#nightmare knows he should have returned sooner

[skittlesking]

Cross calm down

Nightmare talk about why he's here & then judge from there okay?, don't jump to conclusions just yet.

At least listen to what he has to say, it's the least you can do

Cross is a bit more understanding now. He won't let Nightmare off easy, but obviosly there are much more pressign matters

(also replies may be a bit slow. between the storm and me falling ill again. started this earlier but fell asleep my bad-)

[entwined-fxte]

never let go.

a/n: listen i know i just wrote nightmare trope on my other blog but this is for my fragmented dreams fans (it's me i'm the fan). also BIG shoutout to that anon a few days ago cause i wasn't feeling motivated until i saw that in my inbox anon u are my whole world

content: soothing a certain doctor after a hard night.

WARNINGS: brief depictions of a nightmare (zayne's pov)

zayne × gen!reader (you/your).

fluff + comfort.

it was hard to see zayne like this. already exhausted from long nights of risky procedures, he could barely get any rest from his nightmare plagued mind. day after day, you saw the fatigue building up, his eyes dull no matter what he did. you decided you'd seen enough, and if anything, you were sure that he'd had enough as well.

luckily, it wasn't hard to get zayne to accept an invitation to stay overnight at your place. perhaps it was the tiredness that made his mind bleary, having him say yes before he even realised. or perhaps it was the idea of having you around him; sleep wasn't easy whether he was alone or with someone else, but zayne couldn't deny that you being close soothed his mind ever so slightly.

“ready to go home?” you poked your head through his office door, catching a glimpse of a the tail end of a yawn.

zayne turned his head to look at you, gaze foggy as he tried to process it all. he gave a low hum in return, pushing his chair back to give him room to stand up. “you're earlier than i thought you'd be.”

you slipped through the doorway, shutting it behind you with your foot as you made your way in. “i cleared the wanderer zone pretty quickly. after all, i'm a really good hunter,” you laughed, setting your backpack down on the ground to stretch.

“really now?” the corners of zayne's mouth curled up in amusement. you wondered when the last time he really smiled was. he stifled another yawn as he hung his lab coat up, exchanging it for a grey cardigan. “let's get going.”

you ordered delivery to your apartment while zayne drove back to your place. the silence was comforting, and yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more going on in zayne's mind that he let on. as you stepped out of the car, you shot the doctor a worried look. “i know you're usually not talkative, but is there something that's bothering you?”

zayne said nothing, instead shrugging his bag onto his shoulder and nodding towards your building. although quiet, you were certain you heard him whisper a low “later,” as he locked the car doors and headed off.

the delivery man caught you just before you closed your front door, handing the bag off to you before scuttling away. the sight made you laugh, and to your delight, zayne was also chuckling under his breath. after a moment, you shuffled him inside, setting the food down on the counter and your bag next to the couch. “you shower first, zayne. i'm gonna make some tea first.”

“sure.” with muffled steps, zayne disappeared into the washroom, leaving you to your own devices. it wasn't long before there were two cups of tea on the counter, and you carefully sipped yours while waiting for zayne to finish. he was silent when he came out; you didn't realise he had finished until you felt his arms wrap around your waist and his nose bury into your hair. you placed a hand on top of his, ghosting over the backs of his knuckles as he spoke. “you’re warm.”

“mmhmm. and as per usual, you're freezing.” you craned your neck up to look at him, reaching up with your other hand to trace his jawline. “here’s your tea. you can go ahead and start eating if you're hungry, too. i should freshen up.” zayne made a quiet sound of affirmation, slowly releasing you from his grasp while you shifted off your chair. a part of you hurt to leave him like that, but you figured that the sooner you could finish your night routine, the better.

you came out of the shower not long after, padding back into the living room to find zayne sitting comfortably on your couch with a book open. “zayne,” you called softly, waiting for him to turn his head up at you. when he did, you grabbed at the spine of the book, folding it closed before taking it away from him. “i invited you over to take it easy, not to read the medical journals you snuck back with you. did you even eat anything?”

zayne hummed in response, as he always did. “yes. i set aside your favourites already.”

“that wasn’t exactly necessary,” you mumbled. “anyways, it’s getting late. aren’t you tired?”

he placed the book down on the coffee table, shoulders slouching as he leaned forward. “it’s nothing more than usual.”

“liar.” with your lips pressed into a thin line, you leaned down towards the raven haired man, poking at his forehead accusingly. “you actually look even worse than usual.”

“how kind of you.” you tapped at his forehead a few more times, only stopping when zayne took your hand in his and pulled it down. you could hardly feel the way his fingers tightened around yours, but his expression gave him away.

with a sigh, you took your free hand and ran it through his hair. “come on. if i can protect linkon city from wanderers, i think i can protect you while you’re asleep.”

in a rare moment of vulnerability, zayne pressed further into your palm, exhaling softly as he did. “then i suppose we can give it a shot.”

cheering internally, you couldn't help the smile that creeped onto your face. the hand that zayne had trapped in his began to pull him up from the couch, waiting until he was steady on his feet before leading him to your bedroom. once inside, you crawled on top of the mattress, never once letting go of him as he followed suit. the last remaining traces of the sunset glow slowly disappeared from sight, leaving your bedroom under the gentle cascade of moonlight. you let go of zayne for a second to hop off the bed again, switching off the ceiling light and then returning to lay down next to him.

a low chuckle sounded from his chest as you bounced in your spot. “well? what's your great plan this time?”

“the plan is to wait until you fall asleep.”

“and do you expect that to happen soon?”

“i do.” you adjusted yourself onto your side. with some effort, you threw the blanket over yourself and zayne, burrowing your body in for a brief second before stretching out and beckoning to him. “come here.” zayne didn’t bother with a response, only giving you an unreadable look. but after a few seconds, zayne resigned, bringing himself towards you. you couldn’t help but give him an exasperated look when he stopped further from you than you wanted. “closer,” you murmured, sliding an arm around his waist and tugging him in. “i can’t hold you if you’re so far away.”

a sigh slipped past his lips. yet despite the way he sounded annoyed, zayne accepted the invitation, tucking his head down into the dip of your shoulder as he wound his arms around you. legs became tangled in seconds, and you could’ve sworn you felt him sigh in relief when you started carding your hand through his hair. “so your plan is to make sure i can’t run away,” zayne hummed against your skin. you laughed at the accusation, and for a fleeting second, zayne felt like the sound could heal him from anything.

“i might as well try to keep you from working.” were it possible, you would have pulled him closer. instead, you settled by pressing your lips to the crown of his head. “sleep, zayne. i won’t let go.”

the words echoed in his mind, resonated in his heart; but the next time he opened his eyes, there was only an empty space next to him. “y/n?” panic rooted in his chest, sitting upright to find nothing but silence. zayne climbed off the bed, fear driving him to look through the windows. outside, wanderers flooded the streets, turning it into a sea of black. for a moment, zayne caught a familiar face; and he could do nothing but watch as you were drowned in the abyss.

you kept stroking up and down his back rhythmically, attempting to soothe zayne’s restless movement. eventually, his eyes flew open, gaze misty as he suddenly gripped onto you. you waited until his breathing steadied, continuing to draw circles into his skin even after he had calmed. “another nightmare?”

zayne exhaled deeply, turning his face down so he could press his forehead against your collarbone. “you didn’t let go.”

your other hand returned to his head, playing with the hair at the base of his neck. “i told you i wouldn’t.” the way zayne shivered didn’t go unnoticed. unsure if it was the cold or his fear, you tightened the blanket around the both of you as best you could. “go back to sleep. it hasn’t even been two hours.”

zayne spoke again, barely audible. “will you let go?” and then he felt your chin, gently moving side to side across his head.

“not in a million lifetimes.”

silence fell like snow, with only the sound of your intertwined breathing filling the room. with a final sigh, zayne closed his eyes and pressed himself into you, searing your warmth into his soul as if it were the last time he could.

and this time, when zayne dreams, he dreams of a certain hunter, and of a field of jasmines.

a/n: happy actual first post!! the urge to write "rei" instead of zayne and "MC" instead of "y/n" was ridiculously high. also his new card?!?#?@?@: i'm on the ground ......

reblogs are really appreciated (´ω｀) ♡

[freelancearsonist]

so scarlet, it was...

➔ post-outbreak Joel Miller x afab!Reader - series masterlist

➔ 1.3k words

➔ “Go ahead, yell your fucking head off. That’ll make everything okay, won’t it?”

➔ Rated MA for dark fic kinda, a/b/o themes (alpha joel, omega reader), established... situationship? i guess, pregnancy/contemplation of termination, contemplation of self harm, reader is not in a good headspace. one instance of vomiting, joel is not very nice, this fic in general is not very nice. takes place three years post outbreak. [please let me know if i missed any warnings so i can add them in :)]

➔ thank you so much to my darling @bitchwitch1981 for the prompt, i'm so sorry this is probably very much not what you wanted 🤣 extra special thank you to @perotovar for making this wonderful joel gif for me, if ur reading this ily <3

You’ve never actually used one of these things before. You’ve only read about them in books or seen them in movies from years ago, and they’ve only ever been an object of abject horror.

You understand why now, looking down at those two little lines on the stick cradled in your hand. You’ve never been quite so terrified in your life.

You never should’ve pocketed this test when you found it in that miraculously untouched drug store. You could’ve stayed blissfully unaware. Better yet, you should’ve been more careful. Three years of living like this has been more than enough to make you firm in your decision to never bring life into this broken world. This isn’t a place for a child, this is barely even a place for you. Every day is a fight, every waking moment is a nightmare. But you’ve been so careless with him and now it’s all crashing down, this blissful bubble where you can pretend that everything might be okay because you have the pack and, more importantly, him. 

You won’t have him for much longer when he finds out about this.

You wonder what it’ll take to right this wrong before he finds out about it. It must be pretty early, so maybe it won’t take much to reverse it. Maybe all you’ll have to do is bump into something just right, or trip over the right log.

The thought makes you sick–more stomach bile than anything else coming up because you’ve hardly had more to eat than stale beef jerky and some precarious berries in the past few days. Resources have been so slim; another reason this can’t be happening. You hardly have enough to tide you over, much less a child. And it’ll be even worse once the pack abandons you.

You bury yourself into the haphazard nest of blankets and his worn clothes, letting the heavy, musky scent of him soothe your wracking sobs. 

Maybe you should just accept your fate now, sacrifice yourself for the good of the pack. Everyone is going to die eventually, after all–sooner rather than later in this world. You’ve only been postponing the inevitable. They never have to know why you do it, and it’ll be one less mouth to feed. Two, technically, but they’ll never have to know that. He won’t even really miss you, it’ll be one less burden on his hands. On all of their hands.

You don’t hear them return early from scavenging–maybe because the volume of your own sobs drowns out any other noise. Or maybe because he can sense something is wrong as he enters the run-down little shack you’ve been holed up in for the past few weeks, and he softens his approach because of it.

Joel has never been quite as tender as he is when he takes you into his arms, pulling your face out of the pile of fabric to wipe at your tear-streaked cheeks.

“My omega, shhhh, I’m here. It’s okay,” he murmurs, wrapping you into his big, strong, safe arms. He doesn’t know. Maybe he thinks you had a nightmare, or you just missed him, or a million other things except the truth. But he doesn’t know, and you know he doesn’t know because you feel the moment he connects the dots. His eyes drop to the little white stick clutched tightly in your fist and his entire body stiffens like a board. Suddenly there’s no more warmth or comfort to his touch, nothing soothing about the pheromones drifting from him. He pulls away like you’re infected, and maybe you are. Maybe the thing that’s taken root in you is worse than cordyceps could ever hope to be.

You’ve never been terrified of him before. Joel is dark and brooding and imposing, but he’s only ever fought to protect you. His omega, who wormed their way under his skin despite him fighting it every step of the way. His omega, who’s been the only source of anything remotely close to comfort he’s had since outbreak day. His omega, who’s given him purpose in this dark world.

His omega, who’s betrayed him in such an unforgivable way.

“What the fuck.” There’s nothing but venom in his tone–he looks at you with pure disgust and your resolve crumbles.

Maybe there was a little, tiny, miniscule part of you that hoped it would be different. That he would be excited to be a father, or at least be understanding. But that hope dies so suddenly when you look up into his scowling face. He towers over you, dark eyes flashing with anger, and for the first time since you met him two long years ago you’re scared.

“You were supposed to be careful.” His voice rises further and further with each syllable, as if this isn’t partially his fault too. As if he wasn’t the one in such an uncontrollable rut last month that he kept you in bed all week, losing the willpower required to pull out with each powerful thrust of his hips. As if it isn’t his seed blooming in your womb as you speak.

“What do we do now, huh?” He growls, eyes darkening, fists clenching at his sides. “I’ve fucking marked you, I can’t turn you loose! And we barely make it by as we are! How the fuck are we supposed to handle this?”

He rants for what seems like hours and you flinch with every booming word, curling tighter around yourself in a desperate attempt to simply disappear; to not have to deal with this any more because your heart shatters with each irreversible word he throws at you. You shrink and shrink and shrink in hopes of vanishing because this is undoable. No matter what happens, nothing will ever go back to the way it was and that’s the knowledge that crushes you completely.

Your voice is so small when he finally quiets enough for you to speak. “Go ahead, yell your fucking head off. That’ll make everything okay, won’t it?”

Joel stops in his tracks, white knuckles unclenching for the first time in minutes. He sees the fear and regret in your eyes, and he almost lets it soften him. He loathes himself for this look on your face–for making you scared of him.

His omega. So small and fragile, curled in a pile of his clothes because his scent brings you comfort. He’s dedicated two years of his time and effort to keeping you safe and comfortable, if not happy. He’s supposed to protect you, not hurt you. He’s supposed to give you children and raise them with you, be a family with you. That’s what being your alpha means, and he has so sorely failed you. 

But he knows he can never do that again. That’s never what this was supposed to be. He didn’t mark you out of anything but necessity–if he had let your uncontrolled scent waft every time you went into heat, every alpha in the country would be targeting your little pack of four. You’re his omega out of biological necessity–a warm hole to fill when his rut threatens to tear already strenuous ties with his brother and Tess. That’s what he tells himself because the alternative is so startlingly incomprehensible that he won’t allow himself to even consider the fact that he might care about you; that the urge to care for you and protect you is more than primal, biological instinct; that you mean more to him than anyone ever has.

Not just his omega now, but his mate. His unborn child is growing and growing and growing with each passing second inside your womb and he’s powerless to stop it.

“We’re thirty-seven miles from the Boston QZ,” he growls from somewhere deep in his chest. “We leave at first light.”

You don’t get a chance to argue or plead your case before the door slams shut behind him. 

➔ beta: @beskarandblasters and @fhatbhabie

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :) any feedback or comment is always greatly appreciated!!

[blindmagdalena]

The Cuckoo's Nest

18+ 6.3k siren!homelander x f!reader. dub/noncon, infidelity, mind/emotional manipulation, gaslighting, voice kink, masturbation, penetrative sex, fingering, blood, gore, cannibalism? creampie, stalking, minor character death, praise kink, good girl/pretty girl.

