#my blood might lack some iron but other than that it’s good enough
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diviedrawn · 24 days ago
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Do you need a human blood supply???
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beautifulbows924 · 2 years ago
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Poly!Kaz Brekker & Inej Ghafa x Gender Neutral!Reader
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Masterlist
AFG Bingo Masterlist
A/N: This feels like a successful attempt at transferring my sudden inspiration to paper (lol). Honestly, I’m really enjoying learning the nuances to writing these new characters! And I hope it was worth the wait for those of you who saw the sneak peak! As always, I hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave any feedback you have in the comments and if you like my work consider leaving a tip! Thanks:)
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 1K+
Created for: @lgbtqbingo / Square Filled O3: Polyamorous Relationship.
Warnings: Violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, religious undertones, vague spoilers for the books & show. (Paragraphs solely in italics are set in the past).
Loyalty may be seldom found among bastards and vagabonds, but Kaz Brekker had discovered suffering at the end of a gloved hand or the hilt of a cane served him just as well.
Dirtyhands became the stories, spoken late into the night by parents to regale the children of Ketterdam with, in case they thought it wise to stray into the tangled mess of filth the barrel had to offer. He became the whispers of an alley filled with shadows and the tight-lipped fears of those who would dare to cross him.
Rumors were as good as currency in Ketterdam, and he had heard them all. He had no eagerness to dispel them, they were all true enough.
Modesty was a commodity those without their freedom could only ever dream of, but Inej Ghafa had learned to use the nightfall of Ketterdam like a second skin.
A talent some swore must have been gifted to her by the Saints themselves.
Their rumors served her just as well. The Wraith became the whispered prayer among indentures and the grave reveal of words unspoken.
Secrets were as good as currency in Ketterdam, and she knew them all. Even his.
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The rhythmic tap of your foot had become almost expected to him, comforting even. He always feigned annoyance at the action. Only internally allowing himself to wonder if you felt similarly about the sudden additional pressure of a cane against the tip of your boot.
Kaz Brekker had never believed in miracles. In luck, or Saints, or fate. But even a faithless man like him could recognize there was something of importance this moment had to offer him, and he’d never been one to turn down a deal.
He didn’t dare reach for your hand. Not here, not near the water. Not out in the open where anyone could catch sight of his failures.
Instead, he shifted his grip on his cane and poked your hand with the hilt until your fingers lightly wrapped around the crow's head, allowing him to feel the slightest pressure of added weight through his own hold.
Trying was easier than he thought it would be, especially with the sight of your half quirked smile as a lovely reward. It was a smile he had seen solely reserved for him.
He attempted to earn it as often as you’d allow.
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Inej’s prayers sat heavy on her tongue.
She knew brutality. She knew the Saints would counsel mercy in a moment like this.
Yet not a word of opposition graced her lips as Kaz laid claim to the blood debt he felt he was owed.
She felt she was owed it too.
There was a past her that might have feared him once, but this was the same man that had worried if his tie was straight before he met her parents for the first time, so instead she asked, “Was this what it was like?”
The prolonged silence that came after wasn’t from the lack of context held in those six words. He was fairly certain they could retain the ability to read each other with a handkerchief stuffed in their mouths and their backs turned. He was simply attempting to discern which answer would be worse, the truth, or the lie he knew she’d see through regardless.
She slightly inclined her head toward him, the heavy scent of iron lingering around them like a stain. She watched how his gloved hands shook with boiled over rage, emotions poorly contained even in the dim light. To her, his silence had always been a response in it of itself. She wouldn’t pressure him, not now. She knew he didn’t want her to know, or perhaps—he didn’t want to relive those days for himself.
Maybe, she thought, he already was.
And as a former member of the Dregs stumbled down the alley, palm pressing hopelessly into the empty space where his crow and cup tattoo had formerly resided, searching for a sense of relief that would never follow, she wondered if that’s what Kaz Brekker’s mercy looked like.
He did spare him, after all.
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Her lips bore the semblance of a smile, the only tell she provided in her knowledge of your quiet presence.
Your eyes remained steady to the horizon, face kissed with the last orange rays the sunset had to offer, patiently waiting until Ketterdam was once again cloaked in familiar darkness.
She couldn’t recall how the sun had looked that day. She was too captured by the sight of you.
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The waves threatened to pull him under, a war of salt and foam just beneath his chin. He forced a pale hand to rest on the blood covered sheets, searching for reassurance, needing to communicate to himself that you were still there with them. Warm. Alive.
His other hand, gloved, loosely gripped hers. A reminder that she was there too.
Kaz Brekker had never believed in miracles. In luck, or Saints, or fate. But he believed in you, he believed in Inej, and for the first time, he prayed that was enough.
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His expression shifted, lingering somewhere between exasperated and fond, a bit soft at the edges in the shared presence of those his heart had betrayed him for.
You looked similarly effected, eyes trained on Inej, committing her every feature to memory.
He did the same to you. For once, allowing himself to hope.
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It’ll take time, she told herself, taking in a steadying breath as she walked to join the two of you at the bar.
“Inej”, Nina called from behind her, reminiscent of a time much different than the one they currently shared, voice low and intended for only their ears, “I once wished you could see what I did, hear each and every sound so you could understand what you were missing. But now”, she let out a light laugh, “When the three of you are together. It’s like home.”
It seemed as if a lifetime had passed since then, but Inej could still recall the words she had responded with, the confusion she had felt.
She smiled. She wasn’t that person anymore, and Nina was right.
She had found her home.
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Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want to be tagged or un-tagged down below. <3
Shadow & Bone Taglist: @mxtokko
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lesbianlanarcher · 1 year ago
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Archer x Reader Halloween Headcanons
another year without any archer halloween content, so i'm making my own!
credit to @lovingwanda for the idea :)
How Halloween plans would go with each of my fave characters!
🎃🧛🏽‍♀️👻🧟‍♀️🎃
STERLING
"Batman and Catwoman? Really? Isn't that, like, as basic as you can stoop?"
Halloween, like all festivals, is an excuse for Sterling to get shit-faced. More so than usual, so he's game for whatever dumbassery you've got in mind... plus his own.
More likely than not, he'll wanna go to a strip club. Practically insists on it and whines like a little kid until you give in and agree.
"What? I've never been to a strip club for Halloween. Are you gonna deny me of hot vampire tits now? After you coerced me into this ridiculous outfit? Wow..."
If you got him drunk enough, he'd agree to dress up as whatever you want him to. He might grumble and say you're demeaning him by sticking a pair of bunny ears on his head, but, secretly, he's enjoying it. Plus, those ears attract a lot of attention so... he's basking in it. But he won't tell you that. He can see your little smirks and smiles, but he's so totally not lapping all of it up. No, he's embarrassed! Sooooo embarrassed that he's having suuuuuch a good time with you.
As for trick or treating? As much as he wants to go out and get free candy from strangers, he recognises that he's far too old for such a thing. However, he absolutely will drag you out to "chaperone" AJ and her friends when they go out trick or treating. And takes a 40% cut for looking after them. Then, uses you as a scapegoat when Lana finds out about it. Obviously.
LANA
"Slutty nun is kinda on the nose, no? Also, who told you about that?"
Halloween is a little... overwhelming for Lana. The very idea makes her uneasy, which is ironic for the absolute force she is in and out of the field.
She wants AJ to have a good time, of course, but there's a lot going on with all the mayhem of trick or treating and running about the streets of New York at night. And the fact there are people dressed as murdererous psychopaths, covered in blood etc. Well, that sends her already worrying brain into overdrive.
"Is this a good idea? I mean, everyone does it. Trick or treating. So... yeah... fine... right? Maybe you should come with me. No. You should definitely come with me. AJ would appreciate it too."
She's not one for partying until the sun rises, but she'll indulge in some of the festivities like staying at home, sharing a bottle of wine with you, and answering the door for other trick or treaters once you've both done the rounds with AJ. She leans into the whole domestic mom thing even more and dresses up in matching outfits with you! (whether that's slutty or savoury is up to you...)
Steadily throughout the night, she does get more and more pissed off, though. The constant getting up to answer the door, hearing the same phrase screamed at her over and over, and the general lack of quiet agitates her to no end. Still, she'll try her best not to blow a fuse since she knows how much you enjoy Halloween. She can, after all, be very caring.
ZARA
"I swear to god, if you don't come up with an original idea for a costume, I'm blowing the building up."
Halloween is one of Zara's favourite holidays, if not her number one favourite. She wants to do it ALL, and she's taking you as her prisoner for the night.
First on the checklist (yes, she made an itinerary, it's that serious) are couple costumes. She already has it planned out, you don't get a say in it, she knows your measurements, she's bought you a custom costume and you WILL wear it.
"Aww, see? You look adorable, like I knew you would. Now, smile for the camera."
Then, the night unfolds as such : carving pumpkins, apple bobbing (look it up), witch hat ring toss, Halloween scavenger hunt, and ending the festivities off by rolling around a bar until some truly unholy hours.
She used to go trick or treating a lot as a kid, but she's definitely outgrown that now. However, she always makes sure she has sweets to give the kids who knock on her door. She won't admit it, but seeing all the little kids in their adorable costumes is her favourite part of it all.
CHERYL
"You call that scary? What are you? Five years old? I was reciting Suspiria when I was five, not Hocus frickin' Pocus!"
Halloween for Cheryl imbues her with an especially sinister energy. She's already crazy as it is, but tonight? Watch out.
Due to her strange, eccentric upbringing, she never really had the chance to go trick or treating like a regular, non-billionaire child. She doesn't get the appeal and she has absolutely zero desire to get free candy that was – in her words – bought from a store (the dollar store) she wouldn't set foot in even if she were dying of a disfiguring disease and it housed the only cure on Earth.
"God, that really is a pathetic attempt of a costume. Like, did you even try? A month? This took you a month to put together? Why do you even bother?"
All being said, she will spend her Halloween with you, provided you do exactly what she wants.
That includes : sitting through the most fucked up films you've ever had the misfortune of watching, using a oujia board (since she thinks those are fun and doesn't take your cautioning against 'doing it properly' serious), only saying "trick" to all the kids who knock on her door and laughing in their faces when they don't know what to do, and listening to all her crazy conspiracy theories at 3AM because she refuses to go to sleep and you're now too scared to.
KATYA
"I do not get it... You want me to dress up as... тыква?"
Halloween for Katya is a foreign concept since it's not a widely celebrated holiday in Russia, but she is curious about it.
Most of what she knows has come from various western films, a little from what you've told her, and a little from Sterling. Although, he was mainly talking about the vampire tits at the strip club which wasn't all that useful. So, when you have your first Halloween with her, she's both excited and only slightly confused.
"This costume is scratchy and poorly made. Where did you say you got it from? Spirit? Well, there was absolutely no spirit put into the production of this polyester abomination, I tell you that."
She would love to experience what it's like to go trick or treating, but when you tell her that it's only for kids, she gets super frowny and demands you take her anyway. Which you do 'cause are you really gonna say no to her?
So, when you inevitably end up in a crowded bar, slurping Halloween themed cocktails, she agrees and says trick or treating is for kids... but she lets you in on her candy haul nonetheless.
PAM
"Fuck yeah! Weirdest but hottest couples costume award here we come!"
Halloween, much like Zara, is basically a holy holiday for Pam. Up there with no socks day.
Your agenda is simple : dress up good and drink even better. It's an absolutely foolproof plan.
"You want me to carve a pumpkin? Right now? After I had, like, seven of these scare-o jell-o shots? Alright. Gimme the knife."
Something that surprises you is to find out just how incredible her special effects makeup skills are. She can give you a gnarly gash on your face like it's nothing. That open zip wound thing? Yeah, she can do that too. A pus-filled boil? Pam's your guy. Any gory thing you can think of, she's got you covered.
Once you're done letting her decorate you with some truly horrible looking injuries, you spend the rest of the night at her place, watching horror films, knocking back those aforementioned scare-o jell-o shots that she prepared earlier, and having a damn good time until you both pass out on the couch.
so... yeah! that was all very silly n self-indulgent, hence why i only did my faves. if you want me to come up with stuff like this for other characters or anything else for any character, inbox me! and happy halloween!
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justkidneying · 2 months ago
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ANOTHER regen question!
Let's see if I phrase this one right it's been rolling in my brain a bit
Assumptions are the character heals a slower than Wolverine and they've just suffered some serious blood loss. Like they lost ~3L of it and the wound has now closed up and the body's working to create as much blood as possible.
Given how bone marrow is where blood comes from, what sorts of things might they have to deal with in the recovery period? Like, as the body is taxing the marrow like that (and/or whatever else it has to)?
I'm going to assume this is a ~200lb man, just to give some leeway. So a big guy like this would have maybe 6 liters of blood in him (most humans range from 4-6 L). If he loses ~3 L, I would say he would probably just die. If blood loss is >40%, that's a Class IV hemorrhage, which presents with absent peripheral pulses, hypotension (low blood pressure), and no peepee output. This person will go into hemorrhagic shock. Since they lack the oxygen-carrying hemoglobin that is found in blood, they will not be able to supply oxygen to their tissues. This stops the usually metabolic processes and switches the body to anaerobic metabolism, which makes lactic acid and very little ATP (energy). Lactic acid leads to acidosis. Acidosis leads to cell death, coma, and plain ole death. He will die.
But wait! He's got regenetative powers to save him, right? No. If his powers aren't magical, then he will still die. Because regeneration is based on being able to replicate cells very quickly, he would need to do it fast enough to beat the cells that are dying. Unfortunately, he doesn't have enough ATP to do normal cell stuff and make a bunch more. Replication of cells requires a lot of ATP (energy). So he will still die.
Now, let me answer the second question, and we will go back to when he is still alive. Let's change it so he only lost ~30% of his blood volume (1.8L). He's still not doing good (he has Class III hemorrhage) but he can live. This will present with pallor, coolness in the limbs, altered mental status, narrowing blood pressure (the top and bottom numbers are getting close together), increased respiratory rate, and increased heart rate. The body is trying to keep blood flow to the vital organs. Let's say he survives and now he's home and trying to recover.
Blood has a lot of things in it, but the important bits are plasma (the liquid bit which makes up ~55% of blood), red blood cells (they carry oxygen), platelets (for clotting) and white blood cells (part of the immune system).
