#on account of brain has been sleeping so i have not moved my body to any significant degree in weeks

[dreamofbecoming]

spent a lot of time baking and embroidering the last couple days and holy fuck i forgot what it feels like when i Do A Creativity and my brain comes out of hibernation??? i went to the store today! voluntarily! without forcing myself! i helped do a bunch of manual labor tasks bc my dad was feeling like doing house maintenance! i baked 2 different kinds of food! at no point did i feel like i was desperate to come up with an excuse for why i couldn’t get off the couch just for a few more minutes not moving! god dopamine rly is a hell of a drug, huh?

[jjenthusee]

Moonlight And Intentional Mistakes

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

A/N: This is inspired and dedicated to @heavysighing-dreamyeyes amazing post linked here (show it some love) and their numerous sweet words especially on my Broken Mug writing drabble (also linked), so after crying reading their messages, i had to do something about the intense rush to write and the best way i can think of thanking you is by doing what i know, art and writing. i had no idea that i was influencing anyone, i only hoped my love for Jason was communicated correctly. i hope every single one of you that comes across my account has beautiful things happen to u. i’ll give u all a million kisses. please continue to write, i would love to continue reading what u have for us next <3 there’s also a surprise at the end :D (as always comments are appreciated if you’re comfortable <3 let me know your brain rot thoughts) ENJOY

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, soft Jason, touch starved Jason lowkey, siri play Never Grow Up by Niall Horan 😔, might have inspired the direction of the fic

Word Count: 3.4k

The moon was high.

Moonlight had casted a faint glow on the window blinds, it peaked in through the tiny gaps.

Only a small lamp was on, cascading light from the living room into your room. It gave enough light to see the outlines of your room. Bathing everything it could touch in a faint warm glow.

It was still dark enough that the details were too fuzzy to point out, but most objects were wrapped in shadows, bringing a unique calm to your room.

In the chill of night, the bed was warm. Jason was the perfect heater. The blankets were cozy and the sound of a fan whirred at the corner of the room.

It didn’t make sense covering yourself head to toe in a fuzzy blanket with a fan blasting air at you, but the sound mellowed you into the night, calling slumber closer to you.

It would have been easy to sleep if you were given the chance, but your gentle giant boyfriend was adamant to prove to you that he needed to sleep as physically close as possible to you.

It would have been fine, but today you couldn’t find a relaxing sleeping position. You had to shift your body around before finding the state of mind and the right amount of comfort to drift off, but tonight was difficult. Not only were you constantly shifting in the bed sheets, you were keeping Jason awake.

As your body moved to a new spot on the bed, Jason followed. Turning his body to follow the heat you left behind on the sheets. He wasn’t fond of the fact that a blanket fully engulfed you while he didn’t, it wasn’t fair.

When he got close enough to throw his muscular arm over you, you beat him to your next journey across the mattress.

If the queen bed the both of you were laying on looked like a college dorm twin XL with Jason laid out over it, then you shouldn’t have cornered yourself onto the edge.

Now half of your body dangled off the mattress. The bed was definitely big enough for the both of you the last time you checked, but with Jason getting closer to you every time you moved, it looked like he teleported a smidge closer when you blinked.

It also wasn’t ideal when he rolled onto the corner of the blanket that had unraveled from your legs.

You teetered on the end of the bed when he purposefully made sure to take up ninety percent of what was left of the mattress. Locking you on the edge, wrapped in a blanket.

You had been laying on your side, but Jason kept nudging you, tickling your face with his messy hair when he got close enough to attempt to burrow his large self into you. You kept scooting back, but once you didn’t feel anymore mattress, your legs were feeling where the cold air invaded the bed.

Now you settled on the dangerous edge with one leg completely off. Despite your avoidance of Jason, your free leg locked around Jason’s leg for any support to keep you safely on the bed. Your entire upper half was swaddled like a baby as the blanket blocked out any of the chill, your arms completely smushed against your sides with no way to free yourself besides Jason moving his body off of the edges of your blanket.

You had no control whatsoever.

It was you and your straining leg on Jason that was the only thing keeping you from plopping on the cold floor. Now in a vulnerable position, did Jason have the bright idea of asking the question you’ve been avoiding all day.

Where were his pudding cups?

———

“I take it back!” You pleaded with Jason as he kept the blanket tightly wound around you, preventing you from moving your arms to retaliate.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Jason playfully faced at you, laying on his side. His voice melted with innocence, but had underlying amusement.

Your blanket was your savior and your enemy as it saved you from the hard floor, but it was also securely caught by Jason’s entire weight. He had you completely trapped inside with only your head and legs poking out, the fabric slung around you.

Moving his body an inch closer to the edge, Jason pushed your body further off, further with no support beside his mere weight and strength keeping you from falling.

“I swear there were two pudding cups before you left!” You screamed, your hair falling off your face, the ends gravitating toward the ground, your impending doom.

“Sweetheart, let’s play world’s greatest detective and I’ll ask you something. If I didn’t eat ‘em and we are the only two people who live in this apartment, then who do we have left? Hm?” Jason’s voice, honey sweet, as he emphasized the contradictions in your statement.

With the blanket bunched in his hands, Jason easily lowered you slightly, juggling your weight effortlessly while laying on his side. You cursed at his perfect athleticism.

The room may have been dark, but you didn’t need the moonlight to know he had a shit eating grin trying to get you to confess.

You felt like this was probably the closest you would feel to people walking the plank in those pirate movies you watched as a kid, a sick waiting game not knowing when your fate was inevitable. It was fun at the time and maybe the cold ocean was different from your bedroom floor, but otherwise it was still cold.

“I don’t even like sweets!” You playfully laughed as he teasingly let his hands slip, clearly seeing through your lie. You squealed as you felt your head dip and your leg fall from on top of Jason’s.

“And my hand slipped.” Jason equally lied through his teeth, his threat filled with no malice whatsoever as he securely held onto you.

“I’m starting to feel like this has nothing to do with pudding cups.” You raised your head back up to look at Jason, a full smile present on your face, testing your vulnerable state.

“Oh?” Jason raised his eyebrow as he looked down at you from the edge of the bed. The angle looked great on him.

“My world’s greatest detective intuition is telling me that you’re just mad that I kept rolling away from you.” You mischievously pointed out.

“My love, you need to use those skills to find out why all our pudding is gone.”

“Do you do this to all the criminals you interrogate?” You deflected, using your eyes to point to the current position both of you were in, dangling from the bed in a blanket while Jason kept you there.

“Only the pretty ones.” Jason sung, pulling you up slightly so you weren’t as close to the floor, not quite on the bed, but in a better spot than before.

“I didn’t realize the Red Hood had such malicious threatening techniques.” You shook your head feigning disappointment as you struggled to readjust your leg to latch onto his again. It probably looked awkward, but you were desperate. It wasn’t your fault that your boyfriend was built like a tank. “I promise to not rob anymore banks anytime soon. I’ll straighten myself out. Scouts honor.” You breathed out, exhausted from the movement.

“Just admit you ate the pudding and I’ll erase everything. Your speeding tickets and the bounty on you in 15 countries.”

“It’s 18 actually, don’t defile me—“

Jason effortlessly lowered you again. The blanket slipping slightly from jostling you around.

“Okay, okay!” You cried out. “If I fall you’re limited to two kisses a day!”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Three, take it or leave it.”

“Tell me where the pudding is.”

“Four kisses and you can cuddle suffocate me when we sleep.” The blanket around you felt noticeably loose.

Jason scoffed, offended by your choice of phrasing.

“If our lives are ever on the line, I gotta remember I can’t ever let you negotiate.” He tauntingly called above you. “And I don’t cuddle suffocate you.”

“So it was ‘cause I moved away from you earlier!” You cried out as you slipped further. The blanket loosening completely around you, your gasp blurring into Jason’s name. A plea to catch you.

Jason quickly bent down, rolling his body off the bed and slipping his arms around you as he followed you to the floor. He rolled his body forward enough to quickly shift your position so his body plopped on the ground first while you landed on top of him.

It was a soft landing as you laid on his chest. Quickly finding a comfortable position in his arms.

“You only get one kiss a day.” You flatly said. “Why is our bed frame weirdly tall?” You nuzzled your head into his chest.

“Our deal was two.” Jason tenderly caressed your head. Moving your hair in motions that made you want to fall asleep.

“Looks like we’re both liars.” You barely whispered, sleepiness taunting your body.

“I guess you’re still wanted in 18 countries.”

You lazily laughed into Jason, his body slightly shaking from your movement. His arms wrapping around you, engulfing the feel of your laughter and locking it between your bodies. He smiled into your shoulder. Smelling your comfort.

You lifted your head, freeing your face. You were still being held by Jason, but you had a clearer view of his loving gaze lost on you as he traced your features, entranced by your smile.

“Missed opportunity.” You drunkenly watched and felt Jason’s fingers caressing your face.

“If you let me ‘cuddle suffocate’ you, you might have another shot.” Jason’s thumb rubbed your cheek, pressing into the softness. His calloused finger pads feeling slightly itchy, but you would never pull away, too endeared by how gently he treats you.

“Worth it.” You say after snapping out of your trance that was locked on your boyfriend. He knew the right areas to get your mind lost on his touch, focused solely on him.

You pulled yourself up from laying on top of Jason, grabbing for his hands as you stood. Straining to help pull him up, but almost all the effort came from his own strength, not yours.

Playfully, Jason never let go of your hands and let his body be dragged completely onto you, dramatically coming forward to rewrap himself around you.

You giggled as you threw your arms around him. Enjoying the warmth that radiated from him, reheating the once empty space. Your own personal heater. You were glad tonight was one of the nights he stayed home with you, cuddled in bed all evening. You tried your best to soothe his mind, away from the thoughts of patrol as much as you could.

Giving his mind a small mental break, to hold you close and whatever else he needed. Both of you continue to work hard to develop and maintain the kind of trust that Jason needed to work through the hard days, silent but never alone.

With reassuring hugs while he counted your breaths, holding onto your hand just to thoughtlessly memorize them, standing in your presence just to observe you.

His difficulty with readjusting to the mundane and useless tasks of every day life was the biggest challenge. Too many conversations about why we need to treat ourselves because we want to. Jason’s mind was filled with too many needs.

He needed a reason to buy himself something, he needed to push his body to the limits because there was no other option, he needed to work alone.

So you showed him that he didn’t need you to hold his arm while you walked around the city, but he wanted you to do it.

He didn’t need you to take care of him, but you wanted to because you cared.

As you lost yourself in the shared closeness, you swayed your body. Jason unconsciously following your movements, swaying with you and letting his hands intertwine behind you, letting it gently rest against your lower back. Once you held on, Jason had silently vowed to never be the first to let go.

As you moved your bodies, clueless about Jason’s promise to himself, you didn’t let go either. So the two of you clung to one another.

It was one of the millions of things you cherished about Jason, he showed his devotion through his mannerisms. He helped put away your bags after a tired day of work, when he brought you a blanket if you fell asleep on the couch then carried you to bed. He bought your favorite snacks if he was at the store. He effortlessly followed you, content to be next to you.

Of course, he still put up limitations. He wouldn’t put your safety at risk. He sat closer and became more aware of restaurant doors, he kept you walking on his side or always in front of him, when he slept he made sure to determine the layout that suited you best, away from the window. His eagerness to make sure your wellbeing is priority.

It led to him not sleeping once you switched your position too many times tonight. He wasn’t satisfied with you being closer to the window, but he also was determined to get you to cuddle.

Numerous times you wanted to tease him, but after a Red Hood reveal that had you debating if he collaborated with his brothers to pull a twisted prank on you and an emotional talk, you couldn’t blame him for any of it. The fitted suit was just an added bonus you could outrightly ogle at.

You two were standing, holding each other in the dark. His head nuzzled on the base of your neck, his hands gripping your shirt, crinkling at the desperation. Sometimes Jason felt overstimulated when his feelings were ready to burst. His unfamiliarity with so much tender affection makes his mind unable to process all of it.

All you can do is to tell him that your there. Reminding him that you were unwilling to go anywhere.

“I’m here, Jay.” You softly reassured. “I’m right here, in your arms.”

Jason was unaware of the same silent promise you prayed to yourself, to never let him go.

When Jason’s grip loosened, your lips softly kissed the side of his head, soothing the thing that gives him a hard time. Repeating the motion, feeling his breaths even.

You never said that you were limited to how many kisses you can give him.

As you methodically swayed and with one final kiss against his hot skin, Jason shifted himself to standing taller, resting his forehead on yours. His hair laid flat against your skin.

You closed your eyes, enjoying how docile he became once you initiated physical touch. A craving he wanted and you unconditionally gave him.

When you opened your eyes, adjusting to the darkness, you grabbed one of his hands to intertwine them, your other hand gently falling onto his shoulder. He noticed the familiar stance, mimicking that of a dance. He silently rested his free hand on your waist, once again feeling the fabric of his shirt that you wore.

There was no music, but you leaned into Jason once again, swaying to the rhythm of his heartbeat, slow and in tune with his breaths. The further closeness let you settle your head underneath his chin, his hand following around the width of your waist pulling you in more.

Everything felt perfect. It was the middle of the night in the dark, you wore pajamas, no music played, both of your hair messy, but you held Jason. A sweet grasp of his shirt bunched in your hand, your feet bumping into his, the smell of your soap radiating from his skin from his shower.

If this was your last day on Earth, you would think you were blessed to be in front of the most loving, tender man. Watching his eyes softened and sparkle as he feels a breath of peace.

That was all you needed.

In an act of surprise, you moved your arm to wrap around Jason’s waist and attempted to dramatically swoop him back. It was haphazardly done, but he gladly played along despite the difference in height making it a little awkward. He dipped back then came forward, reuniting your embrace, both of you laughing at your clumsy attempt at a slow dance.

“Why does this feel like an awkward school dance?” You breathed out, breathless from the laughing, talking into his clean shirt. Most likely you were taking it to wear tomorrow night.

“We’re just swaying, we aren’t really moving how we’re supposed to.” Jason rubbed your back as you caught your breath, his voice softly surrounding you as you rested on his chest, feeling every word.

“And how would you know?” You looked up at him, a teasing tone. “It’s not like either of us know how to slow dance.”

Jason paused, looking down at your eyes, contemplating.

“Would you like to learn?” He hesitated, combing his hand through your hair.

You completely stopped swaying, Jason’s hand dropping from the top of your head to rest on your cheek. He carefully watched your reaction, your eyes widening, a stunned look in your eyes.

His grip tightened, barely noticeable if you didn’t feel his thumb press on your waist, helping to remind you to respond.

“I mean, I’ve always wanted to try it.” You looked down toward your feet, slightly feeling the embarrassment creep up at your confession, but Jason rubbed his thumb on your cheek. A silent comfort. “But, I don’t have a reason to learn. I’m way past school dance age, I rarely go to events where it might happen, and…no one has ever asked me.”

A silence settled between the both of you, Jason’s thumb pausing. He looked between your eyes, glancing back and forth.

“Can I get my phone?” He asked with no explanation, no other detail leading to your earlier confession.

You felt the mortification creeping at you. You nodded, letting go of Jason.

He stood there until you removed yourself first. His grip fleeting, walking in the dark to grab his phone, illuminating the room with its screen where he stood. You curiously watched him, not quite understanding his intentions.

“I might be a little rusty.” He voiced, a broad back facing you.

A gentle melody played from his phone. Quiet, but getting louder as he pressed the volume button on the side of his phone.

“What?” You stood there awkwardly.

Jason turned to face you, throwing his phone on the night stand as he walked back over, raising an open hand to you.

“May I have this dance?”

He stunned you again, your brain having too many delays at once.

Your hand trembled as you raised it to meet his. You couldn’t respond to his question because your throat ached, ached in a way that you wished the world ended right there, to consume the pounding heartbeat in your ears, the firm grip of Jason, and attempt to swallow up all the love swelling in your heart. It would put up one hell of a fight.

Once the both of you met, bodies close, Jason repositioned your hands as it was before. Gently guiding you through the steps as you nervously looked at your feet, your tense body adding to your struggle.

Once you felt a decent rhythm and Jason patiently assisted you, memorizing your expressions, movements and the smile you beamed when you finally felt comfortable.

He grabbed your chin. Guiding your head back up to look at him. Bringing his head closer to yours.

Your eyes closed halfway before he gripped your back, dipping you back, holding your weight as you inhaled in surprise.

“Jason!” You laughed his name as he swung you back up, extravagantly twirling you from him, clasping your hand to twirl you back into his embrace.

“Rusty, huh?” You quipped, eyeing him, trying to stabilize your steps.

“What can I say, Alfred beat the movements into me. He would feel a shift in the air if I got it wrong.” Jason smiled, picking up the swaying again, enthusiastically moving both your bodies.

You continued dancing through laughter, not watching your feet as much as you were, letting the feeling of the music guide you.

Not knowing where your body and his separated, a beautiful blur.

How could you have missed out on something so sweet?

A dance shared between two individuals who adore one another.

Jason stamped another mark onto your life.

First dances laced with intertwined hands, lips brushing against one another, tuning out everything but each other’s voices.

Maybe the world did end, but you wouldn’t have known, too immersed in the moonlight on Jason’s skin, the warmth of love and home enveloping you.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

I Know.

A/N: Cursed with insomnia again. Here’s what I wrote last night.

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader (GN; reader has nightmares and nonspecific trauma) 

Rating: T

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings and tags: angst; nightmares (not described); hurt comfort

Summary: Sometimes, the people who have the most complicated history with you are the ones who know you best. Set pre-Skako Minor.

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You awoke with a flinch. Your heart raced as you stared into the darkness, the pulse of it thundering in your ears. Your breath came fast and hard, and you forced yourself to slow down and breathe through your nose. Gradually, your body let go of the panic, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. Not when you knew what waited for you once you drifted into unconsciousness.

You sat up slowly, pausing to clear your head before you slipped out of the bunk. As quietly as you could, you made your way to the front of the Marauder, grabbing your datapad as you passed the data terminal. Judging by the snores, Wrecker and Tech were out cold, but you’d be willing to stake every last credit in your account that your pounding heart had awakened Hunter before you even opened your eyes. Still, he was silent as you moved stealthily to the cockpit.

It was strange to be back on the Marauder after all this time. Familiar, yet different. The squad welcomed you back with varying degrees of enthusiasm—or at least acceptance—but there was a distance between you that had never been there before. A sense of caution, of unspoken but deep vigilance, as though you all felt a compulsion to weigh your words before speaking. The easy laughter, the banter, the closeness and connection—it was though none of it had ever existed.

The faint glow of the instrument panel illuminated Crosshair’s lean form as he sat in the pilot’s chair, arms folded over his chest as his long legs stretched out in front of him. He glanced up as you passed, but said nothing. Outside the viewport, it was far too dark to make out the landscape of the wilderness, but the stars above shone brilliantly through the unclouded atmosphere. You curled up in the copilot’s seat and wordlessly flicked on your datapad. 

You tried to read. The holonovel you opened seemed too daunting, so instead you scrolled through your usual collection of holonet sites for a long while, but your brain refused to process any of the text. Your eyes felt heavy and gritty, and the words seemed to blur together no matter how hard you squeezed your eyelids shut to try to clear your vision. Eventually, you closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the headrest.

“You all right?” Crosshair’s voice was barely audible.

“Can’t sleep,” you whispered without opening your eyes.

“Still?”

“Yeah.”

You both fell silent for a moment. The pilot’s seat creaked as he adjusted.

“Same nightmare after all this time?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

You opened your eyes and rotated your head toward him, only to find that he was already watching you, his dark, intense eyes unreadable in the dim light.

“You ever talk to anyone about it?” 

You shook your head. “Just you. The others—they don’t understand. They don’t know. The details.”

“They still care, though,” he said quietly.

“I know. I just…” You swallowed. “Can’t. I don’t want them to know.”

He didn’t reply, only watched you.

You took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t want them to see how broken I am.”

The silence stretched out for a moment, before he replied very quietly. “I never saw you that way.”

Your throat tightened, and your vision blurred for an instant before the tear overflowed from the corner of your eye and slid down your temple. You could barely see a damned thing in the dark, but Crosshair saw you. He always had.

Slowly, he reached out and smoothed the tear off your skin, then he dropped his hand to your wrist and gently but insistently tugged on you until at last you complied with his unspoken request, crossing the short distance to the copilot’s chair and settling onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around you and coaxed your head down to rest on his shoulder as you curled your legs up and around his body.