The gentle and pleasing voice of the cuckoo bird has made it a renowned herald of spring, and perhaps one of the most famous of songbirds. One would never guess merely by looking at it that it is a predatory parasite.

What you thought would be a dream job working for Vought as Homelander's very own secretary turns into a surreal waking nightmare as reality and dreams converge in a confusing mess. The only coherent thread that strings it all together is the alluring pull of Homelander's unnatural voice.

written for Monsterlander Mania. fair warning, this fic is fairly dark! thank you so much @anon-nee for this amazing banner art. 🖤

When you were hired as Homelander’s secretary, the gig had been pitched as a cushy desk job. Now that he’s the new face of Vought, and Ashley the company CEO, he needs someone who will keep his day to day affairs in order. Apparently, you’re just the person for that job.

“You probably won’t see much of him,” Ashley tells you distractedly. She rarely ever looks away from her phone for long.

“There are two landlines on your desk. The left one is for general business, and the one on the right, the red one, is exclusively for him. Don’t make calls on it. He has the number memorized, he’s the only one who’ll ever call it, so make sure you always answer it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you say diligently.

Glancing over, Ashley does a double take. “Aren’t you married? Where’s your ring?”

You falter, looking down at your hands. “Oh,” you say, taking said ring out of your pocket. “I put hand cream on earlier, I just forgot to put it back on.”

“Make sure you keep that on,” she says, giving you a critical look before returning her gaze to her phone. “He’s particular.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Nevertheless, you make sure to always keep your wedding ring on while you’re at work.

True to Ashley’s word, you see neither hide nor hair of Homelander during your first three days. You make his appointments, you take calls on his behalf, and you organize his bookings.

In your office, directly across from your desk, hangs a borderline comically oversized portrait of him that stares relentlessly at you as you work. You often find yourself staring back at it, the back of your neck prickling with the irrational feeling of being watched.

You know that it’s just in your head, but you can’t help but be put off by the feeling. Sometimes you consider covering the portrait, but the last thing you want is for the man to appear out of the blue and see a blanket thrown over his likeness.

Your instinct proves correct.

“Hey you,” comes a voice like silk. You startle, looking up from your desk to find a shock of red, white and blue standing in your doorway, his arms folded casually behind his back.

“Homelander,” you say, nearly choking on the name. “Sir, hello. I’m–”

“I know,” he interjects smoothly, cape swaying behind him as he passes the threshold, making his way over to your desk. That voice. He’s not even said five words to you yet, but it lingers in your ears like warm honey, causing a flush of warmth to roll through you. You convince yourself that you’re just embarrassed to have been caught so thoroughly off guard. “My new secretary. Sorry I couldn’t stop by sooner.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize, sir. I know better than most how–” you hesitate, watching as he takes a turn and begins walking directly towards you, circling behind your desk. “–busy you are,” you finish, looking up at him as he looms over you. You wonder if you should stand, but he’s so close to you now, you’d just knock right into him.

He smells good. Earthy and slightly sweet, like vetiver.

“That’s pretty,” he remarks, gesturing to your ring finger. “Sapphire, huh? Unusual choice.”

You swallow, trying desperately to reign in the cadence of your breath. Your heart is pattering as wildly as rain drops. “Thank you. My husband chose it, it’s his birthstone.”

To which Homelander giggles. It’s a delighted, slightly off-putting little noise. “P’wow, he gave you a ring with his birthstone, huh? Really staking his claim,” he says, reaching down to take your hand. He looks at you just before he makes contact. His eyes are even bluer than the stone in your ring. “May I?”

Dumbstruck, you nod, lifting your hand and placing it in his upturned palm. He sits on your desk and turns your hand this way and that, watching the way your ring catches the light. Eventually, his gaze slips back to yours. “Happily married?”

“Very,” you say immediately, your throat suddenly dry.

He smiles, and only then do you notice how unusually sharp his canines are.

“Good. Glad to hear it,” he says, giving your hand a gentle pat before he lets it go. You immediately drop your hand into your lap, touching your ring. You feel strangely lightheaded all of a sudden, unable to look away from his piercing gaze. Even when he isn’t speaking, you can still hear the warmth of his tone echoing all around you.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you,” he says, standing from your desk with preternatural elegance, as if he’d floated more than lifted himself.

“Please, the pleasure was all mine,” you say with a smile, somewhat dazed. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

He looks pleased as punch at that. “I’ll try not to be such a stranger, hmm?” he purrs, reaching out to give your shoulder a friendly squeeze. You feel the rumble of his voice roll all the way down your spine and into the core of you, leaving a light throb nestled between your thighs.

“I’d like that. Thank you, sir,” you say, your voice sounding dreamy and distant in your own ears.

Flashing that same toothy grin, he shoots you a wink before he turns face with a slight flourish of his cape, the fabric billowing in his wake as he takes his leave, disappearing down the hall.

The second he’s gone, it’s like the spell of his presence breaks and you come crashing back to yourself, eyes wide. A hot broil of shame rolls through you when you realize how aroused you are, that throb lingering. You’re equal parts shocked and disgusted with yourself, sickened by the hot prickle lingering on every inch of your skin.

Holy shit. What the fuck was that?

You wind up leaving an hour early, eager to be home. The shame makes you desperate to see your husband, as if touching him will erase the residual traces of the effect that Homelander had on your body.

It doesn’t. In fact, that feeling of being watched follows you all the way home, the feel of it becoming a specter haunting your house. When your husband seeks intimacy from you in your bed later that night, you push his hands away.

“Sorry,” you say softly, shaken. “Not tonight.”

Your body still remembers him too viscerally.

That night, you dream of songbirds.

Two days later, the right landline rings for the first time. You stare blankly at it, your stomach immediately twisting into knots. It rings, once, twice, nearly a third time before you hurriedly snatch it up off the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” comes Homelander’s familiar drawl. His voice falls over you like a wash of sunlight, warm and heavy. “Thought you might be ignoring me for a second there.”

“No, no, never. Sorry, sir,” you say, reaching for your water. You take a quick sip. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing too dire, just a little shuffling. Can you bump tomorrow’s 4pm to Thursday for me?” He asks, voice slipping around your throat like a noose. The press of it makes you slightly breathless.

“Of course,” you say, balancing the phone on your shoulder while you manipulate your tablet. “That’s no problem at all, done.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, the phone turning his voice into an intimate rumble in your ear.

You blink, feeling like your mouth is full of cotton. You can’t seem to form a response.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He asks, and you swear up and down you can hear a smile in his voice. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Was there anything else, sir?” You manage to blurt out, words leaving you in a clumsy spill. You’re breathing shallowly, mouth parched. You snatch up your water and take another quick sip. There’s a long pause on the line, the silence so deafening you think for a moment you must have missed something. “Sir?”

“Touch yourself.”

Your heart falls into your stomach, but that feeling is nothing compared to the unbidden liquid heat that those words erupt throughout your body.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says patiently. Amused, even. “Touch yourself. Take your hand–no, no, the left one,” he says in response to your right hand drifting down. You weren’t even aware you’d started moving. You swap the phone from your left hand to your right, and grab hold of your thigh with your left hand.

“I don’t understand,” you say, the words feeling as thick as molasses on your tongue. “Why are you–”

“That’s good. Now, move those pretty fingers in. Just like that,” he directs, and to your own distant horror, your hand moves, sliding between your legs and lifting up your skirt, your sparkling ring disappearing beneath it. You press your middle finger directly to your beating clit and let go a shuddering breath, massaging it through your panties.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me how you like it, mm? Bet your husband still doesn’t know the first fuckin’ thing about how to make you feel good. He ever watch you do this to yourself, ever bother to learn how you like to be touched?”

Disoriented, you shake your head. Your hips reflexively lift to meet the smooth figure-eights you rub yourself with. You’re sure you’d agree to anything he said so long as he keeps talking.

“Didn’t think so. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, sweetheart. I know exactly what you need.”

The heat of his voice envelops you, makes your whole body feel aflame. You’ve never been so sensitive in your life, already shuddering and squirming in your seat from the intensity of sensation building beneath your fingers.

“Slow down. There’s no rush. You’re as good as mine now.”

His voice is like velvet but his words sting, needling something inside you that squirms. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head more fervently. “No, no, m’not… I don’t…”

“Shhhhh,” he hushes, the hiss of it like a serpent in your ear. “Give it up for me, sweetheart.”

A whimper escapes your throat, the noise all but choked out of you. You can’t move, save for the increasingly frantic stroke of your fingers. His voice is a physical caress that slips down the line of your throat, between your breasts, slinking in serpentine patterns until it spills over your fingers and–

You gasp awake, staring wide-eyed at your blurry ceiling as wave after wave of pure euphoria crashes over you, stealing your capacity for breath. You ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm in a state of delirium, the shadows on your ceiling dancing like a voyeuristic crowd. You’re not sure if it takes seconds, minutes or hours to end, your perception of time distorted by the sheer intensity of sensation.

Looking to your side, panting, you see your husband sleeping soundly beside you. His snores are faint and peaceful. The curtains of your balcony door billow softly with the night’s breeze.

Your day comes back to you in a slow blur. The phone call was real, you’re sure of it… Aren’t you? Reaching for your phone, you hurriedly log into your Vought calendar and check the schedule. Sure enough, in your history, you can see that you bumped his next day R&D meeting to Thursday. That was real.

You wrack your brain for the details of your day, trying to piece together how you got from there to here, and whether or not any of Homelander’s voice cooing lewd commands in your ear was real. 

It couldn’t have been. 

The more the dream fades from your mind, the more you remember the rest of your day. You remember hanging up the phone, finishing your work day as per usual, and going home to your husband. Though it’s all something of a strange blur, the memories are there.

Even so, the dream somehow feels more real than any of it.

It’s 5am and you doubt you’ll be sleeping again. You get up early, shower, and make breakfast all before your husband even makes it to the kitchen. Your dreams and the haze of yesterday fade with the rising sun, as all dreams and memories often do.

You’re in the process of putting your dishes away when he walks in, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You got an early start today?” He asks, biting back a yawn.

It’s cute. He’s cute. You feel an irrational spike of guilt.

It was just a dream.

“Didn’t sleep well,” you admit, kissing him on the cheek. You wrinkle your nose. “Oof, morning breath,” you say playfully, but there’s an edge of truth to it. You can’t explain it, but there’s something off about the way your husband smells this morning.

Your mind drifts wistfully to the pleasant memory of sweet vetiver.

By the time you make it to work, your morning is nothing but a distant recollection at the peripheral of your consciousness. 

Nonetheless, the sight of that bright red landline still makes you blush. 

You don’t see Homelander again for another three days. At least, not at work. In reality, you’re more aware of him than you’ve ever been in your life. His face is everywhere, be it TV or billboards. You see him in the grocery store, the post office, and even the goddamn DMV. You never really noticed until now how inescapable Homelander truly is.

It’s no wonder he continues to appear in your dreams, too. You can’t seem to remember any of them very well, but you know without a doubt each time you wake that you were haunted by sapphire blue eyes and a voice as decadent as sin.

Sometimes you recall a gorgeous view of the city hundreds of feet in the air. Other times you recall a blue bed, but the thing you remember most is mirrors. You see yourself clearly in them. You see him with you.

All the while a budding friction between you and your husband continues to grow. You find yourself telling him more often to brush his teeth, shower, anything to combat this bizarre stink he’s taken on. Some days it’s so bad, you swear you smell rotting meat before you realize it’s him. Even the sound of his voice grates on you, both rough and shrill in a way that agitates you further and further into isolation in the house you once happily shared.

On that third day at work, you’re penciling in a meeting regarding a potential collaboration with Superplastic when a rhythmic knock at the door jostles you from focus. You look up to call them in, but Homelander is already striding inside, stealing the words right off the tip of your tongue. 

“Goooood afternoon,” he drawls, the door falling shut behind him. For as much as you’ve continued to see and hear of him, you had forgotten how different he sounds in person, the force of his presence instantly a weight upon your body.

Your brain completely malfunctions. Night after night of erotic whispers suddenly crashes down upon you in visceral detail, how multiple times you woke to the throes of an orgasm with his voice still echoing in your ears. Humiliation and arousal flood you in equal measure, turning your skin hot.

Homelander smiles at you from the other side of your desk all the while. 

“Cat got your tongue?” He asks slyly. The question hurdles you backwards in time to the moment you were seated in this exact spot with him whispering downright pornographic filth into your ear, coaxing you into touching yourself into a frenzy.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was a dream.

“Good afternoon, sir,” you finally manage to say, wincing internally at the sound of your own voice.

“Don’t be so formal,” he says, giving a dismissive little wave. “C’mon, call me Homelander,” he says, once again circling around behind your desk. Your eyes widen slightly, mouth bone dry when you try to swallow. He sweeps his cape out of the way before taking a leisurely seat on your desk. He lifts his brows, pinning you with an expectant stare. “Go on, try again.”

“Uh, good afternoon, Homelander,” you correct yourself. His proximity to you is making it hard to focus–there it is again, the scent of vetiver. He smells like summer grass warmed by the hot sun, and he has a gravitational pull to him that has you leaning subconsciously towards him.

His smile widens. “Much better.” His eyes narrow a touch, flickering down briefly before snapping back up to meet your gaze. 

“So! How’s the office, everything nice and cozy?” He asks, one hand braced next to him on your desk, the other gesturing vaguely about. Before you can even answer, he points to your lap. 

“Chair good? I know how important lumbar support is when you’re sitting all day.”

Discussing your lumbar support needs with Homelander certainly had not been on your bingo sheet.

“Uhm, yes, it’s–” Again, before you can get a real answer in, he’s sitting up and making sweeping motions with his hand.

“Let’s see, up, up, lemme take this bad boy for a spin,” he says, making your heart leap up into your throat when he catches you by your waist and effortlessly lifts you up out of your office chair, turning to set you on your feet. With a flourish of his cape, he drops down into your chair, legs spread wide.

You gawk momentarily, watching him spin side to side.

“Oop, there’s that lumbar,” he says, leaning back into it. He’s grinning at you all the while, the moment entirely surreal. You huff an incredulous little laugh, crossing your arms. He’s a little ridiculous, you realize, but personable. 

Have you been the problem this whole time, turning him into something he’s not? You’re starting to lose yourself in your thoughts as you watch him.  

“How about we test the suspension? C’mere,” he says, giving his thigh a pat. “Sit.”

You snap back to attention, your smile falling away. “Pardon?”

“Sit,” he says again, his smile a predatory curve of his lips. He pats his thigh again “Right here.”

You look down at his lap and then back up, your ears buzzing with the timbre of his voice. Logically, you know that what he’s just demanded is wildly inappropriate, yet the silken tone he said it in leaves you utterly agreeable. Slowly, you lower yourself into his lap, uncertain of why you wouldn’t abide by such a request.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he coos, bracketing your waist with his arms.

 ”That’s better, isn’t it?” He asks, his hands moving up and down your thighs. You shiver, a chill running down your spine despite the fervid heat of his body pressed along the back of yours.