The most important one here are the RBCs. 90% of plasma is water, and you won't die right away without the other ones. The body measures RBCs through the kidney. If the kidney sees that you don't have enough of them, then it sends a hormone (EPO) to the spongey inner bone where blood is made. EPO causes more stem cells to turn into RBCs (instead of WBCs or platelets). To make these, you need iron. The iron stores of the body will be used, and you will take up more iron from your food.
Overall, I'd say the guy will feel like shit, and he should probably take a break for about 3 months while he replinishes his blood supply. He should eat foods high in iron, maybe take an iron supplement. But he'll be anemic while he recovers and be low on those other blood cells. Honestly, his regen powers aren't that useful here. They were useful in fixing whatever caused the blood loss, keeping him from losing a ton of cells to blood supply issues, and that's about it. If he doesn't have an advanced factor, then he can't really be helped with making more RBCs.
I hope I answered your question, and thank you very much for asking it!
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maleficore · 1 year ago
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1, 7 and 11 for the durge ask thingy :^〕
I went a bit off with these ones nonnie, I'm so sorry... But you asked for it! So here it is
1. What circumstances led to your Dark Urge becoming their Class/Subclass?
The sorcerer part is easy -- a gift from dad. Since he’s an invoker (I modded the Divine Soul subclass into the game, but there’s genuinely dialogue that implies that Durge’s sorcery is of divine origin so…) there’s not much more to it than that, that part of his power comes straight from his heritage. As for Paladin though… it’s a bit of a story. I imagine he started out as an Oath of Devotion (or if I had the entire 5e roster to choose from, Redemption maybe? Since that would hit close to home for him) paladin in a loose service of The Triad when he was young, but that oath did not last long. He was barely 21 or so when Bhaal decided he’s had enough of that whole “I’m better than the whispers of slaughter carried by my blood” charade, and forced his hand by unleashing the Slayer upon Ezra’s paladin order. That itself did not break the oath since he had no choice in the matter, but coming to his senses and finding everyone he knew so shredded their state could barely be classified as solid anymore, stripped Ezra of all the hope and lead him to break the oath by swearing allegiance to Bhaal and eventually becoming High Primate of his temple. He had no reason not to become an Oathbreaker at that point (“Sure, why not. What more damage could some more dark power shoved up my ass do, might as well start a collection” essentially) and he’s been one ever since. He doesn’t remember it of course so he doesn’t really seek to reclaim the oath he lost over a 100 years ago and it’s not like he really believes in the tenets anyway, not anymore. Oathbreaker suits him just fine.
7. Did your Dark Urge recall any childhood memories? If yes, how do they feel about the revelations? If no, was it by choice or lack of options?
He did eat the Noblestalk and I switched some stuff around to have that be the trigger for the memory of murdering his foster parents. He did not like that much obviously, but the memory was so brief and there was so much other shit going on he really did not have the brainpower to dwell or process it properly. However! I like the idea of his memories, especially the really deeply buried pre-Bhaal ones, being more triggerable than they are in the game. Those show up for Ezra a few times once the party arrives in Baldur’s Gate and are mostly tied to the ilmatari temple. I’m not gonna go much into detail about what they are because I’m still ironing that out and don’t wanna spoil the eventual fic, but those are the pleasant ones. They both deliver the painful truth -- “Was I sweet once?” No, you were not, but that’s okay – and the balm to soothe the burn in the form of there being people who cared about him anyways. It’s something he needs a lot at that point in the story and is very grateful to remember.
11. What motivates your Dark Urge to either embrace or resist the Urge?
I don’t really follow a straight embrace/resist path with Ezra just as I don’t separate him into different people before and after the tadpole. He’s the same person who fucked corpses and ate babies, the person who crowned an elderbrain and stood by a megalomaniac tyrant’s side knowing full well that the man’s climb to power will be paved with corpses. Lobotomy did not suddenly make him a good person. He’s still selfish, he’d still rather result to cruelty if it’s the easiest option, he enjoys the rush of ecstasy that makes his breath tremble when he’s nearly elbow deep in someone’s chest cavity... But he does not remember being stripped of the hope that he can be more than that, if that makes sense? When he resists the Urge it’s not because he would not enjoy breaking a paralysed girl’s legs like twigs or smile feeling the energy in the air shift as a child breathes her last laying on cold stone floor, he knows he would love it. But what does that make him? A monster, nothing more. And maybe that’s what he is, a wretched thing, but there are these people around him now, that look at him much different than he sees himself and he likes that even more than he enjoys wrecking mindless carnage. There’s no Gortash (who he might not remember, but the echo is still there) who saw him as a person even at his worst, he doesn’t know how they’d react to seeing what he really is so he does not let them. If they were not present, he probably would not bother to deny himself. The same way if explicitly given permission or encouraged to, he will a 100% go wild. Stuff like Astarion telling him to nibble on goblin toes or Shadowheart encouraging him to take over for lousy torturers will have Ezra hold his breath in excitement and comply most eagerly. But while he does not give a flying fuck about hurting strangers, because of them seemingly genuinely caring about him in their own ways, he really does not want to hurt any of the companions no matter what the Urge whispers in his ear. They’re the only people that are off limits.
Still, there’s someone that dies during the events of Ezra’s post-tadpole story that while not a death he himself caused, consciously or otherwise, is very much something that he could’ve prevented and so its weight gets put on his shoulders to bear anyway. That causes a bit of a shift in him, the guilt makes him go from resisting the Urge because he wants to conceal it to resisting it because he’s had enough and is tired of being defined by it. He even starts going a bit out of his way to save people when in the past he would’ve just left them to die because he realises that every death he does not prevent might as well be intentional, just because of the nature of who he is. Does that mean he stands up to Bhaal as a true resist Durge would? Fuck no. Selfish, remember? And scared. By the time he reaches Bhaal’s altar he’s seen what happens to the souls he claims, they are bound forever into his servitude as echoes of themselves. That’s something Ezra can’t bring himself to accept, just as he can’t bring himself to let Bhaal kill him and leave all his friends behind while there’s still an elderbrain they’re bound to fight. He’ll die, he’ll have to if he wants to be free, but that requires it to be on his own terms. Not upon Bhaal’s damn altar in his godsdamned temple, you know? So the Urge he might resist, but he doesn't have as much of a drive and courage to outright deny his heritage, no matter the consequence. Not until the end.
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calicostorms · 1 year ago
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4, 7, and 8 for nydha plsssssss
4: a letter from your oc to their love interest
In this case he has two, so I've done two.
[Found among Dorian's belongings in the library. It is a letter in a messy script with the scent of Embrium clinging to it]
Ma da'caron,
I wish I had brought you along to the Hissing Wastes. This place is rather unsettling and all the sand sucks. You always make it feel less serious when things trouble me, regardless of the problem in question. Other than the sand and a rather bad sunburn I am doing fine.
We've been slowly making some progress, but the creatures here are often hostile and odd. I've never seen something like it, apart from the occasional dragon deep within the forests, and those were rare. There's an odd chanter here that Solas says is a spirit; it gave me the heebie jeebies. At least closing rifts has gotten easier in recent weeks, I guess.
Your presence is sorely missed at my side every night, whether it's reading me those fancy books you imported to the Skyhold library or trying to stumble through learning elvhen. Your teasing in particular, I often miss in this weird wasteland while I am far from you.
We will return within several weeks from the receiving of this letter, or so says the agent I gave this letter to for delivery. I have squirreled away several pieces of jewelry which reminded me of you in anticipation of reuniting soon!
Dareth shiral,
Nydha Lavellan
[A letter from the Inquisitor on custom pale green parchment found on a small table beside the Inquisitor's personal guard, Rajmael. It is written solely in Elvhen.]
My loving protector,
Do not worry for me, my heart. Our companions are highly capable and the mission of no more danger than my previous ones. The sooner you are healed from your injury, the sooner we may travel together again! I know you will worry, but the gods will protect me from harm.
The healer (I forget his titles, I hope he will not be upset), Lark, gifted me several more healing balms than on my previous missions and I fully expect The Iron Bull will be enough for this particular trip. Thus far it has been uneventful, and I miss speaking elvhen with you. Dorian is lovely, but his elvhen is worse than any Dalish four year old's still, not to mention his accent. He has been trying his best to raise my spirits in your absence with partial success.
So far I have returned a widow's ring to her in exchange for an old bottle of liquor. I am unsure of if it is still good, but she was sweet to gift it. We have taken down several small groups of bandits bothering the farmers near Redcliffe in recent days, which was fun! I managed to freeze one solid, so maybe Vivienne's advice about ice magic was helpful. I've never been much good at ice magic.
Go with my favor,
Nydha Lavellan-Ghilain
7: Someone describing a time your oc hurt them
[A torn out journal entry]
—he fought me again today. He apologized once he was calm, but my face stings quite badly. I might have a black eye, but I will ask the healer to fix it so Nydha won't feel so guilty.
I know it isn't about me. He's scared and in pain and his family was massacred in cold blood. I'll protect him the best I can from his own grief, even if it means a black eye or two. [The rest has been torn away]
8: your OC's doctor/healer describing their injuries
Codex: A Healer's Logbook
[A log of various injuries and ailments sustained by Nydha Lavellan over several years. This is an addition to serveral previous, earlier assessments]
8th of Bloomingtide
His pain continues to worsen, regardless of the rest he gets, or lack thereof. The anchor is spreading slowly, though Solas and I have done what we can to stop it. Nydha is run ragged by pain, both physical and psychological, and often fails to sleep through the night.
15th of Justinian
He has a huge sword slash across the side from fighting at Adamant. It has surprisingly not been infected, though his attempts to heal it probably staved off some infection on the journey back. The tissue may not grow back completely, but he will live and it will not pain him.
17th of Justinian
Black eye from sneaking up on Sera to surprise her. He'll be fine.
26th of Justinian
He has gone through 3 more sleeping draughts just this month and often complains of pains. His usual hand pains seem to be worse on the left hand, and he rarely uses it if he can avoid it.
Note: ask Mellita and Revna if they know of any other solutions to his sleep problems.
1rst of Kingsway
Occasional bouts of incorporality with his left hand when getting closer to rifts. Does not seem to pain him extensively.
29th of Kingsway
Several bear clawmarks on his right leg, minor infection. The injury is fixable and he will be fine in several hours.
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horizon-verizon · 2 years ago
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Queen Alysanne’s silvery she-dragon had accepted a second rider, Borros Baratheon pointed out. “Why not a third? Claim the dragon and your crown is secure.” But Aegon II was as yet unable to walk or stand, much less mount and ride a dragon. Nor was His Grace strong enough for a long journey across the realm to Red Lake, through regions infested with traitors, rebels, and broken men. That answer was no answer, plainly. “Not Silverwing,” His Grace declared. “I will have a new Sunfyre, prouder and fiercer than the last.” So ravens were sent to Dragonstone, where the eggs of the Targaryen dragons, some so old they had turned to stone, were kept under guard in undervaults and cellars. The maester there chose seven (in honor of the gods) that he deemed most promising, and sent them to King’s Landing. King Aegon kept them in his own chambers, but none yielded a dragon. Mushroom tells us His Grace sat on a “large purple and gold egg” for a day and a night, hoping to hatch it, “but it had as well been a purple and gold turd for all the good it did.” Grand Maester Orwyle, free of the dungeons and once more adorned with his chain of office, gives us a detailed look inside the restored green council during this troubled time, when fear and suspicion held sway even within the Red Keep. At the very time when unity was most desperately required, the lords around King Aegon II found themselves deeply divided, and unable to agree on how best to deal with the gathering storm. The Sea Snake favored reconciliation, pardon, and peace. Borros Baratheon scorned that course as weakness; he would defeat these traitors in the field, he declared to king and council. All he required was men; Casterly Rock and Oldtown should be commanded to raise fresh armies at once. Ser Tyland Lannister, the blind master of coin, proposed to sail to Lys or Tyrosh and engage one or more sellsword companies (Aegon II did not lack for coin, as Ser Tyland had placed three-quarters of the Crown’s wealth safely in the hands of Casterly Rock, Oldtown, and the Iron Bank of Braavos before Queen Rhaenyra seized the city and the treasury). Lord Velaryon saw such efforts as futile. “We do not have the time. Children sit in the seats of power at Oldtown and Casterly Rock. We will find no more help there. The best free companies are bound by contract to Lys, Myr, or Tyrosh. Even if Ser Tyland could prise them loose, he could not bring them here in time. My ships can keep the Arryns from our door, but who will stop the northmen and the lords of the Trident? They are already on the march. We must make terms. His Grace should absolve them of all their crimes and treasons, proclaim Rhaenyra’s Aegon his heir, and marry him at once to Princess Jaehaera. It is the only way.” The old man’s words fell upon deaf ears, however. Queen Alicent had reluctantly agreed to the betrothal of her granddaughter to Rhaenyra’s son, but she had done so without the king’s consent. Aegon II had other ideas. He wished to marry Cassandra Baratheon at once, for “she will give me strong sons, worthy of the Iron Throne.” Nor would he allow Prince Aegon to wed his daughter, and perhaps sire sons who might muddy the succession. “He can take the black and spend his days at the Wall,” His Grace decreed, “or else give up his manhood and serve me as a eunuch. The choice is his, but he shall have no children. My sister’s line must end.” Even that was thought to be too gentle a course by Ser Tyland Lannister, who argued for the immediate execution of Prince Aegon the Younger. “The boy will remain a threat so long as he draws breath,” Lannister declared. “Remove his head, and these traitors will be left with neither queen nor king nor prince. The sooner he is dead, the sooner this rebellion will end.” His words, and those of the king, horrified Lord Velaryon. The aged Sea Snake, “thunderous in his wroth,” accused king and council of being “fools, liars, and oathbreakers,” and stormed from the chamber.