“I don’t want to fall back asleep,” you confessed, feeling slightly ashamed of your childish fear.

He stroked your hair. “Then… don’t sleep. Stay with me.”

You nuzzled softly against his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. It had been such a long time, but you’d know it anywhere. 

“You don’t mind?”

“Why would I?” he whispered.

The weight of lost time was heavy in the silence before you replied. “I thought you might prefer it if I left you alone.”

His jaw brushed against your forehead as he turned to look down at you. “I don’t mind having you here.”

The tension in your body gradually drained away as you relaxed against him, lapsing once more into silence. He rested his cheek against the top of your head as his thumb traced slow, lazy circles on your shoulder. Your heavy eyes began to drift shut, your anxiety lulled away by the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the steady thump of his pulse beneath your ear.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” you whispered.

His only response was a quiet, brief hum at the back of his throat, but he pressed his lips against your hair. You raised your hand slowly and trailed your fingertips from the corner of his jaw, down the line of his neck, to the notch at the base of his throat, and when you reached his chest, you flattened your palm against him, directly over his heart. His hand closed gently around yours, holding it there, and you brushed your thumb over his knuckles.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispered. “Holding you like this.”

“Me, too.”

You relaxed further against him, and he tightened his arms around you, holding you securely so you didn’t slip off his lap. When you spoke again, your voice was very soft.

“Cross?”

“Mhm?”

You hesitated a moment before you whispered, “Why did we end it?”

He didn’t move, didn’t react, didn’t even change the pattern of his breath, but you could hear his heart speed up at your whispered question.

“I don’t remember,” he replied.

You took a few slow, shallow breaths. “Me either.”

His hand glided slowly up your shoulder until he reached the back of your neck, and he stroked his thumb along the shell of your ear.

“We were good together, weren’t we?” he asked quietly.

You tilted your head and brushed your lips against his neck in a caress so feather-light it was almost imperceptible.

Almost.

“The best,” you whispered.

He swallowed hard, the sound plainly audible to your ears. The two of you sat unmoving for a long, long time, simply holding each other. He took a shaky breath.

“I—” his voice failed, and he fell silent again.

“I know,” you whispered, kissing his neck. “I know.” You pressed your lips against his jaw, and then the corner of his mouth. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Finding the right words.”

The hand on the back of your neck slid up to hold your head, and he turned to gaze into your eyes, your faces so close together that you could feel his soft, warm breath on your skin.

“What can I say that would be enough?” he asked, his voice quiet and unsteady.

You rested your palm against his jaw, feeling the rough, familiar prickle of his facial hair. Your thumb stroked across his cheekbone, then over his lips.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered. “I already know.” You kissed him softly. “I’ll always know you.”

He pulled you closer, cradling your head in his hands as his lips brushed against yours. His familiar taste flooded your senses. The kiss was gentle and slow, his tongue just grazing between your lips before the two of you parted reluctantly. He rested his forehead against yours as he brought his hand around to caress your cheek. 

“Do you think you could ever love me again?” he asked.

You were silent for a moment before you confessed, “I never stopped.”

The rise and fall of his chest paused for an instant, then resumed.

“Neither did I.”

---

Want more Bad Batch fics? I have two for Hunter: First Kiss ficlet (sfw) and "I Wish All Readers a Very Hunter Life Day" (very spicy).

Ragu list:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @mandos-mind-trick @littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @clonemedickix @marierg @idontgetanysleep @moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine @multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam @banksys-rat @skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist @cw80831 @kimiheartblade @meredithroseg @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal

[bigsexiest]

Strange Rain Sickness

Rain's sickness is sort of vaguely described as "drying out". Do with that what you will. Swiss could've probably had a bigger role in this but whatever. I've been feeling somehwat brain sick and I thought this would be cute to write out. For some reason I've been second-guessing the validity of my work despite this being a completely anonymous account. I'm overthinking. I just need some cute ghouls to make me feel better. Rainy is so pathetic and Swiss is so hero. I love them so much.

word count: 1420

synopsis: Rain starts feeling hella sick and Swiss is there to save the day

The second the water hit Rain’s skin, he felt much better.

The pack had been rehearsing in the abbey. Nothing intricate, just making sure everything looked and sounded good. Rain figured he must have head-banged too hard or stomped across the stage too fast. He was drying out. He skipped his regular morning shower, expecting to make it through the day fine. Rain knew he would fall over if he did not come into contact with water soon.

Luckily, Papa had just called for a break. A strange tingling sensation had started in the tips of Rain’s fingers and slithered up his arms. The same happened with his feet and legs. His head felt as though they weren’t connected to his body. Rain was running out of time.

Leaving the stage, Rain practically threw his bass at a sibling of sin and ran as fast as he could toward the ghoul den. He didn’t care about returning. He just needed to get to water.

He couldn’t feel his legs, but he made it just the same. Flipping the light switch would have taken him too long so he hopped into his bathtub in the darkness. It didn’t matter, he could see in the dark despite his quickly blurring vision.

Turning on the faucet brought immediate relief. He blacked out in the pleasure. The sensation was reminiscent of falling backward or drifting to sleep after a day of hard work. The longer Rain existed outside the pit, the better he has gotten at not drying out. If he’s lucky he can go days without needing to submerge himself. Not that that happens often.

Usually, Rain stays comfortable by using the water from his showers. Occasionally he’ll use the lake. Rain will start drying out if he doesn’t submerge himself in water often enough. It’s a water ghoul necessity. Drying out has its own array of problems. It starts with a dry feeling in a ghoul’s mouth and on its skin. Sometimes these symptoms can be overlooked. If they are, the ghoul will begin feeling nauseous, lightheaded, and weak. These symptoms are much easier to realize. Finally, if none of these symptoms are managed, a ghoul can pass out and eventually even die. 

Rain doesn’t understand why he missed the warning symptoms earlier. It hadn’t been that long since he’d showered. Rehearsing had never been an issue before, nor did he think he was doing anything more strenuous than anyone else. Taking all of this into consideration, he had no explanation.

The water had filled up the tub and Rain finally turned off the faucet. His body was submerged up to his neck. Lukewarm water flowed in and out of his gills. He found it easier to rehydrate if he used them.

Quiet droplets dripping from the faucet had just started to lull Rain to sleep when a frantic knocking could be heard coming from the door to his room. Rain sat up but made no move to get up and actually answer the door.

“Rainy, are you in there?” Swiss’s voice stood out. It was loud and emotive. Rain liked knowing what faces the multighoul was making based only on the sound of his voice. The door to the bathroom was open so Swiss could hear when Rain called for him to enter.

From the bathroom, Rain saw the confused look on Swiss’s face as he looked for where the water ghoul was. 

Rain called to him again. “I’m in here.” He was so tired.

His eyes were closed when Swiss crouched down beside the tub. “Little ghoul, you don’t look so hot.” 

Rain made a noncommittal ‘mmhm’ noise in return. The original bliss of the water had started to wear away. It wasn’t as urgent, but he was still in pain.

“How long have you felt like this, Rain?” It was clear Swiss was no longer teasing, his voice was serious and concerned. 

There was nothing Rain wanted to do less than explain how he felt. Just listening to Swiss was making things worse. He wished he could just fall asleep until he felt better. 

Rain must’ve passed out. He doesn’t remember anything other than the excruciating wave of exhaustion after Swiss’s questions. He knows he hasn’t moved from the bath, but Swiss isn’t in the room anymore. Rain even leans forward to try and see if he’s in the main room anywhere. 

Rain wonders to himself if Swiss had ever been there at all. What if he had been hallucinating? Rain realizes he has to find help. The water might be making things more bearable, but he was not feeling any better. Something was seriously wrong.

Despite the various red flags raised in his mind, Rain forces himself to grab the edges of the bathtub and push himself to his feet. The cold water dripping off his body gives him a chill and he shivers violently. He wraps his arms around himself but the sudden lightheaded feeling he gets gives him an immediate headache. Through the extreme pressure building in his head, he wonders how he’s supposed to find help. He can barely see through the pain.

His clothes are plastered to his body and his hair is in his eyes. He feels pathetic and he can clearly see in his mirror that he indeed looks like a drowned owl. Shuffling across the floor is slow but anything faster might put him in his grave. The shivering rattles Rain’s body deep within his chest. He can’t take deep breaths without risking a coughing fit. 

Just as he’s about to reach for his doorknob to leave the room, Swiss barges in. His eyes are wide and panicked. Rain doesn’t see much, he closes his eyes trying to avoid being knocked over by the big ghoul. 

He can faintly feel what must be Swiss’s hands on his upper arms holding him up and guiding him to the bed. Everything sounds and feels like it's miles away. It takes a conscious effort to open his eyes and be present. 

Rain’s vision is still blurry but as he’s laying back on his bed he’s sure he can see what looks like either Omega or Aether standing next to Swiss. They’re looking down at Rain, Swiss looks worried but what now appears to be both Omega and Aether are trying to ask Rain various questions that he can’t understand. 

Rain tries to convey his confusion, but it’s just a mumble. The quintessence ghouls look at each other, but Swiss doesn’t take his eyes away from the water ghoul. 

Rain isn’t sure about how he ended up in Omega’s arms, being carried through the halls. He wasn’t very familiar with the ghoul. Rain only knew it was Omega because his scent was so different from Aether’s. Aether’s warm cedar and honey scent had been a comfort for Rain for the many years they had known each other. Rain’s eyes were closed but he could still faintly smell both Swiss and Aether under Omega’s scent. 

At his soft whine, he felt his hand taken up and held in the warm hand of another ghoul. Upon opening an eye a sliver, he could see Swiss still looking at him with concern holding his hand. He was jogging to keep up with Omega’s quick pace. Feeling safe despite the pain, Rain closed his eye and allowed himself to drift off again.

Waking up in the infirmary was never fun, but at least Rain didn’t feel as bad as before. He was still exhausted but seeing Swiss curled in a small chair beside his bed holding his hand filled his heart with a unique warmth. Soft snores were the only noise in the room. Rain wanted to cry out with adoration for the multighoul, but opening his mouth would be too much work. Instead, he let out a discomforting whimper loud enough to wake Swiss and squeezed his hand. When Swiss opened his eyes and straightened in his chair to check on Rain, Rain used the last of his strength to pull Swiss’s arm towards the bed. He scooched to the edge of the bed so Swiss could fit. There was a second’s hesitation in the multighoul’s eyes, but then he climbed onto the bed and pulled Rain close. Quickly drifting off to sleep again, Rain began to softly purr in satisfaction at being comforted despite being so sick. Starting the slow recovery process from the strange sickness, Swiss decided then and there that he wouldn’t leave Rain’s side.

[neetily]

↳ EVENT 19. M!Whitney (Breeding & Incest)

— ✧ warnings: stepcest, Creampie, Breeding, Baby Trapping, pregnancy ment — ✧ word count: 3,432

— ✧ A/N: reposting from my old account since i was asked to! formatting might be off, but it's still readable.

The number one worst thing about having a hot step sister glued to his side at all times is that every day he has to fend off all the disgusting creeps that show up to his door, because you're too fucking dumb to see their true intentions and rely solely on him to be your moral compass. You've got a tight fucking body, don't y'know that? No, they don't wanna date you, idiot. They don't wanna court you, or take you on some romantic trip like they so often claim. They just wanna use your holes and milk you for all your sorry ass is worth because you're too pretty for your own good. How does he know that? Well, because he isn't any fucking better himself, truthfully. Throw him in with the rest of the town and you'd not be able to tell the difference between him and the guy next door— but you trust him too much, don't you? More than that, you need him to protect you. It's what big brothers do, despite how he may feel internally, and despite how often he speaks against that ideal; he wants to keep you safe, too. Even if only for more self serving reasons, driven mostly by how his cock thinks, rather than his brain.

Because of that, the second worst thing about having a hot step sister within his immediate vicinity is the fact that he's always hard when you're around. And he can't easily escape you, given that you're literally right through the fucking wall from him. Pining, yearning to bury himself balls deep in your little sister cunt to seek solace for the feelings resting sickly thick in his tummy every time he sees your stupid face. A burning bile, rising to the tip of his tongue when he sees you smile, threatening to spit venom at you when you act all aloof and cute like that. Like you've got no idea what sort of things you do to him, or the general public. Ignorant to how pretty you are, so fucking annoying, especially when you unknowingly leave him with blue balls every night, causing him to fuck his fist to only the memory of you like some sort of seedy stalker.

But isn't he kind of just that? Watching your every move, making sure you don't step too out of line or too out of his eyesight in fear of you straying too far. Late at night, when his fist is wrapped too tight around his fat cock and even fatter beads of precum drool from his red hot tip, he convinces himself that he's just looking out for you. Just being a good big brother at the end of the day. Pleasuring himself to the thought of you in private because that's what good big brothers do. Stealing secret glances of you in the kitchen while petting his fat bulge because that's what good big brothers do. Stealing your panties to sniff at them while his fist fucks his needy cock before placing them right back where he found them; only now a little stained sticky with seed, because that's what good big brothers do. In that, he's tried so hard and for so long to treat you as he's supposed to. Protective, perhaps a little too much so, but nonetheless genuine in his attempts to shield you from the harsh realities of this world. Even at the cost of his own sanity, and his poor cock.

But as he lingers around your open door, shoulder resting against the frame, one foot tucked behind the other, he gets an idea. An insidious one at that, borne out of sheer desperation to reconcile with himself in such a selfish manner it's almost shameful, but an idea nonetheless. Encouraged by the tiny little sleeping shorts you've decided to wear tonight, ass facing him like an invitation, face pressed close to your phone as a display of submission. He briefly wonders if you've even picked up on his presence yet, caught on to the fact that your big brother has been busy for the past few minutes simply staring at your ass, nursing a growing erection with an open palm circling his tip. Because if you have, you certainly haven't let on. But the thought of you being so fucking dull, enough not to feel his ever watching presence at your back side, has his cock twitching for your attention, drives him insane with sexual frustration. Horny at how well you ignore him, God, you're so pretty but so dumb. Fucking slut, you better not be doing this on purpose— riling him up without even fucking trying, it's so beyond frustrating that he has half a mind to treat you as unfairly as you do him, just like how all those abusers outside would like to ruin you. Though, on a more positive note, your complete and utter lack of self preservation only strengthens his secret resolve. You need to be taught a harsh lesson, at the very least, to be more aware of your surroundings.

There's really only one way to keep you by his side forever, to be the best big brother you could ever ask for; eager to provide you with whatever you may need so long as you can satiate the ever growing hunger he feels for you. And besides, it's not like he's technically going to be doing anything wrong... Right, step sis?

Carefully, he creeps towards you. Stalking prey, straying from the creaky floorboards he intimately knows about, reaching the foot of your bed before you know it and pounces. Calculating his fall so that he's got your wrists pinned above your head and your legs locked under his own. A breathy laugh follows, he can't quite believe just how easy you are to catch, but isn't that further proof that you need big brother to be by your side forever? See, he's doing you a fucking favour by keeping you under him.

"Got you." He mumbles absentmindedly, smiling down at your squished into the pillow face as you writhe and wriggle around for freedom under him. You're not helping his hard on, y'know that?

"Whitney! What's your fucking deal— Ouch, that hurts, asshole—"

"Quit yer fuckin' whining." He sighs, dismissing your petulant cries by tightening his grip on your wrists anyway to show how serious he is, and tilting his head to the side, lowering his upper body to get closer to your face. And for a few moments he merely stares at you. Takes in the sight of your confused expression, the furrow of your brows. Cute, he thinks to himself, cautious not to let his hips drop down too low in fear of rubbing himself against you. Usually others appear more scared when he's on top, but like a good little sister you intrinsically know the trust him, right?

In that case, fuck it, he thinks. A split second decision, coaxed into giving in to his more baser instincts by the pretty pout you send his way, a low mutter of you're heavy, can you please get off? as if it were even a fucking question. It's your own fault, really. Should have known that displaying your innocence in such an honest fashion would only lead to others wanting to corrupt. To dirty you, stain you as vile as they are.

Which doesn't exclude your own brother, especially as he yields to his perverted fantasies and drops his hips in one fell swoop, heavy hard cock resting between your ass cheeks that he knows you can feel the outline of. Shoulda worn something less provoking, then. The pretty gasp you let out at the contact causing his own brows to knit together in focus, biting down on his tongue to withhold expletives when you question his ethics.

"Are you— Are you hard, Whitney? Really?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

There's no use denying it, not when his hips are pressed flush against your backside. His heart racing, thumping hard against his chest at the prospect of finally getting a taste of you, his precious, highly sought after, baby sister. He's in your room for only one reason tonight, a selfish seeking to protect you. Whether you agree to it or not is of no consequence, he's only doing what's best for you, okay? And besides, he's so much stronger than you, isn't he? Bigger too... There's nowhere you can run that he won't find you, if you ever get the opportunity to escape.

Given his nonchalant answer, he hears you sigh in response, a deep sound that has his cock dripping more pre just for you. And he can't stop thinking about how lucky he is to hear your resignation. To be resting his weighty cock on top of your pretty ass just to have you simply accept it as par for the course.

And though he'd love to take his time with you, to really enjoy everything you have to offer, to make you cry on his cock— he's been wanting this for a long time. Seething in secrecy, longing for a taste of your sweet sister cunt; he can't wait any longer. Not now that he has your unvoiced blessing, watching as you bury your face back into your pillow and wiggle your ass against his cock— fuck, you already feel so good against him.

"C'mon then," Your voice is muffled, but nonetheless encouraging. A pang of pain in his heart at the way you seem to be wanting him too, a comfortable hurt borne out of disgusting adoration for the one person he isn't supposed to have. And here you are, supporting his lewd love for you. Releasing one of your wrists with the intent to get a move on like you're asking, but instead his hand stops mid air when he witnesses you tugging down your shorts for him. "Before mom and dad get back, okay? Just want you out my room so don't... I don't wanna do it when they're here."

"Fuck me—"

He hears your stipulation, of course. It makes total fucking sense. Fucking his little sister? Perfectly fine. Fucking his little sister when other people are in the house? Fucking weird, don't fucking do that. But he curses loud and proud at the sight of your no panties, like you knew he was coming in to steal you away for the night. Had he stolen your pair tonight? He can't quite remember, mind empty beyond the thought of finally attaining what he's worked so tirelessly for. Helping you pull down your shorts the rest of the way; or at least until they rest by your ankles because he's too eager to get his cock wet already.

Immediately, impulsively, he spreads your legs wide enough to accommodate him. Letting go of your other wrist to allow you breathing room, but also so he can selfishly explore your body. Running his hands up and down your ass, spanking you a few times for good measure. Cock pulsing at the yelps his hands smack out of you, biting down on his bottom lip when he drops his pants low enough only to let his cock spring free. The cool air that hits his sopping tip is almost sobering, if not for the way you pout his name so prettily. An effortless attempt to turn him on, no doubt.

"Yeah yeah, I got it. Want me to hurry up and fuck my slut, right?" He sneers, not even gracing you with eye contact as he spreads your cheeks apart to get a greedy look at your holes. His hips fucking forward on their own at the small glimpse he gets, prompting him to hang his head in shame so that you don't catch the way his cheeks heat up. How the idea of keeping you all to himself, truly turning his baby sister into his little slut fills him with so much joy that he can't help himself from rubbing his cock against your ass, humping his hips against you in barely there snap thrusts just to provide himself some sort of stimulation. Just something to take the edge off as he gathers the courage to put it in already.

Because once he does, he knows he won't be able to stop. And that's a little worrying, considering he's so used to having control over you.

He hadn't intended to wait for you to respond to his rhetorical question, but the way you practically beg "Please." is music to his ears. God, he can't even compare it to the countless faceless sluts he's fucked in the past, completely focused on how his baby sister drips slick for his tip to collect, angling his cock down to catch on your pretty little hole for the first time ever.

And it feels so fucking good to finally have contact with you like this, holy shit. Even just letting precum bead out against your hole would be enough, he thinks. Enough to have him feeling better than he has before, dirty slut, you've only went and ruined his hand for the rest of his life. You better fucking own up to that, yeah? Let him cream your cunt with the intent of knocking you up so that he can be your big brother for life, that'd be a good start, don't you think?

With the way you wiggle against him, leaking all over his cock as if he wasn't providing you enough lubrication with the abundance of precum your simple existence coaxes out of him, he automatically rolls his hips into you. Into your cunt. Gasping for air the second he pushes past your entrance, choking at the way your insides wrap around his tip, and soon enough his whole length when he can't stop himself from ruining his pretty little sister now that you've given him permission.