A distant voice in the back of your mind whispers it wasn’t a dream, though you can barely hear it over the pounding of your own blood in your ears.

“Relax,” he murmurs, the word a warm huff on your neck. 

Like a marionette whose strings have been cut, your body goes slack against him. Your heart continues to race even as a wave of calm sweeps through you, the two sensations frantically battling one another. Eventually, however, your pulse succumbs to the warmth seeping from him, and you begin to calm, soothed by the slow sweeps of his palms and the way he’s muttering sweet nothings into your ear. 

“Good girl,” he breathes, the smile audible in his voice. “That’s it. Feels good, hmm?” His hands move more firmly on your thighs, closer to a massage.

You make a thin noise of pleasure, tipping your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“When I tell you… that I have been looking forward to this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck. 

“But I had to be sure you were the one. Most people start to go insane after the first night, maybe the second, but not you.” His teeth, sharp as razors, delicately graze your throat. “You’ve been… perfect.”

“What’re you talking about?” You ask, feeling slightly slow and disoriented.

Homelander chuckles, the rumble of it moving from his chest through your back. 

“My voice. It tears apart people's minds… But not yours. Why is that?” His lips are warm on your skin, trailing lower. He lifts a hand to pull your collar askew and kiss at the exposed crook of your neck.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, eyes flickering shut. His mouth feels incredible, the slight dampness that his lips leave behind making you especially sensitive to the air as he exposes you to it. It’s difficult to focus on anything other than the drag of his mouth. 

You don’t even realize he’s unbuttoned your shirt and slipped it off of your shoulders until he’s kissing that newly revealed skin, nipping playfully at your bra strap.

“Here I was thinking you were just a pretty, tasty little thing… Turns out you’re so much more,” he purrs between kisses. A jolt of pain makes you gasp and then whimper, the sting of it soothed by the way his tongue drags over the spot afterwards.

It takes you a beat to comprehend that he’s just bitten the junction between your neck and shoulder, sunk his sharp teeth in so deep you smell the faint tang of blood.

“Turns out you were meant for me all along,” he says between slow drags of his tongue, lapping at your soft skin. He moans for the taste of it. “Watching you writhe in your bed, wanting me, touching yourself while your useless husband slept. I thought I was the one going fucking insane.”

Comprehension is a slow, creeping thing to your addled mind.  “You were watching me. The dreams, you–”

“Whispered them into your ear while you slept,” he interjects, kissing at the shell of your ear. “You took to ‘em like gasoline takes to a spark,” he says, that voice of his wrapping around your body and limbs like a dozen slithery tendrils. 

The touch of his voice is just as tangible as his hands sliding up your thighs, your stomach, cupping your breasts through your bra. You let out a shuddering moan.

“Every night, I was so sure you’d break. But you didn’t. You won’t.”

His confession brings back images in a flood, untangling dreams from memories. You remember a silhouette standing over you, you remember piercing red eyes glowing in the dark, and you remember the filth he spoke over you that made your body twist and sweat and come harder than you ever have.

All of it intertwines with this very moment, with his hands on you, his body against yours. It has you moaning, writhing back against him the same way you did in your bed beneath his gaze.

“Call your husband,” he tells you, hand slipping between your legs, hooking under your skirt.

“What?” You rasp, clutching at his wrists. You shiver at the hot slide of his tongue just behind your ear.

“Call your husband,” he repeats, thick gloved finger rubbing sparks between your thighs. “Tell him you’re coming home early. Tell him to wait for you in the bedroom.” 

Leaning forward, Homelander snatches the left landline off the desk and pulls it into your lap, resting it atop his hand while he fingers you in slow, precise circles.

You pick up the receiver and dial unsteadily. It doesn’t sound like something you shouldn’t do. Even as it rings, you feel no dread or apprehension. Just the drive to obey the voice cradling your mind and body so very sweetly.

“Hi,” you exhale when he answers the phone, screwing your eyes shut. It takes everything in you just to focus on speaking. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m coming–” your breath catches as Homelander pushes your panties aside and breaches you with a single finger, sliding into your soaked pussy in one slow, continuous slide. 

“I’m coming home early today,” you say, holding both the receiver and Homelander’s wrist in a white-knuckle grip. “Can you wait in the bedroom for me?”

He’s thoroughly confused, but all that does is frustrate you. His voice comes through ugly and nasally over the phone, grating through your nerves instantly. You feel the urge to yell at him, but the breath is stolen from your lungs by the sweet press of Homelander’s thick gloved finger crooking inside you, stroking exactly the right spot to make you see stars.

“Just–just do it, please? Wait in the bedroom, I’ll be–I’ll be home soon.”

You slam down the phone just in time, letting out a cry, lurching forward. The phone tumbles from your lap with a clatter and Homelander catches you with an arm across your chest, pinning you back against his chest.

“Good girl, that’s it. Give it up for me. Lemme feel that pretty pussy come,” he moans, grinding up against you, the sound of his finger pumping into you obscenely loud and wet. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. Whet my appetite. Gimme something before it’s time to fucking eat.”

You come loudly, clenching your legs tightly around his hand. He stops just to feel you tighten and convulse through his glove, his lips and teeth and tongue all wreaking havoc at your throat.

“Fuck,” he sighs, followed by the low rumble of a chuckle. Your thighs shake as he pulls his hand away. You can smell the heady smell of your own slick when he brings his finger to his mouth and sucks the taste of you from it, the sound lewd in your ear.

“You even taste pretty,” he hums, voice frayed like a growl. There’s an inhuman split to his voice, like there’s three of them layered over top of each other.

The whole world feels like it’s spinning. You have no center of gravity, just the sensation of movement as Homelander effortlessly maneuvers you up into his arms. Your head lolls against his chest, vision swimming.

Warm lips press sweetly to your forehead. “Rest up, pretty girl,” he murmurs. The words instantly make you drowsy. “I’ll wake you up when I’m done.”

The world slips into darkness. The last thing you’re aware of is the feeling of flying.

When you come back to consciousness, the darkness remains. You recognize your bedroom ceiling above you, familiar shadows dancing across it, beckoning you awake. 

A dream…?

Your limbs are leaden, weighed down to the bed. You try desperately to untangle the fantastical from what is real, walking backwards through what you remember. Touch, smell, sound, and pleasure unlike anything you’ve ever known. You remember Homelander’s hands on you, in you, his body and voice all around you, the sound of–

Sound. What is that sound? It’s close to you, but you can’t move your head to see. It’s a series of wet, soft squelching noises akin to someone manipulating piles of drenched laundry. Then you hear a crunch like a tree branch snapping, and you start to recognize another sound; panting breaths followed by an erotic moan of pure indulgence.

You open your mouth to speak, but your throat is too tight, and nothing escapes it. As you come back to yourself more and more, you realize the bed beneath you is warm and wet.

You manage to force a noise from the back of your throat, a strained sound born of the effort to move. Next to you, something shifts. 

“There’s my pretty girl,” coos Homelander’s familiar voice. Your heart crashes against your ribcage, the only part of you that can freely move expressing the shock of hearing his voice here in your bed.

“Shhhshhhh, no need for that,” he murmurs, moving into your line of sight, hovering over you. His face is spattered in something dark, but when he smiles his sharp teeth are white and bright, even in the dim moonlight of your bedroom. His voice soothes your frayed nerves almost instantly.

“Take a deep breath,” he says. You do so easily, as if you were never paralyzed. “Good. Perfect timing,” he tells you, his tongue sliding along his teeth, his lips, threads of saliva stretched between his teeth snapping. “I’m still plenty hungry for you.”

He kisses you, swinging his leg over to envelop your body with his. All at once you can move again, your bones no longer weighed down. You relax beneath the press of his lips and the weight of him, exhaling a breath through your nose. 

“Kiss me,” he mumbles fervently. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him with everything you have, your lips sliding slickly against one another. He licks the taste of copper into your mouth.

Blood, a distant part of you realizes. Whatever horror you should feel is replaced by building excitement, his touch reigniting heat throughout your body. Like gasoline takes to a spark.

His lips move to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, trailing bloodied kisses down your throat. He has less patience for your clothes now than he did in your office, tearing your shirt and bra from your body with a feral noise. His hands are upon you instantly, spreading the blood on his hands down your chest, massaging your breasts until he works a needy moan out of you.

“Can’t believe I almost ate you, too,” he says with a smile.  Before you can respond, he leans down to suck your nipple into his mouth, hands sliding lower. You gasp and push your hands into his hair, slicking it back with what sprayed into it. His mouth is inferno hot on your skin, goosebumps erupting over every inch of you. His tongue is a devilish thing, working your nipple in circles, but it’s the light pinch of his teeth that make your whole body lurch.

He makes quick work of your clothing from the waist down, too, stripping you until there’s nothing left between you and the blood soaked fabric of his suit. His hand disappears from you, and you hear a metallic click followed by the hiss of a zipper. He nudges your legs apart to settle properly between them, pulling off of your breast with a satisfied pop. He licks his lips of the blood he had spread to your breast, eyes wild and glowing faintly red.

“Let’s get rid of this while we’re at it,” he says, lifting your hand. He kisses the tip of your ring finger before taking it into his mouth, gaze flickering up to meet yours as he takes it all the way down past your knuckle, your ring disappearing past his lips. He catches the metal band with his teeth and drags it slowly off, sucking your finger clean of it. A chill runs down your spine at the crunch the metal gives as he effortlessly chews and swallows it.

You stare in numb, abject shock, but even that rapidly fades to the fires rolling through you. 

Hands on your thighs, he easily pulls your ass into his lap. You look down to see his cock freed from his suit pants, thick and nicely curved. He bends over you, hitching your legs up over his shoulder, and you feel the flat curve of the bottom of his cock press against your cunt. He grins down at you, rocking his hips to grind through the slick mess he’s made of you.

“Let’s see if you feel as good as you taste,” he says, claiming your lips once more. He pulls his hips back, and you feel the head of his cock drooling precome as it slides over your clit, down to your soaked cunt. The dull stretch of it splitting you open burns, has you keening against his lips. He kisses you again and again and again.

“That’s it, baby. Open up for me. Lemme feel that perfect pussy,” he grits out, voice frayed at the edges like he’s finally beginning to lose that cocky composure of his. Even still, his voice retains that otherworldly aspect to it. He bottoms out with a low moan, hips flush to your body.

“Oh fffffuck,” he groans, cock throbbing against the velvety walls of your cunt. You can feel the pulse of him, even more so when you squeeze. It gives you an unexpected and intoxicating shot of power when doing that makes him gasp. “Perfect. My perfect fuckin’ match, fuck. I knew you would be, I knew you were made for me,” he babbles, bordering on incoherence as he starts to thrust, gripping your ass with one hand while the other goes to the headboard, slamming it against the wall with each snap of his hips.

“H-Homelander,” you moan, tangling both hands in his hair, dragging your nails harshly down his scalp, the back of his neck, throwing your head back against your pillow. 

He gives your ass a sharp slap just to feel the way your cunt clenches with it, a growl rolling from his throat.

“Come with me,” he demands, instantly sending the pressure building in you into a soar. He moves faster, deeper, each slam punching out pitchy noises from you. Every drag of his cock feels like a spark inside you, like the strike of a match igniting stars in your peripheral vision. You come with a near scream, nails biting fruitlessly into Homelander’s skin. 

He rides your orgasm fiercely, fucking you into the bloody mess of your bed until he, too, succumbs to the clench of your cunt. He lets out a guttural cry, the wood of your headboard snapping in his grasp as his release floods you, so hot that it nearly burns.

You’re both panting into each other's mouths, lips occasionally brushing. There’s a possessive growl to the edge of Homelander’s breaths, as if warning anything that might hear of the danger of approaching.

“You’re mine now, you understand?” He says lowly, his velveteen voice hoarse, almost animalistic. “My match, my mate, mine.”

Deliriously, you nod, mind still lost to the aftershocks of your climax, your pussy quivering around the girth of his cock. It’s not enough for Homelander, who gives another sharp thrust, knocking an overstimulated moan out of you. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” you gasp, meeting his gaze. His harsh expression softens at that, the crimson glow fading from his eyes, leaving only that familiar ocean blue in its wake. He kisses you leisurely, but with no less hunger. He lets your legs slip carefully from his shoulders, but remains buried deep inside you, staking his claim as thoroughly as possible. He kisses your neck, makes you wince when he sucks at the mark he bit into your skin.

“You got no idea how long I’ve been looking for you,” he mumbles, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You stroke your fingers through his hair, soaking in the feeling of his superhuman body thrumming against yours. You tighten your grip in his hair and lift his head, bringing his gaze up to meet yours. He looks curiously at you until that curiosity flips to surprise as you kiss him, earning a pleased little hum from him. 

When you part, his surprise has melted away into something dazed and soft. Something like love, or maybe satiation. The two look so very similar.

Homelander kisses you a while longer before he nestles down against you.

Your head lolls to the side for the first time, and only then do you see the full scope of the horror resting next to you; bones jut out from the mess of viscera and meat, shredded clothing thick with blood and innards. It looks like the work of a rabid animal, something vicious and hungry.

You know instantly that the mess is all that remains of your former husband. 

It occurs to you that you should feel a dozen different awful things about the pile of gore splayed out on your bed, but ultimately, the only thought that lingers is how he finally suits that rotten meat smell.

Looking back to the ceiling, you continue to comb your fingers through Homelander’s hair. His weight is a comfortable thing upon you, and beneath the smell of gore, you’re soothed by the gentle, warm scent of vetiver. Your eyelids grow heavy, and within minutes, you drift to sleep.

When you wake, there is no tang of blood heavy in the air. You sit up in a bed that is both alien and familiar. It isn’t until you see the mirrors around you that you realize that this is the bed from your dreams.

You feel warm, despite the early morning chill beyond the blankets. You feel a tug, and as you look down, Homelander pulls you back down into his arms.

“Mornin’, pretty girl.”

“Morning,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him. He hums pleasantly as you touch him, your hands roaming the naked scape of his body, testing that he’s real. You draw back, brows furrowed.

“Everything alright?” He asks, his voice as rich and creamy as ever.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, a touch uncertain. “Weird dreams.”

He smiles, bringing your hand up to kiss. “Well, you’re awake now.”

Somehow, you’re not so certain. 

Regardless, you huff a little laugh and snuggle back into his arms. 

“Love you,” you say, losing yourself to the familiar comfort of a partner in your arms, in your bed, in your heart. The longer you’re there, the more the dreams fade away, replaced with the reality of your waking world and the sweet smell of vetiver.

Homelander squeezes you to his chest, stroking idly up and down your back with his knuckles. You can hear the smile in his voice as he returns, “I love you, too.”

[ellewritesalright]

The Lost Princess - Part 2

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

Part 1

Synopsis: The old Queen Mother of Kerch's former royal family is offering a hefty reward to whoever returns her rumored-to-be-alive granddaughter to her. Kaz being Kaz hears about the reward and hatches an elaborate plot involving a fake princess. Reader is a lowly amnesiac orphan and escaped indenture who flees to Ketterdam where she gets tangled in Kaz Brekker's plot.