Fire and Blood, by GRRM, pg 557-559
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todayisafridaynight · 1 year ago
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WHAT DO YOU MEAAANNN "MID" THAT COMIC GOES SO HARD AND NOT FOR ANYTHING... THAT WAS MY FIRST THOUGHT VERBATIM... THIS GOES HARD. Incredibly effective composition and symbolism and use of values and shadow on the first page ESPECIALLY (I would love to hear what the third eye symbolizes as mentioned in your tags :) ) but. But. But like. Masato being Arakawa's comfort and not recognizing it and certainly not remembering it when he's older... despite how much it means to Arakawa in the moment... owwww owwie
I was gonna ramble about how much it hits home to depict Yoko as non-human because the nightmares that have stuck with the most about my mom were like that But Enough Of That We Get It... at any rate, as always, take care and I hope you get some good news soon!
thank you so much ♪(´▽`) !! it generally felt like somethin i dont really post (but horror/blood is something i really love and love to draw), so its why i was especially excited to share it and see what people thought: im glad people like it from what i see (❁´◡`❁) ! and im glad the lack of color wasn't anything detrimental- it might have worked better in this instance. maybe.
i dont ever 'title' things per say since i feel weird doin it BUT i guess captions serve as the title sometimes. so the caption 'matrophobia' is really ironic with that whole aspect in relation to masato being arakawa's Everything: on the one hand, it can just be a general fear of your mother, but on the other hand it could also be the fear of becoming like your mother. if i ever intended to go through with a jo variant, 'patrophobia' would for sure be the title with that ambiguity in mind, but (and i suppose in both instances) with this its more ironic here since masato is the one who ends up the most like his parents' abusers- which ultimately just makes things more bittersweet in that moment dont it (´▽` ;;;) on top of masato being arakawa's comfort, it's not just masato himself being the only reason: tying back into the alt. meaning of matrophobia, it's also a relief for arakawa in that he didn't turn out like his mother- which, again, makes everything so bittersweet in the end. its like spiders in my brain when it comes to that whole aspect in regards to the arakawa family's history and dynamics...... it makes me insane to be blunt ☠️
ah but yeah ! i decided to make her an actual perceivable monster so people who. DON'T. have issues with either of their parents could get a better feeling of what it is like to have a troublesome parent/s (id rather see wolves in my dreams than my mom on that note- even if they were going to bite my face off ( ´◡` ;;; ) ). i ran out of tags before i could make any more notes i had while drawing (;´x`) but i do have more and i'll be glad to explain the missing eye bit ! under the cut since it'll just be me rambling bout symbolism ig and its gonna get long (´▽`;;; )
when it came to the third/center eye being missing specifically, i did it in relation to how the third eye can relate to enlightenment or higher knowledge. definitely just as a result of projection, but its cause all the time when i was growing up my mom would not only assert and act as if Her Way Was The Right Way and that she knew everything, but that i should only go to her if i needed help and no one else could help me- hence it being missing being a reflection of how that notion isn't true (or always true i should say). as en extension, it's also a dig at how enlightened persons are supposed to help others reach enlightenment- yk, guide them. yet, again, in this case, they're only doing harm.
that's all for the third eye bit, but also just some other things i didnt have room to ramble bout last post: i had her lips be torn away to constantly show her fangs since. well. i dont have to explain it i guess: its just meant to highlight the never ending feeling of danger when around her (and the promise of danger). her nose being gone is purposeful too: in animals, the smell of your family's significant and it helps you find out Which One Is Yours right. in her nose being gone- again, more projection and personal problems on my part- it's a way to emphasize the separation between mother and child: 'you're no longer my kid anymore, i can't even recognize your scent'. of course, that's only to the mother: she is the only one no longer able to say they're family because she can't smell that shared scent anymore. in reality, they could very much smell the same, it's just the mother's unwilling to accept that anymore.
i know i mentioned the flowers in my initial post, but her wearing a flower shirt really was convenient since it allowed me to add those thorns and vines. when you have a troublesome parent like that, the feeling of not just being trapped is there, but it's painful- it's not something you can deal with quietly. even if you're not interacting with the parent directly, the thought of their presence or the unfortunate thoughts that come about as a result of having been around them so long are a constant thorn in the side. if i may make a pun ( ´uゝ` )
alright NOW i think i've covered everything i wanted to. without all the symbolism aside, i hope she at least looks grotesque for people to enjoy without the added thought- and i hope i didn't overdue it. in any case im glad you enjoyed it !! i hope you'll enjoy the next comic i get out (❁´◡`❁) if i ever start it and i dont abandon it midway through ( ❁´◡`❁ ;;;)
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kitty-is-writing · 1 year ago
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Pride Month short #3!
Hope everyone's enjoying these so far! Today's short is about Kolena, a trans woman who finds acceptance from an unexpected person during a family visit.
TW: minor transphobia, mention of dysphoria, reference to past self-harm
Disclaimer: Niana's opinions do not reflect my own
🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵
Not again. Kolena tried to ignore the growing pressure, but nature had been calling for an hour already and wouldn’t be put off a second longer. She marked her page in the book, stood and headed for the outhouse. She just hoped it was urgent enough by now that she wouldn’t have to handle the thing for too long. The times when it demanded her attention for more than half a minute were awful, reminding her that this body she was stuck in had parts she had never asked for, and only wished the healers were able to remove safely.
There it was, that unwanted appendage she had to deal with every time she bathed or urinated. It didn’t even feel like hers, despite being attached. A long jagged line across the top betrayed the time, years ago, when she had tried to cut it off in the depths of misery. The ensuing blood and tears, and a late night call to the healer, had finally convinced her parents she was serious about needing to be seen as a girl.
Her father was a traditional sort of man, who believed a son brought more worth to a family than a daughter, but faced with the prospect of having no child at all, he had reluctantly accepted his daughter. Her mother had been slightly less of a problem to begin with, but still spoke about her ‘dear son’ as though she had lost her child to some tragic accident. At least her father had consistently, if begrudgingly, remembered her chosen name and called her ‘she’ ever since the incident. Her mother had often, when speaking to friends or relatives she hadn’t seen for a while, said something like ‘oh, no, he wants to be a girl now’. She supposed it was some acknowledgement, but why not just say ‘she’s a girl now’ instead?
She shoved the thing back under her clothes quickly, without looking at it again. It was convenient, she supposed, compared to actual female plumbing she’d seen diagrams of in the healers’ books. There were others like her, she knew. She had met a few through a group the healer had suggested after her ill-advised attempt to modify herself. Narak had been a particularly good friend to her since then, though he was going the opposite way to her. She remembered one night they had both felt horrible about being stuck in their respective bodies, and attempted some magical ritual that was rumoured to allow two souls to trade places. It hadn’t worked, of course, but she couldn’t help wondering if that was because of their lack of magical expertise. Maybe if she asked around, spoke to some accomplished mages, it might work then?
She paused at the door to her old room. She had made the effort to come all the way out to Wirba to visit her parents for the midwinter festival, yet had spent most of her time hiding in her childhood bedroom so far. Ironically, it was the one room in the house that didn’t have some reminder of the years she’d spent trying to force herself to be more boy-like. She had been glad when, on applying to the priestesses at Talri-Pekra’s temple, they had accepted her without question. Part of her had expected to be turned away because of the body she was trapped in, but the High Priestess had explained that it was a person’s soul that mattered to the goddess, not the flesh around it, and she was a woman in every way that counted. She had wept with joy at that, the first time she had been truly accepted instead of reluctantly tolerated.
With a heavy sigh, she turned away from the door to her room and headed for the front room, where her parents were sitting. “There you are. I was wondering if we’d actually see you during this visit, Korand.” Her mother shook her head slightly. “Sorry, Kolena.”
It had been almost fifteen years since she’d gone by that name. Wasn’t that long enough for someone to get used to it? “You know how it is. I have to keep up with my studies if I’m going to become a priestess.” She chose to ignore the use of her old name. As frustrating as it was, bringing it up wouldn’t change anything, and she didn’t want to cause a scene.
“Are you really still doing that, Niana? She hasn’t used that name in years. Maybe you should have a healer check your memory.” Both of them jumped, and looked over to the leather chair by the window, where her father sat with his pipe. “Maybe being constantly misidentified is part of the reason we hardly see her these days. If I can manage it, I’m sure you can make the effort as well.”
She hadn’t expected to hear that, and blinked rapidly at her father. “Dad?”
“Kolena, I’m not going to pretend I understand it very well, but you are still my daughter, and I respect you enough to use your chosen manner of address. Anyone who fails to do so after being informed clearly does not care for you.” He shot a look at her mother, then, who twitched and scowled.
“Well, I’m sorry for feeling sad that the son I gave birth to is no longer here.”
That was far more annoying than being called the wrong name. “Can you stop talking as though I’m dead, please? I’m right here, nothing happened other than me wanting to be known as myself.”
“But you’re not my baby boy anymore,” she wailed, looking at the small portrait hanging over the fireplace, where a young Kolena sat between her parents wearing boys’ clothes and a frustrated expression.
“She wouldn’t still be your baby boy anyway. Our child grew up, and became a wonderful woman. It’s about time you accepted that, or you’re going to lose her altogether.” He looked back to Kolena, and spoke over her mother’s sniffling. “I know I don’t tell you this often enough, but I love you as a person more than I like the idea of having a son. It took me longer than it should have to get used to the situation, but I have always been proud of you, because you are a good person and a treasured member of this family. When you were born, I was honoured to have a chance to raise a healthy, strong and kind-hearted son; seeing you now makes me feel equally honoured to have raised a healthy, strong and kind-hearted daughter.”
Kolena wasn’t sure how to respond; she hadn’t expected either of her parents to say something like that, and to hear it from her usually distant father was even more of a shock. With no words coming to mind, she could only try to keep her smile from becoming a manic grin.
Her mother was less pleased to hear it. “Johtran, I am perfectly entitled to miss my son. I raised a boy, not a girl. Just because he’s grown up and decided to be a woman doesn’t mean I have to forget my child. I poured my soul into a son, taught him how to behave and helped explain the world to him. I can’t let that go because he’s wearing dresses now.”
“Nobody is saying that you should forget the past, but you need to stop living in it. Kolena was never our son, nature made the mistake of giving her a boy’s body and we made the wrong assumptions based on that.” She blinked at her father, wondering where and when he had reached this new opinion. “If nothing else, her acceptance into Talri-Pekra’s order ought to prove her womanhood. Not that she should have to prove anything. And as for ‘deciding’ to be a woman, I’m guessing she decided that the same way you did. When did you make the choice to be a woman?”
“It’s not the same thing, I was born a woman!”
“You were born a baby, like everyone else, and grew into a woman. If nature had made the same mistake with you, given you male parts at birth? Would you still feel like a woman and want to change those parts, or would you feel like a man?”
Kolena tuned out at that point. She had listened to her parents argue more often than she cared to remember, and heard this particular argument enough from others. Her mother wasn’t going to change her perspective in a day, but knowing her father had come to accept her more fully was good. She had always been closer to her father as a child, first attempting to be the son he had wanted, then following him into scholarship in the hopes of finding out what was going on with herself. Once she had discovered she was not alone, that it was not a fault but a natural thing that many others had also experienced, she had drifted away from her parents. Maybe her father’s new found acceptance would bring them closer again.
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ykoriana-imperatrix · 2 years ago
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SDC Month - December 2022 - Wednesday #1
Introducing the other new weekly project for this SDC month: what-if scenarios. In a sense, I feel one could consider it similar to the theories project, as a theory tries to piece together a scenario that might have happened through available canonical information, while a what-if focuses on a scenario that could have happened had some change, great or small, impacted the events of canon. They may not be sister projects exactly... but perhaps one could call them cousin ones?
Just a few notes before we start: for this project, I tried to choose scenario ideas useful enough to generate some (hopefully interesting) speculation and discussion, but which would keep the resulting posts to a reasonable length as well (say, of a maximum around those of the theories from June, but more than just a handful of sentences along the lines of "well, I guess this would happen, that's about it"). I also wanted concepts that would result in more canon-based speculation and not something more akin to fanfiction — for instance, a scenario where some random lord accompanied Aurum and Jaspar on the journey to the Hold instead of Vennel would be far from ideal, because I'd have to completely make up everything about what said lord would be like in terms of personality and motivations, how would those influence his actions, etc. Basically, I wanted scenario ideas that would allow for some degree of freedom of speculation, but at the same time still be grounded in canon and the characters at their core. Did I succeed? I'll let you be the judge of that.
Should the Gods Ever Grant Him a Son of His Own Blood
(I thought it only fair that, like their theory cousins, the what-if scenarios had their own individual titles. This one comes from a quote from George R. R. Martin's novel Fire & Blood.)
My first concept proposal for this project: what if Aurum and Sardian's sister had a son born not too long before the events of canon? (For the purposes of the subsequent speculation, let's say this hypothetical boy would be under the age of one by the time The Masters begins, born in early 15 Kumatuya or thereabouts.)
Now, given what we know about Aurum, I'm sure we can all agree that this would be a hugely significant change to him. The reason he married Sardian's sister in the first place was in order to produce a son and heir to replace the one born from his first marriage, who died young. It might have taken over two decades to get a son from this second marriage, but in this scenario, he'd finally have the heir he'd been dreaming of for years. And I very much believe this would lead to a major change in Aurum's behaviour: this version of him would be far less desperate. So yes, while I'm certain he would still absolutely want to cling to what power and influence he held for the remainder of his natural life, I think this Aurum would perhaps reevaluate his priorities in the wake of the son’s birth, which would lead him on a somewhat divergent path from that of canon!Aurum. Yes, politically speaking, managing Nephron's faction would be a huge plus in terms of the eventual potential rewards... but recall that in canon, he would almost certainly have been hoping to secure a third marriage (in order to have a chance to produce the much hoped-for heir) as part of said rewards. What-if!Aurum, as I said earlier, would lack that factor of urgency and desperation, and while yes, his infant son could still end up succumbing to child mortality, I think securing an additional match for the purpose of having a just-in-case backup heir wouldn't exactly be high in Aurum's list of priorities. (Remember that matches with pure-blooded ladies are very costly and not exactly easy to come by; I imagine this hypothetical idea would be seen as a more than a little frivolous waste of iron from what-if!Aurum's perspective.)