And after the first few little humps he has you endure, he's settling an unfairly fast pace. Pent up frustration, almost resentment expressed in every relentless thrust over how fucking perfect you are, so much so that your cunt practically shuts him up for once in his lifetime spare some crass comments about your pretty body, or about how fuckin' tight are you? fuck, can barely fit inside, God, look at how pretty my little slut is bouncing on my cock. Mean words as an attempt to hide how downright in love he is with you, how he wants to fuck only baby sister cunt for the rest of his life, moaning openly at the sound of wet skin on skin slapping with how hard and fast he thrusts into you. Like a dog in heat, drool collects in his mouth as his eyes roll to the back of his skull, hands innately finding home on your hips for stability, like they were always meant to be there.

You feel so fucking good it's cruel, cock aching with every pulse your cunt offers around him, every suck of your insides begging to keep his cock inside as he repeatedly fucks you up the bed. You were right, it's best to do this was no one else at home, else you get exposed for being the dirty little sister slut that you are— taking big brothers cock so well, aren't you? Fucking made for him, babbling cute strings of nothing from how frantic his humps are, accidentally cutting you off mid mumble with every greedy fuck; he just can't stop himself. Hasn't a hope in Hell of showing a mere modicum of control while inside of you, head empty and cock hard for you.

And as he's fully sheathed inside, groaning out at the feeling of his balls slapping against your backside, intimate with the way his thighs are tacky like your own from every gush of your wet little cunt around his too big cock, he remembers exactly what he came here to do. The sole reason why you're a moaning mess on your bed right now, tangling the sheets in your cute little fists as if that was gonna help the stretch of his fat cock bullying your insides. His voice comes out hoarse, having to choke on a cough to clear the lust coating his tongue as he continues pumping away inside of you.

"Gonna fuck ya pregnant, kay?

Almost immediately, lagging a little from that good dick, aren't you slut? You start to whine. That same petulant tone you used earlier, and just like earlier, it goes straight to his throbbing cock, makes his balls all taut and his muscles all tense as he keeps you pinned in place with large hands. Greedy hands, bruising in their grip of your body so that you know who's in charge. So that you can't escape him, this is all for your own good, remember?

"Whit— don't, stop I— Ah—!" It's no use though, is it? His cock feels too good in your tight little cunt, big brother just wants to make you feel good, okay? He just wants to feel your cunt suck him off so well, your body is begging for his seed, right? And because he's such a good big brother, he's more than happy to give you a taste. Over and over again, until his seed takes to your womb and you're stuck with him for life, tension building in his tummy at the thought of walking around with you hand in hand, big pregnant belly scaring off anyone who even dares to look at his sister. His slut, whining like a pretty bitch as he drags your ass back down to meet his every thrust, can you feel how desperate he is for release? So eager to stain your insides white in an effort to prevent others from touching you, to keep you safe forever; it's just big brother duties, it's okay if dumb little sister minds can't understand his reasoning. All you have to do is lay there and fucking take it. Take his pounding, take the pinches and slaps on your ass, take his sticky precum coating your thighs, just as well as he honours the ring of your cream at the base of his cock. You're so pretty, his eyes trained on the spot where he disappears over and over again into your tight little hole, greedy little cunt. But he's fucking it too fast for it to truly capture his attention, instead his head is thrown back with a dopey grin tugging on his lips, sheer pleasure rolling down his spine with a gasped: "Shut up, doin'— 'M doin' ya favour. Fuuuck, jus' like that—" before shooting a load deep into your sister cunt. Still fucking himself through the orgasm that washes over him, that has him drooling from how fucking good it feels to finally claim you as his own, hopeful that his stink will scare off anyone else from even attempting to get close to you in order to abuse you the same way he has tonight.

And, if he's lucky, the continued thrusts he provides your tender, swollen hole, milking himself for all he's worth against your cervix, he'll have successfully filled you up enough to impregnate you. Doesn't that feel good? Poor baby was probably just a little worried like he was, right? His breathing is laboured, heaving for air by the time he's done emptying his balls inside of you, but still the first thing he does is collapses on top of you. Smiles to himself at the soft little oof you let out with his added weight, but he's not here just to laze around.

From now on, you're officially his. And he likes to take good care of his sluts, especially if they're as precious as his little sister. Step or not, he cares about you enough to wrap his big arms around you with a chaste kiss to the back of your head, hiding his face against your neck to nose at your scent as he calms down.

"Gross." You whine at his affections, and he agrees. Rolling you over onto his side with him so that he can sneak a hand between your legs, warming his spent cock in your hole still as he brings attention to your puffy, touch starved clit. The resulting moan you let out is thanks enough for securing your future with him.

Though, what's worse is that he's thinking about doing the exact same thing tomorrow, planning to leave the house only once.

You'll need some pregnancy tests, won't you?

[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi: 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬 (1) 🔞

In which everything he always wanted has already been there from the start. He just needs to make that final step.

Tags/Warnings: Vampire!Yoongi, Human!Reader, mentions of 'being high' (drug usage in a way), friends to lovers, blood (duh), red haired Yoongi, Listen I am Jungkook focused but I will put Vampire Yoongi on the menu and you'll better finish your plate

Additional Chapter Warnings: blood high= a rush vampires get after consuming blood, nothing graphic though, wet dream, reader is kinda innocent ngl, sexual tension, fluff

Length: short/mid

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He doesn't know how he got into this situation, memories fizzy and unclear. But what he does know is that he's desperate.

You're squirming underneath his hands, skin a blur, but he somehow still feels it warm and soft. Maybe you're simply so beautiful his mind can't comprehend it- Brain short-circuiting at the sight of your bare body beneath his own. He's hard, dripping with precum already, embarrassingly so- desperate.

But he can't seem to push himself inside.

He's rather opting to rub his painfully hard length over your soft stomach, needy for friction as he gasps out your name under his breath. You're begging for him to do something, anything, and he wants to comply, hell, he wants to ram himself so deep into your cunt until the only thought left in your head is him, him, him.

But he can't.

"Yoongi.." you call out to him, and he wants to answer, what's to move, but nothing is helping. He's caught in the moment as if hands are holding him hostage. He wants to make love to you, fuck you stupid, something in between or both at once- but there's no control over his body present. "Yoongi.!" You say again, more urgently, and he almost sobs to himself because what is happening?

"Yoongi!"

His eyes open, and the first thing he notices is how sweaty he is, heart pounding in his chest. "Thank God you woke up, I was worried." You tell him, sitting on the floor in front of the couch he's been napping on, hands on his shoulder. "Did you have a nightmare?" You wonder, and at that he swallows, eagerly getting into a sitting position with the blanket thankfully covering his still throbbing length.

"Yeah, something like that."

You're currently living with him while your apartment is being renovated- a broken gas pipe having almost hospitalized you a week prior. It had freaked him out to the core, a new fear unlocked it seems as he feels uneasy even considering you moving back into your place.

What if they don't fix it properly? What if you go to sleep and never wake up? What if it breaks again?

"I just wanted to tell you I'll be grocery shopping now." You say, getting up to walk towards the front door, slipping into your boots. "Do you need anything?"

"No." He shakes his head. "You can take my card- it's in my wallet." He tells you, running a hand through his hair.

"No, it's fine!" You smile, zipping up your jacket. "Take it as a thank you for your hospitality." You grin, before you open the door. "I'll be back soon!" You call out, before the door closes.

And he waits.

He watches the small clockwork of his wristwatch count the seconds, one round, then another, then another.

"Fuck it." He scoffs to himself, getting up to walk into the bathroom. A cold shower won't help him, granted, he doesn't want one either. He thought living with you would be easy- you're low-maintenance, never complain, you eat almost everything, you're quiet and you work most of the day anyway.

But fuck. He did not take into account how oblivious you are.

From your shorts to wearing sports bras as acceptable tops around the house, you're seriously making his life hell on earth. It's been a week, and he's already almost ran into you half naked- bare back and glimpse of the side of your chest still clear as day in his memories. He's found your panties shamelessly thrown into the hamper with his own clothes, one pair clearly stained with clear and still glistening arousal yesterday- and he blames today's dream on that.

He wonders what had gotten you to the point of ruining your underwear like that.

As he steps into the shower, he likes to believe that it was him, yesterday when you were cooking together. He'd stood behind you, had helped you cut some vegetables with his hands over yours, looking over your shoulder. Maybe you liked how domestic it was? Maybe you were having thoughts about being bent over the kitchen counter, just like the idea is spreading into his mind right now?

Or maybe it was when you were sitting on the couch together, watching some random movie because the wifi had died, leaving you with nothing but cable TV. Thinking about it, he really could've just slipped his hands underneath your shirt. He'd seen your nipples through the soft fabric, all perked up, proving your lack of underwear.

Maybe if he had made his move yesterday he wouldn't be standing in the shower right now, one arm against the wall while the other desperately strokes his cock.

He shouldn't be doing this.

It feels awfully wrong to think about you during such a thing, and yet, he can't get himself to really stop it until he actually finishes, cum getting washed down the drain together with all of the emotions clouding his better judgement. He knows this isn't right. He needs to do something about it.

But you're so sweet- how can he know that you won't say yes to him just because you don't want to hurt his feelings?

When you return back from getting groceries, you're painfully oblivious to anything being out of the ordinary. You don't question why he showered, you don't ask if anything is wrong- you simply start cooking, before you sing quietly to yourself, swaying on the spot. "Ah, Yoongi!" You suddenly say turning around towards him. "I know what I want for my birthday now!" You say, and he raises his eyebrow.

"Your birthday was four weeks ago." He comments, and you nod.

"And you said I can have whatever I want once I figured it out!" You remind him, his exact words being exactly those. You'd struggled to tell him what he could give you as a present- and so he'd given you nothing but a promise.

"What is it then?" He wonders, hoping it might be something silly like a kiss.

"I wanna go on a trip with you!" You chirp, and he's confused. "A camping trip! You say you like those too, so I wanna go on one with you." You explain, turning around to stir what's in the pot. "Doesn't have to be now, or tomorrow- I just wanna. You know. Spend time with you.." you mumble the last past, not sparing him a glance.

And maybe that's his sign.

The only way to be sure is to wait if you reach out to him first. It's the only solution to this problem there is. And maybe, just maybe, you're holding out your hand right now for him to potentially grab onto.

"Alright, let's do it then." He nods, and you turn with bright eyes and an excited smile.

"Oh, thank you! When do you think we could go?" You ask him innocently enough, tilting your head to the side. He's seen that look on your face so many times by now, and it's still dangerous.

So Yoongi smiles a little mischievously.

"When's the earliest you can get time off of work?"

[sleepyycapybara]

Guys PT 1 is on my other account @peanutpermit read it before this one it has everything, like warnings, and well PT 1

Extra warning for this chapter

Literally like 2 swear words

Pt2❤❤

Annabeth pov

And he collapsed

I saw his eyes close, he wasn't breathing.

I was already crawling towards him, then I saw Artemis limping to us before I passed out.

I woke up 3 days later in the CHB infirmary with Percy in a bed next to me. Will Solace, and Grover are in the room whispering I don't think they see me yet.

I try to stretch my shoulders, its a routine every morning when I wake up.

"AHHHH, FUCKK!" I yell out in pain

What the freak had I been lifting my whole body is in excruciating pain after I moved even a touch.

"Annabeth are you okay?" Grover was right by my side now along with Will

"Yeah it just feels like I lifted 27 semi-trucks yesterday, without a break!" I grumble "My whole body hurts!"

"Annabeth do you not remember?" Will Solace whispered "You held up the sky..Your lucky you weren't Percy."

My eyes snap close as I remember holding the sky but I still can't remember anything else, until...OH NO, PERCY

My eyes snap open again with me screaming "PERCY!" I practically snap my head over to Percy.

"Annabeth did the memory shot work?" Will asked

"I REMEMBER EVERYTHING!"

"Can you tell us what happened to Percy? Artemis told us that he passed out after screaming something but she hit her head and that's all she remembered with Percy after she woke up."

"Before Artemis got us back to camp, Percy, he, he..." I had to tell them but the words wouldn't come out

I started hyperventilating

"Okay why don't you just rest for now Annabeth."

I try too sleep but I can't stop crying, I keep thinking about what happened, and how he fought for me...

I soon drift off to sleep

10 days later Percy just woke up

Percys pov

I wake up and without even moving I feel pain shooting through my whole body with out thinking I-

"AHHHH, FUCKK." -yelled that

I feel the whole sky's weight on me again crushing me but when I look up there is nothing on me

I see people rush in after hearing me yell and lets see here,

Will,

Grover,

And Annabeth!!

Im so glad she's safe. (aww I love dorky lovey seaweed brain❤❤)

while im laying down I feel my eye twitch again

"Oh my GODS if this eye doesn't stop twitching im going make Zeus carry the sky!" I ment it to be funny but with all the pain I felt in my eye, it came out with a sob.

Only one of my eyes though, the twitching one

"Oh, hey Wise Girl, why do you have a gray streak in your hair and I don't? I mean don't I get a cool souvenir from holding the sky?"

My eye is now only tricking tears now

Everybody except Annabeth had their jaw on the floor

"Did she not tell you? I literally killed Atlas with the sky on my shoulders, and standing up."

Nobody moved

"Umm that's why I'm in severe pain? And can't move?"

Will was the first to snap out of it

"H-how are you not...d-dead? Even gods can't hold the sky up standing, they would die of pressure."

"I don't know but can somebody give me some ambrosia? I kinda am, in, pain?like a lot? Oh wait, nvm im hooked up to this nector."

The tube went into my arm because I couldn't drink it in my small coma

I stopped everything moving, talking, thinking, and functioning.

My eyes widen everybody crowds around me, Annabeth looking into my twitching eye.

Annabeth's pov

I look into Percy's eye to see gray spreading from the top to bottom after like 20 seconds his whole eye is gray

Tbh I have no motivation left for this story so im not gonna write a pt.3 sorry?

Umm if you see any mistakes no you didn't 👀

Lazy bc I made this at 1:37 and ended at 1:54 A.M all just get the creative thoughts late at night/early in the morning

Gn my aquatic animals!🐳🐬🐟🐡🐙🦀🐠

[squishyneet]

♥*♡ SUNLIT DAYS PART 2 ∞:｡ itachi uchiha *. * ·

tw: medical neglect, emotional abuse/neglect, stomach pain, asthma, constipation, brief mention of vomiting, fatigue, body aches and pains, withholding medication

Itachi is eleven years old. He's having an asthma attack in class and doesn't tell anyone because he knows there is no medicine waiting for him in the nurse's office.

The doctor had told his mother to take him for an asthma test when they last visited, on account of his history of breathing issues. But for whatever reason, she never spoke of it again after they left.

So Itachi sits in class, struggling to breathe as he tries to focus on his work for the time being. He knew that to keep medication at school, you needed documentation and permission from your parents. He didn't have either.

"You should have told someone!" Mikoto shouted at him when he came home. "You could have gotten a painkiller or something!"

'Like that would have helped.' Itachi thought. "I needed an inhaler," he said flatly.

Mikoto takes a deep breath to calm herself. "I don't want you taking that thing. It's not good for you," she says, eyes closed and pinching her nose bridge.

_

Itachi is twelve years old and he needs to update his medical information for school with a physical.

"I've never gone to a physical before . . ." Itachi remarks quietly.

"Don't be ridiculous, you've gone to a physical before," Mikoto snaps, taking his hand as they walk into the office.

Itachi racks his brain but he really doesn't remember. It seemed the only times he ever went to the doctor was when he got sick and needed medicine.

_

Itachi is thirteen years old and is suffering immense stomach pain 24/7. He carries a hot water bag constantly, pressing it to his abdomen despite the high heat. He can only bear to sit or lie down because moving might exacerbate his pain. He can hardly eat without the risk of this burning sensation.

He's been staying home from school as much as he can get away with, choosing either to lie still and watch his favorite anime while trying to manage the pain or sleep it off and hope it will subside.

Mikoto does not take him to a doctor, instead giving him home remedies she believes might help. Itachi vomits shortly after drinking her hot lemon water, something that only irritated her further.

_

Itachi is nineteen years old and has a swollen, painful abdomen.

A trip to the ER for some tests tells him and his parents that he is merely constipated, but he should take the stool relaxer which was prescribed to him. He goes home that night with his paperwork that sat on the table, untouched by anyone but him.

"What prescription?" Mikoto gasped the next day when Itachi inquired about his medication. "There wasn't a prescription!"

"Yes, there was."

The argument only lasted for a few minutes, but somehow ended with Mikoto trying to convince Itachi that one prescription was simply too much.

"You want all that medication!?"

Itachi had no words. He had no license or car to acquire the medication himself. And the people who did were unwilling to help him.

He did eventually cure his constipation, only after drastically increasing his water and fiber intake and massaging as often as he could.

_

Itachi is twenty years old and even daily movement causes him great pain. He is fatigued nearly every day, his joints hurt, and his muscles develop strange, random pains from daily use.

"Are you exercising, 'Tachi?" Shisui asks him when he visits, worry apparent.

"Well, not really," Itachi responded, not making eye contact and typing away at his laptop.

"Are you even leaving the house? Do you go outside?"

"Not that much, I'm not used to going outside."

"Do you sit most of the time at home?"

"Yeah . . . My classes are online." Itachi stared at Shisui, who looks away, brows knitted, pondering just how long Itachi had been silently suffering.

[lilpunkrock]

where you go (i will go) — ii

Summary: Your first encounter with the Dream Lord leaves an impression on both sides.

Pairing: Dream the Endless x f!reader

Words: 5.6k+

AN: Originally posted to my other account, @alittlepunkrock, I'm not uploading to my second blog because my main is having some issues. RIP. We're looking at a good 15-20 parter, so I hope you all will come along on this journey with me. I hope you all enjoy!

series masterlist // mood board // ao3

. . . 

“Pleased to meet you, stranger,

Welcome to the ending.”

- Pleased to Meet You, Between You & Me

. . . 

Part ii. 

For a moment, you think you must still be dreaming. Your eyebrows furrow as you stare up at your love, taking in the coldness in his eyes, the hard line of his mouth. You open your mouth to speak, but no breath comes. Your throat spasms, seeking air. You can feel your heartbeat raging in your throat, pounding against his fingers. 

He must feel it, too, because he grips tighter. And the foundation of your world crumbles away as you realize that this is not a dream. 

A wave of adrenaline crashes through you. Your skin is fire, nerve endings prickling like live wires. Your hands fly to his wrists, pulling desperately, clawing at the skin there. He grunts, hastily repositioning his body to sit on your chest, pressing down harder. You feel your head sink into your pillow, feel the unforgiving slab of ground beneath your sleeping pallet press against the back of your scalp. With another forceful push from him, you feel a sickening snap just under your jaw. 

And all hell breaks loose. 

At the bright burst of pain that tears through your throat, your fight or flight response roars. On instinct, your knees coil up to your chest and you kick, hard, with all your might. Your love’s hands are ripped from your throat as he is flung backward, away from the edge of your pallet. Your mouth gapes in eagerness to relieve the crushing ache within your lungs, but no relief comes. Only pain. 

You have the sinking feeling that something irreversible has occurred. Something which you will never come back from. 

A fire crackles in the hearth at your bedside. Turning toward it, you throw one hand outward, pulling yourself toward the flames, grasping for the fire iron there-

. . . 

Tap tap tap. 

You sit upright, stiff as a board. A muddled mix of vertigo and residual pain clouds your brain, and you shake your head gently to dispel it. While gods may not dabble in activities as mortal as sleeping or dreaming, even gods need time to recharge. To retreat into their own selves, sink away from the world, and simply be. You have the distinct feeling that your own rest has been prematurely interrupted. 

Glancing around the room, you find that you’re right. Night drapes your room in shadows. The clock by your bedside reads just past midnight. You only laid down an hour ago. 

Tap tap tap. Your attention turns to your bedroom window. There sits a raven, its profile pressed closely to the glass. It's dark eye blinks owlishly at you. 

With a sigh, you comb your fingers through your hair and prepare to lie back down. It had been five long days since you’d carefully penned your note requesting an audience with the Dream King. Each day that passed since your messenger dove had departed with no response in return left a heavy feeling in your stomach. It only soured with each black thread of selfish desire that you encountered in your Realm. Though you’d doubled down on your efforts to combat Desire’s meddlesome attachments in the last few days, you couldn’t rid yourself of the gnawing feeling that you were running out of time. It was exhausting. You needed rest. 