A/N: Hi folks!! I hope you've all been good--it's been a busy time for me but I'm so excited to be posting part 2! Just a reminder to everyone that the story is inspired by the movie and musical Anastasia. Once again, I hope it makes sense lmao

Warnings: mentions of sickness, death, drowning, violence, the Kerch indenture system. Me rambling. pls let me know if I've missed anything

Word count: 2901

.........

The dreams were worse tonight.

The once gentle, whispering voices turned to screams. Someone was calling for you, crying into the pitch black night with a painful tremor in their voice. You wanted to call back but couldn't find the strength. Honestly, when have you ever had that kind of strength? You're not brave, not like you should be. There were times at the big house where you would get so angry with the other servants, angry enough that you felt ready enough to cuss them out, yet you never did. You were too afraid of the consequences that stepping out of line would yield.

Your nightly visions only further prove your cowardice. In the dark of your nightmare, there was no hope, and you woke up shaking and nauseated.

The streets below the window of your room were still populated despite the late hours. It was the end of the week, though, and you figured people were using the night to let loose. The lantern beside your bed had long burned out, and you rummaged in your trunk for the pair of shiny candlesticks and matches you had stolen from Devisser's home--the wax had almost all burned out but there were still the holders. The brass would fetch enough money for you to survive maybe two weeks. It was not enough, though. Nothing was ever enough. You could have stolen his wife's entire collection of jewelry and you still wouldn't be able to get a ticket out of Kerch. No amount of money could strike your name from the lost indentures list.

There was always that Brekker that the shopkeeper had steered you towards. If he could do what she said and help you get to Ravka then you should find him as soon as possible. You had nearly gone to see him several times in the last few days, but you always chickened out. You would head over to the Crow Club with every intention of meeting Brekker, and yet, you could never bring yourself to go inside.

You were about to light one of the candles but instead you packed them away and pulled your day clothes from your trunk. You probably looked disheveled as you hit the streets, but not less composed than most of the people around you. A man stumbled past you, drunk, before he leaned into a post and emptied his guts into the street. The barrel really was a lovely place. You should have come sooner.

You pulled up the collar of your jacket to protect yourself from the wind that seemed to pick up the closer you got to the Crow Club. People were milling about the streets, their chatter and whispers carrying through the crisp air. What kind of secrets did they share? And how long would it take before their secrets infected the entirety of the barrel? In the short time you had been here it seemed you had heard the phrases "I heard it from" and "I assure you it is true" a thousand times. Everyone was a gossip, which made everyone dangerous. All it would take for you to be found by Devisser or the stadwatch was a rumour about your origins. Speculation about you might lead to the uncovering of your deserted indenture or people might think you were a runaway Grisha. The last thing you needed was for people to think you were valuable or worth notice. You were just another face in the crowd; your only goal was to go to Os Kervo.

The club was bustling with people as you arrived. You stood back a bit, biting at the inside of your cheek. For a moment you debated whether you should just go home, but you couldn't seem to make up your mind. You could only wait. As for what you were waiting for, you had no idea. A sign from the saints, maybe? Anything at all that would tell you to trust the club and the Brekker inside of it.

A young man stood against the building, staring directly at you as you eyed the crow sign above the door; it swung in the breeze, as though it was about to take flight. The man had been outside before when you passed by, watching you closely then as he was now. He called out to you.

"Have you finally plucked up the courage to come inside this evening?"

Your stare snapped down to him. He palmed a pair of pistols at his waist, but there was no threat in the action. It looked like more of a comfort or a habit that he had. He had never interacted with you before, just stood watch.

"I don't know," you answered, truth in your words. You stepped closer to the building, closer to the man. "I was thinking about it."

"Well, you look cold, perhaps you should think about it inside," he smiled.

A short scoff escaped you and you moved to stand before him. "If I entered the club I wouldn't need to think about entering the club."

"Sounds logical to me." He tilted his head at you. "What are you afraid of?"

You paused. There was nothing innately scary about the club. You weren't a gambler nor were you a drinker, so you wouldn't be trapped in a cycle of either if you decided to go inside. What you were doubting was the person you were supposed to see. If you were to believe the shopkeeper, this Brekker could be the key to your future. He could help you attain your lifelong dream of finding your family in Os Kervo. It was the idea that you might finally be getting what you wanted that made your stomach turn to lead.

"I just… I have to ask a big favour of someone I've never even met and I don't know how they'll react," you decided to tell him. It was close enough to the truth, and he considered what you said.

"There's no use in worrying over it, then," he said. "It sounds like something you just have to do."

His words were encouraging, and you smiled at him.

"If I may, who are you asking a favour of?"

"Someone called Brekker."

His mouth desperately wanted to curve into a smirk and you could tell that he was doing all he could to stifle a laugh. This reaction made your fear return, and you frowned up at him. He noticed your pointed look and managed to clear his throat.

"What's wrong with Brekker?" You questioned.

"Nothing at all. It's just funny to me that you're so afraid of seeing Kaz."

"You know him?"

"Know him? We're great friends. You're gonna love the man." He leaned towards you, raising a brow. "In fact, why don't you and I go inside and meet him right now."

His tone was playful with a hint of deceit, but you could tell he was not entirely dishonest. If you had to go out on a limb you would say that he was not trying to lead you astray.

You nodded, and he grinned, leading you inside.

……….

The breeze caught the curtains in Kaz's office. He had been doing the books when Inej came in, giving him a report of the whispers on the street. She was still there, explaining to him about an actor that Pekka Rollins was training to be the missing princess. Apparently the actor was very convincing, and--to add insult to injury--she had been one of the ones Kaz auditioned and ultimately turned away. But if he rejected her it must have been for a good reason. Still, the thought of Pekka fooling the old lady and getting the reward put a sour taste in Kaz's mouth. That reward was his. She was his pigeon.

Inej was interrupted by the door squeaking open, making a wedge of space just big enough that Jesper poked his head in.

Kaz spat his name, glaring daggers into his friend's face. "What could possibly be important enough for you to be here? I told you to watch the door."

"I was watching the door," Jesper replied, "when I came across someone who wanted to meet with you."

"Tell them I'm not seeing anyone right now," he dismissed, turning back to Inej. He knew he was being harsh, but the information he had just been given put him in a foul mood. He would likely seethe for the rest of the night, snapping at anyone who bothered him.

"Oh, you'll want to see them, I can promise you that." Jesper opened the door, gesturing for someone to come in with a "here we are, my dear."

You stepped past the threshold and immediately Kaz felt his anger diminish. After waiting for nearly a week since that day in the shop, you had made your way to him. There was apprehension in the muscles of your shoulders as you took in the room. Your eyes fell on him and he stared back, studying your features properly for the first time. There was something uncanny about your face, and you certainly looked more like the missing princess than everyone else he had seen for the job. You murmured a quick introduction, eyes darting to Inej but quickly falling back to him as you told them your name and began to explain why you were here.

"I have an issue I was told could be solved by a man named Brekker. I assume that's you." You tilted your chin at him, uneasiness in your stance. It didn’t take a genius to tell that you were nervous.

"You assume correctly, Miss Vos." He motioned for you to sit in the armchair before his desk, and he stepped behind the surface. Jesper and Inej stood by the wall, and you glanced over your shoulder at them before meeting Kaz's waiting stare. "Your issue?"

"I need to go to Ravka, but I don't have the money for travel papers. Also… it's not exactly legal for me to leave the country."

He half expected you to lie, to say something other than what he had overheard in Eugenia's shop, but you didn't. You either trusted him enough to be honest--which didn't seem likely judging from the way you sat with your spine as rigid as a marble post--or you had no other choice but to be frank with him. It was probably the latter.

He looked down at you, responding smoothly, "Normally I wouldn't be able to help you with something like that, but as luck would have it, I can obtain the proper documentation."

Your shoulders relaxed a bit, your face softening. But you had barely any time for ease as he spoke again.

"However, my offer is conditional," he said, leaning into the desk. You swallowed, brows pulling together as you looked up at him. "Have you heard the rumours of a missing princess?"

You gave a quick nod.

"And have you heard of the Grand Duchess Marien?"

"I know the name."

"Good. Then perhaps you'll know that the Duchess is the mother of the late king," he explained. "She's been searching for any leads on the missing princess."

"I don't see the relevance of this."

"I can help you get to Ravka, but only if you help me by posing as the princess."

You scoffed. "That would never work."

"Why not?"

"I-I was brought up in servants’ quarters, not a palace--I wouldn't even know where to start if I were to pretend to be a princess."

"That's where we come in," he said, nodding to Jesper and Inej. You looked at them, and he kept on, saying, "We can teach you everything you'll need to know."

"This is ridiculous. I'll find my own way," you huffed, moving to stand. Kaz was quick to react, his cane blocking your path to the door.

"Sit down," he ordered. Your glare, piercing as it was, could not rival his. The sight of yours did nothing to intimidate him, whereas--after a long, unblinking moment--his had the required effect. You took a seat.

Kaz pulled a book out of his desk drawer, flipping to a dog-eared page. He turned it around, motioning for you to look. A portrait of the royal family peered up at you, and you stared at it with pursed lips.

"The princess was six years old here, and though the resemblance is not exact, it is there," he explained, pointing at the youngest girl in the image. She stood beside a little boy, hands folded atop his shoulder. You stared between them for a moment. When you looked up at Kaz he swore he saw a glint of sorrow in your eyes. You recovered in a split second, shaking your head.

"No way." You crossed your arms, casting an irate stare at Kaz. "I'm an orphan. I don't have a family. I know for certain that I don't because if I did I would remember them--especially if they were a royal family."

There was a bite to your voice, a bitter sting of something which seemed to pain you. It was hopelessness that marred your words, and yet a lack of hope should have led to despair or exhaustion, not bitterness. Perhaps you hadn't lost hope. Perhaps it was the slim possibility of hope he presented that made you recoil. He could work with that.

Kaz sat down in his chair, levelling with you in the aim of coaxing information out of you. He wasn't trustworthy enough when he stood over his desk. If he wanted you to be vulnerable, he had to show vulnerability, and sitting would do that. He even briefly considered sending Jesper and Inej away but figured you seemed comfortable enough already with them in the room. They weren't as imposing as him, he supposed.

"What do you remember?" He asked, trying to be gentle with his words. You stared at the wall over Kaz's shoulder at a painting of the harbour. He saw Jesper start to fidget where he stood and even Inej looked slightly disinterested, but once you started to speak they listened carefully.

"I was ten or so when I was pulled from the True Sea. A group of fishermen found me floating on a barrel, said I probably jumped from a slaver ship. I was barely breathing, at least that's what they told me. They wrapped me in blankets, gave me food and a name; I still can't remember what my old one was."

You picked a bit of fluff on your pant leg, averting your stare even further. Your words were ghostly, devoid of all feeling like you had rehearsed them your entire life, and yet there was a faint tremor to your voice. How curious.

"When we got to shore they handed me over to their boss, a mercher named Devisser. I worked in his second home on the southern shore until a few weeks ago. Almost all of my memories were made in the kitchens of that place; I don't remember anything before the fishing boat." You met his eyes again, folding your hands in your lap, a neat little pile of rough knuckles and calluses, nothing fit for a princess. "Look, all I want is passage to Os Kervo. I don't even need to be taken all the way there, just as long as you get me to Ravka."

"And we can help you," Kaz insisted. "If you pretend to be the princess, learn the etiquette, the history, you can get to Ravka in mere months."

"I don't want to lie to make my way in the world."

"But if you think about it, It's not really lying," Jesper jumped in then, and Kaz held his breath. If he ruined this for them… "For all any of us know, you could really be the princess. I mean, you look like her, right? Plus, you've got family in Os Kervo, she's got family in Os Kervo."

If it weren't for the softening in your brow–your thoughts rolling through your mind with Jesper's words–Kaz would have put a stop to his friend. But, as it was, you seemed to be coming around to the idea. Jesper was playing on your lack of childhood memory in order to alleviate your guilt about tricking an old woman, and Kaz might have commended him for it if he really wanted to.

"We can show you to the old bat; if she says you aren't her granddaughter then there's no harm, no foul." Jesper smirked at you, "Plus, you'll have made it to Os Kervo where you can look for your real family."

You stared between the three of them, perhaps measuring the degree of sincerity in each of their eyes. In a rare attempt to be like Jesper, Kaz let his expression fall, making his face friendlier–or, at the very least, neutral. When you looked at him he looked back with eager eyes. They ought to do the trick.

"Are you in?" He asked.

"Why not?" You sighed, folding your arms. "If it gets me to Os Kervo…"

Jesper was grinning behind you, Inej had a small smile, and Kaz felt his mouth nearly imitate them. All the anger he had ten minutes ago had melted away. Pekka Rollins was far from his mind. The only thing that mattered now was making this amnesiac orphan into a princess.

..........

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in the upcoming parts of this series please comment on this part or send me an ask. And if you want to request a fic, please feel free to send in an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist

Taglist: @clockworkballerina @happyhauntt @mysticalfuncollectorus @aislinrayne @littleshadow17 @tooru-bread @katrina0-0

[sparkletastic-cookiedough]

I’ve seen a number of imagines where due to interdimensional shenanigans or being liminal, Danny Phantom is more durable than most people in the dc dimension.

And those are cool and fine and all, but imagine if it was the opposite?

Danny Fenton gets punched twice and dies.

Which is fun on its own, but Danny is half ghost. He’s cursed to an existence where he can never truly be alive or dead for all eternity. Meaning that after a little while, Danny is back at it again, on the streets of Gotham in the same fleshy body he just died in.

He has to turn into ghost form first, but he can turn invisible as a ghost, so it’s fine, no one sees him glowing before he heads into an inconspicuous alleyway to return to life.

The blood stains would be a problem, but it’s Gotham so no one bats an eye.

Except for the bats.

(Warning: some death, corpses, and gore ahead)

—————

It always haunts Duke when he fails to save someone. He’s a hero now, and that’s part of the gig, but still.

He keeps wondering if maybe he had been faster, or stronger, or just a moment sooner, maybe then the civilian would’ve lived.

He sees the corpse in his nightmares, a reminder that he wasn’t good enough. It’s not rational, but Duke can’t get the image of the dead teen out of his head- the lifeless blue eyes, the dark hair, the…

… is that him?

No, it can’t be. It looks a lot like the kid, but his mind must be playing tricks on him or something. Because he saw that kid die. This kid, across the street, they must be someone else. Maybe they’re related?

Duke hears a commotion down a nearby alley, and leaves the mystery for later.

—————

Cass is concerned about this dead body.

In her line of work, it’s normal to see a lot of corpses. What’s strange about this one is that it makes no sense.

It’s splattered on the ground like it fell from a skyscraper. The tallest building in the area is five stories high.

The body is too fresh to have been from a while ago. It doesn’t show signs of having been moved. There weren’t any helicopters in the area recently it might’ve fallen from.