No, instead, I feel like the son would have become his number one focus. By 15 Kumatuya, Aurum would be an elderly man (if one in implausibly good health), and he would know that even in the best case scenario, he was likely to die while his son was still quite young. And I believe he might actually seriously think beyond his own death and be concerned about how the election for his successor might go — what if any supporters his young son would have might not prove enough to stand against some too-ambitious second lineage lord, and his treasured bloodline, his precious long-awaited heir, ended up being ousted from the Ruling Lordship? (Additionally, I imagine the threat of assassination would be very much present — even if it wasn't as much of a risk while Aurum himself lived and was in good health — since a small, vulnerable child would be too tempting a target for scheming relations...) So Aurum would know that the best way to avoid these dreaded outcomes would be to make sure his son was as old as possible when the election came about — that is, that he would need to live as long as possible. Of course, there would only be so much he could do in that regard, though he did already seem to canonically have a healthy lifestyle (a definite plus), and I'm certain he would be vigilant enough regarding any potential assassination attempts on his person as well. There would not be much that could be done regarding the threat of any fatal genuine accidents or unexpected medical conditions... but he could avoid unnecessary risks. Such as, say, going on a cross-continental journey fraught with all sorts of dangers for several months.
Yes, you read that right, I do believe Aurum would not travel to the Hold in this scenario. I think he might still see trying to convince Sardian to return as potentially useful in terms of strengthening Nephron's faction, and it is quite possible he would still discuss it with Kumatuya, but I really cannot see him going himself, taking into account everything that could go wrong for him (and/or his baby son in his absence) in the meantime. Instead, I think he would safely stay behind at Osrakum, continuing to channel his efforts into gaining more support for Nephron (and drawing support away from Ykoriana and Molochite if the chance presented itself; for instance, he might make far more of an effort to try and win Jaspar's father and his faction over to his side in this timeline). As for who might be sent as the faction representative on the journey in Aurum’s stead... well, we do know said faction did canonically include more lords of standing than that of Molochite, so it may not have been as difficult for Aurum to select a good candidate as we might think, one who would have enough loyalty to the cause (or at the very least, enough fear/respect of/for Aurum himself) to do exactly what was expected of him and not even entertain the thought of betrayal.
There you have it, my best attempt at trying to explore what might have changed in comparison to canon in this particular what-if scenario! What did you think about it? Do you feel it was an interesting and/or entertaining choice of idea, or not particularly (though if the latter, perhaps you will enjoy some of the future installments more)? Do you agree with my views of how this might have played out (even if, as with the theories, these topics tend to be fairly subjective), and if not, in which way(s)?
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nanasparadise · 2 years ago
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“Homo homini lupus est” Yan!Toji x fem reader
Summary: Toji loves a good stack of cash, but turns out he might have found a sweeter prize this time when he sees you again. 
TW: toxic relationship, talk about money and loans, kidnapping, violence and blood (not graphic), predator and prey imagery, slight allusions to NSFW, swearing, mentions of alcohol (no intoxication), MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI
Word count: 1424
I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life. 
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“Where the fuck is the money, Fushiguro?”
Toji shot a disinterested look at you, not really recognising your face. Were you one of his past flings? He quickly dismissed that hypothesis. Probably not, he never had to spend a single coin for a night with a woman. He simply shrugged, choosing not to give a damn about you, as he turned around to leave the bar again. 
A hand wrapped around his bicep stopped him from going further. To his surprise, you were quite strong. 
‘A feisty one’, he thought, a smug smile appearing on his face, making the scar on the corner of his mouth stretch. 
“Don’t know what ya talking about, doll, but if yer looking for money, ya sure as hell got the wrong man,” he replied, voice dripping in amusement. The scowl on your face deepened, your hand gripping tighter on his arm. 
“Quit bullshitting around. I lent you 1,300,000 yen six months ago, where’s the back payment? I should’ve got something already a month ago!” You were seething with anger. And even though you were taking this situation very seriously, Toji couldn’t help but find it anything other than entertaining at best and annoying at worst. 
“Seems like that’s yer problem. I ain’t got anything on me after that glass of whiskey.” With a precise movement, he ripped his arm away from your iron-clad grasp and made his way towards the exit. He had already enough stress with unpaid debts, he didn’t need more. With unexpected speed, you managed to get in front of him. Not even a second later, a fist landed square on his nose, the impact leaving nearly crushed bones and crimson blood behind. Toji gasped, not necessarily out of pain (he had endured injuries far more detrimental than a possibly broken nose)- no, he gasped because he couldn’t believe you had the guts to punch him in front of everyone. The other guests of the bar didn’t seem to care too much, though, as they probably were already used to fights. The only one who completely misjudged your strength was Toji himself.
Quickly, he recovered from the initial shock. Instead, a wicked grin resurfaced on his face.
‘This should be fun.’
“Listen here, you piece of shit,” you all but spat, your hand still clenched in a fist. Toji could see both his blood and yours on your scraped knuckles. For some reason, he liked this image. “I don’t give a fuck they call you Sorcerer Killer, you don’t scare me one bit. I only care about my money. So if I don’t have it back in a week, you’ll be dead meat, understand?” 
“Big words for a girl like ya, considering I could bend ya in half with just my pinky.” 
“Next week, this bar, same time,” was all you replied as you gripped the door handle and left the establishment. 
Toji lifted a finger towards his nose, inspecting the blood that coated it now. You surely were a brave one, he had to admit that. It had been a while since anyone dared oppose him and he couldn’t help but feel a rush, a thrill flowing through his veins, reminding him of all the times he was preying on his target. 
This time, the reward for his chase wouldn’t be money, but the prospect of a different prize excited him nonetheless. 
***
You’d told him to see him again in a week, but, unbeknownst to your awareness, Toji had been following you the last couple of days. For being such a strong fighter, you sure did lack in premonition. The assassin couldn’t help himself but being intrigued by your being. Through his stalking, he started to remember who you actually were and how you two were connected. A loan shark, working for a shady business Toji went to when there wasn’t a yen left in his pockets. Of course he knew he wouldn’t pay you anything back when he met you, though he didn’t reckon you’d be this persistent. Most people were too scared of his reputation to mess with him. 
But not you. 
His fingers went to his nose, excitement blossoming inside him. 
No, not you. You had guts made of steel, it seemed. Too bad you had to be such an interesting pretty little thing. Under different circumstances, he might have enjoyed crushing your skull. However, he had another plan for you. 
Didn’t mean he wouldn’t break you, though. 
***
“Can’t believe you actually came, Fushiguro.” 
Leisurely, Toji sat on the stool next to you at the bar. “What can I say, can’t turn a pretty lady like yerself down, now, can I?” he smirked. 
You scoffed at his words. “We both know that’s not true.” He shot you a wink to which you reacted with an eye roll.
Gesturing for a whiskey, the bartender placed the amber beverage in front of Toji. A single brow shot up on your face, giving the man next to you a disapproving look. “I thought you didn’t have any money left after your last drink.”
“Need somethin’ to strengthen my nerves when ya scold me, dontcha agree?” 
“You’re goddamn right,” you muttered, taking a sip of your drink. Putting the glass back on the counter, you let out a sigh. “Now let’s cut to the chase. I hope you came with the money?
“Ya bet, sweetcheeks.”
You grimaced at the nickname, which only widened his shit-eating grin.
‘I’m gonna get ya to like them, just ya wait. Can’t wait to see ya under me, moaning-’
“And I’m guessing you also remembered the interests?”
“Of course.” 
“Well,” you gave him a weird look, “where is it?”
Toji leaned into you, his arm brushing against yours. In return, you backed away from his touch, uneasiness being visible on your face for a slight moment. 
‘Turns out yer not as tough as ya look, little girl.’ 
“Left it in the trunk. Thought it wasn’t a smart idea to come in here with a buncha cash.” 
You gave him an incredulous look. Clearly, you didn’t fully believe him. 
“You don’t seem like the type to own a car,” you interjected, a frown coating your face. 
“Who said anythin’ about owning it, doll?”
“Of course,” you sighed, “anyway, it doesn’t matter. Let’s just go to the car and get the money, I’m sick of this bullshit.” You stood up from the stool and signed him with your right hand to do the same. An all too familiar anticipation spread through Toji as he witnessed how you took the bait. In the end, you really were just a helpless small rabbit who thought she could really stand a chance against the big bad wolf. 
He couldn’t wait to devour you. 
Toji followed your lead as he stood up from his seat as well. The two of you walked out of the bar to the parking lot. The black-haired man went to a grey car, which obviously had seen better days. With a fluid motion, he grabbed the keys out of his trouser pockets and opened the vehicle. 
“I know ya don’t trust me a bit, Y/N,” Toji said, “so why dontcha open the trunk? Just so ya know I ain’t planning somethin’ funny.” 
You furrowed your brows at his explanation, but didn’t comment any further. Instead, you walked past him closer to the car. “You’ll be dead as a doornail if the money isn’t in here,” you hissed at him, the threat hanging in the air like a noose, ready for the execution. Your hand hovered above the trunk, wanting to reveal its insides. 
Unfortunately for you, Toji didn’t take you too seriously. 
“Of course, sweetheart,” he countered patronisingly. 
As you eventually opened the trunk, a strong force hit the back of your neck. Instantly, you went out like a light. Toji’s arms gripped your form as your unconscious body fell, hindering you from hitting your head on the floor. He placed you in the trunk and took out his utensils (you might have truly killed him if you had known there wasn’t any money in the first place). Swiftly, he bound your limbs together with rope and put some duct tape over your mouth. With an uncharacteristic soft gesture, he glided his hand over your cheek before closing the trunk and walking to the driver’s seat. 
It really was a shame for you that your intuition wasn’t as great as your physical power and prowess. Otherwise, you would have realised that you’d never given him your real name. 
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ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago
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Withered Away. Yan Xiao x Reader
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Warnings: Yandere themes, isolation, kidnapping and implied depression.  Word count: 1.1k.
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As long as [First] is safe, what they think of me doesn’t matter.
This is the thought that would dominate Xiao’s mind on long nights when sleep evaded him. He would toss and turn from his perch atop Wangshu Inn, all the while entertaining simulations of his future plans. During those days, he almost wished that fallen archons’ festering hatred would materialize, if not solely to serve as a distraction from you. Fighting comes to him naturally, dealing with attachment does not.
While he did live a rather secluded lifestyle, it’s an impossible feat to avoid all human interaction, despite his valiant attempts. He knew enough to surmise you wouldn’t take kindly to his intervention. Someone as lovely as you was bound to attract numerous friendships, or what Xiao would label to be pests. He came to the conclusion you might even resent him for taking away your freedom. So be it, he would think, all the while tailing you in the shadows of Liyue’s night to ensure your safety.
All he wanted, all he craved, was to be your protector. To be the person you relied on most, willingly or not. If he could just do that, then… your opinions on him wouldn’t matter. Xiao was no stranger to others fearing him, his hands tainted with the blood of those who did and those who didn’t. Even if you cursed him, yelled at him, or pleaded with him, he would remain unmoved by the fervent displays.
It was some time ago when he thought like that.
The human concept of time is not one he’s familiar with, years are but a minuscule blip in the eyes of an immortal such as himself. He does believe it’s been a while since he’s taken you into his care. Long enough that you no longer flinch when he unexpectedly appears, or incessantly beg for freedom every second in his presence. You’ve both fallen into a tense routine. With the mind-numbing boredom that ate away at you with no one around, Xiao became a begrudgingly welcome distraction, even if he was the source of everything that went wrong in your once peaceful life.
Today, he’s silently wishful that things will be different.
“... What’s that for?” You inquire, nodding to the foreign object in his hands. It’s unlike him to come back with anything but the clothes on his back. There are rare times where he rewards your good behavior with meager gifts, like history texts or puzzles. Whatever it is that he thinks a human like yourself would enjoy.
Xiao sets the dirt mound onto a table he refurbished months ago for said puzzles. “You.”
The compound he keeps you in is sparsely decorated. There’s a cot, which you’re currently resting on, along with a few other odds and ends essential for survival. Iron chains attached to anklets sit in the corner, for those times where you get a little feistier than he allows. Luckily, he hasn’t had to use them lately, your disposition growing more subservient. He still resolves to keep them there in case you get any ideas.
Xiao stands back to observe when you approach the glaze lily he dug up. Your fingertips brush over the baby blue fibers ever so softly, like it would crumble away if you applied too much pressure. Do you appreciate the gift? Will your lips curl into a smile like they used to? Beneath his stone-faced demeanor, adrenaline floods his veins, more so than when he’d engage in a fight to the death with ancient evils. You’ve made him go soft.  
“It’ll need a vase,” your eyelashes flutter shut, a silent sigh leaving your lips, not the reaction he was looking for. “Without my Vision, I… I won’t be able to keep it alive.”
Great, this is exactly what he was hoping to avoid. When unrelenting melancholy would sink its teeth into you, you would tentatively bring up your Vision to him, or lack thereof. He thought that this lifeform connected so intimately with nature would placate you. Instead, you’re starting to sniffle, dull eyes growing glassier by the second.
It didn’t bring him any pleasure to take your Vision away. There was no sadistic delight in how your eyes widened in terror, imploring him to let you keep at least one part of yourself, all for your pleads to fall on deaf ears. He viewed it as a means to an end. As long as your Vision was in your possession, there was an increased risk of you escaping. Humans are nothing if determined, he figured you would get over it sooner or later.
Xiao keeps his tone even, purposefully avoiding all mentions of your Vision. “I’ll get a vase then.”
You nod slowly and walk away from the lone flower. It didn’t capture your attention for anywhere near as long as he thought it would, the flora going ignored like he often does. In a matter of seconds, you’re back to laying down on the cot, facing the wall so you don’t have to look at him. It’s a familiar sight that makes him feel like his body has been submerged in icy waters. His fists clench and unclench by his side, frustration growing with every passing second.
Why does this bother him so much? Why can’t he simply be content with knowing that you're safe, that you’re with him?
Xiao switches the subject of his glaring from your back to the underwhelming glaze lily. There was once a time where you’d serenade the rare blossoms, showering them in your heavenly song. He can barely recall what it used to sound like, the memory growing more distant just as you do. All he knows is that it would stir his soul in a way he didn’t think possible. The Yaksha used to conceal his presence, soaking in the dulcet tone of your voice, while his heart soared.
Now that’s all in the past.
“I’m heading out,” he calls over, to which you simply hum in response, not exerting any more energy than that. Xiao fiddles with the locks on the door. The atmosphere in this room is too stifling to endure any longer, his dormant emotions rising to the surface and threatening to burst free. Once he’s outside, he slides his back against the wall, chest heaving, and heaviness weighing him down like an anchor.