As you move to lie down, something makes you pause, though. Call it a feeling, an intuition. Your eyes shift back to the raven at your window. It’s dark eyes lock your gaze, hold it. 

“He spends all his time with - well, his librarian. And his raven.”

You approach the window slowly, perching yourself on the sill. With a resolute click, you unlock the window and slide the glass upward. The raven makes no move to flee. No, this is definitely no ordinary bird. 

“Hello,” you greet your guest quietly. You extend your arm in invitation, and the bird accepts, wrapping its talons around your forearm. You notice a cloth pouch tied to his right leg. “I don’t suppose you came here looking for breadcrumbs, did you?” 

At first, there’s silence. The raven peers at you curiously. And then- “No, but really though, do you have any food? ‘Cause I would kill for something to eat right now. Traversing the Waking World is hard wor– uh, I’m sorry. That was embarrassing.” You laugh, pulling your arm and the raven past the windowsill and into your bedroom. Although you’d expected some type of outburst, you can’t help but be slightly taken aback. It’s not every day you see a talking raven, after all. 

“Please, don’t be. To whom do I owe the pleasure of this midnight visit?” you ask kindly. 

The raven pushes his chest out proudly and dips his head with dramatic respect. “My name is Matthew, and I am the messenger raven of Dream of the Endless. I mean, if you really want to know, I’m basically his best friend, but he wasn’t much for making that an official title, so.” You chuckle at him. “And you are Agape, Deity of Love, I hope? Because it would be really unfortunate if I came and blew my cover to the wrong girl. Not that it’d necessarily be the first time that happened. Or the second.”

You smile kindly at Matthew. What a funny little guy. “You can just call me Love. You’ve come to the right place. I assume the Dream King got my message?” 

“He did. Sorry it took a few days for us to get back to you. Dream- Ah, Lord Morpheus just wanted to reach out to his sister and vet what you said. Make sure you really were who you said you were. He’s protective when it comes to the Dreaming.”

Now, that gets your attention. You can’t help but wonder what Death might have told the Dream Lord about you. Wonder what he might have even known in the first place. “That’s understandable. We want to protect the things we love. I’m kind of the deity of that. So, what says your Dream Lord?”

Matthew straightens to his full height and ruffles his feathers, a messenger preparing to deliver his news. “Your audience with Lord Morpheus has been granted, ma’am,” he declares. He dips his beak to the cloth pouch at his ankle and snips the string. You move your hand swiftly, catching the lumpy pouch in your palm. “When you’re ready, all you gotta do is use the sands in that pouch to travel to the Dreaming. Don’t worry - they know where to go.” 

“Thank you, Matthew. I appreciate you and your lordship’s hospitality. Please pass on my sincere gratitude to him. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

“Hey, any pal of Death’s is welcome in Dre- er, Lord Morpheus’ world,” Matthew says, fluttering his wings. You guide him back to the window, passing your arm through for him to hop out on the other side. “Will we be seeing you soon?”

You smile fondly. “I’ll let your Dream Lord do his work tonight. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

Matthew caws and nods his head. “We’ll see you soon, Lady Love!” he calls as he takes flight, a speck of black in the twilight.

You gaze out into the soft darkness until he disappears. Your hand closes around the pouch of sand of its own accord. “See you soon.” 

. . . 

“What do you think, Theo? Too much?” You spin away from your mirror to face him. Your soft white peplos swishes around your bare ankles, skimming your brown sandals. A crown of small red rosebuds is woven into your hair. It’s been ages since you’ve doned your official attire. As soft and roomy as the peplos is, you’re starting to think you should wear it more often. 

Theo seems to have a different opinion. Looking at your ancient garb, he cocks his head, ears drooping. You groan. “I know. Too much, isn’t it? I haven’t seen a deity in traditional attire in a century, at least. Not that I see deities much, or that there’s many of us left. It is comfortable, though.” With a wave of your hand, the peplos disappears. Instead, you lace up your canvas sneakers, shimmy into a set of fitted pants and a blouse, and throw on a blazer for formality’s sake. Theo lifts his head in recognition and satisfaction. You ruffle him between the ears. “I’m keeping the crown, though. Got it?”

You turn to your bedside table, eyes settling on the small pouch of sand there. Ever since Matthew left, you’ve been unable to stop thinking about it. You cup the pouch in the palm of your hand, feeling the sands shift and settle through the cloth. Funny how it can weigh so much more in your mind than it does in your hand. 

You turn to Theo, giving him a small, hopeful smile. “Wish me luck, buddy.” Deja vu washes over you. For the second time today, you get the feeling that something is occurring which you can’t turn back from. 

You open the pouch carefully, dipping your fingers into the sands within. They’re surprisingly soft as they brush against your fingertips. Taking a handful, you raise your palm and allow them to sift through your fingers. They spill over your hand, down to the floor, whispering against the floorboards. 

For one concerning second, nothing happens. Then, as if a breeze or a whisper has stirred them, the sands begin to scatter, swirling at your feet. The remaining sand in the pouch leaps out to join in, swirling around your ankles, knees, thighs, rising higher and higher. Small grains whip up to brush your cheeks, gaining speed. You close your eyes, shielding them against the vortex of sand twisting around you. 

You feel the exact moment that the crescendo of the winds seem to change, the moment that something shifts. Your senses alight at a crisp, fresh scent piggybacking along the winds. Salt water. You feel the soles of your shoes sink into something soft. The vortex around you dissipates. The sands return to the earth with a soft sigh. 

Nothing could prepare you for the magnificence lying in wait beyond your closed eyes. A cloud-freckled sky is draped above you, bathing Dream Country in golden sun and baby blue. The swaying sea behind you seems to touch the end of the world, interrupted only by the occasional rock formation peeking out of the waters. Beachrock crumbles into black sand, one of the most extraordinary sights you’ve ever seen. The black beach is rolled out like a tapestry, reaching as far east and west as you can see. And then there’s the sight in front of you - a towering stone wall that must stretch for miles between two mountain ranges. Two massive, ornately carved gates are set within the wall. The gate to your left features tall, curved spires that frame and surround the circular gate. Curved and pale as they are, they almost remind you of ox horns. The gate to your right appears smooth, its ivory surface gleaming in the sunlight. 

You look around, soaking in the view. And the fact that you are completely, utterly alone. 

You weren’t exactly sure what you were expecting upon your arrival in Dream Country, but a polite welcome and some directions probably would have made the list, if you’d had one. As you eye the circular gates before you, you suppose they’re as good a place to start as any. But which gate? you think. Staring at the two options before you, the ivory gate certainly looks less intimidating, what with the lack of colossal horns and all. 

Lost in thought, you almost don’t notice the shift in the air. It’s subtle, so subtle that you can’t pinpoint the moment that it emerges, only the recognition that it is suddenly there. A lingering breeze in your hair, a whisper against your skin, a stirring in your chest. You reach out your hand, feel the sensation against your fingers. Though you can’t see anything, it’s unmistakably there. Follow, it seems to say. 

And you do, feet shifting through the dark sands, trailing after the call that leads you toward the horned gate. As you draw nearer, the intricate carvings become more clear to you: Fantastical creatures, flora and fauna, detailed renditions of people and faces. The largest carvings portray a man with wild hair and a mask with a long nose, not so different from the gas masks you’ve seen on the battlefields of mortals. However, this is decidedly more ancient. You get the distinct feeling that this place has always been here, from the dawn of time. And if it belongs to an Endless, you suppose it has. 

Your hand reaches out on instinct, fingertips pressing softly against the horned gate. At your touch, the mountainous door begins to groan open. 

If you thought the beach was spectacular, you were definitely not prepared for this. Beyond the gate lies mountains and forests, a rolling blanket of green that only ends when it reaches snow-capped mountain ranges in the far distance. Pockets of villages dot the landscape, their clay tile roofs glowing a warm orange under the sun. In the center of the scene is a circular lake reflecting the sky above like a mirror. Glimmering waterfalls feed into it from all sides. At its center stands a towering silver and bronze palace. Its grooved towers shine in the sunlight, its spires reaching for the heavens like the hands of prophets.

The seasalt breeze steals your breath away, carrying it toward the palace like an offering. It’s magnificent, indescribable - truly a place of dreams. 

As you take a hesitant step through the towering gate, you find a dark-skinned woman waiting on the other side. Dressed in a purple suit with long coattails and tennis shoes, she is the pinnacle of regality and functionality. Her bespectacled eyes meet yours, and she smiles. “Welcome, Agape, Deity of Love,” she says kindly. “You’ve reached the Dreaming.” 

. . . 

The walk to the Dream Lord’s palace was long, but Lucienne made for excellent company. While this was your first diplomatic visit to another realm, you thought that there surely couldn’t be another ambassador in any plane of existence who could top Lucienne. Although she insisted she was only a librarian, she took it upon herself to relate to you the history of the Dreaming, including its recent return to glory. She guided your eyes to the location of the House of Secrets, the House of Mystery, and Fiddler’s Green. No citizen of the Dreaming was a stranger to her, and she introduced you politely to all you passed. Her love and loyalty to the Dreaming was unmatched, even palpable. It brought a smile to your face. 

As you finally pass through the palace doors, Lucienne says, “I apologize for our long journey, Agape. I can assure you, should you visit the Dreaming again, you will not have to travel all this way. All who enter the Dreaming must pass through the Gates of Horn and Ivory at least once so that their intentions may be assessed.” 

“There’s no need for an apology. And please, just call me Love,” you say in kind. After a pause, curiosity gets the better of you. “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you mean by assessed?”

Lucienne looks over her shoulder as she guides you up a set of winding staircases, climbing higher and higher. Through the palace windows, you swear you can see all of Dream Country. “Lord Morpheus carved those gates eons ago when the Dreaming was first created. Those who walk through the Gates of Ivory harbor lies and deception, but the Gates of Horn will only allow those with intentions of truth to pass through.” 

“Ah, I see.” You weren’t sure what it was that seemed to draw you toward the Gates of Horn in the first place, but whatever it was, it had been growing stronger the closer you got to the palace. With each passing step, you felt it hum more potently against your skin, the stirring in your chest strengthening into a gentle pull. Calling you somewhere. But where? 

With a gloved hand, Lucienne opens a set of oak doors before you. The enchanting scents of leather and paper flood your senses as you pass through the doorway. You find that she’s led you into some sort of library. The ceiling hovers stories above you; below it are floors and floors of walkways leading to shelves upon shelves of books. On the ground level, tall bookcases line the walls, towering ladders propped up against them to help readers reach the highest of volumes. You can see that there are spaces between some bookcases on either side of the room, giving way to yet more areas with even more books. Several wooden tables are set up down the center of the room, adorned with lamps, ink, quills, magnifying glasses and, yes, even more books. 

“This is absolutely amazing. What is this place?” you say in awe. You spin in a slow circle, trying fruitlessly to soak in the full majesty of the scene around you.

Lucienne smiles proudly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “This would be my library, ma’am,” she explains. She walks to the wall on the right, reaching her fingers out to brush the book spines affectionately. “In this library, I keep a record of every dream that has ever been dreamt. Every book that has ever been imagined, or lost, even if it was never published. I can remember the title, author, and location of each one. I am their keeper.” 

You pause in following her, trailing your fingertips along the leather cover of a book on the table next to you. Every dream ever dreamt. Could that mean that you- 

No, you cut yourself off firmly. Seeking to divert your attention, you turn to Lucienne and smile. “This is absolutely incredible, Lucienne. You know, I’m something of a librarian myself. I have a whole library in the Realm of Attachment with a book detailing the attachments of each mortal spanning past, present, and future. They serve as a record of the work I have done, and the work I have yet to do.” 

Lucienne regards you with interest, brown eyes twinkling behind her vintage eyeglasses. “Well, that is something I should quite like to see,” she says. She waves a hand, beckoning you toward a pair of colossal stained glass doors at the opposite end of the library. “Perhaps that will be an excursion for another time. For now, Lord Morpheus awaits.” 

Eyes settling on the doors that lead to the throne room, panic begins to rise in your chest. You feel as if your heart could crawl right up your throat  and run as far away from here as possible. Finally faced with the situation you’re about to walk into, you feel wholly, entirely unprepared. Perhaps this was a terrible idea. 

No, you tell yourself. You force yourself to trudge forward, taking one step, then another. You can do this. You have to fix this. And being here is your best shot. 

Lucienne seems to sense your apprehension, pausing as she places a gloved hand against one of the throne room doors. She eyes you carefully. “Are you ready, ma’am?” 

You want to spend all day in her library. You want to run away. You want to throw up. But your mouth says, “Yes.” And with a curt nod, Lucienne sweeps open the doors to the throne room. 

While all of the palace rooms have been magnificent, this is the one that steals your breath away. Your footsteps echo on the polished stone floor as you walk into the cathedral-esque room. Tall columns line the room on either side,  featuring the stone busts of characters from history’s most infamous stories. Characters born from dreams, you realize. On the far end of the room are a set of stained glass windows, three short ones, three tall ones. The tall windows are stained blue, red, and green, casting twinkling prisms throughout the room. The cathedral trusses above your head hold up a twilight sky of swirling clouds, constellations, and glimmering stars. 

And there, standing halfway up the winding staircase leading to a simple throne, is a tall, black silhouette. The Dream Lord. Though his back is to you and no introductions have been made, you know it could not be anyone else. Lucienne confirms this when she stops the two of you several feet away from the base of the stairs. “Lord Morpheus,” she calls, dipping her head in respect, “your honored guest has arrived.” 

Though he surely heard you coming, the Dream Lord only turns at Lucienne’s call. As he does, you finally observe the cold-hearted Dream King you’ve heard so many rumors about. He is the darkness of night in human form; long black coat, black shirt, black pants, black boots, dark hair that swoops over his forehead, ruffled like raven’s feathers. Like a run of ink, he bleeds into the scene around him, a stark contrast to the brightness of the throne room. The darkness only makes his other features more striking. His skin is marble, cold and pale, with facial features that could cut. His mouth is small and pink as a rosebud. If the rest of him wasn’t intimidating enough, there’s his eyes - deep as oceans, glimmering like blue crystals. No, like stars. Studying, analyzing. 

And they’re on you. 

Suddenly, you realize that while you’ve been lost in thought, he’s come to the bottom of the staircase. You get the itching feeling that you have been staring for entirely too long. Hastily, you mirror Lucienne’s stance and dip your head in respect. 

The Dream Lord takes the final step off the staircase, standing but a few feet before you. Standing so close to him, you realize that the sensation you’ve felt since you arrived in the Dreaming has been coming from here the whole time. From him. Here in his throne room, you can’t deny it. Your mind mulls over the call that greeted you, the feeling that led you here. You can’t imagine what it would feel like to hold power like that. Don’t discount yourself, you chastise. You have to be confident if this is going to work. 

“Greetings, Agape. Welcome to the land of the Dreaming.” Though he may look young, the voice that passes over the Dream Lord’s lips is decidedly ancient. It’s the crashing of a wave against a shore, a rumble of thunder in the night, the etching of a story into stone. It reverberates through the entire throne room, each word slow and deliberate. Some distant part of you recognizes it, and you suppose you should. 

Lucienne takes a few polite steps back, giving the two of you space to talk. Up above, you hear the flutter of feathers. Inclining your head, you find a very familiar raven perched on one of the stone busts above. Matthew. Vaguely comforted by a somewhat familiar presence, you turn your eyes back to the Dream King. Will yourself to hold his gaze. Be confident. 

“Greetings, Dream of the Endless. I have been known by many names - Ishtar, Inanna, Freya, Aphrodite, Venus, Parvati, Agape. You can simply call me Love. It is much simpler that way.” Feeling your nerves settle slightly with introductions out of the way, you give him a small smile. “Thank you for your hospitality and for granting me an audience on such short notice.” 

The Dream Lord dips his head slightly in acknowledgement. His eyes don’t stray from your face; they remain affixed there, studying thoughtfully. “Of course. A companion of my sister’s is welcome here in the Dreaming. Admittedly, I did not know whether to believe you when you stated as such in your letter. However, a visit with my sister remedied that quite effectively.”

There it is again, that gnawing curiosity as to what Death told him about you. It pokes and prods incessantly at the back of your mind. This time, you can’t resist it, saying, “If you don’t mind me asking, what did your sister share about me, Dream Lord?” 

Dream of the Endless inclines his chin, eyeing you with interest. Though his face is impassive, his eyes seem to challenge you. “Inquiring about the affairs of Endless when we’ve only just met? It is bold of you to assume I might share the details of intimate conversations with my sister with a stranger.”

Oh, now that response gets your attention. While intimidation is something you tend to shrink away from, a challenge is something you are more than happy to work with. “On the contrary, Dream Lord, I think I should be privy to information that involves my character,” you challenge, diplomacy slipping a bit. As you step out of your ambassador facade and more into your true self, your confidence grows. “Or does Dream of the Endless keep his gossip to himself?” You quirk an eyebrow at him. 

The Dream Lord pauses, watching you for a long moment. Perhaps to see if you’ll squirm. Just when you think you might’ve made a terrible mistake, he blinks, responding, “She refrained from sharing all the details of your history and circumstance. I should like to learn of those directly from you.” With a long glance, he turns toward the stained glass windows, clasping his hands behind his back. “What she did share is that you were once a mortal whom my brother, Destiny, deemed worthy of becoming a goddess. And that now my sibling, Desire, threatens the stability of your realm and your conditional divinity with their meddling. Which has brought you here, to me.” 

And there it was - your secret, laid bare in the light of the throne room. Above your head, Matthew ruffles his wings, clearly intrigued by this turn of events. You don’t turn to gauge Lucienne’s reaction. If there is anyone other than the Dream Lord who knows the truth, you figure it would be her. You inhale deeply, calming your unsettled nerves. You’d come this far; it wasn’t time to back down now. 

“You are correct, Dream Lord. I was once a mortal, until your brother and sister made me what I am today,” you say quietly. Building courage, your voice grows louder, “While I may not be Endless, my love and loyalty to my Realm knows no bounds. I will do whatever I have to in order to maintain balance between selfish desire and selfless love, for the good of my people. Your sibling, Desire, and I have been at odds for a long time. As they grow bolder, I’m afraid it’s becoming harder to outrun them.” You lick your lips, pondering your next choice of words. With a deep breath, you continue carefully, “I know that they have meddled in your affairs, too, as of late. As long as their ambition for mischief continues to grow, both of our Realms are at stake. That is why I am here, asking for your help.” You swallow thickly. “I have a proposition for you.” 

For a long moment, the Dream Lord says nothing. No one in the throne room dares to breathe. Though he does not turn around, Dream of the Endless does incline his head toward you slightly. “Go on,” he murmurs. 

You take a few bold steps forward, seeking his face. Seeking to convey just how much this means to you. “I propose that we form a partnership. Your sibling is taking a particular interest in interfering with my eros and philia attachments - romantic and soul ties. I believe that we could work together to combat this. If you supply the dreamscape, I can supply the subject matter. If we place their romantic partners and soul ties in their dreams, perhaps when mortals encounter them in the Waking World, they will be more likely to resist Desire’s temptations and fulfill the attachment.”

No response registers on the Dream Lord’s face. His eyes remain affixed on the stained glass windows above you. They cast his alabaster skin in shades of crimson, crystal, and emerald. After several quiet minutes, his eyes meet yours. “And what do I stand to gain from this proposition of yours?”

“A little work taken off your own plate. With me worrying about the subject matter, you will have fewer dreams to conjure up. And with their dreams seemingly coming true in the Waking World, mortals will be all the more eager to see what happens next in their dreams. The Dreaming will grow in power.” 

Another pause. “And if I decline your proposition?”

Your breath hitches. Your mouth tightens into a hard line. You have no response for that one. 

Dream of the Endless nods, your lack of response seemingly all the answer he needs. Slowly, he stalks toward the staircase leading to his throne, sitting down on one of the lower steps. His long coat spills around him like a shadow. His crystalline eyes fix on yours, holding your gaze. After several still moments, he finally replies, “While your proposition is intriguing, Agape,” you flinch slightly at the continued use of your formal title, “I am afraid I will have to decline. While Desire has been a thorn in my side as of late, I do not wish to sour the blood between myself and my siblings. In addition, my attention to the Dreaming has been divided for too long. Now that I’ve returned, my own Realm requires my full attention.” 