She surveys the area again. Perhaps this is a trap?

No security cameras or bad guys in sight.

She turns back to the body-

It’s gone. Only a pool of blood remains, undisturbed.

No one could have snuck past her. Something strange is going on.

—————

The bullet Jason shot shouldn’t have done this much damage.

The teenager was accidentally hit in a hostage situation. Usually Jason doesn’t miss like that, but the bullet should have just nicked him. A bandaid should have done the trick.

But this kid is leaking blood like a fire hose. It’s absolutely gushing out.

You never realize how much blood a human body has in it until you see it spread out all over the floor.

Jason puts pressure on the wound, damn the bad guys he is not having a dead civilian on his hands if he can help it.

He grabs a tourniquet from the first aid pack he carries. Fastens it around the kids arm-

- and the kid’s arm flops off. Not normal. Either Jason has just gotten Superman-levels of strength, or something is wrong with the kid.

The kid’s rapid breaths devolve into quick gasps. The blood from his wound slows to a trickle. Jason feels the kids heart go from pounding to nothing-

Fuck.

Instinct driving Jason more than any sense of reason, he puts the kid on his back to do chest compressions.

Jason pushes down. He hears a loud Squelch. His hands go through the kid’s torso.

Double fuck. Jason might know CPR, but he doesn’t know how to deal with this. His panicked-brain remembers he’s in a fight right now, and Jason turns towards the people who held the kid hostage.

They immediately surrender.

[paperdice]

Um reader who is tried af but can't sleep ....with hayato suo ....fluff

𝐇𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐨 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 (𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭)

"oh mister, can you make me believe this is not a dream?."

જ⁀➴ ♡ It was rather frequent for you to have nights like these, sleepless nights where no matter how tired you are, you can't sleep. A literal nightmare to go through without needing to rest, how much longer will it take to finally shut down? Will it be longer than last time? Or will you be spared and get some Zs sooner?

જ⁀➴ ♡ This problem was no surprise to your boyfriend, you can try and hold back your "I'm so tired" complaints but he can tell your restraining the urge. He knows it's been affecting you a tad bit often as of late, so when he finally gets to the scene of the crime you trying your hardest to sleep, he helps.

જ⁀➴ ♡ Hes had a few irritating nights of his own, so he tries his techniques on you for starters, to test the waters. His first attempt was trying to drink tea before bed, the kind that makes you sleep quicker, so he pulls out a row of options that he has stocked up in preparation. As expected hes already done his research on which ones actually work and read the facts.

જ⁀➴ ♡ He'll try melatonin teas first to see if that'll knock you out, if you're already tired then it should work yes? No, if anything the aching for sleep seems to either stay the same or worsen, you say that you're too tired to tell.

જ⁀➴ ♡ Alright now there's a challenge, if that doesn't work he'll try to find something to fill your stomach. Hes heard that having a full stomach while being tired already will help, I mean it happens to everyone when they've been tired and just ate a warm meal. Though it's already late and it'll take some time to make food, it's better trying now than later, and even a few hours of sleep is better than nothing.

જ⁀➴ ♡ Usually by this time you'll feel some affect being done to you and yet when attempting to sleep again, it doesn't work. Annoyance grew and he can tell by looking at your dissatisfied face, he reassured you that you will get some rest by the end of tonight.

જ⁀➴ ♡ How about changing your sleeping position? Moving to the other side of the bed could also help, when he suggested this to you, to you it was like he was getting desperate. Why would that help when you do it all the time when you're like this? You toss and turn no matter where or how you lay down nothing works.

જ⁀➴ ♡ He agrees with you. "but this time you have me, I'll be sleeping with you tonight. maybe that'll help." He smiled so softly and unbothered by the words he struck your heart with. Man he gets you everytime when your hearts guard is down.

જ⁀➴ ♡ You agree with him. Now laying on the opposite side of the bed waiting for him to come back with more pillows. You don't know why but you get the feeling he's taking more time getting pillows than usual. If you try and get up to see what's taking so long, he'll return just in time, and give you a mocker coated smile. "Did I take that long? I'm sorry."

જ⁀➴ ♡ The final stage, the one that always works, cuddling with Suo. A thought he had in mind to help you sleep better since the very beginning, but he'd never say something so bold to you. Not now at least, if he did you'd become a blushing mess and it'll interfere with the process of helping you sleep.

જ⁀➴ ♡ He usually sleeps on his back with his hands on his chest, he never sleeps on his sides. But just for you he'll sleep on the side, hold your head on his chest, place his lips on the top of your head for easy kissing access and wrap his arms around you just the way you like it.

જ⁀➴ ♡ He would rather prefer you lay on top of him so he can still sleep on his back, but he believes it'll make you lightheaded due to your current state. He just wants to hold you close at the moment

You were so unbelievably tired, your body ached more than someone your age should be. Today had you on a time crunch and you overdid yourself, but oh was luck on your side, you couldn't sleep.

"out of all the days.. this whole week I had been just fine and yet the one day I'm tired I'm not able to sleep.." whining to yourself, right now you just got done with changing and getting comfortable. Hopping in your bed and all, just to realize the rather unpleasant familiar feeling.

Worst part was, your boyfriend was over and you just got done making a big deal about how exhausted and overstimulated you were. So when he suggested if it's alright he'll leave you be tonight, you said yes.

Great,, if you go back and tell him nevermind after the scene you made he'll give you that smile. A smile that looks friendly and kindhearted to others but you can see right through it, it's a good thing hes a gentlemen and won't push buttons things further. To you that is

"Whatever.." was what you thought while making your way towards the room he was in. "Your never gonna believe this but,, I can't sleep." When he heard your voice he faced at you with his eyes slightly widen, then smiled. But not the smile you were just thinking of a minute ago..

A genuine smile that felt like he was saying "that's okay".

"You having another one of those nights tonight huh, I feel bad for you, after all you were exhausted."

Nevermind. Smartass felt like pushing buttons.

"yeah yeah I get it" sighing at being both wrong and right of what you were previously thinking, "could you please help me sleep I really don't wanna deal with this alone again.."

Suo hums at your request, giving it some thought.

"How bad would you say it feels? Would just cuddling with you help enough?"

"I dunno,, we can try.."

Now here you were, laying on top of Suo holding him like a koala. Arms wrapped around his body, head placed between his neck and shoulder and legs caging his own. His arms were holding you, one hand wrapped around your body and the other on your head, your body slumped on top of his.

Unfortunately, you didn't feel as if this was gonna work. You felt just as awake as when you walked into the house, this realization had you huffing through your nose. "How was your day?"

".. it was way too much, I honestly didn't expect it since this week was chill." 'I thought we were trying to help me sleep, talking isn't going to help' "tell me about it, how was this day the most tiring than the rest of the week?" Internally questioning his actions, you told him everything.

Monday to friday, thoughts and feelings about events that occurred, new faces you met and other stories you remembered mid way through. Suo was brushing your hair as you spoke, commenting and responding to your words. Pouring expressions into the info you were dumping on him.

"..mmhaannd yeah,, pretty much I was trying to, you know- at least help her-" your sentence was interrupted by a yawn. "Hhaa-hum- hhelp her understand how to do things.." speaking was getting a bit harder now, words were sloppier and felt more droopy.

"Did she get a hang of it? I'm sure your effort in helping her made her grateful." He added, his voice sounded so calming. And yet he still sounded interested.

You always loved the shared warmth you and your boyfriend made together when curled up like this. It always made you melt feeling him this way, just the two of you, where no one could intervene. And his soothing voice helped your mind slowly shut down, a feeling like no other.

"Mhhmm.." Fighting the urge to just lay there silently breathing was getting tougher, by now your eyes have already been closed.

"You tired?"

"..Mmm.."

"Thats good to hear, goodnight.."

thanks for the request anon! Ive been working on a load of requests and double checking them like crazy, when I saw this one I knew it would run smoothly. And I was right! you asked at the perfect timing, come back again if you're thinking of rolling again!

[spectres-n-soap]

Your Warmth is Fading - Soap x You x Ghost

Content Warnings - pregnancy complications, hospital stuff

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

It was late at night, long past visiting hours but your nightmare still haunted you. The taste of bile still lingered on your tongue and sweat still stuck to your skin. At least your breathing returned to normal. The quiet of the military hospital room was off putting but the machine showed Soap was still alive. The pattern of his heart beat, the IV bags hung up and the soft breathing of his soothed you.

You slinked over to the chair next to his bed and sat down. Soap looked better, no longer on death's doorstep even if all the tubes and wires connected to him unsettled you. His face was relaxed despite the discoloration of his right cheek. You thought back to what the doctor who had first reviewed the two of you had said. The comment was still bitter in your mouth. The doctor had called you both lucky. What a load of shite. Luck would have stopped it all from happening in the first place.

You kept an eye on Soap a little longer until sleep started to pull at you again. You stood up and before you left, your lips grazed his forehead. At least he was still alive.

"You're joking." you say, looking at the doctor with your brows pinched so tight you could feel your skin pulling tight.

"You should be in bed rest for the last month of your pregnancy." the doctor reiterated. "For your safety and the baby's." Simon looks between you and the doctor. He wants to side with the doctor and also strangle him. How could he have not caught this sooner? "Your baby being positioned like this will only cause more harm to your body the longer you move around.”

You shake your head, anger making your face turn hot. Those fucking Braxton Hicks hadn't been all Braxton Hicks but a major sign of your baby, Johnny's baby, being sideways. If it wasn't so fucking terrible you might be laughing. "How did you not catch this sooner?" you snarl.

"This is why we insist on check ups every week. So we can catch things like this.”

"But what about all the other check ups?" you huff and sit up, grasping onto Simon's arm for a little extra support. "What if you had missed it completely?”

"Ma'am please, getting aggressive will not do any of us any good.”

"A month I have to spend doing nothing." you grumble and cross your arms over your chest. You wonder, a thing you've been doing often, how Johnny would react to all of this. Wonder if he would be spitting mad and yelling at the doctor with a thick Scottish accent. You can almost hear it. Pulling from memories of him training recruits or yelling at an insubordinate recruit.

"It's for the best." Simon says, physically stopping himself from adding a 'love' to the end. He was sure you would throw your shoes at him if he let it slip. You had always been a firecracker and pregnancy seemed to amplify how quickly your anger flared up. It would be cute, he thinks, if he didn't know that you could gut him like a fish.

You glare at Simon the entire trip back to the flat, refuse his help getting out of his truck and slam the truck door shut hard. The last few weeks you've struggled up the stairs to your flat and now you're marching up them like you weren't advised to keep exercise low. “Would ya fuckin’ wait?” Simon huffs. Your glare could melt steel and you slam the flat door behind you. Simon groans and opens it to find you pacing back and forth.

“Just sit down.” Simon says and grabs you by the shoulders. You push him away a little, stumbling yourself from the force needed to do such an act.

“Don't tell me what to do.” you snap and run your fingers through your hair. You were sure you would lose your fucking mind if you had to rest all day for a month.

“You should update Mrs and Mr MacTavish on the situation.” Simon suggests, “Maybe Mrs MacTavish has gone through this before.” You glare at him but pull out your phone anyway and begin to type.

You're there when he wakes up, this time not high on pain meds. “Lass?” he groggily muttered and tried to rub at his eyes. Soap hissed when he felt the IV needle in his arm at the movement. “What ‘re ye doin’ here?”

“Waiting for you to wake up.” you stated, voice cool and Soap sunk further into blankets and hospital bed. He knew that look in your eyes, you were on the verge of an explosion. “What the hell were you thinkin’?” you snapped and flicked his forehead for good measure. “Running into that building like a man with a death wish.” you tossed your hands up in the air.

“Well I'm not dead.”

“I had to perform CPR on your MacTavish!” you snarled, “Blood loss might've fogged that part over but I remember!”

“Lass-”

“Do not ‘Lass’ me.” you stood from your chair, the spot you had nearly grown roots into if not for the different appointments you had due to the wounds on your hands. “You nearly died and I had to watch it. Do you seriously think I wouldn't be upset?”

“Lass I'm fine.” Soap tried to say and sit up. He groaned and clutched his side when the pain shocked through his system. “Bleeding Christ.”

You sat back down in your chair and wiped at your tears so he wouldn't see them. “You pull that shit on me again MacTavish and I'll let the crows eat you.”

“I'm not on bed rest yet Simon.” you huff and nudge Simon away and out of the kitchen. “I can make my own food.”

“Never said ya couldn't.” Simon mutters as he takes a step back.

“Go finish setting up the baby changing station.” you say, swallowing the snarl. You keep reminding yourself that this isn't Simon's fault. Mrs. MacTavish has texted back, telling you that she once had a friend with the same complication but not to worry. The month would pass quickly. You had to also turn off your phone to stop from messaging something hurtful. The military had always kept you moving. Running courses, training recruits or deployed into the field. Pregnancy had already shown you down and put you on light duty until you took leave.

You tap your foot as you stir the soup and your eyes drift to the front of your hands. The scars had faded well thanks to treatments but sometimes you wish they hadn't. Just as a reminder, something to run your hands over that wasn't your bulging stomach. You reach and turn on your phone, holding your breath as well as you could bring 7 months pregnant as the brands sign flashes.

You stare at your lock screen, a group picture of the 141. Back when Soap was alive. A ding as a notification pops up, a message from Mrs MacTavish from several hours ago.

“Would you like a baby shower before you have to go on bed rest?”

A baby shower? You had a small one at four months. Just Price and Gaz, Simon wasn't invited. The baby clothes you had were from those two. You really didn't want another. So much stress and surely more people. You had seen the family pictures on the wall in their house.

I owe it to them, you think as you type up the one word response, at least I owe them this much.

“Yes.”

[mask-of-prime]

VG: Something in the Water - PART 2

Weeks of rejoicing in the clear weather had lifted everyone's spirits. Taking advantage of the right weather, talks of Kiara and Kovu's official crowning as king and queen had made its way through the Pridelands. Dear friends and family were invited, including Kiara's brother, Kion, and his queen, Rani, who had not yet seen the Pridelands for herself.

The last few weeks consisted of rehearsals that both the royals and the Guard had to practice. However, in these same weeks, sudden, mysterious disappearances had taken place. It was recently found out that said disappearances had been drownings, as the unfortunate victims would be found risen to the surface of bodies of water.

The incidents made Simba and Nala wonder if maybe the ceremony once again had to be postponed, but their son and his friends were already on their way. Vitani and her Guard promised to investigate the situation with caution.

____

Today was the big day, the day of Kiara and Kovu's official coronation. It wasn't common for a predecessor to step down and watch their successor rise. For generations, it was tradition for the old monarch to pass away in order for their child to succeed the title. Simba wanted to see Kiara rule so he could someday join the Kings of the Past knowing that the kingdom was in good paws.

Simba believed Kiara was ready. Kiara, herself, however, was a nervous wreck. She didn't tell anyone except Kovu, who knew the feelings of the pressure of filling a role very well.

Meanwhile, Vitani and her Lion Guard flanked Pride Rock. They proudly watched as Kovu and Kiara walked up the ledge upon being called over by Makini, who had also made her return to the Pridelands.