He had played scenes like the one that just happened inside his head innumerable times. It was supposed to be so simple — you’d inevitably get upset — and he’d let you exhaust yourself. Certainly, your attitude was going to be a nuisance. He knew that months before you even knew who he was. A little thorn in his side wasn’t supposed to pierce so deeply, yet that’s exactly what you managed to accomplish.
Xiao realizes it isn’t just your safety he wants.
It’s your love as well.
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writefightandflightclub · 3 years ago
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I really enjoyed your Nathan fluff 🥺 we love this angry peach fuzz king 👑💖 would you ever write him being comforted after having a nightmare? 💕
First of all, LOL @ “angry peach fuzz king” 🤣🤣🤣
Second of all, here you go! 🧡 I will warn you - I think I forgot the fluff a little bit though. It became more hurt / comfort? More angst than expected? It ends nicely though and comfort is given to Nathan - but only after I’ve subjected him to rattling around in his own head and house for a bit.
Through the looking glass (Nathan Bateman x GN!reader)
Summary: Nathan has nightmares after The Incident. After so long alone, he doesn’t realise how badly he needs a little comfort - and maybe he doesn’t believe that he deserves it.
Author’s note: hopefully this isn’t too similar to All Better. I know they both take place post-stabbing, but I tried to give this a different focus. I know I could have made the nightmares based off of anything given the ask, but this timeline / focus seemed most sensible to explore the character.
Warnings: nightmares following traumatic incident (a stabbing); mentions of blood and injury - not graphic. Self-harm (punching the bag until injury); Body horror if you squint (some gruesome descriptions occurring in-dream, but fairly abstract); swearing; implied alcoholism recovery if you squint; mentions of therapy; Nathan mildly injured in fic; reader offering comfort.
Rating: MATURE for themes mentioned above.
GIF: by @santiagogarcia (this whole gifset is magic- check it out + reblog!)
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Nathan wakes up breathless, plastered to the covers by a sheen of sweat - and not in a good way. On instinct, or out of habit by now, or maybe somewhere between the two, his palm slides over his body to the site of the wound.
He is so slick that he half-believes he is soaked with dank, deep blood again, until his fingers trace over nothing more than a half-concave, half-ridged scar. The lack of searing pain is the next point of evidence leading him towards an alternative conclusion. He’s not dying (again).
It’s just another gruesome nightmare.
Although… there is nothing “just” about it.
The nightmares are pretty brutal. Brutal enough for him to wake with ragged breaths and a hammering heart, his sheets dampened and coiled up around him. Enough that it takes effort to sift through the layers of terror and distinguish reality.
With what can only be described as a whimper, Nathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bringing himself into a seated position and bracing his head in his hands until his racing heart levels.
In his mind, he’s telling himself to be logical about this. That Ava hasn’t truly arrived to finish the job she started; but logic is not the safe haven it used to be.
She could come back.
She’s still out there, somewhere, and Nathan distinctly got the impression, last time, that she was vehemently not a fan of him.
His hand trembling, Nathan reaches for the glass of water by his bedside, glugging it down so eagerly it spills into his bushy beard.
Since the… accident? Malfunction? Functioning just fine, actually? Failed experiment? Greatest achievement known to man? Attempted murder? (Truth be told, Nathan isn’t quite sure what to call it, so he simply calls it The Incident.)
Since The Incident, Ava has begun to regularly visit him in his sleep.
The visitations are not waning with time. In fact, they are happening more often, not less. They are happening more since you moved into the house.
It’s a bad fucking time to have quit drinking.
You’d been sent by the board. Something about Nathan taking “tortured genius” a slice too literally. Something about him being in isolation too long and needing another human around in the compound.
Well, that’s not technically true, is it? The shit all started when he opted to get social, after all.
Fucking Caleb.
Before that, he was doing just fine.
Nathan doesn’t like it at all - having you here. Being watched. Observed. Having someone monitoring his actions. Waiting for him to either fuck up or prove himself.
Ironic really, considering where he kept Ava. The experiments he ran on her.
She’d probably find it poetic, if she could truly understand such a concept.
At the thought of her, Nathan physically shudders, and reaches for an old vest to haphazardly mop the excess sweat from his skin. Then, he balls up a change of clothes and tracks nude to his wet room, feeling relief as the luke warm water sluices over his skin.
He watches himself in the mirror as he stands there naked. It’s not a vanity thing - at least not any longer. These days, he examines the way his form has changed since it happened. He lost some of his muscle and bulk during recovery, whilst unable to exercise, his arms slightly smaller and his abs softer. His stomach a little more rounded.
There’s also the puckered scar, of course - that permanent reminder of where he was skewered through the chest like a piece of kebab meat.
His gaze travels up over his body, until his eyes settle on his still haunted face. He doesn’t have his glasses on, and somewhere between the blurred vision, misted mirror, clouding steam and sluicing water, his reflected face distorts. It transforms - for the briefest of moments - into her.
Still amped with adrenalin from his harsh awakening, this briefest flash sends a surge of panic zipping through Nathan’s chest, his heartbeat racing so hard he can feel the pounding of blood in his ears.
Fuck, he curses, reaching his arms out to brace himself against the shower wall above him, his body trembling and his head dipping down between the cradle of his broad shoulders as his legs threaten to buckle.
He turns the water cold, until it is practically glacial and thundering on to the back of his neck, subduing this spiking heat.
She really did a fucking number on me, didn’t she?
It’s true though.
Ava is haunting him. When he sleeps - and at other times too.
Nathan didn’t know robots could do that. Didn’t know they could spawn ghosts.
Nathan doesn’t believe in ghosts, of course… but he does believe in trauma and its effect on the brain. He at least concedes that it is natural to continue to feel afraid; but this?
Being dogged by the spectre of her taps into Nathan’s deepest insecurities.
After all, there is nothing a genius fears more than doubting his own mind.
Nothing a God fears more than his own mortality.
And the man? Turns out, there is nothing he fears more now, than dying alone.
With a ragged breath, Nathan towels off and pulls on his grey sweatpants, tugging on his black zip-up hoody over his bare chest. And then, keen not to return to his damp, tangled sheets, he tracks towards the kitchen - mainly for want of any more favourable option.
Of course, he had returned to the compound after The Incident. Something about that many fibre optic cables being a bitch to lay down. Sunk cost fallacy and all that - too much already invested.
But it possibly wasn’t the best choice for his recovery.
Nathan has certainly gotten more used to walking down that hallway since he returned from the hospital, and yet he still finds himself holding his breath until he is free of it. Still finds his pace is just a little faster as he passes through. His gaze deliberately averted from that spot.
Once, you’d found him lying in it.
Lying in that exact spot, his body arranged like a crime scene photo, his eyes closed.
Hey, it’s hardly his least healthy coping mechanism, is it?
What in the fuck are you doing, Nathan?
Re-enacting my death, obviously.
Uh-Kay…. A beat. A devious smile. Shall I get some popcorn?
Absurd as it was, he had laughed. Laughed for the first time since it happened, and, with an extended hand, you had helped him up off the floor.
Still, now that he’s alone, he does not dwell in the corridor, colder and darker as it is without your light in it, and he tries not to think about your face or hers as he pads to the kitchen.
When he arrives though, he bypasses it entirely - heading out on to the decking, the crisp night air soothing his hot skin.
He wants to be outside.
There are too many ghosts in his house now.
He has tried to shake it. Tried to desensitise himself to Ava’s face. Spent longer than strictly necessary poring over footage of her.
He built her. Shouldn’t that take the fear out of things? Not to mention the fact Ava’s face was simply a composite of some manipulable nerd’s wank bank browsing history.
Fucking Caleb.
Still, once Nathan had looked her in the eyes and seen a rage that was all too human, things seemed a hell of a lot different.
Nathan crosses to the punchbag on the deck -lit by creeping dawn- on instinct, or out of habit, or maybe some combination of the two, his unease riling him enough to sock some punches at its midsection. Right at the equivalent site of his corporeal puncture.
He punches so hard that the skin on his knuckle splits, but Nathan doesn’t stop. He throws punch after punch until his hands are scathed and bloodied, and a trail of spit hanging from the corner of his mouth. Until he hugs the bag - the closest thing he has to a warm body to hold - and slides down it, coming limply to his knees, wiping his face on his sleeve.
He stays there, dead eyed and still for some time, the pain in his hands raw and singing. Unpleasant, but better. Better than what he was feeling, and worse all at once.
He considers his tired, cumbersome body, and contemplates remaking the world one more time. Uploading his mind into a machine or some shit, so that he doesn’t have to contend with the fragility and failings of his own existence.
He stays there, until some motion in the interior of the compound causes the light and shadows to dance differently over him, and he looks up to see your figure there, cast in a soft halo of yellowed light.
He tips his head up slightly, opening his mouth as though he might cry out to you for help, but no sound comes out - only a thin, dry croak.
So, instead, Nathan watches you for a moment, moving seamlessly around his kitchen as though it is your own. Maybe it is - more yours than his now.
Observing you like this, through the tall, cinematic windows, it is as though he peers in on another world entirely. Something less resembling a nightmare.
Lighter than that. Something more like a good dream, albeit a good dream that Nathan cannot be part of. One he can only ever watch, from the outside looking in, always fated as he is to be on the other side of the glass.
Truth be told, you haunt him too. You represent everything he could have and yet doesn’t deserve.
You appear in his nightmares and his dreams, in various terrifying and beautiful incarnations. Many variations of which his therapist would have a field day with, he’s sure - or, she would, if he’d ever fucking call her.
When you first arrived here, he was plagued by grotesque visions of you. Grotesque visions of the skin being peeled back from your body. Sometimes, circuitry beneath, and other times, muscle and bone. Sometimes, Ava’s face was buried beneath the chilling slip of your fleshy mask.
Sometimes it is a better dream. Sometimes you save him. Sometimes he saves you.
Sometimes it is a good dream. Ava isn’t there at all. But the good dreams never seem to last for long. 
Sometimes you kill him, and sometimes...
The glass door slides open.
“Reenacting your own death again, are you?” you tease, though not unkindly, interrupting the spiral of Nathan’s incessant thoughts.
A lump forming instantly in his throat, Nathan swallows thickly, and looks up at you helplessly with a thin, joyless smile. He snorts as though it’s funny, but it really isn’t. “Over and fucking over.” 
You nod once, and, without hesitation, you extend your hand towards him. Your gaze cuts through him as you search his face and he feels suddenly see-through, as if he’s about to be hit with some Shyamalan-esque twist. Was he the ghost all along? Did he die here after all?
If so, is this purgatory because Ava is here too, or heaven, because you are?
Christ. So fucking schmaltzy, Bateman.
After hesitating, Nathan takes your hand and you yank him to his feet, drawing him inside, through the looking glass.
The room seems warm on the other side. It feels… safe.
“What happened?” you ask, as you look down at your joined hands, your thumb painting a smear of red across his split knuckles. 
You mean now. What happened now, but Nathan’s mind harks back further than that. In his mind, everything is connected. Every thing threaded to another. This one smear of blood to that weeping flower of red.
The thought -the thoughts, all of them- halt him in place, his feet firmly planting on the ground. Nathan’s hand clenches tightly around yours as though it is a lifeline, as he is cast adrift on this familiar crimson tide, his face growing increasingly angular and stern.
“She...” He swallows, unable to complete that precise thought, his eyes dropping down to his feet.
You turn your body towards Nathan as he croaks, still not letting go.
Your eyes flitting around his face, attempting to search his eyes, you tentatively step closer, sliding your palms slowly over his tense shoulders, feeling them rise with an uneven, stuttered breath as you do so.
He’s so tired. He’s so very, very tired.
And it happens all at once on the exhale.
Suddenly, your arms are tugging him closer, and his face is contorting as a violent smattering of tears beads in his long lashes. You are encasing his body in your embrace and rubbing circles into his back as his buzzed head sags all too willingly toward the junction of your shoulder, your fingers splaying along the smooth flesh at the nape of his neck and pads dancing over the gentle prickle of his hair. You are shushing and soothing and reassuring and squeezing and smoothing and cradling and Nathan can feel it. Can feel his heart race in his chest and…
Finally.
Finally, his heart is not pounding because he is reliving his death.
It is pounding because he feels alive again.
When was the last time he cried, even? The last time someone really hugged him? He doesn’t remember the last time. The serendipitous combination of Nathan willing to be vulnerable, and another being willing to hold space for his pain is an all too rare thing.
There’s a reason -or several - he’s so emotionally constipated, after all.
Fuck. I’m taking a huge emotional shit right now.
Nathan remains in the welcome circumference of your arms longer than is strictly necessary - until the tear trails over the bridge of his nose begin to feel cloying. Until his breaths steady, and until his thoughts and ego creep back in. Until he notices the way his hands are clasped at your waist like claws, fingers sinking into your softness, and he thinks to release you.
Then, he leans away, a weight on his brow making his expression stern.
He waits for you to judge him, another swallow trailing thickly down his throat.
However, your eyes are kind and level, dancing with soft concern. Not with judgement or satisfaction or pity, or with anything he fears.
It is refreshing not to feel so afraid.
Finally.
“She…” Nathan begins again, finally finding courage. All at once his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “She fucking stabbed me.”
You take his words in. You listen.
His “reveal” is simple. Plain and factual. A little indignant. Kinda salty. It’s not overly emotional, or articulate.
But it is enough.
Your eyes narrow, and you nod slowly, trying to understand the true meaning beneath his words.
You even reach up to cup Nathan’s face, his springy beard a cushion beneath your gentle palm as you hold him. “Yeah, genius,” you tease, with a tentative, lopsided smile, dropping your arm all too suddenly, perhaps as you catch yourself. “I got that from context.”
In response, Nathan chucks air from between his teeth, bringing his hand up to comb through his beard - perhaps to obscure his involuntary smile, or perhaps chasing your tender touch, the impression of it left warm on his cheek.
As he brings his hand up, your brows draw together, and you hook his bloodied paw delicately in yours, examining the wound, and leading him gingerly across to the couch as though his whole being might be hurting along with it.
It is.
You order him to stay put while you fetch the first aid kit, and then, in stages, Nathan watches you with fascination as you painstakingly clean and tend to his wounds, without ever being asked to.
