly.

He’s still on her. He’s still in her. 

Her hand flexes.

[colderdrafts]

question:

What should we do/say to surprise morgan? I just re-read your writing about them and they always seem so playful with their sentry, I want to see them catch off guard for once! your thoughts?

Smack them with a newspaper whenever they're being unpleasant

Jkjk, it's not exactly easy catching Morgan off guard, but you can learn to watch for their weaknesses and strike when they show themselves.

If you just wanna prank them, get to high ground when they're distracted. They may not think you'd start climbing in the middle of the day. When they start looking for you, plop down on top of them from above. You'll get a nice serving of flailing spider limbs and spooked hissing.

Be extremely weird back. Whenever they're doing a creepy 'loving' spiel, up the ante and be creepy back. They'll be surprised but they might like it, so tread with caution here.

Let them know you know what they're doing when they retaliate. Just talk casually when they do it, showing no reaction at all. "Ah yes, your words don't work anymore, so now you're picking me up." or "Your eyes are real pretty shiny when you're trying to be intimidating." etc.

Careful riling them up, tho. They'll catch on quickly and play with you, but they may also stick you to a wall or themself once they're done with that.

If you wanna do it in a different way, you can also choose to just be genuinely sweet, and/or protective of them. If a common-folk invades your space or is rude to Morgan, be the first to strike and tell the intruder to piss off. You being protective of them will genuinely surprise them.

Go to them when you feel bad, anxious or in need, especially if you're the kind who'd resist them a lot. They'll automatically act to support you, but they'll be pleasantly surprised when you actually ask for it. Solidifying that they're a source of comfort.

If nothing else works, you can always tease them in a way that suggests you leaving, or you have another custodian to go to. It probably won't end well.

______________________________________________________________

As twilight approaches, you're set for the day, sitting on a fallen tree trunk and sorting what you've gathered today. The call of evening insects accompanies the faint sound of Morgan close by sorting their own haul a few meters from you.

You glance over at them, wondering if you should put your piles together instead, as something gently brushes against you hand.

Looking down, you find a small, brown spider sitting on the mushroom in your hand. It seems to be carefully investigating with a pair of legs whether the skin on your hand is safe to climb onto.

You flatten you hand to let it crawl on so you can move it without much issue. This little crawler is nothing compared to the manifestation of horror you're dealing with every day. Still, you can sorta see the resemblance, as you watch it's little legs move, gauging and analyzing everything around it. You wonder if Morgan was this careful when they were smaller as well.

"Hey, Morgan?" you call over your shoulder, still admiring the little creature on your hand.

"Hmm?" comes the inquiring response.

"I found a new friend," you reply, chuckling. "They kinda look like you."

It's almost a sound like a whiplash when Morgan is in a hurry to get somewhere, going from A to B in a split second. Today, that second leads directly with their front pressed closely against your back and a pair of legs slammed into the dirt in front of you. You stumble back in shock, dropping the poor spider somewhere in the grass below.

"Where?" Morgan hisses dangerously, staring into the woods.

You take a second to breathe in, coming down from the sudden scare.

"Fucking hell, what going on with you?" you complain, palming at their pedipalps that's closing in around your shoulders.

"Where are they?" Morgan repeats with annoyed urgency, tightening their grip.

"Probably crawling around somewhere in the dirt trying not to be stepped on!" you scold them. "It's just a spider, what's the big deal!"

"Spider-" Morgan repeats lowly, carefully glancing down at you. Then their eyes settle on something in the grass below, and they breathe out shakily. "Just a spider."

[out-there-tmblr]

Turns out Izzy Hands did become my favourite character of s2

I finally got around to watching ep 8, thankfully spoiled for Izzy's death. I'm disappointed by it because:

the sudden heavy emotions of the death didn't feel genuine, or didn't feel in line with what we've actually seen this season. I get that they both acted the hell out of the scene, but the emotions were lacking to me. Usually, OFMD is incredibly heartfelt and moving, despite the humour and sillyness, but this just felt... cheap.

it doesn't feel like it works with the vibe of the show (where our main characters can be stabbed and shot and lose limbs and bounce back to healthy pirates the next morning). This isn't Hornblower -- for two seasons, we've never seen one of the good guys die onscreen so I doubt anyone was expecting it.

the death and funeral so quickly spun to wedding joy that it gave me emotional whiplash. Why kill off a main character and flip to "happy ending" thirty seconds later?

I don't think it actually added anything to the plot. Like, we could have had Izzy shot and needing help off the beach and another miraculous survival… and it wouldn't have changed the ending for Ed/Stede. It felt like Izzy had already moved past trying to keep Ed as Blackbeard so the death was pointless.

Personally, I don't like the idea that Izzy had to die for Ed's happy ending to work. It would have been far more satisfying -- and keeping with the vibe of the show -- to have them both grow and find new things in their lives

Honestly, I would have much rather seen how Izzy did working for Zheng and sailing off with the crew. That would have been fascinating. He looked genuinely impressed by her fighting in the bar and I feel like he'd appreciate the efficiency of a well-run ship.

(It wasn't a show of my heart, so I'm only disappointed rather than heartbroken. But I can absolutely see why fans who really identified with the finding queer community vibe of s2 would be upset by it.)