During the ceremonial march, the Guard chatted amongst themselves in hushed voices. The clearing of the weather reminded them of the strange monsoon that had taken place for nearly a month, and a conversation came up where nightmares they'd all seem to simultaneuously have had come to a stop the minute the monsoon ended. Nightmares that all had to do with their youth in the Outlands.

Vitani felt correct in her theory that these dreams would occur every time it rained. She considered Tiifu's theory that the dreams had been trauma-related due to the scent and sound of rain. Lately, there was also the addition of these drowning incidents.

Did the stress of these investigations play into these nightmares, too? No matter what, It all seemed to involve water... No... That's too superstitious. That's jumping to conclusions... But, was superstition so out of the ordinary for one who possessed the Roar of the Elders? 

"Lion Guard!"

The five lions in question looked to the sky. It was Anga.

She perched to their level, standing at Vitani's shoulder. The Fiercest lent an ear. Anga had told them she caught sight of a violent drowning incident near Misingi Falls.

Not another one... The Lion Guard left Pride Rock on yet another detective mission, hoping they could maybe save this latest victim. ____

"We should split up to shorten the investigation. We don't want to be gone too long before their official crowning." whispered Vitani.

The Guard obeyed the order, deeming it a sound idea. They all went their separate ways to inspect each area of Misingi Falls that they were assigned to. Vitani walked towards the grove that was on the way to the namesake waterfall, lost in the fond memories of falling in love with Tiifu in that very place. She hadn't noticed the mist rising from the ground. Mist that made her disappearance undetectable to the rest of the Guard.

Meanwhile, the sky seemed to grow dark unusually sooner than it normally would. It had been getting oddly dark for the past hour, now. Vitani gazed up at the sky, hoping it not to be any more rainclouds. It felt as if the sun was being blocked by something, but Vitani couldn't truly check without risking blinding herself. Overall, the phenomenon could not be more eerily-timed...

A noise from above scared Vitani out of her wits. She gasped as she jolted. She looked towards the source of the sound to find that it had only been an eagle owl, which flew away from its perch just then. It was confused by the sudden darkness of the sky, thinking it to already be evening.

Vitani chuckled to herself in relief and from the comedic timing for a mere owl to be there. She sighed after catching her breath, inspecting her surroundings to find that she'd wandered rather far from the group, unbeknownst to her, and apparently the rest.

All of a sudden, an all-surrounding, enticing hum rang through Vitani's ears. In order to get a better listen, Vitani followed the sound, not realizing she was, in fact, being involuntarily pulled towards the source of the song.

The song echoing in the mist sounded familiar... nostalgic... comforting... a lullaby Vitani once knew, one sung to her and her brothers in anticipation of victory and a new home. Though, it was unusually slow in tempo, with a somewhat unnerving, demented tone.

No matter... It made her feel like a child again...

She had to find the voice, it was calling to her. She continued to mindlessly make her way through the grove, stepping carefully through bushes as her head remained perfectly still, staring straight ahead.

She felt desire... desire that was being... deliberately preyed upon...

The owner of the voice was elated at the creature she caught this time. She was going to spare this one...

"Yes, come to your mother..." it crooned. She had her now... The Fiercest found herself slowly stepping into the pool at the base of the waterfall. The splash of her paws and the cold, wet sensation up her legs had snapped her out of her trance. She frantically looked around at her surroundings, not sure how she ended up at Misingi Falls. Her bewilderment was cut short when she saw a glowing form emerge from the waterfall. A familiar face eagerly grinned down at her.

"It's been too long, my dear..." Vitani was shocked, to say the least. The water had taken the form of her deceased mother. She knew that smile, that singsong voice, that petname she'd sometimes call her. It was her, it really was her...

"I... I couldn't agree more..." Vitani finally responded, choking up a bit as she smiled.

She quickly caught herself, wiping away tears that were just beginning to form in her eyes. She knew her mother would comment on her crying. It was unprofessional, immature, dramatic, she would say.

"Hah, sorry..." the daughter sniffled.

"Now, now," Zira's apparition purred, "it's alright. I'm here, now, and that's what matters."

Vitani spent a good while reeling from what was happening. She still wasn't sure if it was a dream, hallucination, something. She had seen ghosts, before, possessing the divine Roar of the Elders. She knew very well that it was possible. She felt her paws dig into the muddy ground under the rushing water, her mother's bellowing voice rattling her chest. The sensation was absolutely real, as far as she knew.

"You've really bulked up," Zira remarked, "and I see a certain marking on your shoulder. That's new..."

Vitani expected that, she'd always been prepared to hear her mother comment on her physical attributes. She did gain quite a bit of muscle mass in her upper body, making her resemble her mother all the more.

"Oh, Mother. You have no idea... So much has happened since you've been gone. I'm a leader, now. I'm in charge of the new Lion Guard, and we've been keeping Kovu and our pridesisters safe like you'd always hoped we would. You'll be proud to hear this, Kovu and Kiara, they're about to b -- "

"King and Queen of the Pridelands?" Zira's tone and face were unreadable, either intrigued or unimpressed. Possibly both.

"Y-Yes..." Vitani's soldier-like stance dropped as her head craned closer, "How did you know that...?"

"How else? It's like you said before, my dear; I have been watching you from the clouds." her voice barely contained a slight hint of a grudge, "I've been watching all of you. All. This. Time. I was there to watch you become corrupted by the Pridelander since you left me to die in favor of them..."

Vitani's mind flashed back to all of the rainstorms that took place since her mother's death, from the weeks-long monsoon to the occasional thunderstorms scattered throughout the past year. It all made sense. The strange dreams everyone seemed to have at a time, the faint whispers in the raindrops that Vitani could swear was the voice of her own mother's, her scent, the flashbacks... It had all played a part in something that the Lions of the Past were trying to tell the Roar-wielder for some time.

"But... shouldn't you have been with the Lions of the Past all this time if you lived in the clouds?"

"I did, until you conjured a Dark Roar and sacrificed one of your precious subjects to turn me into this vengeful spirit." "S-Sacrifice?" Vitani's eyes grew wide, "What are you talking about?"

"Does this look familiar?

Suddenly, something was being pulled out of the water under Zira's hydrokinetic control. A large, greenish-gray form was plopped down in front of Vitani, as if she were being presented a kill from a hunt. Vitani grew sick to her stomach.

It had been the bloated, rotting corpse of Ngurumo. He was barely recognizable, yet there wasn't a single scratch on him. It seemed as if his cadaver was protected from the predators that lived below.

"Take a good, long look, my child..." Zira deadpanned, seeming to disregard her daughter's visible distress.

"You're... you're a monster..." Vitani muttered, petrified.

"You made me, Vitani. You let your temper slip when you unleashed your Roar. I'm a monster -- BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"No..." Vitani grew hot. She felt herself shaking as her heart began to pound. "Yes..." purred Zira, "Help me, Vitani. Help me, and I won't appear this way again..." Fear overcame Vitani. It wasn't like her to disobey her mother, but she could not stay here. She frantically trotted out of the water, and turned for the grove. "DON'T LEAVE ME! I AM WHAT YOU MADE ME!" Zira's voice echoed through the trees, not seeming to grow any quieter the further Vitani bolted through the confusing maze. Vitani ran for her life. Twigs snapped and bushes flattened as the lioness brushed through them. She could still her her mother, and felt like she was right behind her if she were to ever dare to look back.  Just before the drop down the hill, Vitani hadn't noticed a large branch hanging about, near eye-level. She smacked her temple against it. It had only been the beginning of misfortune, as she made a painful tumble down to the hill's base. She landed on her back, out cold. Zira lost track of where Vitani had ran shortly into the chase. She stared on hatefully, feeling once again betrayed by her only daughter. She idly sifted the water that surrounded her, letting it softly rise and fall. Her hydrokinesis growing more powerful the more she stewed. Until... The blood that dripped from the branch that Vitani cut herself on began to move as well. Zira watched the droplets defy gravity like the water did. A low chuckle escaped her throat. A plan had been forming. She learned more and more of new ways to start total chaos with anyone she's ever known. Everyone who ever wronged her will now pay... ____ "Vitani? You okay?" said a muffled voice. The lioness on the ground blinked away her double-vision. The twelve -- no, eight? Four grayish forms became clearer. It was her Lion Guard, staring down at her with concern. "Uhhh..." Vitani moaned, squeezing her eyes shut from the pain on her temple becoming exasperated by the bright yellow sunset. "That was quite a tumble, dude." said Shabaha. "Hnngg... how long was I out...?" Vitani slurred. "Couple of hours." Imara replied. Vitani shot up, becoming more alert. "The ceremony! I-Is it too late?!" "The ceremony... kinda didn't happen..." Kasi cringed awkwardly. Vitani stood up, "What?" "Kiara panicked. Bad." Imara answered, "Ran back into the cave. When we got back to Pride Rock, everyone was checking on her." "When it started getting late, we noticed you were gone. We had Tazama locate you while we ran back home real quick. She stayed by you until we came back." Kasi said. "C'mon, Vitani..." Shabaha let her leader put her weight on her shoulder, "Gonna wanna get that thing patched up. I mean, might give Tiifu a panic attack on top of Kiara's, but... it's... y'know..." Shabaha's voice trailed off. Vitani absentmindedly nodded just before glancing back. She looked into the grove, gazing at the glow of the falls deep within. Did her interaction with her mother even happen, or was it all just a bad dream? She couldn't bring it up, now. Not with a gash on her head. No one would believe her... ____ ((Author's Note: Water Spirit Zira is finally revealed! Looks like Vitani's having a not-so-good (belated) Friday the 13th 😱. A MUCH fuller version of this story will be uploaded later on my Ao3, including that very summarized prelude as well as Kiara and Kovu's B-plot. Here, I just provided the portion of the story providing context for the thumbnails. Art Note: You may have noticed a strange phenomenon in the sky in the first image. This is a nod to an annual solar eclipse that happened today that both Americas had the opportunity to witness. Also, as you may have noticed, I did indeed do a paint-over of my one drawing of Water Spirit Zira when I first introduced her in her model sheet. I liked the drawing too much that I thought I'd adapt it into a more detailed, full image with her daughter included four years later.))

[blessedbyahuntress]

Comfort at Midnight

A/N: I'm so sorry this wasn't done sooner, @solangelo-taylors-version

Pairing: Thalia Grace x Hunter!of!Artemis!Reader (Friends, not lovers!)

Warnings: Luke Being an asshole (again), Nightmares!!!

Requested?: Yep!

You sprinted down one of the long hallways that branched out from that horrid room.

Somehow, some way, you were back in the labyrinth. You hadn’t been here for years, not since you went with your friends to go find Daedalus.

You were sure you could feel the Chimera’s breath on your neck, and you veered into yet another room, slamming the rusted door behind you, like it would stop the monster from your nightmares from killing you.

Too late you realized that this room was one of the only ones with no escape. Gods, you had just gotten yourself trapped.

The Chimera’s footsteps were nowhere to be heard. You pressed your ear against the door, wondering if it had gotten distracted or bored, as young monsters tend to do. Instead of the pounding of four feet on stone, there was the sound of normal footsteps. Mortal footsteps.

But then there was a low whistle, a whistle you knew all too well.

You backed up from the door, to the very back of the room where the shadows were darker, heart beating faster with every deliberately slow step he took.

Then the door flew open, violently shaking on its hinges.

And there Luke stood, in all of his past glory, golden eyes studying your cowering figure.

He brought his scythe forward and touched the point, testing the point. Then he returned his gaze to you.

“We’ve been on a long run, you and I,” Luke said, taking a step toward you with a bit of a sneer curling on his lips. “But I think this is the end.” He brought his scythe down, cutting toward your gut.

You sat bolt upright, eyes wide, face beaded with sweat. Your head butted with somebody else’s and you heard a low “Oof.”

Thalia reappeared in your line of sight, rubbing her forehead. “Gods,” she said. “You couldn’t have waited until I actually woke you up? I wasn’t prepared for a headbutting match.” 

“Sorry, Thalia,” you apologized. “Why were you going to wake me up at this hour?” You looked up at the sky through the sunroof to find the moon still hanging high above the clouds.

Thalia rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. “Because I happen to know when my best friend is having a nightmare!” She replied, as if you should know that.

Acting more serious, she sat down beside you. “Would you like to tell me about it?” Thalia asked.

Your eyes flickered around the tent you were resting in, the only other person with you and your best friend being Phoebe, who was still soundly asleep. You sighed. “It’s about Luke,” you confessed. You wanted to tell her about your nightmare, but you wanted to warn Thalia that the star villain of her dream was her best friend turned monster.

To your relief, Thalia only pursed her lips. “Tell me,” she insisted. 

It all came out so quickly, you were sure that only a really ADHD demigod could understand your words, but Thalia held onto every word you said. You were gasping for breath when you finished speaking.

Thalia slung an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a side hug. It didn’t last long, you knew Thalia wasn’t really a big fan of physical touch (unless it was punching a male demigod in the face), but it was enough to reassure you that she was here for you.

You gave her a small smile, telling her without words that you would be alright.

“Thanks, Thalia,” you said, ever grateful for your friend.

She removed her arm from your shoulder, but not before messing up your hair.

“Hey!” You cried, trying to fix your hair. It was no good. You huffed in frustration and Thalia laughed.

Phoebe, apparently not as asleep as she looked, raised her head to glare sleepily at the both of you. “If you don’t shut up right now and let me get some sleep, I’m telling Artemis,” she told you crossly.

That only made you and Thalia laugh even harder.

[zafirosreverie]

Little furry friend (Bruno x F!Reader) part 2

For @hectic-hector (ily 💕)

Part 1

-----------------

"Julieta!! Do something about your sister!!"

The healer sighed and rolled her eyes fondly before turning to see Pepa effortlessly carrying Bruno into the kitchen. She knew that her brother justified that with the weight loss he had while living in the walls, but the three of them knew that Pepa had always had incredible strength and that she could lift both of them on each arm without breaking a sweat.

"Julieta!! Tell your brother to stop being a crybaby!!"

"I'm not a crybaby!"

"Yes you are!"

"Julieta!!"

"Okay, that's enough" the older one said, trying not to laugh at Bruno's pout when Pepa sat him down in a chair "what's going on?"

"Your sister is a nightmare"

"Your brother is an airhead"

"...okay, something else I don't already know?"

"HEY!!"

Julieta laughed at her siblings’ expressions and rolled her eyes again. Sometimes it was exhausting mediating their fights, but she truly loved them with all of her being and wouldn't have them any other way, no matter how many gray hairs they gave her in a day (definitely more than the six grandchildren combined).

"And you're supposed to be the good triplet?" Pepa crossed her arms with a pout.

"I always said that we should be careful with her, she has a mischievous glint in her eyes" Bruno whispered to the redhead

"So it's against me now?" the older one said, putting her hands on her hips "two seconds ago you were arguing for god knows what"

"oh yeah! You're right"

"Oh no, did you have to remind her?"