He watches you carefully swipe the angry red away from his skin, and, to his overactive mind, it’s all connected. This red is one and the same with the flower of blooming red from The Incident.
Ava hurt him then, and she is hurting him now too.
And you…
“Going to tell the board about this?” Nathan asks, his voice weak and scuffed.
You search his eyes, holding your words back for a moment before answering. Then, you launch them on a big breath. “Fuck the board, Nathan. I told those assholes to stick it.”
Nathan blinks in confusion, shaking his head, his hand flourishing emphatically through the air. “Then… what the fuck are you still doing in my house?”
“Well. I’m… here for you,” you admit, sucking in air through your teeth, your voice shrinking. “If you want that.”
Well, that’s news to him.
Welcome news, perhaps?
You’re not watching him at all, are you? Not observing. Not asking him to evidence his humanity. Not waiting to see whether he fucks up or proves himself.
Instead, you’re seeing him. You’re seeing him and you’re not running.
Nathan had begun to think that maybe he was the nightmare. He’d begun to think he might always be haunted.
Always alone. That he might die that way; again.
And now, here you are.
Nathan thinks about that. He could so easily revert to his old ways, in this moment. Of pride and ego and stubborn independence.
But, perhaps those assholes from the board got a few things right - he’ll admit.
Maybe he had been in isolation too long. Maybe he didn’t need to take “tortured genius” quite so literally.
And so, Nathan almost protests. Almost rejects your presence and your comfort and pushes you away. But the truth is, he’s just so… tired. He’s had so many nightmares, and this time, he’d like to be on the other side of the glass. He’d like to step into that dream.
Nathan takes a deep breath, and releases on the exhale. Releases more than air.
He slowly, ever so slowly, shifts towards you on the couch, angling his body until he can safely dip his head towards your lap, his nose pointed in towards your abdomen and his knees curling around you.
“Th.. this okay?” he asks weakly.
You throw your splayed hands up into the air in surprise as the weight of Nathan settles there, but as he curls his arms around your middle and shuffles closer, you ease into it. You snake your fingers in intricate caresses over his head and neck and shoulders.
“Yeah, Nathan. This is okay,” you soothe gently, voice taut with emotion.
You comfort him.
And finally, Nathan does not need to peel your skin back to know what’s underneath.
He knows you’re not a robot, and that, as your kind touch finds him corporeal, that he is not a ghost.
He closes his eyes. And this time, when he next wakes, he knows that whether the dream is bad or better or good, it doesn’t matter. Because you will be there with him.
He wants you with him.
It’s not at all natural to him, to have you around. For the longest time, he didn’t like it. It didn’t come instinctually, and he has formed no familiar habits.
It isn’t easy - he doesn’t make it easy.
But he wants it to be.
And, in your arms, he can finally dream that it will all work out. What’s more; he can dream he deserves it, too.
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arlert-angel · 4 years ago
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love fast, die young ☪
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♡ jean x fem!reader
❥ you know that at any moment your life could be cut short as a scout, and the last thing you want is to die a virgin, so why not ask your best friend that you’re in love with for some help?
❥ wc: 5.8k
❥ cw: near death experience (reader), virgin!reader and virigin!jean, cannonverse but no plot, loss of virginity, slight size kink, cream pie, aftercare, fluff
❥ note: i was invested in the story of this one lol, it's a lot more romantic than i initially intended. they’re aged up, but the cannonverse details don’t make sense for the plot, so let’s pretend it does yay.
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Arriving back from expeditions was always an exhausting feat within itself, sometimes more so than the actual expedition. 
Commanding officers had to count their losses, healers had to tend to the wounded, and everyone who was good enough to stand had to report their kills and assists. Of course that was the immediate tasks that needed to take place, but then came the grief. Friends looked for one another, many people cried, and names could be heard shouted all around as everyone arrived at headquarters. 
You weren't that different, but you were silent as you scanned the crowd looking for your tall best friend. You knew he was with the best of the best in Levi's squad, so you weren't too worried. However, you also knew the previous best had been wiped out before the new group came. 
Anything could happen which made you all the more anxious. 
You and Jean were not on the same squad. You first were offered a position on the Levi squad with the rest of your friends, but then Hange handed picked you to help them with their experiments, claiming they needed your mind to work with them. Hange is very likeable and now one of your closest friends, and at the time it seemed impossible to say no to them.
Hange's and Levi's squad tended to work together a lot and definitely trained together, so you didn't miss your friends too much. It was only when expeditions approached and new formations were made, when you had to be separated from the rest of your 104th pals. 
You never complained about the separation. It wouldn't last forever, maybe a couple days at most, and then you return to laughing and working with the rest of your friends. You had no complaints until this particular expedition.
You had a close call.
In fact, so close, you might as well have kissed Death on the lips while you were so close to the afterlife. 
The mission was going according to plan. It was a simple scouting mission in the mountains that were, for the most part, titan free. Your squad was on the left flank of the formation, near the edge of the mountains. The cliff sides surrounding you guys held a beautiful, yet slightly scary view. The drop had to be at least 300 feet.
You should've known something bad was going to happen as soon as Hange called out, "Hey, Y/N, check it out!" But you weren't thinking that hard, for the day had been so peaceful. 
The path you all had taken was so close to the cliffs that the squad was riding single file for safety. There was enough room to pass one another, but you had to do so very carefully. 
You rode ahead, passing Moblit. You sent him a questioning look as went by, but he only shrugged, not knowing what Hange was raving over. When you slid off your horse and next to Hange you saw what they did.
A very large cave.
"Should we go inside?" Hange looked at you, clearly excited, but it was an awful idea.
"No!" You tried to sound stern, knowing how they needed a firm rejection or they'd always get what they wanted, "Do you see the size of the thing? This looks like a comfy home for a 10 meter titan, maybe even 15 meter class if they hunched over."
"Do you think they'd crawl around in there?!" Their eyes widened and the familiar look that you've seen so many times on their face appeared. It was their usual expression they had when you conducted experiments with them. You swore to yourself how you fed their curiosity on accident.
"What's going on?" Moblit now arrived, wondering what the hold up was about.
"They want to go inside that death trap," You pointed at the ominous cavern in front of you all. 
"You cannot be serious!" Moblit exclaimed in surprise, the volume echoing down the stone and dirt walls. Moblit continued his rant, stating the obvious, but you tuned their debate out. You just stared into what looked like an abyss. 
There was no movement, no noise, not even the breeze seemed to reach here.
But for some reason you had a gut feeling. A gut feeling that saved all of your lives.
"Move!" You shoved Hange into Moblit which effectively knocked them both to the side of the cave and used your ODM gear to swing yourself to the opposite side. 
The large hand reached out as you tried to get out of the way, but because you helped the others you weren't quick enough.
Luckily, the titan's grasp only managed to get tangled in your ODM wire and couldn’t quite reach your actual body. 
Unluckily, the titan was managing to drag you like a ragdoll and if you didn't do anything quickly you would be engulfed in the darkness where it was hidden, and then probably engulfed in it’s stomach. 
You had to think quick on your feet and so you drew your blades and slashed the wire on your gear all together. You could've attempted to slash at it's hands, but that was no guarantee. The wire was sliced with a clean snip.
Now you were free, you stumbled back at the loss of momentum. You took one two many steps back, and that last step didn't hit the gravely earth that the others had. 
Your foot didn't hit anything at all. 
You were about to fall off a cliff. 
Ironic to escape death one way only to quite literally fall into its clutches another way. 
But, you didn't fall. 
Your eyes were squeezed shut in absolute terror, and when you opened them at the lack of free fall, you saw Hange.
They had managed to save you by the front of your shirt, yanking you back on solid ground. Moblit had been keeping the titan at bay, and continued to do so as you and everyone else turned their horses carefully around. 
Thanks were shared by yourself, Hange, and Moblit at the different lucky saves. They praised your quick thinking and response. None of you actually saw the titan coming. You just knew. You seemed to recognize the familiar feeling of dread from the presence of a titan that wanted to eat you. Even if you couldn’t see it. 
Hange continuously apologized on the way back, but it wasn’t really their fault. It’s not like you actually entered the cave like they wanted. And it was probably a good thing you guys stopped when you did. If the group rode past the cave something worse might have happened.  
After that close call you wanted nothing more to find your best friend and have his familiar comfort.
"Y/N? Whatcha still doing out here?" You spun around quickly and saw Connie. 
“Oh, hey! I’m just looking for Jean, have you seen him?” You didn’t want to panic, but it was weird to see Connie without Jean. 
“Yeah! Mikasa killed this titan that had snuck up right above us and it’s blood got all over Jean it was so funny he screamed like a girl. But yeah, he went to the showers immediately,” Connie explained laughing at the memory. You laughed along and wished you could see it yourself.
“That’s funny, I should probably shower too, this mission felt particularly long,” You grumbled more to yourself than Connie, but he picked up on your off tone.
“Did something happen?” He asked genuinely concerned. You might’ve been closest to Jean, but Connie and Sasha were also very close to you. The four you always had the most fun together, and got in the most trouble. 
“Kind of, a titan snuck up on us too, but we were near the cliffs so there wasn’t all lot of room to work with. I almost fell, but on the bright side I overcame my fear of heights,” You laughed, but it was more anxious than joyful.
“Oh shit, that’s awful!” Connie’s eyes widened in horror, “I'll tell Jean to come find you when I see him.”
“What why?”
“You were looking for him right? He’d definitely want to know that you’re okay after that. He worries a lot, you know? It’s always: I hope Y/N okay, where’s Hange’s squad again, I wish Y/N was here, Y/N would love this view. Someone has to tell him to shut up at least once every expedition.” Connie actually did an okay Jean impression as he ranted to you, but you didn’t comment on it. 
You were too surprised. You didn’t know Jean worried about you. He never once came to you with any fears about expeditions. He always asked you what happened, but that’s just a normal conversation. It wasn’t too strange for someone’s best friend to think about them when apart. What was strange was the happy feeling you got knowing that Jean couldn’t shut up about you. A weird fluttery feeling danced in your stomach and you felt almost giddy.  
Connie noticed your lack of response and noticeably paled. 
“Fuck, wait, I didn’t tell you that! Jean’s gonna kill me, Y/N please don’t tell him I told you!” He grabbed onto you, begging. He shook you enough that it got you out of your confusing thoughts.
“Um, okay? I don't see what the big deal is. I think about Jean on expeditions too, that’s not weird right?” You smiled reassuringly and Connie’s whole body sagged in relief.
“Not at all! Have a nice shower!” Connie ran away, actually ran, trying to separate himself from that conversation. He thanked the Walls that you couldn’t read between the lines. 
After that odd conversation you got a change of clothes and towel, and then headed towards the showers. You passed Sasha and Mikasa on the way in and they both gave you pleasant greetings, all parties glad to see each other alive and well.
You tried not to overthink, but the hot shower gave you all the time to do so.
Your thoughts jumped from almost dying, to Jean, to these overwhelming feelings you seemed to harbor.
You knew you loved Jean. You both even told each other sometimes. Your mind never wandered further than viewing Jean as your best friend only because you didn’t think that’s what he’d want. 
When you first met Jean you had a small crush on him, admiring him from afar until Marco introduced the two of you. Once you grew closer and noticed his infatuation with Mikasa your feelings sizzled out in a bitter simmer. Your bitterness didn’t last long though, you were happy you had someone to rely on no matter what. After Marco passed, Jean was your crutch and vise versa. Romance would only make things confusing and besides you didn’t have any experience in the matter. 
But now as you think more and more about him you wondered if those feelings ever went away. You thought about his laugh and stupid tone he gets when he tries to act cocky. You thought about his eyes and how pretty they look in the sunlight. You thought about his ability to read your mind without you having to tell him something’s wrong. He was your person. 
You came to the conclusion that there definitely was something more than platonic there, but there was no certainty he felt the same. He would’ve said something by now. When he liked Mikasa he was so obvious, openly talking about her to everyone. You would’ve known something by now if it were the case, right? You knew he didn’t like Mikasa now, he told you explicitly for some reason, stating you needed to know. He also didn’t talk about liking anybody new. 
Sighing in frustration, you turned off the shower, now squeaky clean. What was supposed to be a relaxing shower just stressed you out because of your stupid brain’s overthinking. 
And it didn’t stop. As you dropped your messy uniform in the laundry, it reminded you of the day.   
Today proved that any moment could be your last. Being in the scouts has always been dangerous, and you knew you were a disposable soldier. You didn’t mind it much, but now you realized how little you had experienced. You had never been drunk, your only kiss was with Marco in a game of truth or dare, and you were a virgin. 
You didn’t want to die a virgin.
You thought of Jean. You wanted to be with him at least once before you died. You didn’t want to die without knowing how it felt to have everything with Jean. Your love for him definitely wasn’t platonic. You didn’t want to die without him knowing.
Your mind made up, you walked the halls with a little more determination than usual. You wandered around for only a couple minutes before running into Eren.
“Horseface is looking for you,” He pointed around the corner. You gave a quick thanks before quickly going in that direction only to collide with the person you were searching for.
“Y/N!” Jean surprised you by pulling you in a tight hug. As he pulled away he took note of the blush that was now on your cheeks, but didn’t comment. He also didn’t let you go completely, leaving his hands on your shoulders. Unable to help himself.
“Hey, I was looking for you,” You smiled genuinely, only slightly nervous now. Even with the giddiness he gave you, he still managed to calm you down.
“Me too, Connie said something happened with your squad, so I asked Hange about it and they told me everything,” His eyebrows were pulled into a worried furrow, “I wish you were in our squad.”
“Me too, but I like being with Hange too,” You stated honestly, “But it’s alright, everything worked out in the end.” 
“Yeah, but you almost fell off a cliff! Y/N if I lost you I’d…” He cleared his throat before shaking himself out of his thoughts, “I’m just glad you’re okay. You said you were looking for me, what for?”
“Oh! Um…” You looked around and saw Eren eavesdropping blatantly with a knowing look, causing you to quickly turn back around, “Can I talk to you in my room about something?” You shift your weight from side to side, visibly jittery. 
“Sure?” Jean was confused and noted you looked more flustered than before, but he couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong like he usually could. 
You walked side by side, passing Eren along the way who gave you both a smug wave. When Jean wasn’t looking you turned around and gave him the finger. The walk was silent and your hands brushed each other softly.