A tingling sensation passes through you as you try to process this news, radiating from your core to the tips of your fingers. Numbness is left in its wake. Your stomach shifts, suddenly nauseous. The throne room and your company within it feel incredibly far away.  This can’t be happening. In the distance, you think you hear the Dream Lord ask Lucienne to escort you away. This can’t be happening.

A gentle hand touches your shoulder, and you recoil instinctively. When you turn, you find it’s just Lucienne, eyeing you solemnly. Up above, you hear Matthew let out a startled caw, swooping down to land on the staircase beside the Dream Lord. “Hey, boss, don’t you think-” 

“Come, ma’am,” Lucienne says quietly, her kind eyes conveying a silent apology. “Allow me to escort you out of the Dreaming.” 

Your hands fist at your sides. No. 

All eyes in the throne room turn to you. You blink, startled. You hadn’t realized that you’d said it aloud. But now that you had, there was no turning back. Dream of the Endless rises slowly, methodically. Shadows sweep down from his feet, crawling toward you. “No?” he says, the indignance in his voice thinly veiled. You can feel him in the air, his powerful presence angry and oppressive, pushing in toward you. His bright eyes darken to lone stars within two pools of space. “You presume to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own-” 

“No, Lord Morpheus,” you say hastily, lifting your hands in apology. At your change of title and tone, the shadows halt their approach. “I would never. You have been so gracious to welcome me here for an audience. I want to offer you an invitation in return.” You pause, licking your lips. While his shadows have ceased, the fire in his eyes has not snuffed out. You know you must choose your words carefully. “Please, visit me in my Realm. The Realm of Attachment. I can show you my function, what I do, how I do it. I can show you what I have to offer mortals, what I have to offer you. Please. And then decide whether you want to decline my proposition.” 

You’re unsure of exactly how much time passes. It could be merely a second, it could be hours. You hold careful eye contact with Lord Morpheus as he absorbs, processes, ponders. You don’t dare breathe as he studies you. 

And finally, he nods. The shadows retreat back into his coat. The darkness dissipates from his eyes. The air around you lightens. “Very well, Love. You have intrigued me.” Your heart is hammering so loudly in your ears that you barely notice his change of your title. “I shall accompany you to your Realm of Attachment, after which time I will pass judgment on your proposal.” 

You breathe in deeply, relief washing through you. You turn to Lucienne, whose brown eyes regard you with surprise. Too elated to read into her expression, you turn back to the Dream Lord. “Thank you, Lord Morpheus. I cannot begin to tell you how much this means to me.” You grin brilliantly at him. “When should I expect you?” 

At that, the Dream Lord gives no response. Instead, he reaches into the pocket of his long coat, revealing a palmful of sand. Though his expression remains stoic, you swear there is a tiny twinkle in his eye as he brings the sand to his lips and blows. Like a tidal wave, the sands sweep over you. You shield your eyes behind the sleeve of your blazer. 

When you open them, you are no longer in the throne room. Instead, you’re back in the Waking World, standing in your bedroom with sand in your hair. Theo’s head perks up from his spot on your bed, his dark eyes looking at you expectantly. 

You pause, processing what just happened to you. One beat. Two. You groan. “Son of a-” 

[that-one-random-writer]

Chasing you Chapter 6 {Complete}

Summary: Jake retires from the military honorably. He steps into a new roll, ready to settle down in his hometown of Texas. He is placed on your shift. Your current relationship is stable until the dust settles, revealing cracks in the foundation.

Warnings: Cursing, violence, police experiences based on truth, accurate on most accounts of law enforcement, it might get gory at times. Be aware of blood, drugs, and all things law enforcement. Smut eventually. A/N may have my true experience attached if you're interested. All real names redacted.

Chapter 1. Next Chapter. Masterlist

Jake sat on the couch of the back patio, grabbing a toothpick from the pack on the table.

You sat in the chair across from him. "Why did you let me stay over?"

Jake sat back, situating his body. The air was still warm enough that his skin didn't feel too chilled in the growing darkness of the night. "I asked my mom about you when I got back home." He paused, looking at the back pasture that had his horses galloping around. "Our parents have been friends for a while. She said I could trust your family, so I figured that would extend to you."

You looked back at the horses playing. "Yeah, Nessie started his visits a few years after high school when I moved out. Mama got pretty close with Mrs. Ophelia for a while. Recently, she's been a little distant, though. Mama was worried she did something wrong."

Seresin looked down to his hands. He rubbed his palms together. "No, your mom didn't do anything. Mom has been going through a hard time. She hasn't even been talking to me or my sisters."

"Bless her heart. I am not going to ask for details. Im assuming your dads mess has something to do with it. Is she okay? Can I do anything?" You asked kindly.

"She will be. She's a tough woman. There's nothing I can think of." Seresin looked back out to the pasture.

"I'm gonna get her a gift basket together from the family." You pulled out your phone and wrote it on your to-dos. "You know ophelia talked about you a lot with my mom. I never got your name, though. Small world that we work together now."

"What all did she say?" His chest raised up with pride. Knowing ophelia, it would be all good accomplishments acknowledged.

"She said you were top of your class at the naval aviation academy, and you were awarded for your heroism against the enemy, and you had an award for Afghanistan combat." You smiled remembering how proud ophelia was telling your mom over a sweet tea front porch meet up the morning before a family dinner a few months back.

"Stop..." Seresin's signature smirk grew into his cheeks. He leaned his arm back behind his head. His toned body on full display. "Well, you know I did a few things." He failed miserably at being humble.

A laugh chimed from your lips. "Yeah, I bet you did."

The sun had gone down, and the stars peeked out with only the full moon casting dim light. Colder air blowing in.

Your phone rang. "Hey honey."

James was on the other end. "Hey, where are you? I haven't seen you all day." You cringed remember the guilt that was sitting in your chest earlier. Conversation was so easy with Seresin that it made you forget the world around you.

"Sorry, honey. I went to a friend's house to sleep, so I wouldn't bother you playing your game." You hated keeping details. It was the worst, but this called for it. The fight was not going to be here over the phone. The guilt set in further as you looked back at Jake, flipping the toothpick in his mouth so nonchalant and hot... no handsome... no, like a nice-looking friend. Your brain did flips, trying to rail itself back on track. "I'll be home soon. I love you, bye. "

James screamed at his TV again. As he clicked the end call. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to face what was your reality at home. No more screaming at the TV and certainly no screaming at you. Fear seeping in realizing what you had done in your desperation to sleep.

"I'll take you back. Just let me ask, why are you with this guy? Dont give me the practicality crap." Jake heard the yelling, and seeing the reaction on your face was not pleasant.

"H-He stayed with me through cancer. He was at every treatment. He helped me live when I was really sick." You just threw it out there. You couldn't hold it in. The pain of hearing Jame's voice with his selfishness of the gaming while you slept pushed you into an emotional war. You wanted things to be good with him. They just weren't. You could see it. You knew everyone could see it. "He was such a good man. I don't know what happened. If he can stay with me through cancer, then I can stay through this rough patch. He will get better. I just have to give him time."

Seresin leaned up. He grabbed the toothpick from his mouth and flicked it into the grass. "Fair enough. I hope he figures it out soon for your sake."

The truck pulled up next to your car. "Thank you. Really, I mean it."

"You're welcome. You can stay anytime and as long you'd like. I really mean that." You opened the door with a nod of acknowledgment.

Your mind fought your body to hug him. You pressed on, walking to your car where you were safe from urges. His truck left.

You sat thinking for a moment. "He's just a good friend." You willingly convinced yourself. You stopped in the restaurant and grabbed dinner.

You got home sitting on the couch and set up dinner. "Hey honey. You go back to Kennedys house?" He knew Kennedy, and he knew that there was nothing to worry about.

"No, I was at a family friend's house. He is on shift with me and Ken now." You spoke. You never lied no matter how much shit you would get.

"He? Which family friend?" James didn't hide anger and assumptions well.

"Jake seresin, ophelia's son." You answered.

"The military guy came home?" He questioned.

"Yeah. He is Ken's new trainee." You prayed using Ken's name to vouch would lighten the blow.

"Why didn't you stay at Ken's?" He began interrogating.

"Kennedy wasn't going to be home, and his mom was there with her friend at the pool." You defended.

"Then why didn't you just stay here?" His voice began to raise.

"Because James," you matched his volume. Throwing the stupid salad on the ground. Venom spewed off him name. "You wouldn't turn the TV down, I had to roll Greg's dead body over on the pavement my knees were covered with parts of his brain, not that you fucking cared to ask, and then I come home finally get to sleep and you're screaming about headshots to the damn TV."

"I wasn't home to ask. How was I supposed to know that? Then you just come home from whoring around with this Jake guy and I'm just supposed to be cool with it because I was playing a game to relax from my hard night. I had four people call in sick. I had to run four extra positions... Not that you fucking cared to ask either." James screamed.

"I wasn't whoring around. I went there slept, ate and came home. I can't fucking believe you'd think I would do that to you."

"Is he gay?" James asked abruptly.

Your teeth clamped together. "What?" Your knuckles turned white against your sides.

"You heard me! Does he like a dick in his ass? Does he bat for Kennedy's team?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask." You held your arms out.

"Then I don't want you over there." James fumed. "When you're painting each others toe nails, talking about your door ringer celebrity men, doing whatever shit you do with ken. Then you can go, but until that happens, it's not okay."

"You're fucking ridiculous, and rude." You yelled and walked out. You grabbed your phone calling Ken. Tears spilled. "Ken, I need drinks are you busy."

Kennedy's deep voice came through the speaker. "Marilyn... I'm at home you can come over. What's wrong?"

You got in the car and drove the few miles to his house. "I fucked up."

"You didn't..." He trailed. "Did you sleep with Seresin?"

Your scoff was very dramatic. "No. I just went over there and slept. James is accusing me of it though, he basically made a fucking rule I cant go over there."

"Rules were meant to broken Mar. You know I can ask if we can go over to Seresin's I'm sure he would have us over for drinks."

"No, he's right. I don't need to go over there. He's a single man, and I am a taken woman. I need to respect him. I am pissed he put a rule down, but I understand why." You sighed.

"Suit yourself. I mean I think he's a great guy. He doesn't seem like the type to break that boundary. Not from how he was talking the last few shifts."

"Did he say anything about me with james?" You parked your car ending the call walking up to the door opening it.

"Come in..." Kennedy laughed at his sarcasm. "He said some things, but I'm not a snitch."

"Damn it, ken! Why did you let me go over there?" You held your arms up.

"No, I only suggested it because I couldn't have you over, you needed sleep, and I trusted that he wouldn't do anything. He didn't say anything intimate or misogynistically gross. Just that it was a shame you were in a relationship."

You groaned throwing a pillow at him sitting down on the couch. "Liam Kennedy!"

"Okay chill. I got it, Seresin is now on my shit list." Kennedy chuckled.

"Not funny." You threw another pillow. Throwing your hands in your face to cover the embarrassment.

"So now what, your man's all jealous of Seresin?" He sat up on the couch.

"Yeah, I guess so. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe now he will try harder." You looked over at him through your fingers.

"Don't go playing with fire, Marilyn. You know that's what got you killed with our scandal." He joked about the conspiracy of Marilyn Monroe's murder by the government after the Kennedy affair.

"I'm not going to play with fire. I'm just playing the card you so graciously handed me." You rolled your eyes.

Kennedy sighed. "He is really hot, though. Those uniform pants..." He trailed, widening his eyes at the thought of Seresin's tight ass. Literal and figurative.

"Kennedy I'm not doing this..." you trailed.

"It was fine when it was that guy on A shift." He defended.

"He didn't cause an argument at home." You tensed.

"I'm just saying the man is ripped. I can tell from his arms. The sleeves look like they are holding on by a thread." He kept prodding for information.

"Oh he is." Your mouth was faster then your brain.

"I fucking knew it, you sly bitch. What happened, tell me everything..." He bit his lip sitting back knowing he had you cornered.

A/N: No one knows about Kennedy like that except your boyfriend and family. This is for the story's sake only, nothing further involving the job.

[demise-seems-dead]

@askingkyborg's main here to being you another emo chip mini fic! Spoilers for 33-36 and SHHH i know it doesnt make sense timeline wise because they go straight to the vampspire from town but shut up no they dont

this will be posted on ao3 when i fix my account btws!!

also also heavilyly implied OCD chip because yes <3

TW: Suicidal actions, ideation, etc. also minor disordered eating talk.

‘Care to spar with me, mon ami?” Chip looks up from the campfire at that point, maybe for the first time all day. His eyes focused up on Mathilde, the bird's eyes glinting softly. Of course, if Chip was honest with himself, that was a flat out no. Chip wasn't in the mood for being tactical, which is normally his thing. The only thing he wanted was for everyone to leave him alone. His brain has been on autopilot for the past two days and all he's done is sleep, eat and walk.

Chip isn't dumb. He knows mathilde is just trying to get him to do something, but what's even the point any more?

“Sure. I’ll spar, but we both know I'll lose.” The forced smile on his face wavers a bit.

Chip stands up, popping his back with a deep crackle. He sighs gingerly, and unlatches his arm blade. He knows I'd be smarter to use his crossbow if mathilde is going to fly, but it's not like he was intending to win. Chip is not a bad fighter, of course. No, he's actually quite good. It's just hard to think about when your mind is static and ocean foam.

Absently he loosens his neck, one of his habits that never ceased to leave him from years of assassin work. He always seems to have a crick in his neck, but it’s not really surprising. Chip had found himself in and out of jails, hostage situations, and attempted murder more times than he could shake a stick at. His body was a wheat maze of scars and old wounds, of torture and strain. But it was all part of the job, or at least that's the half assed excuse he gave himself.

The other part of Chip's fight ritual was coming into his surroundings. He followed mathildes movements in the clearing with lidded eyes, focusing in on the world for the first time since-...

Mathilde was moving cockily, as they almost always do. Slowly and elegant, feathers smoothed and freshly preened, it looks like. Chip raises his heels up off the ground, eyes narrowing in, trying to get lighter on his feet. His own body is different, and he feels less familiar with it. He's lost weight recently- not having eaten in a few days- too sick to his stomach from the previous weeks to even think about it. It wasn't a lot, but his shouldie hung off him in a different way. It made him wish he still had his D.A.G.A.R suit for training. His hand smelt like wild onions, and the rest of him like ash. He's been lighting the campfires with his tiefling abilities lately, instead of using his boy scout training from his childhood. Using that fire always drained him, but he can't help but be glad it helps him pass out at night rather than lie awake. He needed to sleep, to sleep, to dream and fight it off for a while. It's been his only time of peace for quite some time.

A few more seconds till the battle begins, mathilde is counting down, but he doesn't dare let the sound get into his ears. You focus on your target and your target alone when you fight. He’ll read their beaks movements for days instead of breaking his focus if he needs to.

Chip repositions, moving his left side forward. Not only is it the hand he's got his armblade on, but it helps hide his weak spot- the crossbow wounds still healing from the previous night. Barney had given him some healing in between, but in the night he'd gently picked at it. The red stains have always calmed him down, and on himself no different. Red meant alive still, red was the enemy, but red meant weakened and ready to die. To embrace the people they miss… so…so…bad.

Mathilde moves, battle begins. He knows they're saying something snarky but he's too tuned out to regard it. He's watching and commanding from third person, and that's just how he wants it. Bob down, weave right. Mathilde lands a firm noncorporeal blow to his face, and he gasps out a little, breaking part of his concentration. A smooth trickle of blood drips from a now busted lip, and chip can't help but smile.

The chipper killer. That's what people used to call him, back in the day. Always had a smile when he killed, made jokes and jabs. This was basically the same, just less lethal. A laugh busts through chips teeth, and he smiles. Mathilde obviously looks a little shocked by his reaction. 

Chip plants his left foot, pressing all of his weight on his toes and not his heels to keep him flighty. He takes a slash with his arm blade. His eyes shut, but fly back open in seconds. Mathilde has a sting of blood dripping from the cut over his chest, red plumage soaking even redder. Chip laughs, and he sounds wild. A snarky insult comes to his lips but he presses it down.He can't cause hesitation, you hesitate you die. He needs to get his target. 

Chips' eyes are blurry, and he can hardly make out the figure in front of him. He's used to shots in the dark though. The blurriness backs up, and a sneer falls into his face. Kill. His ears flicker down a bit, and he moves forward. The kill drive of his nature was seizing him, hands steady and brain calculated. A stab at the shadows, voice howling in his own skull. “DIE!” 

Blood was splattered onto his hands, and it didn't matter whos it was. There's shouting all around him. He wants his target dead. He wants everything to die. He wants to die-

“CHIIIPPP!” a high pitched squeak breaks his brain, and the haze fades. The dark shadows reform, and suddenly he sees mathilde, blood dripping down their front and hands in front of their face, not in cowardice but in preparation for attack. An attack from him. 

Chips eyes shoot down at ellga, who was the one who snapped him out of it. His arm blade glistened in the draining sun, wet blood still on it. He looks up at mathilde, and the bird gives a sympathetic look at the absolute horror streaked across Chip's face.

“Mathilde i am so-’ “Don't be sorry, we were sparing, you just got a little into it is all. im fine, barney can heal me right up-”

“Already on it” the old man blurts, but looks at Chip with a spike of fear that makes the tiefling want to dry heave. 

“I-I-”

Chip runs a hand through his hair, unable to talk. He knew his killing nature was catching back up to him with carol dying, but now he's going back to how he was. 

Chip stumbles a little, back into ellga. He jumps forward and turns, pulling his hands all the way away. Sweat beads down in a streak off his chin.

‘IM- i- I'm gonna go forage-!” Chip announces with his most normal smile, his fakest smile, and turns on his heel. Mathilde makes a noise like they're going to talk, but just sighs, and it wills Chip into walking even faster in the opposite direction. He stumbles his way down the hill, moving away from the patch of grass they'd been at and into the main town of vania. He bumps into every person there, and several ask him if hes alright from the blood on his hands and his face. They don't know him, they don't know he's a monster. They don't know he's a friend hurter, or that he's the reason his wife is dead. They don't know anything, so Chip doesn't say anything. He just walks.

By the time the sun starts setting, Chip doesn't even know where he is. Vania isn't huge by any stretch of the imagination, but chip is already lost enough in his own mind to know where exactly he is in this unfamiliar place. After a while, he settles, tucked behind a building and hidden, breathing heavily.

He stares at the blood on his hands, and he twitches. Chip has never been a messy killer. Blood makes his hands itch, too wet then too dry. Dirty and disgusting. As much as he hates the smell of bleach, he always uses it for crime scenes. Blood was too dirty. Filthy, nasty, and wrong. He's been nervously rubbing his hands for hours, the blood mainly off, but still feeling like it's on there. He rubs some more at it, and curses under his breath.

He hurt his friend. 

He's a bad omen. An omen of death.

He's killed hundreds.

He's a bad person. An omen of death.

He's the reason his wife is dead.

He's a bad husband. An omen of death.

He's the real problem.

A monster. An omen of death. 

Why does he even bother being ALIVE? 

Chip sighs, running a hand through his hair and then wincing. Now that's contaminated too. Everything about him is dirty and wrong. Tears threaten his eyes, pushing into the corners and making a soft noise as they roll over his cheeks.Days of lapsing suicidal urges and injuries have snapped him into a terrible, terrible place.  Softly he presses his forehead onto his knees, feeling the cool scared up skin over his hot face.

He's not sure how long he rests but his dreams are uncomfortable. Swirling memories of killings past. Bad bad memories. They never bothered him before, but now he knows what it's like to lose somebody. Now he knows how much of a monster he really is. 

He's only ever startled awake by voices. Mushing noises of high and low pitches. He opened his eyes, and they flooded over with brightness. He stifled a groan, headache and ready airdropping into his skull and ears ringing like a kenku scream. His eyes focus, and he sees several balls of gleaming light, and his party in front of them. 

“What is tarnation…?” he grumbles, and the light speckles vanish, the sun's last entrails covered by mathilde spreading their wings. His eyes go up to his team mates who are staring at him with worry in their eyes. He winces distantly, feeling a spike of guilt as he sees mathildes feathers pushed out of place and puffed up. 

‘Oh.. uh… hey guys..” He rubs the back of his now sore neck.

“Chip crétin! Je devrais avoir ton visage pour ça, pourquoi diable m'enfuirais-tu comme ça, Ellga était inquiète, Barney était inquiet, j'étais inquiet d'avoir crié à haute voix ! Ce n'est pas si mal, je vais bien, c'est bien!” mathilde scolds in panicked sounding French, grabbing Chip by the collar of his hoodie and yanking him up.