Bruno growled when a rainbow invaded the kitchen and Pepa got a little closer to her older sister, taking her by the hand like an excited child. It was always funny how Pepa could change her mood so quickly, especially when she was with her siblings, when she felt safe from being judged. But it wasn't as funny when he was the victim of her plans.

"Let's invite Y/N to dinner!"

"What?"

"We are NOT going to invite her to dinner, Pepa!"

"Why not? You already spend all day with her anyway, Bruno"

"It's different!"

"Why?!"

"Because you are not there to try anything"

"Excuse me?!" the redhead thundered "well sorry but someone has to take the next step if you're not going to do it yourself"

"There is no next step, Pepa, we are just friends!"

Julieta sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose as her siblings returned to a heated discussion that must have started long before they entered the kitchen. She could understand Bruno's anger or concern, and would usually agree with him that things should happen on their own.

The thing was, this time, she was on Pepa's side. It had been months since you showed up at the house with Bruno's rat in your hand and the whole family had been surprised at how well you got along with him. She had to admit that like her sister, she felt quite betrayed that he hadn't told them about you sooner, but she understood that he had a right to his privacy as well.

And if she was honest with herself, she was relieved at how well you treated her little brother. It wasn't common for townspeople to associate with him of their own free will, even after the candle fiasco, but you didn't seem to have any problem, you were kind to him, you treated him as an equal, and you were even one of the few people he felt comfortable enough about physical contact with.

Of course, the nervous mess he was when you were around him, or the blush that would always come over his face when you smiled at him, or the goofy smile he had all the time when you talked to him, didn't go unnoticed either. Dolores even confirmed that his heart raced every time he saw you or someone said your name. It was obvious to everyone that Bruno Madrigal was completely in love with Y/N Y/L/N, and would be cute, if it wasn't for him refusing to do anything about it.

Her brother was already exhausting the family's patience and even Casita had tried to intervene (which is why Bruno chose to go to your house instead of having you visit them). Julieta was really beginning to consider that they would have to take that step for him.

She snapped out of her thoughts when Pepa's thunder began to get louder. The kitchen began to be filled with black clouds and if she didn’t intervene soon, all her effort would be wasted due to the rain. However, she did not have time to do something when you popped your head through the window, with a small rat on your shoulder.

"Hi Juli!" You said, always smiling "What are you doing?"

Months ago, it would not even have occurred to you to be so open with her, but after the kind reception that the whole family had made, you could not help but feeling comfortable and happy every time you approached Casita.

"These two, always fighting" she returned the smile

"For the last arepa again?"

"No" she laughed, remembering the time Pepa almost threw a knife to Bruno when he took the last arepa, although she quickly calmed down when she saw that he had taken it for you "for something that Pepa wants Bruno to do"

"Ohhhh" you said, with curiosity in your eyes "What thing?"

She was about to answer when Antonio suddenly entered the kitchen. The boy smiled widely as soon as he saw you and ran to greet you. After Bruno, Madrigal's youngest son was the one who more time spent with you.

"Hello Y/N!"

"Hey Buddy!" You answered "Long time no seeing you"

"Yes, you didn't come for three days!" he pouted

"I'm sorry, I had things to do in the carpentry" you apologized

You did not even notice that the black clouds had disappeared, or that the Madrigal triplets were looking at you with curiosity, kindness and nervousness.

"It's okay" Antonio smiled at you "is just that the animals began to ask me where Uncle Bruno's girlfriend was" he shrugged

You felt your cheeks turning red, and you quickly looked where the seer was, a few steps behind his nephew. He did not look better than you, on the contrary, he looked pale and two seconds of fainting, while his sisters smirked and tried to hide their laughs behind their hands, although the rainbow that filled the room betrayed the redhead.

If you were honest, the idea itself was not bad. Actually, you had long accepted your feelings for the younger triplet, even if you didn’t plan to do something about it because you did not think the man returned your feelings. But now, seeing him so red and nervous, you committed to question it.

"S-she’s not my g-girlfriend" Bruno stuttered, resisting the impulse to hide with the hood of his Ruana

"She's not?" Antonio asked innocently

"No, I'm not" you replied

For a moment that seemed frozen in time, you could feel the eyes of the three adults on you, Pepa seemed disappointed, Julieta contained her breath and Bruno looked really defeated. That was what made you take a risk.

"Toñito, your uncle and I share Sebastián, remember?" you said gently

"Yeah?"

"That means we have a child together" you smiled with malice when you heard the triplets gasps "I am not his girlfriend, I am his wife"

"W-what?!"

Pepa and Julieta laughed at their brother's complete shock, and you couldn't help noticing how adorable it was. But then, as if he was a statue, he fell backwards, harshly hitting against the ground.

".... ooops" you said.

[lovethetasteofnothing]

good parenting, bad timing | ghostsoap

silly feverish brain writes silly fluffy scenarios..

part 1 | part 2

singleparent!soap who's bringing his daughter on her first day at a new school. she clearly isn't happy with the fact that she had to move again and she's complaining about how much she doesn't like ("hate is a very strong word my wee angel, yee should use it wise-like") her daddy's job. a sweet frown on her face as he tries to coax her into going into the school by herself because he's already running late.

but he can't help giving in when he sees the tears filling up her big puppy eyes, his arms wrapping around her and squeezing her as if to remind her he'll always be there for her. she was so different, yet so similar to him in so many ways, but the way she was so shy to warm up to people and make new friends was really the biggest discrepancy between the two of them.

so that's how singleparent!soap ended up late for work, choosing to be a good dad and help his little girl navigate the school until she reached her class. he knew how hard it was for her to constantly adapt to the change in environment, moving around or being left in someone's care while he went away, no promise was made that he'd return to her. and to be honest, it hurt his soul to see her suffering so deeply while he served for something he believed in.

and it broke his ego a little when he noticed his new team just staring at him when he showed up 10 minutes late, a specifically loud scoff accompanied by bitter words throwing him off for the rest of the day.

"so we're taking anyone in now, is it?" more of a mock than a remark. singleparent!ghost knew he was being a prick right now but after sleeping for barely a few hours last night he could care less if the new sergeant felt welcome or not.

besides the draining insomnia and the terrifying nightmares he suffered if he managed to sleep, he also had a little scoundrel to take care of. she resembled her pop, of course she did, but he knew deep down that she was so much more of a people-person than he was and would ever be. so when he woke up startled by his daughter's hand gently shaking him awake, he knew he had his fill of sleep for the night.

he had to pull her up and sit her down on his bed, wiping away crocodile tears from her blue eyes as she started talking about her nightmare and then drifted away to easy conversation about her day at school, the details she missed and whatever else she had found interesting that day. Simon couldn't complain, knowing that his daughter trusted, even loved him enough to share all of these things with him.

singleparent!ghost who wrapped her in a comfortable embrace, stroking her hair and nodding along to her story as he felt her drifting off to sleep. he knew he was too awake now to get any more winks of rest so he just spent the rest of the night holding his precious daughter, making sure she wouldn't get another nightmare like her daddy did.

he had promised himself to offer her a (great) childhood, something he had been robbed of and would never experience again. a thorn in his side whenever he thought about his life.

so when her mom left two years ago and simon was faced with the cold hard fact that he had to do everything by himself from now on, he felt like the world was falling apart. besides losing a lover he had put so much trust in, he had lost an important piece of his kid's life. for weeks he'd blame himself and think about the worst case scenario ,about his little princess growing up despising him for making her mom leave.

he had recovered, partially at least. he still blamed himself for the entirety of the fiasco. maybe he should have been a better boyfriend, proposed sooner, asked to be serious after they had had a kid. but he knew commitment meant inevitably losing someone and he wasn't ready to put it down on a piece of paper. to him it felt like signing a contract with the devil, knowing that the end goal was your own personal suffering.

but now he didn't have time to think about home or his ex, not when there was so much to do and so little time before he had to run and pick up his girl, bring her home and continue his tasks.

"get a clock next time, Sergeant. nobody likes a tardy soldier" he didn't know what had gotten into him... he was being oddly rude even for his usual self. Simon blamed it on the two hours of sleep.

even though the day went well and nobody had managed to piss him off except for the unhappy Sgt, he found himself constantly pestering the new man, a few snarky comments unintentionally leaving his mouth throughout the day. there was something about him that unsettled simon.

singleparent!ghost didn't have time for this though as he went to pick up his girl. the happiest man on earth when she ran and jumped in his arms. he wasn't wearing that scary mask anymore, his daughter and her friends didn't like it; or the balaclava because his girl always complained that she couldn't see any of daddy's face and it made her sad.

so he had to compromise and wear a simple black mask instead, still keeping part of his identity concealed.

but today she wasn't alone, no. it wasn't unusual for her to bring a friend over and ask if they could hang out but he wasn't familiar with the girl from today, he hadn't seen her before.

"daddy! daddy! can Blair come and play with me this week? please daddy, please?" his daughter always spoke so quickly, so enthusiastic about the topic at hand that it was hard to understand her sometimes. it was moments like these when he remembered that she was only partially like him, the chaotic and sweet side of her behavior coming from her now absent mother.

"we'll need to talk to her parents, won't we, princess?" he agreed with her softly, kneeling down and introducing himself to the new little girl. she seemed shy to say the least, her demeanor was neutral, almost a frown, even though her tone was so gentle and she had attempted to give him an awkward smile while talking. how come his daughter always found a new type of personality to attach her own to?

"Blair, pet, ah told ye to wait by the front gate. Ye got me all worried-" Soap was trying so hard not to let the shock show through on his face.

he hadn't recognized him at first, not when he saw just part of his face covered by a black mask, but his uniform was a dead giveaway, there was no way he could mistake him. did that fucking lieutenant have to show up here too?

"late again, Sergeant?"

this is the fanart that inspired the brainrot <3

creds divider: @/cafekitsune

[altocat]

‘Ello!! Hope it’s been a lovely weekend!! 💕

I don’t know if I’ve ever asked you this before but shshhshshshhs Can we get some Zack & Seph bonding over Angeal angst/comfort plz?? :3ccc

Yesssssssss of course !

Sephiroth and Zack don't really talk much after the incident in Modeoheim. There's a lot of bitter feelings there. Zack blames Sephiroth for making him have to deal with that heartache. It should have been Sephiroth, not him. Sephiroth could have stopped it. It's not fair! Angeal would still be alive!

Sephiroth is aware of Zack's ill feelings, mostly mourning quietly alone, his nightmares getting worse than ever, barely eating or sleeping. Most of the time, he's mindlessly performing tasks thanks to the cocktail of drugs Hojo is pumping into him.

Despite this, thanks to the dwindling ranks in SOLDIER, both are assigned a mission together investigating some rogue rebel activity in the mountains. It's cold and rainy and miserable. And Sephiroth and Zack can't even bear to look at each other.

They tail the rebels all the way to the peaks, cornering them on the fragile remains of a bridge, now halfway frozen over from the chill.

Zack moodily thinks that now's the part where Sephiroth coldly murders everyone. That's what soldiers do, right? That's what HE had to do to Angeal. Just mindless killing. Callous slaying of anyone who doesn't fit. Ruining lives. Just like Angeal.

Zack isn't paying attention, too agitated to notice the enemy creeping up from behind. He has mere seconds to react before the gunshot rings out, followed by the frantic rush of air as Sephiroth shoves him out of the way to take the hit.

He watched in horror as Sephiroth falls nearly twenty feet, crashing hard into a jutting snowy cliff side below.

He's an absolute mess when the helicopter comes in to retrieve them, Sephiroth's battered body being taken away to Medical the second they land.

Zack's a shaking, helpless wreck, reliving Angeal's death over and over. Oh gods it's happening again. And it's all his fault. And now he's going to lose someone else too. And he was so cold to Seph beforehand. He blamed him for everything when really it was NO ONE'S fault. And now Sephiroth is going to die and he's going to have to bury another friend and and and...

Days pass. Zack endures sleepless nights letting his inner demons eat at him. He is a trembling mess by the time he's finally able to step out onto the main SOLDIER floor again, freezing at the sight of Sephiroth standing near the doorway, alive and well, his arm carefully wrapped up in a sling.

"You're... you're okay."

"Mm? Oh. Yes. It was a bad fall. But my healing capabilities proved to be amply useful for such an occasion. I received clearance this morning to return to my duties, though I've been instructed not to strain myself."

Zack miserably hangs his head, relief and guilt intermingling in his belly, his face hot, eyes red and watery.

"Listen, Sephiroth? I... about earlier..."

Sephiroth tilts his head, seemingly confused, watching as the young First dithers and balks.

"I...you saved me."

"Think nothing of it. It was instinct. A team leader's responsibility is to protect his men."

"I thought you'd died. I mean...gods, this is such a mess. I was so mad at you. I shouldn't have been. But I was. I blamed you for Angeal when I should've just talked it out. I just let it get to me. And... and... and you still..."

He forces himself not to cry, not even when Sephiroth's free hand gently, if not awkwardly, reaches over to pat his shoulder.

"...I was not keen on losing you as well."

And the tears are coming now, his efforts fruitless. He feels like a child, pawing at his eyes, shaky laugh as he shakes his head. "G-guess we have that feeling in common, huh?" He just wishes he understood it sooner.

He spends the rest of the afternoon at Sephiroth's side, holding his tablet up for him to make it easier for him to write. They don't speak much. But it feels different this time, awkward smiles exchanged, a kind of fragile reluctance when it's finally time to part ways for the evening.

But afterwards, Zack makes it mandatory to keep in contact at all times, sending Sephiroth text reminders so they can meet up to unwind together after a long hard day.

This goes on for a long while, an unspoken trust building, both parties emotionally relying on each other without ever saying a word. A pure bond; burgeoning, unexpected, but genuine. Real.

Until Nibelheim.

[ask-dawnanddusk]

Dusk slowly plodded towards where the group sat, shaking sleep from his eyes and Twilight nestled in his mane. He'd thought it over a bit more, and had come to a decision. Now all there was left to do was convince the others, though that shouldn't be too much of an issue.

Gently, he bumped his head against Dawn, giving him a nuzzle in greeting before leaning back, a serious look on his face.

Taking in a deep breath to calm himself, Dusk blurted, "We need a lunar wing for Twilight."

This sudden statement dew the eye of everyone in the group, and while Dusk shifted uncomfortably under their confused gazes, he carefully explained, "Twilight has been trouble sleeping lately. She's been dreaming, but all of them are nightmares, and it's been keeping her up too much to be healthy."

"These nightmares left for a while, but seemed to have returned again with even more force." Dusk explained, speaking faster with each word, "I've tried to deal with them on my own, but you know how it is with dream-walking in legendary minds."

"Of course the lunar wing would only be temporary, just until we can find the root of this problem. I just don't want her loosing any more sleep, she's still so young..."

"Oh love, you should have told me sooner." Dawn crooned, gently pressing his beak to Dusk's neck in comfort, halting his husbands worried rambling, "Of course we can retrieve a lunar wing. Should be relatively easy too, I'm still owed a favour from her." He joked slightly at the end before continuing. "It's also possible being around our Cresselia could help Twilight develop her powers more. After all, we don't now they full extend of her abilities yet. Maybe she could tell us if the abaility to dream-walk was passed down as well."