Once you were behind closed doors you felt yourself relax a little more. It was just Jean, you hyped yourself up. Even if he did reject you the worst thing that could happen is him make a stupid joke out of everything, but you doubt he would. You knew he at least respected you.
“So, what’s so serious that you needed to be away from nosy Yeager?” So he did see that ass listening, you thought. 
“Well… You know about my close call today… It got me thinking,” You started safely.
“You can think? Like, there’s a brain in there?” Jean acted surprised and grabbed your head teasingly.
“Shut up,” You laughed and slapped his hands away before adding, “It’s serious.”
“Okay,” He took a seat on your bed comfortably, an action that was not unusual, you hung out in each other’s room all the time. He gave you his full attention, no longer joking around.
“I thought about how at any moment we can die, that sounds morbid, but it’s true. And then I thought about all the stuff I haven’t done and all the things I haven’t said,” You explained further, still not getting to the point. 
“So, you want to make a bucket list?” Jean tilted his head, trying to follow, “That’d be fun.”
“No,” You rolled your eyes lovingly, “I, more specifically, thought about all the stuff we haven’t done together.” 
“Oh, you want to make a bucket list together!” Jean perked up.
“Jean stop trying to guess and let me explain,” You laughed and he complied, pretending to zip his lips shut.
“Jean,” You approached the man, invading his personal space, “I don’t want to die a virgin, do you?”
“No…” Jean blushed at the sudden topic change, wondering why on earth you were bringing that up right now.
“And…  I love you, and I know you'd treat me right,” You cupped his cheeks in your hands. You were standing in between his legs now, him leaning back on his hands looking up at you. He was tall, so he didn’t have to tilt his neck that much. 
“I love you too, what are you going on about?” His face was drawn in clear confusion, a cute expression, if he wasn’t being so frustrating. 
“No, Jean,” You leaned impossibly close, your face right in front of his, “I’m in love with you.” 
Then you boldly straddled him before you planted your lips on him.
You were shy, unsure if he would reciprocate the kiss, and it seemed like he wasn’t.  You panicked instantly. Your heart was pounding and you pulled away. You were terrified you screwed everything up. You looked at him and he seemed to be frozen.
“Jean?” You worriedly looked at your catatonic friend whose eyes were wide in shock, “I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry! Please don’t hate me!” You began to try to climb off him, but his hands shot to your hips, holding you in place.
“Y/N, you’re in love with me?” He still seemed to be stunned, or maybe he didn’t believe you, but he held your gaze with serious eyes. 
“Yes,” You made sure to keep eye contact despite the heat that rose to your cheeks, to make sure he knew you were dead serious. 
“Good,” One of his hands left your hips to your cheek. He guided your mouth back to his.
He was kissing you. He was actually kissing you. It was slow and sweet at first. He stroked your cheek lovingly and your lips slowly moved in sync. It was when you repositioned yourself on his lap, accidently grinding into him, when the kisses started to become more feverish. He groaned into your mouth and the hand left your face and found it’s new home on your ass. He squeezed it harshly, making you gasp. He took the opportunity to introduce his tongue to yours. He surprised you when he sucked on your tongue, making a small whimper escape you. 
Jean pulled away, taking in your flustered state with blown pupils of his own. Both of your lips were swollen and you both needed to catch your breath. 
“I love you too, you know?” Jean pushed some of your hair out of your face with a soft smile, “I figured you didn’t feel the same and wanted to just be friends, so I didn’t say anything.”
“I thought the same, or that you might still like Mikasa,” You admitted shyly, looking down where your bodies met.
“Hey,” He tilted your chin so you held eye contact again, “That was a stupid crush when I was kid, and I told you that ended a long time ago, didn't I? I’m in love with you.”
“We were so stupid keeping it to ourselves,” You laughed and Jean openly admired you in what looked like awe. His gaze made you feel bashful, almost wanting to hide your face with your hands.
“We were, I could have been kissing you so much sooner,” Jean mumbled, already leaning back to you. This time when your lips met your tongues danced together immediately. You knew Jean also didn't have much experience, but with the way he kissed it seemed like he did. 
"Did you mean what you said?" Jean pulled away only for a moment to ask before returning right back to your lips. 
You pulled away, trying to decipher what he was referring to. "Wha–" Your breath hitched when you felt Jean kiss your pulse on your neck. He began sucking on a particular spot that made you moan, surprising both of you. 
"You're so beautiful," He commented then explained, "Did you mean what you said about that virgin stuff?" He seemed shy all of sudden, his hands were sliding from your hips to your thighs, almost like he was trying to soothe himself.
"I meant every word," You said honestly, "I want to experience all of you."
"God," Jean seemed to like that statement, "I don't know what I'm doing, so just know I'm learning as I go. Just tell me what you like and don't like."
"Of course," You gave him a reassuring smile, "I'm not worried, I trust you."
"Good," He said again before spinning you around and lightly throwing you on your bed. He hovered over you, not putting much, if any weight on you. He resumed the make out session, but this time letting his hands wander.
He first tugged at your shirt, which you helped him quickly pull over your head. You hadn't worn a bra, assuming your plans for this evening were eating then just passing out. 
Jean seemed to drink your body in, just staring in lust and awe. 
"You can touch me," You tried to sound reassuring, but it sounded more like a beg. 
Jean took your breasts in his large hands and just felt you. You almost laughed at how mesmerized he looked, but that was when he latched his mouth on your nipple. That action seemed to send a current of electricity straight to the heat in between your legs. You arched your back and let out a surprised moan which made Jean quickly pull away. 
"Did I hurt you?" He looked scared.
"No, it feels good," You murmured as you unconsciously rolled your hips wanting friction.
"Oh, that's good," He shot you a grin before throwing his own shirt to the side. He went back to kissing your chest, this time his hand tweaked the nipple he wasn't sucking on, causing even more pleasure. You bit your lip only letting out whimpers, a little embarrassed of moaning so loudly again. 
"J-Jean," You stuttered out, gripping his broad shoulders.
"Hmm?" He hummed, he had been having fun leaving purple marks across your tits.
"I-I need…" You didn't finish.
"What do you need, princess?" He asked genuinely, but his deep tone sent shivers down your spine.
"More, I don't know," You admitted.
"Okay, don't worry," He gave you a peck, "I'll take care of you."
He began taking off your pants, helping you get them off your ankles. He stood to take off his own pants as you admired him. His body was so toned from the life of being a soldier. As you took him all in your eyes landed on the bulge that was very prominent in his briefs and for the first time you felt nerves about having sex with him. 
"Jean, how the hell is that supposed to fit in me?" You didn't even see it out of it's cage, you couldn't imagine that monster in action. 
"It has to fit right? People have sex all the time," Jean looked down at his own dick before looking at your panties with a frown, "I'll make sure to stretch you out with my fingers to help."
"What do you mean?" You blushed as Jean returned his body on top of you, giving you warmth again. This time putting a little more weight than last time. You could feel his restrained cock against you this time. 
"You know, fingering, you've done it to yourself before right?" Jean asked curiously. 
"I've tried, but I couldn't reach any particular spots that made me feel good, so I mostly just got off with my clit," You explained, a little embarrassed. 
"Well, I have long fingers," Jean began to slip off your last item of clothing. You gulped nervously, you now were exposed completely to him.
"So pretty, and you're wet," He groaned and looked back up to you, "Open your mouth."
You almost asked why, but you didn't want to kill the mood, so you complied. Jean slid two fingers into your mouth and you got the message. You wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks, sucking on them. 
"Fuck," He sighed out and you felt him twitch against you. 
He pulled his fingers out and moved them back between your legs. He first slowly thrusted one finger inside you, to get you used to the unfamiliar feeling. The stretch wasn't too painful, and he was definitely right. His fingers were longer. 
He moved the one finger in and out of you slowly at first, picking up the pace as he continued. When he felt you relax completely he added a second finger. This time the stretch was a little more, making you tense.
"You're so tight," Jean was watching your pussy in wonder and slid his body down, so his face was near it. 
"What are you– Oh my God," Jean's lips sucked on your clit softly, then continuously kitten licked it, all while maintaining his finger thrusts.
"You taste good," Jean said it so casually, you'd think he was talking about the weather. He removed his fingers for a moment to get a better taste. He kissed you directly on your cunt before penetrating you with his tongue. He moaned against you, sending vibrations into you. You tried to unconsciously escape the pleasure, your thighs attempting to close, but Jean's large hands held you down. 
He returned his fingers inside you and this time adding a third. It stung more than before, but Jean's mouth on your clit made you forget all about the uncomfortableness. He began curling his fingers inside you reaching a spot that instantly had a knot forming in your stomach. Your hands shot around you, one gripping the sheets and the other in Jean's hair. 
He latched onto clit again and you gave up on trying to quiet your moans, embarrassment be damned, it felt too good.
"Jean," You moaned his name, which only made him moan back in return, "I-I'm going to…" You whined a little, not quite there yet, but right on the edge.
"You're going to cum?" Jean asked, not even completely pulled away from your clit to do so, "Go ahead and cum on my fingers, baby." He quickened his strokes and returned to your clit. It was just enough to send you over.
You grinded into his hand and cried out. Jean moaned too as if he was being pleasured just at the sight of you or maybe it was because of the sensation of your tight pussy clamping around his fingers. He couldn't help himself and licked up some of your release, making you jump. 
He moved back up to you with a content smile, "Did that feel good?" 
"Yeah," You smiled back through half lidded eyes, still buzzing from the pleasure.
He gave you a deep kiss and you could taste yourself on him. Tasting your own saccharine flavor was strangely erotic. 
Jean pulled away, "Is it alright if I take my cock out?" He asked beforehand just in case you changed your mind. 
"Yeah, of course, I want to see the monster that's going to destroy me," You joked and earned yourself a cocky smirk.
Jean took off the only clothing that was separating the two of you. You glanced down and saw his size more visibly now. You were right to be intimidated before, he was huge. Jean seemed to take note of your apprehensive expression so he returned to giving you some kisses in order to soothe you. 
“We’ll take it slow and if it’s too much just tell me,” Jean assured you which helped calm you down. 
“Okay, I’m ready,” Your eyes met as he began to rub the head up and down between your folds, collecting its wetness. He rubbed it over your clit and back down, making you feel particularly tingly. When he started pushing the head inside you had to remind yourself to not tense up, but it was hard. He was stretching a lot more than his fingers did. His cock added an unfamiliar pressure inside you that his fingers didn’t.
“God, that’s just the head and you're already squeezing me,” Jean threw his head back trying to regain composure. It was also his first time and he did not want to embarrass himself by finishing quickly. Also the gentlemen inside him wanted to feel you cum around him first.
He slowly continued to push further in as you grabbed his arms to brace yourself. When he finally bottomed out you swore you could see the bulge on your tummy. He kept still and waited for you to give him the go ahead even though he had the incredible urge to just thrust forward.
“You alright?” Jean's voice was more strained than usual.
“Yeah, why the fuck you gotta be so big, Jean,” Which only made Jean smile and give an apology kiss. You took a few more moments getting used to the stretch when the pleasure overtook the pain. You felt the veins on his cock inside you. You felt so full, but so good. You grinded into him trying to feel more and Jean noticed.
“I’m going to start moving now,” Jean warned and began pulling back before snapping his hips forward. You both cried out how he filled you up, your walls fluttering around him.
The pace was unrushed and steady to begin with. He withdrew his cock only to plunge it back into you, hitting you deep, in a repetitive matter. You felt the pleasure everywhere, all the way in your toes. 
You started meeting his thrusts, moving your hips in order to do so. Jean hitched your leg higher which only made you feel him deeper, hitting a sweet spot that caused you to gasp.
“You can go faster,” You said breathlessly, “Please, Jean, it feels so good.”
“Fuck,” Jean moaned back, his slow deep thrusts turned into a quick pounding. He continuously hit that new spot every time. Your whimpers turned into uncontrollable moans. Not wanting to make too much noise you buried yourself into the crook of his neck, sucking and biting his skin. 
You briefly looked down where your bodies met and saw him pumping out of you, your slick covering his cock and your thighs. The sight made your eyes roll back into your head.
“Please,” You moaned into Jean who brought his hand to your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“Please, what? What do you want, princess?” He grunted a bit after, not once did he lose his pace.
“I want… Ah… Please, I don’t know,” You felt like you could cry, you were right on the edge. You didn’t know what you needed, but you felt too good to try to figure it out. You figured he was close too by the way he was twitching inside your pussy and his thrusts became a little more desperate. 
“Open,” Jean brought his fingers back to your mouth, groaning at the sensation. He kept them there for a few more moments than necessary, just enjoying the way you looked with your pretty lips wrapped around him. 
Then he brought them between your legs and began rubbing your clit at the same pace he was thrusting into you.
“J-Jean, I’m gonna cum,” You grabbed his wrist, almost overwhelmed by the feeling. 
You cried out his name as your pussy milked him, triggering his own release. He groaned your name as he came. You felt the warmth of him spill deep inside you and it made your pussy tremble all the more. He gave a few final thrusts before slumping on top of you.
“Look at me while you cum, princess, come on, cum on my cock,” He encouraged you. You held eye contact for as long as you could, but when that coil in your tummy snapped you had to squeeze your eyes shut in absolute bliss.
“We definitely should’ve done that sooner,” He mumbled into your hair, making you giggle.
“Definitely,” You echoed back.
He slid out of you after that, making both of your bodies shudder at the loss of connection. You pussy still trying to pulse around something.
“I just showered,” You commented with a frown, looking at the mess between your legs. 
“I’ll go get a towel?” Jean offered, and you gave him a nod. He redressed quickly, kissed you deeply, then stated he would be back soon.
You threw your shirt back on while you waited. You felt so sleepy after that. Even though you wanted to feel clean, you wished you cuddled with Jean some more, already missing him.
After a couple more minutes the silence was broken.
 “I knew it!” You heard Eren’s familiar voice shout from outside your door and you sat up confused.
“Shut the fuck up before I hit you!” You heard Jean’s voice shout back and then a few more quieter exchanges that you couldn’t make out from the two men. Then your door opened fast, Jean slipping quickly inside, locking it behind him. In one hand he had a warm towel and in the other he had a new set of sheets. 
“What happened?” You pointed at the door and Jean scowled.