 Ellga huffs. “Why’d you run off? It's fine! You two were having fun! It was a play fight. It's not real! Mathildes is not dead- well, they are, but it's unrelated!”

“I-” chip sighs heavily, shutting his eyes a bit. “You're right. Sorry. I guess…” chip searches for the words in his head, scrambling to think of what to say. Tiredness flushes over him in a wave, and he lets out a sigh, throwing his hands up. He lets his head embrace the wall behind him, and his horns click on it. 

‘I'm just.. I'm just so..so..tired.” he gives. “I didn't mean to hurtcha’ mathilde, I just got lost in my own head. Guess my…killer ways are catching up with me…” “Well you’d never intentionally hurt any of us. You told me coming into town that you're a good assassin.” Barney tries to encourage, but chips heart falls. “Yeah, well…is there really such a thing?I'm still a murderer” he chokes, and his body tingles with the feeling of blood splats from past kills all surging up and bubbling under his purple skin.

“Nonsense. Words are all made up, mon ami. One isn't worse than another. An assassin is a profession, and a murderer is apparently a death sentence to ‘za living. It dos’ant matt’ar! Those titles don't dictate who you a’hre, the people who love you do. And I say you're perfectly fine. We all do bad t’ings sometimes.” Chip sighs at mathildes word, ever wise in their later later years. “I suppose.” he says, not at all convinced. Ellga frowns, and it makes Chip want to bury his head in the vanian dirt. She turns to the alchemist, who Chip had almost forgotten about.

“Mr alchemist, do you have any cures for sadness?” “Not…quite, ellga, but i have somethings that may help, if chip here is willing.” The room pauses, and all eyes form onto Chip. “Awh, what da heck..?”

“Give me your arm blade.”

“What?” Chip stares at Robert like he's crazy. “Just hand it to me.” Chip sighs, and unties the arm band to it and tosses it over to the alchemist, who catches deftly. He looks at it for a moment, and then tucks it into his bag.

“How's that supposed to help? That's my best stealth weapon.'' Chip finds himself grumbling.

“Exactly. That way if you try to hurt yourself, you don't have anything silent to do it with.”

“Oh.” He momentarily wants to fight off the claim, but the arrow wounds in his foot and his lower neck burn with a shot of pain to remind him. 

“Okay.”

“Besides that-” Robert continues momentarily, digging around in his bag, tophat sliding down his head, “I've got a potion I want you to try. It should help.”

He extends out a vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid. Chip extends a gloved hand, and takes it. He removes the cap with a pop, and tips it back. He drains the liquid in a quick motion, and wipes the corner of his mouth.

“I don't feel any different. I just feel really tired and useless, mainly.” He says, and his head flinches back at his own words. Robert smiles, and taps the vile.

“Truth telling serum. Now you can't hide anything from us.” he pats his shoulder as he chuckles.

Chip goes to scold, but realises everything would get turned on its head when he says it. 

Mathilde snickers. "There isn't any way to heal depression with a potion, but now our too clever rogue cant hide anything from us.”

“You guys are my favourite people.” chip sighs, exasperatedly. Ellga squeezes his hand.

“Come on, let's go to the vampspire. Maybe seeing my home will cheer you up.”

“Yeah… maybe it will.”

[lahooozaherr]

I Will Always Find You

Chapter 3

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: Fluff, angst, crying child, death of parent explained but not in detail, grief (I think I have it all but don’t hesitate to alert me if I’m missing something)

MY WORKS ARE 18+ AND NOT FOR MINORS. AGELESS/BLANK ACCOUNTS WILL BE BLOCKED.

My tag list (instructions & requirements)

Chapter Summary: You and the Mandalorian come across a lost child in town and help them find their mother. The event brings some of your grief about your mother and your situation up to the surface, causing him to confide in you as well. The two of you share an accidental, special moment on the way back from an errand of yours, further spurring even more complicated emotions.

A/N: I had to sit and debate for a while on how to end this chapter, so I hope y’all enjoy it! I have some good ideas for chapter 4 that I’m dying to write out but I did my best to not let this chapter suffer because of it lol. The reception I’ve got so far has been so motivating and I really appreciate it. I really want to expand on Din’s character and do him justice.

Song Inspo: Fortress by Illenium

Inspo Playlist

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Read it on AO3

“Getting in your quota of brooding for today?” You query Mando, standing with a strong gaited stance in the middle of the courtyard. As you approach him, his helmet faces you and nods. You chuckle, stopping briefly to smooth some wrinkles on the front of your dress. 

It was a new day, and another one of presentations. You dreaded that, but you were more excited to see the Mandalorian waiting for you in his now usual spot. 

You had specific goals today, though. After your obligations for the day are fulfilled, you plan to get to know Mando more. Hopefully, he reciprocates. 

Before turning to leave with you, he sticks his elbow out towards you. You weren’t expecting him to offer again after yesterday, as much as it excited you. Your heart flutters. Instead of questioning it, as you almost did, you slip your hand back into the crook of his elbow. You figure if he didn’t want to offer it, he wouldn’t. 

Something about him makes your head fuzzy and chest warm. When both of you arrive in the atrium, your hands linger for a few seconds before parting from him. You hum to yourself on your way to your seat. You’re too in your own head to notice. 

—————————————————————————

Time went faster that day, which Din had gathered was much to your relief. 

You’re now back at that same cafe you were at yesterday, a place that is quickly becoming your new favorite, apparently. The outdoor seating and the weather were perfect for this small escape. The two of you sat in silence while you updated your holopad with notes for today.

You tuck your holopad away and bring yourself to the present, shifting to face Din. He’s leaning in his seat, one hand stretched along the backside of the chair. He notices your gaze and tilts his helmet to acknowledge you. 

“Yes?”

“I was wondering….” You look at him more intently, he feels his blood run faster in his veins. “If you could help fill the gaps in my Mandalorian knowledge.”

Din leans back more and hums, “what do you want to know?” 

“When was the last time you took off your helmet?”

“This morning. I thought you said you wanted Mandalorian knowledge?”

You smile, “do questions about you not count?”

“Well, if that’s your logic.”

“That’s not a no!”

His memory flashes back to when he removed his helmet as he said goodbye to Grogu. His breathing stops momentarily, that all-too-familiar pang of grief creeping its way out of wherever he’d shoved it backward. He doesn’t notice his body language reflecting that, shoulders dropping and moving his hands to his thighs. 

Your change in facial expression from smiling to concerned jerks him back to the moment and he decides to add more to satisfy your curiosity, “I can take it off in private, when I eat or bathe. Sometimes when I sleep.”

Your face becomes more neutral, he can practically see your brain working and visualizing. You’re probably imagining him without the helmet, as those who meet him usually do. He can’t blame you. 

“I can tell it all means a lot to you,” you start. Your eyes reflect back something akin to admiration, “I knew you were capable, and seeing you defend me yesterday also means a lot. You’re really amazing.”

Din preened in your praise and you’d never be able to tell. No one speaks to him the way you do, and he’s starting to notice his natural gravitation towards you.

—————————————————————————

Mando indulges your curiosity for a good portion of the next couple hours, well into when Naboo’s sun was setting. Despite your original intentions, you sprinkled in actual questions you had about Mandalorian culture. As much as you wanted to know about him personally, you also didn’t want to go too fast or pry. 

He explained the creed, the current state of Mandalorian life and how they’ve been forced to hide. 

“Can you go to them? Whenever you want?” 

Mando pauses, helm shifting to look away and then back to you, “it’s complicated. I have to find them again since the event on Nevarro.”

“I see.”

You shift in your seat and ponder on what you could ask next. 

“Do Mandalorians ever have their own children? Besides foundlings?”

“Yes, plenty.”

“How….does that work?”

Mando immediately catches onto what you’re asking, it would be normal to wonder how intimacy works with Mandalorians, or at least those he was raised by, when they’re so strict about their armor. 

“Being seen by your riduur and children is normal and accepted, in privacy.”

Your ears perk up at the new word, “Riduur?” 

“In our language that means wife, husband or spouse.”

Your interest immediately peaked, it hadn’t really dawned on you how Mandalorians court each other. Or how they raise families, engage in intimacy. 

“Do Mandalorians have weddings?”

“Not exactly,” Mando sits straighter, crossing his arms over his chest in his usual fashion. “We exchange specific vows in privacy, and remove our helmets.”

You’re actively staving off a heat that threatens to spread across your face while discussing this. You take a sip of your cup of caf that you’d been nursing since you sat down. 

“That honestly sounds much better than what I’m typically used to,” you clear your throat. “At least, personally.” 

Mando tilts his helmet to the side, “you’d rather it be private?”

Realization about the current topic creeps into your mind and that same heat settles onto your features. You suddenly feel bashful.

“Not that I’ve given it a lot of thought,” you play it off. “That just sounds more genuine to me.”

You can feel his eyes but refuse to look at him, you just know if you did the heat would get much worse. Time to change the subject. You turn to leave your seat.

“It’s getting late, should we make our way back to the palace?”

Mando nods in agreement, both of you stand to leave, walking out of the outdoor seating of the cafe. 

Taking Mando’s elbow, you walk alongside each other in near silence, save for the usual hustle and bustle of the town’s street. It felt peaceful, with sounds of conversation and traditional music everywhere. You leaned into the Mandalorian’s arm, stealing side-glances of him.

“MOMMA??!! MOMMA!!!”

The shrill cry invades your senses, very close to you. You both stop suddenly, trying to listen to the source of it. Your eyes scan the crowd until you come upon a small child, their face covered in tears. 

You quickly abandon Mando’s arm and approach the child, kneeling to meet them at eye level. The crying child lowers their hands from rubbing their teary eyes and you ask with a soft tone, “are you lost?”

The child shakes their head ‘yes’ to answer you. Mando is now at your side, kneeling alongside you. 

Mando wastes no time, immediately asking, “do you know where she could be?”

The child shakes ‘no’ again, you glance at Mando with a worried expression. You hold your arms out to the child, asking permission to hold them. They quickly stuff themself into your arms, crying harder into the crook of your neck. You rub their back in an attempt to comfort them and look at Mando.

“We’re going to find her, don’t worry,” you coo while you cradle and shush them. 

Mando stands, you follow whilst gently hoisting the child up in your arms and onto your hip. 

You run a hand through the hair on the back of their head, prompting them to lift their head from your neck. Their face is covered in tears and snot. Without hesitation, you bring up a corner of the skirt of your gown and wipe their face, whispering softly to them that everything is ok. 

“You see this man?” You jerk your head pointing to Mando. “It’s his job to find people. We’ll find your momma in no time.” 

The child stares back at him, cheeks rosy and tear stained. They nod, meekly. 

“That’s right,” Mando agrees. This seems to help calm the child, no longer hyperventilating as heavily. Their eyes glazed over from crying and a curiosity towards the two of you. 

The Mandalorian places a hand on the small of your back and it sends a shiver through you. He notices, almost pulling his hand back until he feels you relax. 

“Come on, before it gets too late.”

You nod in agreement, securing the child close to you. Both of you step back into the street in search of the mother.

—————————————————————————

For the next half hour you walk through the street, glancing through shops and corners. You’d look to the child here and there for confirmation, and they’d shake their head again. Just when you’d started to grow more concerned about finding their mother, you hear a cry from in front of you.

“OH! My baby!” 

The child cries, “momma!” They squirm and you let them down, releasing them back to their mother, who's running towards you. They both hurriedly embrace, the sight brings small tears to your eyes, your heart tightens in your chest.  

A look of relief washes over the mother’s face, she holds her child close and kisses their head several times. When she finally looks up to the two of you, tears in her eyes, she thanks the two of you profusely. 

Mando must have noticed your own tears threatening to spill, since he steps forward while returning his hand to your back. He murmurs let me, under his breath but just enough for you to hear. 

“It’s no problem at all. We’re happy to have helped.”

The child waves you off as their mother carries them away. You wave back, smiling softly.

“Are you ok?” Mando’s voice startles you out of the haze of your thoughts. When you look at him, a tear finally escapes and travels down your cheek. 

“Whoa, hey!” He moves quickly, grabbing both of your arms at your sides and faces you. 

“No no, it’s ok,” your voice starts to break, using the heel of your palm to wipe your face. But to no avail, more tears stream down and it feels like a dam has been broken. 

“Doesn’t look ok,” he replies, moving both of you out of the street. 

A heave travels through your chest although you fight it. You’re embarrassed to be crying in front of him, in public no less. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you stammer through breaths and sniffle your nose. 

“Don’t be,” his thumbs move up and down on either side of you, attempting to comfort you. You almost melt into it. “What’s wrong?”

“I just-,” you say in a low voice. “I think seeing them just reminded me of my mother. It’s nothing.”

“That’s not ‘nothing’ at all.”

Mando quickly looks around then back to you, “let’s get out of here.”

You do your best to compose yourself, as he moves to your side, hand once again on your lower back. His touch is still warm, despite the gloves. The small gesture is more comforting to you than he probably realizes, already visibly relaxing as both of you travel back to the palace. 

—————————————————————————

You’re both back in the courtyard in front of your temporary home for the week. But instead of your usual retreat back to your room, Din motions you towards the bench in the middle of the courtyard. In front of the fountain, surrounded by beautiful flowers and plants indigenous to Naboo. 

As you sit together, Din leans towards you. You’ve stopped crying but your eyes are still somber. It makes his heart in his chest clench to see you this way. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

Your brow furrows and you smile crookedly, “do you really want to know? It’s really no big deal.”

He doesn’t move, and neither do you. He can tell you’re looking at yourself in the reflection of his helmet. Your eyes travel and then stop. 

“I do,” he finally says. And he means it, he needs to know what caused you to cry out of nowhere. He forces himself to practice restraint when trying to comfort you with his touch, although he’s realizing it only makes him want to do it even more. 

You tell him about your mother, and how she died. She was very sick for a few years, not even the best doctors on your planet, and others your father had sought out, could cure her. You told him about her kindness, her love for you and your father. The beautiful relationship she fostered with your father, swearing they had to be soulmates. 

“It’s a big reason I worry about my father,” you say. “He tries, but losing my mother took a serious toll on him.”

“Your motivation to step into his role makes a lot more sense now,” Din adds. You give a tight lipped smile. 

“I told you it was complicated.”

You let that statement linger in the air between you. Both of you are still facing each other. You move your hand to his between you, softly placing it on top of his. 

“Thank you.”

Din is almost too caught up in his own thoughts to respond. Seeing how delicately you treated that lost child, you sharing something so personal with him, awakened something inside of him. He considers moving his other hand over yours, but hesitates. 

“I was a foundling,” he breaks the silence. “I was found and taken in by the Mandalorians.” 

Your eyes widen, but you say nothing. He continues. 

“My home planet, Aq Vetina, was attacked by the Separatists. My parents were killed by battle droids. The Mandalorians took me in, and when I was resdh, I took the creed and became one.”

Your eyes grow concerned and your grip on his hand tightens. You open your mouth to speak, but stop, searching for words. 

“I wish I had more than platitudes to give you,” you say. “You’ve been through so much.”

Din’s heart is racing in the confines of his chest and armor. He’s not sure what kind of facial expression he’s making and it's a moment he’s glad he has the helmet to conceal himself, not that that exactly matters now. He’s decided to open up to you. It’s scary but also kind of freeing.

“I know it's two very different situations, but I know how you feel, to a point,” he adds. “Although, I can’t really return to my covert at this time.”

“What? What do you mean?” 

He goes on to explain his life for the past few years. The Child, fleeing from the Empire. Having to eventually allow the Jedi to take Grogu with them. How he had removed his helmet for him, which now makes him an apostate. But he still searches for them.

 Your eyes vary from troubled to intrigue, but that’s about as much as he can tell. His mind is running at full capacity, sharing the events in his own few words. Your hand never leaves his.

You give his hand a squeeze and smile, “thank you for sharing all of that with me. I can’t imagine what that was like, or how hard it is to recount it.”

“I think about it all, a lot…I’ve had time.” 

“I’m honored, none-the-less.”

Din feels like he’s floating, and notices he’s leaning even closer to you than when he originally sat down. The two of you had naturally gravitated towards each other. But he shrugs it off, shrugs off the complicated feelings blooming in his heart. 

“It’s pretty late now, I shouldn’t have kept you,” he says, straightening his posture. 

“It was worth it,” you smile, lifting your hand from his. He finds himself already missing it. 

Din stands, offering his hand to you. He doesn’t need to, but he wants to, and decides to let his heart lead the moment. You take it gratefully, using the leverage to lift yourself from your seat. This time, with his hand enveloping yours, he doesn’t let go. Not yet. 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he almost whispers, barely picked up by his helmet’s modulator. 

“I look forward to it,” you return, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze and lets go. 

He watches you approach your door, and you look back over your shoulder at him. He makes it a point to ensure you're always inside before he leaves.

“Mando?”

“Hmm?”

“I know I don’t have authority to say,” you smile. “But apostate or not, you’re a Mandalorian. And I’m very happy you’re here with me.”

The door closes behind you but he lingers, frozen in position. He squeezes his fists at his sides, contemplating the new development in this relationship. 

This could be a problem.

—————————————————————————

The next morning is business as usual, sitting through the event’s activities and conversing with other royalty and political figures. Your social battery was quickly wearing out, especially when all you could think about was finishing up so you could spend time with the Mandalorian. 

You’re beginning to notice that the thought of him is with you almost constantly. You even dreamed about him last night, although you can’t exactly remember the dream now. He probably had no idea just how enamored you’d become with him.

Just as you’re about to leave with him, an older gentleman approaches you. He explains how he knows your father and mother in the past, so you stay for a minute to chat. You tell Mando you’ll meet him just outside of the atrium.

Well, that chat took longer than you’d thought it would. Almost half an hour, to be exact. You rush back to Mando, ready to apologize for making him wait. 

You see him, back facing you, on the side of the passage out into the garden courtyard. 

“I’m so sorry Ma-“

Suddenly, he swings around to face you, placing left arm outstretched to block you. While leaning against his right arm resting on the other side of the passageway, his helmet turned down towards you. He is dangerously close; you would’ve ran into his armored chest if you hadn’t caught yourself before he swooped in to block you. For a minute it was silent, your heart raced and your breathing quietly stuttered. You hoped he couldn’t hear that, but you’d almost sworn you could hear his breathing too. 

“I can’t just let you pass,” he finally says, tone with a playful lilt to it. 

You quirk a brow at him and smirk, “Oh? And why is that?”

“You have to pay a toll.”

“What is the toll, then?”

He responds with a contemplative hum. You bar your lashes, peering into his ‘eyes’ and ask, “is this how Mandalorians flirt?” 

Your unexpected question is blunt and just enough to make him freeze and tense up. You could see his shoulders slightly raise, telling you as much. Taking advantage of the moment, you quickly duck under his arm to exit to the other side, turning back towards him. He faces you, his eyes being met with your devilish grin.

He releases a breathy exhale and shakes his head, “Very cheeky of you.”

“Oh? Am I getting the wrong impression?” You laugh. He steps towards you, and unexpectedly, raises his right gloved hand and brushes his thumb across your cheekbone, “No.” then walks past you, an even bigger grin painting itself across his face, unbeknownst to you. 

Now it’s you who’s frozen, face overheated, seeing that cold demeanor of his come down around you (and so far, only you) makes your head spin. You feel an echo of his thumb on your cheek, and slowly bring your own hand up to touch where he did.

Your banter with him, lately, had been progressively becoming smoother with him and it excited you. It felt like you were getting to see a more playful side of him. It was comforting to know he was choosing to show this to you, trusting you with it. 

The more you’d paid attention to him, the more you understood him. He wasn’t an outwardly emotional person, he was guarded and kept in check. The beskar armor, of course, being the blinding shell that covered him. But you’d notice his body language, especially the more subtle things he does. 

The way his hand caresses yours when it reaches out to you. The delicate but firm feeling of his gloved hand against the small of your back. The way he tilts his head in response to the things you say to him. Lately, even his voice has been having its moments. Like now, his tone is lower and more smooth while taunting you. 

“Are you coming, Mesh’la?”

You fake a gasp, recognizing that subtle accent from when he shared some Mandalorian language with you yesterday. “What's that? I get a nickname now?”

You pad towards him, trying to catch up to his side. You peer over him as you both walk through the courtyard.

“Are you going to tell me what it means?”