"We could also use this as an opportunity to check up on other legends and see if other strange things have happened." Voxgatum mused, "Oneiros watches over the dreams of all living things after all. Maybe she could help. Confirm if this is just one bad actor or something bigger."

"Whilst you three travel, there is one more who may benefit from an alteration of scenery." Maksviah cut in, turning towards Voxgatum, "With the news' final spread between legends, I am most certain someone else worries more then needed. My second eldest, Vourison, I fear will worry himself to panic. A visit would be good for both of you."

"Mother, do you even need to say more then that?" Vox said, a relaxed smile on his face, "Why, I'd be delighted to go bother my worrywart of an older brother! It's been far too long since we've seen one another."

"Did you not visit him the other week?"

"Perhaps~"

"Well, I suppose that settles it." Dawn said, "We'll need a bit of time to prepare, but we should be off soon."

"I'll head off a bit after you do." Voxgatum said with a wave of his wing, "I want to spend a bit more time here before heading out. Maybe I'll pop by Oneiros' place after so we can chat."

And with all that said, the group split to prepare for the coming days ahead.

[doctorstrangereview]

0018: Strange Tales #126

Cover Date: November 1964 On-Sale Date: August 11, 1964

It all changes here! In celebration, Doc reclaims some cover real estate and the blurb even depicts a scene from the story. What changes? Doc meets Dormammu! Up until this moment, Dormammu has simply been one of the funky names Doc calls on to put the whammy on his foes. Also, until now, most of his foes haven't been all that impressive on power level with Nightmare and Loki being the possible exceptions. And Doc doesn't call on either to power up. Dormammu is on whole other level.

Our story continues immediately after Doc's battle with Baron Mordo last issue. We see his astral body returning to his physical body. Now, Mordo's body should be in the house as well, but that never gets addressed. He must have gotten out somehow; we definitely haven't seen the last of him. No sooner than getting up from his comfy, funky chair (sadly, not the one with the dragon head), he's in the grip of a powerful spell, without his consent, that manifests itself as a floppy white and yellow bullseye. There's a nice touch from Ditko. Doc goes in the top of the bullseye and at the spell's terminus, The Ancient One's pad, he comes out the bottom. It even has a funky curl, like it's squeezing him out.

The Ancient One is dressed today in a fine frock. The original coloring is red, but the Masterworks recoloring makes it a vivid fuchsia. Once again I prefer the recoloring. Today's crown has less ostentatious horns that the last story but the detail is more intricate. The Ancient One makes a ghost thing visible to Doc just as it leaves. Doc prepares himself to jump to the old guy's defense, but he's like "Don't worry about it, he's just a messenger of the Dread Dormammu. Oh, by the way, Dormammu is gonna invade our dimension and take over. I just got back from being Mordo's captive and haven't had my old man nap yet. Can you deal with this?"

"Sure thing, daddio! Send me!" And Doc disappears into some whirling and hairy dots. Perhaps this is Ditko's answer to Kirby Crackle. The next thing Doc knows he's somewhere else, floating through a ring of smoke and heading toward a nasty beastie indeed. The smoke ring is a nice call back to the splash page!

The as-yet-unnamed nasty beasty is the G'uranthic Guardian who will show up here and again. I don't know if this is actually a living being or some magical construct that guard's Dormammu's "palace." Doc approaches the nasty beastie who looks down on him and shoots out some light that probes his brain, without his consent. It's a test of some kind that Doc passes and the cool six-sided doors open for him. He steps through, and we get get our first look at how bat-crap crazy Ditko makes this very brightly lit "dark" dimension.

That's right, the other side of this door is floating in nothing and Doc is walking along a floating ribbon all curled up. Nightmare's realm was weird, but this is drug-trippy crazy! What was Ditko on? This imagery continues throughout the story, so get yourself a copy if you want to see it all.

Next, we get our first glimpse of Dormammu. He doesn't quite look like his popular image yet. For one, he's wearing a two-tone green thing with funky shoulder accoutrements and not the purple we're used to seeing him in. His head isn't surrounded by flames, but smoke and his head is blue, instead of red. He only has a hint of eyes. He's also sitting in a funky throne. We will later learn this is the Azure Throne and it is almost never depicted as blue.

Dormammu is like "WTF? Who the hell is this? Where's The Ancient One?" One of the sychophants surrounding Dormammu isn't toadying up enough and dares to question Dormammu's ability to instantly wipe out the mortal and he instantly imprisons them until he doesn't feel like it anymore.

Meanwhile, Doc is facing a series of challenges as he moves toward the big bad. His first challenge is a little yellow creature who feeds on spells. Doc figures this out quickly and feeds him until he pops like a balloon. This is being watched by a certain silver-haired lady. Yes! We are finally introduced to the as-yet-unnamed Clea. At first he thinks this is The Ancient One returning, but realizes it can't be "for he is young -- and fair to behold!" While Clea's libido gets fired up, Doc is drawn into some object that looks like a flying magic carpet. "Oh well," thinks Clea, "better luck next time."

Doc defeats a bunch more of Dormammu's minion who appear before him. Dormie's not happy. He banishes them to limbo.

Dormammu is like "Enough of this! If you need something done, you just gotta do it yourself. Bring it on, earther!" Clea senses things are coming to a head and decides to shout about it.

The entrance Dormie conjures for Doc is just bizarre. It's like a big sheet of paper with a mini, desaturated bifrost coming out of it. Clea attempts to warn him off, but Doc proceeds to the ominous assignation. Doc finally confronts Dormie at last! "I won't kill you until the Ancient One shows up." Doc replies "Nah! You gotta deal with me." "No really, send in the Ancient One." "Nope. It's gonna be me." "You're funeral, blue dude!"

And we break here until next month. Last month was great, but this is just freaking crazy! Ditko is in top form here. Who knows how many pencils were ground to little nubs to draw these 10 pages? Visually, it's spectacular. Ditko had spent a number of stories with lazy backgrounds, but he must have been saving it up for this story. Dormammu's motivation for invading earth isn't exactly original, but it starts a great story. There isn't really anything in the way of plot holes. It doesn't mess with continuity. And it's the springboard of a new era where the villains are more powerful and the stakes are greater. I can't wait for part two!

[elisaphoenix13-cullrian]

Hiraeth

Cullen snored softly beside him.

It was something Dorian normally would complain about, but it was quiet enough to not disturb him. In fact, he lay awake just to adore the man instead of sleeping like he should have been. They had plans to claim a nearby fortress and Cullen had joined them to help. It wasn't a rare occurrence if the Inquisitor told his advisors about any future plans to claim keeps or the sort, and Dorian always enjoyed the commander's company. Especially when he got to share his tent. Cullen’s body offered comforting warmth no matter where they were…but someplace like the Emprise, Dorian welcomed the extra body heat even more.

He was also glad to have Cullen nearby whenever he had his nightmares. He would start by mumbling in his sleep and then the twitches would start, and finally the jerking followed when the nightmare was especially bad. At the moment, Cullen’s snoring had stopped and turned into mumbling, so Dorian gently placed a hand on the man's chest.

“Amatus,” he whispers, gently shaking the commander awake. When Cullen wakes with a gasp, Dorian slowly reaches up to caress his cheek and turn his head so he can kiss his forehead. “Shh…you're alright.”

Cullen mumbles incoherently before returning the kiss properly. “What's wrong? Are you alright?” He mumbles as he opens his eyes to look at Dorian.

Dorian huffs fondly. “You were having one of your dreams. I just took you out of it before it got too bad.”

“Hmm? I don't remember…”

“A good thing.” Dorian smiles when Cullen tiredly grabs the hand on his cheek and pulls it closer to kiss the palm of his hand.

“You should be sleeping.” Cullen drops Dorian's hand in favor of wrapping his arms around the mage to pull him closer. Whenever he did this, he always held Dorian's head close and the mage couldn't help but relax in his arms whenever he did so. It was soothing for him. He felt treasured and protected and he was sure that was what Cullen was trying to show him anyway. It was working.

“You started mumbling. I couldn't in good conscience leave you to suffer and end up being woken up by you as soon as I fall asleep,” Dorian mumbles against his collarbone, making the other man snort. “Keep holding me like this and I will.”

“I can do that,” and that was it. Cullen easily dropped back into sleep, and Dorian was able to drift off himself when his light snoring started up again.

When morning came, Cullen didn't get up right away much to Dorian's pleasure. The commander was happy to enjoy the quiet morning with him in their shared tent before the rest of the camp woke up, and only when they heard their companions waking up, did Cullen finally move away. He left a cold spot in his wake and Dorian grouched vocally about it.

“Can't we wait until it gets a little bit warmer?” Dorian grouses.

Cullen simply chuckles and kisses his forehead as he gets up and dressed. “If only I could. Take as long as you need.”

“No need. I'd rather get the job done so we can come back sooner and you can have your wicked way with me.”

Dorian knew that wouldn't happen though. Not with others so close. He still appreciated Cullen's humorous expression before he left the tent though. The man had grown used to Dorian's blunt flirtations, but there were still times the mage could get him to blush or stammer. Sometimes even both. It was always a delight to see.

Eventually, he did make it out of the tent after making sure he was as presentable as he could be in the wild. As he grabbed some rations from a nearby agent, Cullen passed by, grazing a hand along his side and then his back as he grabbed his own, and Dorian felt his heart flutter when the commander sent him a soft smile. Cullen may have been bad with words, but he spoke volumes with his actions. Something Dorian didn't know he needed until he started his relationship with him. Anyone could speak pretty words, but when they were followed by gentle caresses, Dorian couldn't deny how serious Cullen was. Of course, the commander didn't kiss him in front of everyone and preferred his privacy, but he would occasionally let his guard down enough to brush along his back.

“We move on the keep after we eat,” Cullen tells him as Dorian bites into some bread. “Please be careful.”

The mage swallows. “Always amatus. You should follow your own advice.”

Cullen smiles at him and they join the rest of their companions as they finish their breakfast. Dorian was content to listen to them discuss tactics as he knew his job was to keep them shielded and attack from afar as always. Cullen, Cassandra, and the Inquisitor would fight on the front, and Varric back with Dorian. It was always the same, but it seemed to make them feel better about essentially kicking their door down and saying hello rather violently.

Before Dorian knew it, they were approaching the keep and Varric was picking off the guards so they could attempt to take the Venatori inside by surprise. It went well enough. Without the guards to alert the rest inside, they were able to break down the gates and send the Venatori inside into a panicked frenzy. Cullen and Cassandra charged the closest warriors and Dorian cast a barrier around them, following up with some of his storm magic. Whenever an enemy got too close for comfort, he would cast Horror on them so they would run away in a panic with either Varric or Trevelyan picking them off before the spell wore off.

Dorian would raise the dead enemies to use against their living comrades whenever he could, used to the resistance that came with it. A part of their enemy always lingered in their bodies when they were freshly killed so that part would attempt to fight Dorian's call. It was easy to bypass it considering he was more than adequate with Necromancy. Their lingering will never lasted long anyway.

Then, as they got closer to their goal, their enemies began to spread out and they were forced to spread out themselves to continue to control the battle. Cassandra was nearby dealing with a couple of mages, Cullen just a little further dealing with warriors, and the other two…

Dorian cried out in surprise when a great axe nearly cleaved him in two. Once he was back at a safer distance, he watched as a Bruiser turned his attention to Trevelyan when the man attempted a back attack with his knives. Another barrier was cast and Dorian put his all into raising as many of the corpses as he could. As they rose and ran after the Bruiser to attack, something caught Dorian's attention.

One of the corpses he raised gave no resistance. It answered easily and maybe even willingly, that it gave Dorian pause. Perhaps it was an earlier victim of the Venatori that wanted revenge? It wouldn't be the first time, but even then this one was still too easy. So he looked. Dorian turned his attention to where the willing corpse had been and his blood ran cold.

Cullen’s body lay feet away, an arrow lodged in his throat and his spirit running past to attack Dorian's target.

All Dorian could do was watch. He was desperately hoping it was all a dream, but when the Bruiser fell and their enemies were no more, the rest of his companions all froze. They all looked at Cullen’s spirit with the same dread Dorian was feeling, and the mage cried out when the spirit turned to look at him.

Sorrow.

Cullen was looking at him with remorse.

“NO!” Dorian screams. “You can't be! You–”

Desperately, he runs over to Cullen's body and pulls the arrow out of his throat and pours as much of his healing power as he can into it. Spell after spell did nothing to rouse the commander and Dorian heard heartbreaking sobs as he continued to try. Until he realized they were coming from him. He felt himself choking on air he couldn't breathe anymore because he could feel his heart shattering. Breathing hurt, crying hurt, his very heart was in agony because Cullen would never hold him again.

“Dorian…” the whisper pulls the mage's attention from Cullen's body and finds his spirit standing beside him.

“Why?” Dorian chokes out, getting to his feet to face Cullen. “This wasn't supposed to happen!”

Cullen reaches out with a transparent hand , and Dorian sobs again when his cool touch rests on his cheek. “I'm sorry.”

“I wanted to stay with you,” Dorian whispers. “I was finally happy and now you're…”

He couldn't finish his sentence. The wound on his heart was still too raw and he was afraid if he came to terms with Cullen's death, he would break. Dorian was still desperately wishing that this was all a terrible dream and he would wake up in their tent with Cullen snoring in his ear.

What he wouldn't give to hear Cullen snore again.

Dorian gasps when Cullen leans forward to kiss his forehead. “I love you,” the spirit says quietly.

“Please,” Dorian begs, followed by another sob. “Amatus.”

Cullen gave him another reassuring smile that also looked sad and Dorian reached out in an attempt to feel his warmth. But there was none. Not even his body could offer that comforting warmth anymore. Dorian closed his eyes when Cullen placed one last kiss on his forehead, and when the cold caress moved away, Dorian dared to open his eyes.

Cullen was gone.

And Dorian fell to his knees and screamed.

He screamed until he was hoarse and couldn't scream any longer, and then eventually found himself staring at Cullen’s body when he could do nothing else. He didn't know how long he sat there. Minutes…hours…it was long enough for his tears to dry up but never enough for his heart to stop breaking. All he knew was that his life would never be the same again. He had loved so hard and so dearly and he would never get to live the life he wanted with Cullen anymore. He wasn't even sure he would live his life at all. He felt like he was watching his own body go through the motions now. Even when Trevelyan finally helped him to his feet after he had grown quiet and still. 

When Cullen disappeared, he took Dorian's happiness with him.

Now a shell of him only remained.

I wish I was able to tell you I loved you too.

Cullen’s smiling face appeared in his mind at the thought and the memory only made his heart clench in pain again. Would he dream of Cullen's gentle caresses and the chaste kisses that left him wanting for more? Or the sweet nothings he would whisper in Dorian's ear when they laid in bed after they made love? His loving glances? 

I suppose you already knew, didn't you, Amatus?