“Apparently those assholes bet on when we’d finally hook up,” Jean explained before cleaning you up. You blushed as he took care of you. Despite what just took place you still felt embarrassed. Jean noticed and just pecked your cheeks.
“That’s kind of funny, we should’ve placed our own bets,” You hummed and stood shakily, grabbing a new pair of underwear as Jean changed your sheets for you. 
“I can’t believe Eren won,” Jean frowned, but when your arms wrapped around him from behind he couldn’t help but smile.
“Will you stay with me? I kind of want to nap,” You mumbled into his back.
“Of course,” You both returned to your bed this time with more innocent intentions.
Jean laid on his back and you threw your arm around his chest and your leg over his, snuggling up into his side.
“I don’t want to die,” You murmured sleepily.
“You won’t,” Jean stated firmly.
“How do you know?” You looked up at him.
“Because we both have something to live for,” He met your gaze softly, before kissing your head again.
You told each other you loved another once again before you both fell asleep. It was a sleep where neither of you had the common nightmare about your untimely deaths. 
Instead it was a sleep where you both dreamt of the future you now could have with one another.
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k-s-morgan · 3 years ago
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Those Gentle Slopes That Lead to Hell: Snippet 3
Just a random snippet)) 
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There was a slight resistance meeting him when he tried to access Lau’s private quarters. Some energy held him back, trying to fight him off, and this was so fascinating that Sebastian paused, observing the building with an intense interest usually reserved for his Master. His eyes stopped at the series of symbols painted on one of the windows, and an amused smile curled his lips upwards.
Ancient warding against demons. Unexpected and intriguing. Did Lau suspect what he was or was he simply surreptitious? There were other symbols here, too — Sebastian recognised some, but others were too garbled to make sense. While Lau knew the basics, his overall knowledge was obviously lacking. Not surprising, considering that more than a thousand years had passed since the information about warding was lost. It was impressive that a mortal had managed to find even this much.
Ironically, the demon warding was mostly accurate, but it wasn’t strong enough to stop him. It would keep the lesser demons out, so it wasn’t completely useless, but it took Sebastian a mere wave of his hand to break the resistance and step inside.
Lau was sleeping on the floor, nestled in the mountain of blankets that even Young Master would envy. Ran-Mao took her rest nearby, but she was closer to the door, and Sebastian stopped at her side, studying her even face.
Peaceful. Not for long.
It’d been a while since he used demonic incantations of this kind. His lips formed the words, and reddish light flared around the girl before her face twisted in a panicked, horrified grimace. She groaned, her body jerking in an attempt to wake her up — to no avail. She had several interesting hours ahead, and that was just a fraction of what she’d get if Lau turned out to be uncooperative.
Smiling, Sebastian approached the man himself and was treated to a calculating, careful gaze levelled at him.
He was awake, then. Good.
“What did you do to her?” Lau asked. His voice was curious, conversational, but there was a note of tension underneath — and oh yes, there was fear. Sebastian had caught glimpses of it from time to time, yet never this explicitly.
It was pleasant to know that Lau didn’t differ from other humans all that much, after all. His Master alone had that honour.
“Nothing permanent,” he replied, adopting the same tone and shade of voice. “It’ll be worse if you don’t tell me what potion you gave me.”
Lau didn’t try to move, still gazing at him from his oddly-shaped pillow.
“I gave you what you asked for,” he murmured. “The elixir that helps with bad dreams.”
“That elixir did nothing of the sort,” Sebastian said, and the anger that had been waiting for this moment slithered forwards, heating his blood anew. “All it did was give my Master a fever and reduce him to endless rounds of vomiting. I want to know what was in it and how to remove its effects.”
For a while, Lau stayed quiet, but then he tilted his head, watching Sebastian from under his lashes.
“How much did you give him?”
It was a simple question asked in a non-accusatory voice, and yet Sebastian found himself stiffening.
“Half of the bottle,” he said curtly. A ghost of a smile flickered over Lau’s lips.
“I told you that a little goes a long way. Half of the bottle is hardly little.”  
“Are you implying that I put him in this condition?”
The deadliness of his words was enough to extinguish Lau’s smile immediately. His body tensed as if preparing to flee, even though he made no movement to try.
“Humans have an intrinsic understanding of dosages,” he uttered. “Approximate as it might be. It appears that you do not.”  
Had it been a test? In any other situation, Sebastian might have admired the effort. It was cunning. It would be smart… if it didn’t involve Ciel Phantomhive and didn’t put him in danger.  
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compartmentalisinghmpf · 2 years ago
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Why I’m so weird about (some forms of) guilt in fic (maybe)
I don’t want to write a big general meta here, just add some personal context to my (no longer quite so) recent “Complicated Feelings” post. Again, just very personal stuff, not a general statement of any sort at all. Warning: going on a very weird detour here - but my feelings on all this are coming from a very weird place, or at least I suspect they do.
This was kinda sorta prompted by my asking myself “why do I respond differently to Bro Strider than I do to various other characters who’ve also done bad shit; and arguably worse shit?” - but it’s really (mostly) not about that at all - though I do come back to it at the end.
In about a quarter century in fandom I think I’ve liked only four or five characters very strongly, in the fannish way (not necessarily always in the “ fan crush” way; but always in the sense of a strong fascination), who have not done terrible things. Other than that handful, it’s pretty much a parade of literal mass murderers there - though one may quibble with the exact term, in some cases. I’m using the word in a very broad sense, here. Ironically, some of them didn’t turn into, or turn out to be that until fairly late into proceedings, and I fell for them well before that, so it’s almost like I have some weird sixth sense. I didn’t know Cooper would get possessed. I didn’t know Methos was a Horseman of the Apocalpyse. I didn’t know John Crichton would start blowing up PK bases. Hell, Ramse started out as the walking conscience of the Ramse-Cole duality!
All of this is to say: these days, I’m really more surprised when a character I am fascinated by does not turn out to have massive amounts of blood on their hands, than when it turns out that they do. It just... keeps happening!
And oh my fuck, I’m German - second generation post-war, old enough for all my grandparents to have been adults during it, which means they probably Did Shit, even if just to the degree of looking away. And yes, this means I don’t actually Know, nobody ever talked about it, especially not the one I suspect saw or did the most, who barely ever talked at all about anything, and died earlyish, after years of dementia. The only one who told me anything at all ever was one of my grandmas, a tiny little bit, the last time I saw her before her death.
Ever since I began to understand German history a little bit, I felt a kind of distance between my grandparents and me.
And still it took me 22 years to realise that there’s quite possibly Something German going on with my obsession with guys who kill a lot of people.
For what it’s worth, the fictional mass murderers I attach to are usually about as far removed, in motivation and execution, from nazis as they could be - with the possible recent exception of Bob Howard, who operates - with great qualms, but also loyalty - in a political context that is beginning to resemble that, though still lacking the genocidal aspect. There’s other important differences there, too, but the differences - like the fact that his actions can, in the books’ universe, actually be justified - bother me even more than the similarities.
See, the characters I tend to like so strongly are usually Good Guys, of some description. Take this with all the usual reservations about terms like “good” or “bad” as applied to actual people; I’m talking about narrative functions, here.
They are, usually, Good Guys gone (or going) catastrophically wrong, in situations where doing something terrible begins to look necessary and justifiable. Maybe, sometimes, is necessary and/or justifiable. (So you might quibble also with the assessment that it’s “wrong”. But I’d argue that it still is, and that that’s important.)
(Notable exception to all this: Methos. He is... always and forever... a special case.)
So. If you make the mental link between these fictional Good Guys making “hard choices”, and my family history (and general German history), it’s all beginning to look... pretty skeevy.
There’s supposedly a  phenomenon among younger Germans, where basically everyone thinks their relatives were in the resistance, and of course, actually almost nobody was. Well, I know mine weren’t, and I never told myself that they were. But what I’m wondering, and what’s making me incredibly uncomfortable, is this: Am I subconsciously trying to tell myself, in this maximally indirect and convoluted way, that they may have felt it was all necessary and justifiable? Is that what’s going on here? I really, really hope it isn’t, because that really, truly, isn’t how the whole nazi thing worked - but it’s hard to be sure what’s going on in your own subconscious, because, well. It’s subsconscious.
Whatever really lies at the root of my fascination, though, I have always been slightly wary of it - long before I even began to suspect that there might be a legitimate reason to be uneasy. I’ve always felt like I was putting my empathy in the wrong place, I guess.
Perhaps as a consequence, I have always been incredibly picky in how, exactly, I like the topic of characters’ guilt dealt with in fiction. And make no mistake about it, I do like to see it dealt with in fiction. I keep coming back for it. (Again: German much?)
But at the same time, there are ways of handling it that are so strongly upsetting to me that it could count as a squick, and this has been the case since my very first contact with fic back in the late 90s.
My preferences do vary slightly, from character to character, and from situation to situation. Methos, who has a surviving victim (one out of tens of thousands) who confronts him, is a different story than John Crichton, who bombs military bases and ships and doesn’t ever meet any survivors other than Scorpius, who is also his torturer and thus hardly qualifies straightforwardly as a victim. And of course Methos and John also had fundamentally different motivations for what they did, and also did fundamentally different things, even if their overall body count may be similar. By modern morals, Methos has stooped considerably lower than John ever did. John is an actual Good Guy, who made the proverbial “hard choices”. We don’t know if Methos ever was that, but he certainly wasn’t during the Horsemen days.
But, to generalise as much as I can here, one of the central things to me, with guilt of the magnitude I’m talking about, is that there really is no way to “remove” it. Or to make up for it. Ever. Yes, I’m being very German, I know. But this is really important to me, in fic that deals with these topics.
The concept of forgiveness makes no sense to me, in this context. And any story that focuses on getting the characters to a place (mentally etc.) where they can receive it, is a story I probably do not want to read. Forgiveness cannot be the goal, here.
Which doesn’t mean that I am interested in punishment or revenge, instead.
Or that I take issue with stories that focus on victims, survivors, for their own reasons, getting to a place where they can forgive.
Remember that I’m talking about mass murder here, though; and that I’m talking as someone who - regrettably, disturbingly, inevitably(?) - keeps getting really invested in characters who have committed it. I read from the perpetrator’s POV. Or with an emotional focus on them, anyway.
With this constellation, it is important to acknowledge that there is no one who can forgive these characters, in a sense of actually relieving them of their guilt. There can’t be. Even if there are survivors, they can only ever possibly forgive a small part of the deeds; they cannot speak for the dead. (They also shouldn’t have to.)
(Yes, the same is technically true for any murder, even just a single one, and arguably much of the same discussion I’m having here could also be had about that. I’d still argue, probably, that there is usually something of a qualitative difference, but I’m not going to do another super weird essay on morally ranking different kinds of murder here; I did enough of that already, last year, and weirded out even myself in the process.)
So. Back to the topic at hand. The guilt is, and has to be, perpetual, and fic that doesn’t have that awareness built into its very bones, is fic I usually don’t want to read.
And yet I also don’t want to read about anyone wallowing uselessly in inescapable guilt, either. (Yes, I know, picky, picky...)
What I do want to read tends to be fic about characters who grapple with that inescapability in some way, who have to integrate that into their sense of self - accept it - without being paralysed by it, without letting it define them entirely, without becoming trapped and unable to move forward. In the end, it’s all about moving forward - without resolving that central tension, because that is fundamentally irresolvable.
(I sometimes wonder if this is psychologically unhealthy, this insistence of mine on the impossibility of forgiveness. But also, perhaps sometimes the most psychologically beneficial thing isn’t also the most moral thing. Perhaps some kinds of pain are worth carrying forever.
Also, perhaps the distinction between acceptance and forgiveness is academic, in this context. And acceptance? That feels pretty healthy.)
I think that fictional mass murder, especially in sf&f and in fan fiction, is used as, sort of, the safe terrible thing. Nobody (or at least almost nobody) puts a content warning for mass murder. It’s too big to be real, perhaps. It doesn’t feel personal. (Again, especially the types that occur in sf&f - the Death Star blowing up Alderaan, etc.) I suspect that - especially in fiction that deals with themes of guilt, redemption, forgiveness etc. - it’s often a stand-in for all sorts of other things that can cause feelings of guilt, including, I suspect, a lot more “harmless” ones - the kinds where forgiveness makes a lot more sense. So a lot of fic that ostensibly deals with mass murder... often doesn’t actually deal with mass murder.
(I think.)
Conversely - and now we’re finally getting back to Homestuck, yes, we’re finally here - child abuse, is too real, too personal. It’s not a stand-in for anything, it’s not a safe terrible thing to play with to explore something else, it is just itself. And just in being itself, in fiction it carries a sense of enormity and irrevocability and unforgiveability that - probably - surpasses that of (science-fictional) mass murder.
And I think that with my tendency to see even the customary Safe Terrible Thing as carrying all or at least a fair amount of the weight of the real thing (for whatever reason), I’m transferring/projecting all of my attitudes and ideas about guilt and (non-)forgiveness in fiction wholesale onto this, because to me, on some level, if feels similar. Not the same, but similar enough.
(Which is actually bizarre, because really it’s very different. Not least because - at least in the particular situation that prompted these weird musings, i.e. the situation described in, you know, The Fic - nobody’s dead, and everybody’s still dealing with each other, which means that all sorts of things are possible.
But there is still an enormity to it, and irrevocability.)
For whatever reason, I am also reading this particular kind of situation far more from the abused person’s POV than from the perpetrator’s. (And the fact that that is strange for me again makes me ask myself: why is mass murder so much more... identifiable-with? Side-eyeing my subconscious with great suspicion. --- Though probably some of it is simply that I’ve been a child who was subjected to some amount of violence, though not from parents/adults; I remember sensing, even at the time, how that was warping me, away from the person I could have been, turning me into something that I still think is probably lesser. And in that case, maybe there’s nothing particularly suspicious at all about where my sympathies lie, here.)
Which doesn’t mean that rng Bro isn’t fascinating to read about, or that I don’t empathise with him, because I do - quite a lot, actually. But he hasn’t made it onto my list of people whose “hard”, arguably terrible/murderous choices fascinate me near-obsessively (or just plain obsessively) - even though his motivations and choices would actually make him a fairly good fit; even though the way he dehumanises himself is not so very different from Bob Howard’s.
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