“Why? And ruin my fun?”

You playfully slap his shoulder and loudly scoff, “you could be calling me something mean  this whole time and I’d have no idea!”

A low chuckle escapes his modulator, “I guess you’ll never know.”

Looking forward, you smile, your heart is at ease with him. You wonder if he feels the same.

“I have some errands to run today,” you tell him. 

—————————————————————————

Maybe….it’s time to start unpacking your feelings behind all of this. This? What is this? 

It’s hard to be around him right now, because it feels like your heart might burst. 

And every head tilt. Every flex of his bicep muscle while you hold his elbow. When he matches the energy of your banter. The feeling of his hand on the small of your back or arms. 

When he literally brushed your cheek with his thumb.

It was intoxicating and dangerous. But it didn’t prevent you from partaking in it. 

You laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling through the dark. Instead of sleeping you were busy remembering everything thus far from this trip. It’s hard to not feel like you’re living in some kind of dream. 

These feelings are going to be hard to confront. You’re not in a position that allows for this indulgence. 

Something that happened today especially replayed in your mind’s eye. During your errand run into town. And you just couldn’t help the hammering in your ears by the drum your heart was beating. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mando escorted you to a small alteration shop near the palace. You promptly exited, looking over to see him waiting for you, casually leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest plate. 

“That was quick,” he remarks, standing back to attention. 

“Father dropped it off earlier today for me, so all I had to do was pick it up.”

“What is it?”

You flash him a grin, wiggling your brows up and down, “a traditional Naboo dress, for tomorrow night’s festival.”

Both of you strolled along your usual trail back to the palace. Night was starting to fall, and the sky was a beautiful fading orange as the sun started to set. 

“When did you decide to go to that?” He questions, walking alongside you. 

“This morning, I decided we’re going to play hooky tomorrow.”

Mando stops abruptly, you come to one as well turning to face him, “hooky?”

Your mischievous expression returns to your face, “yes, I decided I’ve earned at least one day to do what I really want.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“You and I are going somewhere I used to visit very often as a child, during the day. Then we will attend the festival at night in time for the fireworks.”

The Mandalorian sighs, exhaling a small laugh in combination, “what does your father think of that?”

“He agrees and supports me,” you all but wink and smirk. “So don’t worry, I’m not getting you into trouble.”

He hums back almost playfully then shrugs his shoulders, “alright, you call the shots.”

You chuckle and press the garment bag of your dress closer to you, turning on your heel to continue walking back. 

But you miscalculated, twisting your feet wrong and tripping before you can take a full step forward. You start to feel yourself fall until a solid hand grabs you just in time, twisting and bringing you close.

It’s sudden, and before you can process it, your eyeline is met with the ink black of Mando’s visor only inches from your face. He had managed to grab your upper arm and swing you into his embrace before you could fall.

Your breathing is rapid, heart pounding like mad in your chest so much so you can hear it in your ears. One of his hands has your right forearm as his other arm is wrapped around your mid back almost to your waist, gloved hand settling on your rib cage. 

The two of you are silent for what feels like hours, but is really only minutes.Time feels like it’s stopped as you study his helmet and your own reflection in it. You’ve started to realize the position the two of you are in, and heat crawls up your chest and base of your spine. 

This level of physical contact is sudden and unexpected, but not exactly unwanted. His arms are deft and strong, he holds you slanted against him effortlessly. The rise and falls of your chests almost seem to match up, bringing them closer to each other like you're caught in his own gravitational pull. Save for the garment bag squished between both of you.

He feels warm. You’re sure he can sense your heartbeat. He has to, right? But he doesn’t say anything about it. 

“Are you ok?” His modulated voice comes through the helmet, breaking the spell of the moment. 

You snap back into focus, “uhm, yeah. Yes. Thank you.”

Still holding you, he moves you to stand securely next to him, loosening his arms and hand. You almost whimper at the loss of pressure and contact especially when he parts from you. 

You did your best to carry on like normal after that, up until parting from him for the night. But it played on a constant loop in your mind. 

You want him to hold you again. You want him. You realize that now. 

Mando'a translated:

Mesh'la = Beautiful

Next Chapter

@dindjarinsmut @impala1967666 @kittenlittle24 @angel-with-a-heart @leithatnight @i-usually-main-bards-tho @dins-riduur-anthe @fatima-marisa @lalalalemonade11

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Thirty One

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi friends!!

As always, thank you so much for your love for this fic <3 It means the absolute world.

I really hope this all makes sense, I have spent my weekend watching the Vanderpump Rules Reunion and melting in my very hot apartment, so my brain is mush.

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List and will be updated as we go along.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

His chest burns. Pain that he couldn’t describe lancing through him, but he couldn’t show it. Couldn’t give the man perched on top of him, smirking as he pulled the knife out of his abdomen, the pleasure of knowing he was in agony.

“I wonder where that girlfriend of yours is. She’ll be here soon, won’t she?” Foyet says, his eyes sparking with something that scares Aaron more than the prospect of dying. He needs Emily to stay wherever she is, he needs her to stay distracted by whatever has distracted her to keep her away from this. Away from him.

Aaron grunts as the knife is pulled out of him again, the involuntary noise drawing a smirk out of Foyet as he leans in again. 

“I’m excited to meet her properly, I didn’t realise you were together when I last saw you. I’d have had some more fun.”

It makes him furious, the threat towards the woman he loves enough to break through his stern facade. He watches as Foyet’s evil smirk spreads further over his face, delighted to have pulled a reaction from him. He opens his mouth to say something else, but is interrupted by the door bursting open. 

“FBI. Put down the knife.”

For the first time since he’d been attacked, Aaron feels genuine fear. He looks at her and their eyes lock, and the determination in hers terrifies him, her grip on her gun as firm as her voice had been.

“Agent Prentiss,” Foyet says, his voice dripping with false kindness, “Nice of you to join us.”

Foyet reaches for the gun next to him, and Aaron lays there, unable to move, his body paralysed by pain and shock, as he watches it unfold. Emily is fast, but Foyet is faster, and Aaron can’t even make a noise as the guns both fire and he watches Emily fall backwards, knocked off her feet by a bullet. 

___

Aaron gasps as he sits up, heaving air into his lungs as he tries to shake off the familiar nightmare, ridding himself of how his subconscious would twist the truth into something that he knew had never happened. 

He couldn’t believe it had been a year. That 12 months had passed since Foyet had been laying in wait for him in his old apartment, determined to ruin his life for the sin of doing nothing other than this job. He often wondered what would have happened if Emily hadn’t arrived when she had, taking out a serial killer with a single bullet. He wondered what his plan would have been. If Foyet would have killed him or tried to take everything from him, making him wish he was dead. Foyet had planned it out meticulously like he always had, but he hadn’t accounted for Emily being as fearless as she was. 

“Aaron?” 

He turns at the rasping sound of her voice, smiling softly as he watches her switch on her bedside lamp before she shifts towards him, a feat that was no longer as easy as it once was, her pregnancy now in its 28th week. She blinks blearily at him, rubbing her eyes as she tries to clear sleep from them. 

“I’m ok, sweetheart,” he says, reaching over and placing his hand on her stomach, smiling at the feeling of the baby moving, “Go back to sleep.” 

She rolls her eyes at him and sits up, grunting as she does so, “Yeah, right,” she says sarcastically as she settles with her back against the headboard, “I’m going to go back to sleep when you’ve clearly had a nightmare.”

Despite his still racing heart and the lingering fear in his veins, he smiles. Foyet may not have accounted for her, but there was a time when he wouldn’t have either. It was strange to think how much had changed in a year. How they’d gone from moving in together to having just moved again into their new house with a baby on the way and a ring on Emily’s finger. She’d not only saved his life, but she’d changed it for the better. She loved and understood him in ways Haley hadn’t been able to, and she fought fiercely for him all the time.

Even if it was him she was fighting. 

He leans back against the headboard and puts his arm around her, leaving no gap between them as their shoulders overlap as he pulls her into his embrace. 

“Did you dream about him?” She asks, taking his hand and placing it back on her bump, well aware that the movement of the baby soothed him as much as it did her. 

Aaron hums in response, allowing her proximity, the smell of her, to lull him back to reality, the final grip his nightmare had on him fading, “Yeah, I dreamt about him. It’s been a while.” 

At the start, he dreamt about it most nights. The fleeting, vague, memories he had of the first couple of days in hospital were only of the pain he was in, the medication hardly touching it, and the dreams that he’d have when they sedated him. That’s what he remembered. That, and her. 

Even now he isn’t sure how often Emily left the hospital whilst he was there. She’d disappear from his room occasionly only to return wearing new clothes with her hair scraped back into a pony tail, but she was never gone long enough to have gone back home. He knows JJ had a key to the apartment they’d just moved out of, so he’s sure she would have gone there to pack up some of Emily’s things. 

She had been a constant by his side. Her hand in his or trailing through his hair when he woke up in pain and confused, her reassurances soft as she told him he was safe, that the danger was gone. He’d seen her do the same for Jack if he had a bad dream when he was over at theirs, her presence alone enough to soothe the young boy, and he knew he’d have a lifetime of watching her do it for the child she was currently carrying. 

“It’s understandable,” she says, watching him carefully, her eyes lingering on the tightness in his jaw, “Anniversaries like this are hard,” she turns her head, her lip catching his cheek, “You could have died.” 

She hears the catch in her own voice and sighs as she leans in closer to him, her grip on his hand tightening. He wasn’t the only one who had nightmares about that night. She still felt awful for how long she’d been on the phone to Penelope, laughing and joking about her evening plans as the man she loved was being attacked by a man intent on destroying him. Knowing that she’d killed Foyet, that she’d removed that threat from their lives before he could truly start whatever he’d been planning on, did nothing to ease her guilt. 

When she dreamt of it she’d dream that she was too late. That she’d lost him and arrived at his apartment to find his body, his eyes lifeless and unseeing as he laid in a pool of blood she could still see if she thought about it too much. She knew that his dreams were similar. That he dreamt of watching her get killed by Foyet as he laid there unable to move, cursed to watch his worst fears come true in front of him. 

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he says, turning his head to kiss her, his lips stamped against hers, “I’m right here.”

She nods, smiling wryly, “I’m supposed to be comforting you. You’re the one who had the nightmare.” 

“You are comforting me,” he replies, kissing her again, “Just by being you.” 

She chuckles, shaking her head at him, but her smile slips away as she watches him rub his chest through his tshirt over the spot she knew had his thickest scar. “Is it hurting?” 

He hums, nodding as he rubs at the phantom ache in his chest, “I know it’s in my head, but it hurts. I can almost feel the knife…” he drifts off as he feels her tense against him, he sighs, “I hate them,” he says, pressing the scar harder than necessary, desperate to feel anything other than the dull ache.

“The scars?” She asks, pulling his hand away from his chest before she starts rubbing at his chest herself, hoping that her touch could help in some way. 

“Yeah,” he replies, tension seeping from him as he feels the warmth of her fingers through his shirt, “Every time I look in the goddamn mirror I see them and think of him.”

She pauses before she responds, making sure to use her words carefully, “I don’t,” she says softly, and he looks at her, his brow furrowed in confusion, “I don’t hate them, and I don’t think of him.” 

He sighs, knowing she was trying to make him feel better, “Em-”

“I don’t hate them because they show that you survived. That I still have you,” she blows out a breath, feeling the now familiar press of tears at the back of her eyes due to her hormones, her once famous control over her emotions long gone at this stage of her pregnancy, “I don’t hate them because they are made of you, and I could never hate anything that was.” 

He smiles, unsure what to say at first as what she has said sinks in. Even after almost two years together, the second anniversary of the drive back from Ohio that had changed everything just around the corner, he was still blown away sometimes by how much she loved him.

“That sounds like something you’d tell me was cheesy if I said it to you,” he replies, his smile and the shine to his eyes, the fear she had seen when she first woke up replaced by love, says everything he struggles to put into words. That he loved her and the life they were building. That he was unsure what he would do without her. 

She laughs, shaking her head at him, “Well, I am pregnant with your spawn, maybe the baby is affecting my sensibilities.” 

He raises an eyebrow at her, “Don’t call Nugget ‘spawn,” he says, leaning down to kiss her bump. She places her hand on the back of his head, pulling him in for a kiss as he sits up straight again. “I don’t think of Foyet when I see the scars Aaron, not for a second. I only think of you. Ok?” she says, holding him in place until he nods, his forehead gently knocking against hers, “Good.” She pulls him in for another kiss, deepening it this time as she swipes her tongue over his lower lip, chasing him as he pulls back. She smiles at him, her body suddenly thrumming with need that she knew she couldn’t entirely blame on her hormones, “Want me to prove it to you?”

“It’s 2am, Em. Don’t you want to go back to sleep?” He asks, his breath catching in his throat as she grasps at the hem of his t-shirt, her fingers trailing underneath, hot against his skin. 

“Yes,” she replies, kissing him again, smiling as she nips at his lower lip, “But after.”

He smiles, cupping her cheek as he pulls her in for a kiss this time, tasting her love for him on her lips. He pulls back just enough to talk, his breath skipping over her face, “After sounds perfect.” 

___

Emily yawns as she settles onto the couch, her arm around Jack as he settles into her side still dressed in his pjyamas. She had a fleeting moment of regret of the very early morning sex with her fiancee when the little boy bounded into their room at 7am demanding breakfast, but it passed. A long Sunday ahead of them with the promise of pancakes made by Aaron and a nap she’d no doubt end up having in the afternoon. 

It was Jack’s first weekend staying at the new house, everything now fully unpacked and the keys to the her apartment handed over to her new tenant. He loved the space he had to run around and his new room and had convinced Emily to watch cartoons with him on their brand new, very large, TV that they’d bought for the living room. She smiles as Jack settles in further to her side, his hand on her bump as he watches the TV, and she takes a moment to simply bask in her environment. 

She was in her house. Her home that she shared with the love of her life. He was currently making them pancakes, the sound of his out of tune humming and the clanging of pans travelling down the hall from the kitchen. She had a little boy she loved as her own snuggled up to her side, his hair and pjyamas rumbled from sleep, and her baby shifting in her stomach. This was the life she’d always wanted, the one she thought she’d never have, and it still felt like she had to hold onto it tightly, worried that if she didn’t, if she allowed herself to get too comfortable, it would all get taken away. 

“Emily?”

She looks down at Jack and is immediately met with his wide curious eyes and his furrowed brow, a thoughtful look that he shared with her fiancee. A look she hoped their baby would inherit. 

“Yes, honey?” 

His brow only furrows deeper and she feels a flick of anxiety rush through her, and he looks down at her stomach, “You’ll be Nugget’s mommy right?” 

She nods and runs her fingers through his hair, tidying it up a little bit, “Yes, I’ll be their mommy,” she says, unable to deny that the flip in her stomach has everything to do with the thought that she’ll be someones Mom, and nothing to do with said someone doing their morning kicking routine.

“And Daddy will be their Daddy?” 

“That’s right, Jack,” she confirms, wondering where he was going with this but letting him get there by himself, his need to work things out by himself something that was apparently genetic. 

“So the baby will live here all the time?” 

It clicks in her head and she wishes more than anything that Aaron was in the room, that he was here for the conversation she had thought was coming for weeks. She smiles softly at Jack and nods.

“Yes, sweetheart, the baby will live here with us all the time,” she replies, her heart aching as she sees something close to disappointment flash across his face, “Because Daddy and I live together. You were very small so probably don’t remember it, but you, Daddy and Mommy all lived together once.” 

“When Mommy and Daddy loved each other?” He asks, and it makes her sigh. She knew she couldn’t explain to a four year old that they still loved each other, just not in the way that they needed to to make it work, the way that Aaron now loved her. 

“Yes, when they loved each other,” she replies simply. It was yet another time that made her wish things were simpler. That this little boy didn’t have to ask these questions, and that she didn’t have to navigate the complications of being an addition to what had once been a family. 

“But I don’t live here all the time.” 

She freezes, the statement unexpected, and she nods, treading carefully as she answers, “No, you don’t,” she replies. Her tongue peeks out to lick her lower lip as she looks at him, waiting for a response that doesn’t come before she carries on, “Do you want to?” 

He shrugs and then shakes his head, “I’d miss Mommy. But I miss you and Daddy when I’m with Mommy. I don’t want to miss Nugget too.” 

She has to stop herself from crying, her jaw tight as she clenches it to force the tears back and she clears her throat, “Nugget already loves you so much, Jack,” she says, smiling encouragingly at him, “Daddy and I do too.” 

He nods, sighing as if he had the world on his shoulders. “I wish I was here more.” 

That certainly was unexpected, and she knows for a second she doesn’t cover her reaction well. Ever since she’d been in Jack’s life this had been their arrangement. They had him on weekends, and if they happened to be away on the weekend they made it up during the week. Emily knew it wasn’t enough for Aaron, that his limited time with his son was painful for him, but she had never thought it was her place to suggest they asked for more time. It wouldn’t be practical either, not with them both still in the BAU. 

But that was about to change as soon as the baby was born. 

“You want to spend more time with us?” She asks, making sure she’s not putting words in his mouth, something she didn’t want to be accused of by Haley if they were to discuss a change in custody with him, and he nods. Any further conversation is cut off as Aaron walks into the room, unknowingly interrupting. 

“Breakfast is ready.” 

Jack is up and out of the living room before anything else is said, as if he hadn’t just been talking about something serious. Aaron looks at her as she stands up off the couch, batting off any help from him, intent on not needing it until it was absolutely necessary.

“Are you ok sweetheart?” Aaron asks, looking at her curiously, and for a moment she hates that he can read her like a book. She considers telling him, but knows now isn’t the time - that it was something they’d need to discuss, and then he’d need to discuss with Haley, in more depth at a later date. 

“Yeah,” she replies, walking over and kissing him on the cheek, “I’m fine.” 

-x-

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[youreobsessedwithtoomanyfandoms]

Don't Let Me Go (Part 3)

Words: 1660

Warnings: language, talk of alcohol/alcohol consumption, regret, Leon being a dick but for a kinda good reason, people may be mad at reader cause of what she does but whatever idc this is my fucking story, maybe ooc characters and probably bad writing

Resident Evil Masterlist Main Masterlist Join My Taglist

This also was originally written for my OC Tiffany (Whose info on her/original story will eventually be available on this account @imnotobsessedwfictionalchracters )

Leon and Hunnigan are PROBABLY OOC (as I suck at not being able to keep them from being OOC)

Actually find it fucking insane how long this thing is all together

This is it in multi-part form: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

This is it in one part form

Reader and Leon are partners with their job (have been since 2004/2005) and is insinuated to be around the same height as Leon

Not Proof-read and I think it can be seen every once and a while (I know you can see where my brain couldn't function how to write the scene so I just guessed and hoped for the best)

Can be read as its own story or as a sequel to You’re About To Lose The Best Damn Thing You’ve Ever Had

Losely has themes from the songs Never Say Never by The Fray, No Surprises by Radiohead, Afterglow by Taylor Swift, and Look After You by The Fray

Anywho, enjoy

Love Z <3

March 9th of 2009

Y/N's POV

Beeping. That was all she could hear. Her entire body was sore, feeling like she had been dropped from the top of a building. After a few moments of trying, she finally was able to open her eyes. But she instantly regretted it as the bright fluorescents welcomed her. She groaned as they tried to adjust to the brightness. She looked around and suddenly realized that she was in a hospital. That was the reason for the beeping as she realized how hooked up she was. 

Her throat felt dry and like something had been pulled from there. She moved her head to the side and let out a shocked gasp when she saw who was by her. She thought she had been dreaming. That the fever she knew she had from the infection that she knew had happened from the terrible keep of her cut had made her imagine he was there. That he had been the one to save her. 

She felt her hand move to reach out to him, but she dropped it when she heard the sound of the door opening. A lady, probably around her grams’s age, walked in. She had a soft smile on her face when she looked at Y/N and walked closer to her. Y/N watched as the lady began fiddling with one of the bags that she assumed was liquids to keep her from getting dehydrated. 

“You’re very lucky that boy got to you when he did.” The lady turned to her, “He’s a keeper, that one. He hasn’t left this hospital except for the one time me and another nurse forced him to get a hotel and sleep properly.”

“He’s just my partner--no, wait, he...I don’t know.” It hurt to speak, it felt like she hadn’t used her voice in years.

The lady raised a brow, “I doubt whatever he did will last long. You’ve been here a week and he’s had chances to go back to DC, but he’s stayed here.”

“Where is here? And what day is it?”

“You’re in Vancouver, it’s March 9th. Do you know the year?”

“2009?”

“Good, who’s your President?”

She genuinely had no idea. Graham had ended his Presidency a few months ago and she still had to learn the new guy's name. Only did she know the Vice-President. “I haven’t learned his name yet, but the Vice-President is Adam Benford, he used to be the CIA Director.”

“Hm, I guess that works.” The nurse chuckled, “You sure know a lot about him.”

She looked at Leon, “Yeah...the two of them are friends.”

“I should have expected that. Well sweetheart, we have you on a morphine drip to--”

“I-I can’t have morphine in large doses. It affects me worse than dilaudid.”

The lady took a look at her file and sighed, “Well I be damned, the nurse who did this completely ignored that it says no morphine.” She looked at Y/N, “I’m going let the head nurse know and we’ll get you switched onto, dilaudid you said? It works with no issue

“Yeah, every time it’s worked in the past it's been with no issues.”

“Alright.” She wrote something down, “I’ll be back in a few.”

Y/N nodded as that lady walked out of the room. Her eyes went back to Leon, who was still asleep in the chair, but she noticed how one of his hands was sitting on top of the bed, like he had been holding hers while she was out.  She gently took it in hers and brushed her thumb over the top. She wondered if Hunnigan ever found a loophole for them to work. If she ever found a way that she could use to show Leon they could have worked.

She watched as he stirred, his eyes slowly opening and blinking to adjust to the bright lights. He groaned before looking at her and she watched as he straightened up and took her hand in his own. She watched as his usual emotionless face turned to one full of emotions.

She gave him a soft smile, “Hey Lee.”

He moved the chair to be closer before he ran a hand over her, moving hair from her face. “Hey beauti--Y/N/N.”

She moved her hand to go back to rubbing the top of his, “You can call me beautiful. You got me out of there after all.”

“You scared me, y’know? I thought I had lost you there and I wouldn’t be able to tell you how sorry I--”

“Don’t, please. Just...just don’t. I don’t want to think about that. You’re here, that's what matters. That shows that you really care, even if you can be annoying about showing it.”

He gave a small smile, “Yeah, but I really am sorry for not...talking to you. It was fucking Stacey who walked in and he threatened to expose us. I just didn’t want your life to get fucked over.”

“Why would mine?”

He sighed, “Hunnigan said that unfortunately, STRATCOM would rather lose you than me. So if they had found out, they would have displaced you. Put you in another department or place you with one of the other offices. But we wouldn’t be able to see each other anymore.”

“And you were scared I would argue and say it was nothing.”

“Yep.”

She looked over to the other side, “I hate when you’re right.”

She heard him chuckle, “It’s a rare feat, but one that can happen.” She looked back at him and smiled, but the smile fell as she began to think. “What’s wrong?”

“Why did you call for a new partner?”

He let out a big sigh, “Because I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle seeing your broken face everyday. Be right by you, pretending to be a supportive friend while you move on.”

She scoffed, “Yeah, me moving on would’ve taken a lot. Trust me. I even asked Hunnigan to find loopholes in the rules for us to be together.” She sighed, “I guess she never found one cause she never told me.”

He laughed awkwardly and she raised an eyebrow, “Well...that’s not necessarily true.”

“What?”

“She found the loophole after you went dark.”

“And she told you?”

“So I might have come in drunk one day, felt bad because I did that because I drove drunk, and asked her to drive me back to my apartment. It was like I could hear you in my head getting mad, not because I showed up drunk, but because I drove drunk. So while she was taking me to my place, I might have spilt that I fucking hated what I did to you and wished that there was some fucking way for us to work and she might have told me the way it could. The small loophole that you asked her to go looking for.”

“What is it?”

“A lifetime commitment that we both said we weren’t ready for.”

“Kids?”

He snorted, “No. Not that.” He moved and dug in his pocket before handing her a small dark blue velvet box. She felt her heart in her throat. “Yeah...that’s the commitment.”

She opened the box to see the ring. It was simple, not over the top. Two diamonds with a sapphire in the middle on a silver band. She let out a shaky breath before looking at him, “When did you get this?”

“Um...a while ago actually. Last summer, I believe.”

She laughed slightly, “That was why you asked me what my ring size was.”

He laughed as well, “Yeah, I expected you to catch on.”

“But...that was before we talked about marriage.” She looked at him, “That was why you asked me, wasn’t it?”

He shrugged, “I realized that I would rather have a possible answer than make you uncomfortable.”

She smiled and for some reason, she leaned over to him and kissed his lips softly. “Why don’t you ask me now.”

“What?”

Her voice was soft, “Just ask that four word question.” She brushed some hair out of his face, “My answer won’t be dependent on it being the only way for us to be together and work together.”

He smiled, “Y/F/N, will you marry me?”

She smiled, “Yes.” She kissed him again, “Y’know, I would have said yes if you had asked me at Christmas.”

“Really?”

She nodded, “Mhm, that was around the time that I realized that even though marriage is a big commitment and we both have our issues with commitment, I was sure I would be able to fully stay with you. Was it partly because you’re the only guy I’ve ever been with that can handle me when my brain can’t function so I just shut down? Possibly. But it also had to do with the fact I can’t see myself with anyone else but you and every time I imagine a future, you’re always there.”

Now it was his turn to brush hair from her face, “So we could have avoided these past few months if I had just looked at the handbook for a loophole?”

She nodded, “Yep. But that doesn’t make me love you any less.”

He laughed, “Good.”

She closed the box and handed it back to him, “Hold onto it for me until we head back to DC.”

He took it and placed it back in his pocket, “I love you, you know that right?”

“I questioned it for a while, but yes, now I do.”

He laughed, “Good.”

They were silent for a few minutes until she looked him dead in the eye, “Can you promise me one thing, Leon?”

“What is it?”

“Never let me go, please? Promise me if you ever start to get insecure with anything in our relationship that you will tell me and we work on it.”

He smiled and kissed the top of her hand, “I promise.”

She smiled, “Good.”

[iron-hearts-ablaze]

Karlach and her survivor's guilt.

The first of a two-part psychological deep-dive into Karlach.

Part 1: survivor's guilt Part 2: c-PTSD

I will preface all this by stating I am not an expert in the field of Psychology, but I do however have a BSc Joint Honours in Psychology and Counselling, as well as a higher education certificate in Embedded Helping Skills (forms of therapy). I studied these conditions, as well has having first-hand accounts. I have access to, and use, papers accredited by the British Psychological Society.

All of what I'm about to discuss is my own personal insight, it is not aimed to insult anyone in any way.

To start. What is survivor's guilt? The DSM-5 (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition) describes survivor's guilt as a symptom of PTSD. It occurs when someone believes that something they did/did not do led to the deaths/harm of others, and a strong feeling of guilt behind being the survivour of a traumatic event.

I will, soon, go over the full list of symptoms of c-PTSD specifically, and how Karlach fits them, backed up by quotes and events in-game. However, I wanted to look more into survivor's guilt (henceforth shortened to S.G) due to my headcanon that extends Karlach's personal mission in the game. It is possible to have PTSD without S.G, and vice versa. However, I strongly believe Karlach has S.G as a SYMPTOM of c-PTSD, not just it working on it's own.

Karlach doesn't fit ALL side effects of S.G, however she certainly fits the following; feelings of helplessness, mood swings (specifically angry outbursts), flashbacks (cut from game, but I headcanon she does have them on this blog), difficulty sleeping, obsessive thoughts about the event (she frequently brings up Gortash/Zariel/Avernus etc). These naturally stretch out into her possible diagnosis of c-PTSD as well, but like I said, I'll go more in detail on that in another post.

It's well known at this point that a lot of her content was cut. But an interesting idea still has breadcrumbs within the game, concerning the Foundry and the Steel Watch automatons. Specifically, her connection to them.

When Karlach interacts with a Steel Watcher, it mistakes her for one of them. Albeit, an outdated model. It's quite well known that what was used to create Karlach eventually became the Steel Watchers. I feel, that if this part of Karlach's story was expanded upon, we would see her realisation fully. That she most likely would feel responsible for these machines.

Except they weren't always machines. They were once people. Their brains and hearts now used in these automatons. I theorise we would have had a profound moment for Karlach where she realises just how many people Gortash has killed, following the blue print that Zariel gave to him. The one that created her.

The Steel Watcher's would not have existed if she hadn't been given to the devil. They are an evolution of her machine. They are connected to her. She kept her soul, and most of her body. They did not get that chance.

I feel Karlach would have already struggled with S.G prior to this. She wasn't the only one Zariel tried to experiment on - she was just the only one to survive the tortures. So many others died before she was 'created'. Only to find out that it wasn't just in Avernus, but happening in Faerûn too? She would feel responsible.

She would no doubt think if she hadn't existed, these people would still be alive. She would want them to be at peace, unlike herself. Power them down, free their biology from the metal and - if given the chance - possibly even bury them all. To allow some kind of rest, and to make sure anyone after Gortash could not pick up where he left off. Burn everything down after that.

It is advised that anyone struggling with S.G to allow themselves time to grieve - however Karlach says so herself she is either "off, or go-go-go". She has not had TIME to stop. So she could also take those feelings and move them into something positive, i.e bury the body parts. She would also need to practise self-forgiveness. Which, as someone who regrets some of the things she did in Avernus and certainly regrets working for Gortash - will not happen any time soon.

Karlach has the air of denial about her and her mental health. S.G is just a part of that, festering until it can be addressed. Which, in-game, never happens. So it will continue to eat at her.

In this portrayal, I acknowledge this part of Karlach, even if the game wasn't able to due to cuts.

[greetingfromthedead]

C58: Project HUMAN

For more information on the series (tags, CW, etc) click the banner!

Series Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Chapter: 58/84

Words: 2.2k

Warning: This chapter handles some very dark themes including nonconsensual human experimentation, dehumanization, torture, mutilation, impregnation, and miscarriage! You'll find a chapter summary in the end.

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September 25th, 2445

Only 32 days after the restrictions on the blood circulation were removed, Subject 0325 has shown signs of being rebuilt on a genetic level. Samples taken from the blood and vessels contain new cells that are fundamentally different from the subjects own makeup. The genetic change is very small, but still unmistakable. The new cells seem to take after the old ones; the mutations are happening very slowly. I wonder if the process can be accelerated by forcing faster turnover of cells by means of medicated tissue damage. At this point, it is too early to rush the results; we are already ahead of schedule. Subject 0325 has exceeded all expectations and my theoretical calculations.

I have not managed to find any other subjects from cold sleep who are anywhere as good as 0325, but I have started on some less compatible patients, so far with no success. 0427 and 1463 died during the first operation. 4752, 8574, 0145, and 0047 died during the mixing process at, respectively, 45%, 80%, 4%, and 15%, the Plant blood overwhelming their systems. Currently, it is unclear if the subjects or the Plants were defective. All have been disposed of.

October 15th, 2445

52 days after starting the adaptation process Subject 0325 still shows steady progress, but the changes taking effect are slow. The genetic modification and mutation processes seem to be halted by the cell turnover rate. It has become clear that intervention is necessary to get the desired results in the next two years. I will look into medicated cell destruction.

October 20th, 2445

As per my research, I have found a combination that should balance cell destruction and healing, taking into account Subject 0325's current genetic makeup and supreme health. Once the healing overtakes the poison's effectiveness, it is apparent that her body has adapted again, and I can give her a higher dose. This should not affect the Plant yet.

Chemical composition and administration documentation are attached.

You keep swiping to move from the entry to a document listing chemicals and dosages. As it doesn't say much to you, you keep swiping to find a video of you strapped to the hospital bed just as before, but now a silhouette of a man approaches with a syringe. You don't react at all; your head is turned to look at the Plant suffering in her tank beside you. The medication is administered into your arm, and the figure steps back. For a few moments, everything is still, but then your arm that was injected starts to thrash against the restraints, the struggle moving up to your shoulder and chest till your whole body crashes against the belts holding you still. The expression on your face turns to one of pain, and muffled cries escape your mouth. As the video stops, the next log is pulled up.

December 4th, 2445

They are all failures; only 0325 continues to thrive, with the rest dying either due to the Plant blood or show absolutely no sign of adaptation. But my Eve is perfect. The poison tearing her cells apart works wonders; the medication hastens the repair and regeneration of tissue; and with every new generation of cells, there are more mutations, and they are consistent. From that, I presume the DNA has a set path for adapting to the Plant cells. I had to lower the brain activity of 0325 further; she is getting stronger, and her convulsing threatens the experiment. I cannot lose her.

May 3rd, 2446

As per my last report, the Plant is nearing its end. Subject 0325 has exceeded all that I thought possible. She has developed an immunity to the medicine I administer, or it far surpasses the limitations of the Plant. Eve's cellular regeneration is faster than what comes from the medication, making me speculate it is her own power. She must have created a rip in the fabric between our realm and the Higher Plane. It is time to bring her back and continue on to the next phase.

August 14th, 2446

What a year it has been! My research has proceeded with both much more success and failure than I had anticipated. Eve is stronger than ever; she has exceeded all projections and expectations, but not a single other subject has had even close to the same success as her. Those who survive show little to no genetic change, but perhaps I am being hasty. Subject 0325 is an anomaly; I shouldn't expect the same results from others; that's not what a scientist does. It could take years for the adaptation to kick in. But until then, I have Eve.

August 30th, 2446

One month after replacing subject 0325's left lung, liver, and right kidney with ones taken from a Plant. Today's surgery was a success; thanks to her fast healing, there were no complications while taking samples of the replaced organs. The results are shocking. My theory was that subject 0325 would continue adapting with the goal of turning her DNA completely into that of a Plant, but the samples taken show that the Plant cells are adapting to the remains of her human DNA. This either means further mutation is impossible or that the optimal result is closer to human than Plant.

Her injuries heal in days, leaving no scars behind. The implications are immense; it seems her cells know what they need to be, and there is no loss of information between generations. My working theory remains that her telomers have evolved in such a way that they remain unchanged and in tact. This could mean she holds the cure for aging. I wonder what happens if her old scars are cut out; how would they heal?

March 7th, 2454

My glorious Eve, you are everything the human race should be. It has been a year since the adaptation process halted completely; no amount of cell turnover makes a difference. Today I confirmed the test results of both the right arm amputation and the left leg replacement. The healing has reached its limits; a limb can be regrown in a week, but the leg was rejected. There is evidence that subject 0325's body tried to overwrite the Plant DNA and adapt it, but it's like her system decided it was faster to build a new leg than to change the one given. Gashes to the skin and deep stab wounds to the organs heal in a matter of hours. Her pain receptors seem to be numbed too, but only to a small extent; nonetheless, her mind can take a lot more of it before passing out. This has made surgery simple; there is no need to even close the incisions, but gathering fresh samples is harder. Her regeneration seems to stem from the heart. It is unclear what the reason is; perhaps it's simply the body prioritizing what to tend to first, or the tear in the fabric of our world is tied to the heart. I am unsure yet what it could be, and to my sorrow, I have nobody to compare her to. I have decided to take a different route to project HUMAN. She is my proudest creation. I thought she would be the metaphorical Eve, the first of her kind, the first of a new breed of humans, but perhaps it is necessary to try and take a more literal approach.

Subject 0325's DNA is still very close to human, and it makes me wonder what options there are for reproduction and the results of it. Could she get impregnated by a regular, unmodified human, and would the resulting embryo in genetic makeup be closer to her or a human? Would her body make the fetus adapt to her more Plantlike nature, or perhaps would her body reject it completely and miscarry? What about Plants? Could she carry a Plant cell similar to the way Plants are cloned? And again, would she overwrite the fetus's DNA to make it something more like her or something entirely new? Going off the reports from Ship Five, the genetic makeup of an Independent born from a Plant imprinted on a human is very human, in some sense even closer to human than a Plant, yet they are Plants while 0325 is not. If a male Independent was born, would they be compatible in a biological sense, and what would the result be? A new human or an Independent, as she does have a gate, or rather a rip of herself. There are so many questions I desire answers to. But before anything else I must understand her. All these years and still, there are things I don't understand. She is captivating; she is everything.

June 18th, 2455

I have finally been able to prove what the Plant engineers have theorized for so long, and I did it with Eve's soul. After extensive nerve stimulation, the sensors detecting disturbances in the Higher Plane went off, pinging subject 0325. This means I was right; she is, in a way, a generator, except she has no control over the resources. Her energy comes straight from the Higher Plane and seeps into her, which, combined with Plant Regeneration, gives her her healing factor. All these years of tiring tests have finally yielded results! This proves everything I've worked for! I will populate the new world with creatures like her! She is beauty; the other gods have nothing on me. She is perfect!

November 11th, 2455

I'm at a crossroads, with so many things left to discover and so much still to uncover about 0325. How far can she be pushed? How much can be regenerated until she dies? Can she die? Her healing prioritizes her heart (experiment 147, performed April 2nd, 1454 attached), so what exactly is needed to regrow organs and body parts? Is it blood or nerve impulses? Or does the whole data stem from the Higher Plain? If I removed her heart, could she live? And what would regenerate? The body around the heart, or the heart in the body? If she were to burn in a hot enough fire to incinerate her body completely, could she come back? What is the smallest part she could regenerate from, and is it possible to clone her, or is the presence of the fake gate necessary?

I desire more knowledge on my creation, her limits, and her capabilities. I want to know what I created, yet I would risk killing her, and then the dreams of project HUMAN would die with her. I need to get more of her, clones, children, anything to continue, to see more, to learn more, and to experiment more.

She is no good as a living being anymore; her mind has slipped into insanity, and her memories are pulled to the other side each time her soul is dragged to the Higher Plane. She has lost herself; she is only good as a vessel now; she shall incubate new life. By the time we reach the new world, every miserable human on this ship shall be replaced by my perfect creations. I am God, and my name shall be praised as the Father of humanity.

Your trembling hands swipe away from the report to a video; you don't want to see it; you don't want to watch, but you are frozen at the sight. It's your face, but it takes a moment to realize that it's also your body. It is horrifying. In the midst of looming robotic arms and a man dressed in surgical attire is your table; your arms and legs are spread out and strapped down; your torso looks like he's performing an autopsy; you're cut open from your throat to your crotch; surgical clamps are pulling open the cavity of your body; and your organs are on display like a buffet. There are long cuts along your limbs, skin, and muscles pulled apart like an animal hide left to dry. You see your skin trying to reform over the wounds, but the robotic arms pour something on the wounds to get back to the bright red flesh. The human looms over you for a moment, scalpel at the ready, calculating the best route, and then slashes your organs, starting from the belly and moving up. The field fills with blood for a moment, but then more loud buzzing starts, and two arms stick tubes into the blood to suction it away and clear the view just in time to see the heart heal up while everything else still bled. One after another, the cuts close, radiating from the chest; the order is opposite to how the slashes were made. You look frozen as he raises the scalpel, but before he gets to cut you again, Vash pulls the tablet from your hand and throws it onto the bed out of your line of sight.

The room is deathly quiet; if you leave out the buzzing from the video, even your breathing has stopped. You just stare at your hands where the device has been. Your skin is on fire, like you're being ripped apart again. Vash pulls you into a hug, hiding your face against his chest. You are frozen and stiff. Your hands feel as cold as ice when Vash touches them. But it is silent, so very quiet in your head. From the corner of his eye, he sees the man repeating his "experiment" over and over and over again.

Chapter summary:  In this chapter it is revealed how Iris is the only successful experiment of the doctor's, nobody else survives or adapts to the Plant DNA. The logs detail the ways Iris was tortured in the name of the project. Iris' stopped adapting to the Plant matter at some point and instead forced the Plant DNA to adapt to her during an organ transplant). During the experiments the doctor wondered what would happed if he was to cut out any scar tissue. The logs skip 8 years and reveal that Iris no longer adapts Plant organs, instead rejects them and regenerates her own. Regrowing of limbs takes a week. The regeneration stems from the heart, prioritizing the wounds closer to it, but it is unclear why, perhaps the fake gate is located there. The doctor wonders what would happen if the heart is removed: would the body regenerate the heart or the heart build a new body or would the result be death? the limits of Iris' body and healing abilities is unknown. Iris was supposed to be the metaphorical Eve, but due to the other failed experiments, the doctor considers a more literal approach since Iris' DNA is close enough to human, but perhaps Plant cells or a male Independent would yield results too. The doctor is obsessed with his creation even though her conscious mind has slipped away into insanity

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