#places. so its wild how much that can change from just like. glancing at the top 3 posts recced to me on a site i dont use much

[flockofdoves]

god i need to like never look at r/AITA again in my life. reddit is always showing its posts in my feed (which im actually looking at recently bc ive made so many asking for advice in random subreddit posts recently lol) and im getting so fucking angry at the amount of times ive seen something disgusting where someone is very clearly in the wrong and then all the top comments and the general ruling is NTA and when im like. ok i could at least release my anger with a quick 'YTA' comment without much other effort then its in fucking locked mode where only people with like multiple hundreds of karma in their subreddit can answer. and i guess of course people wasting all their time there have absolutely rancid misogynistic/fatphobic opinions

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Isaac explained his type to Maya with great details, as Maya asked him to do. Taut model-like physique, hairs on his legs curled up but his upper body smooth with not even a scar, with classic Anglo-Saxon feature that makes the guy can pass as some Victorian era young nobility. His eyes should reflect the depth of his thought and looked like an English pond in the summer, calming and clear. Soft-spoken, matched with his grace and gentle movement that won't ever indicate any sort of danger or threat to anyone that come across him. Isaac wanted his ideal man to be lefty, just because it's unique, and at last, he wanted his man to be fully devoted to him and him only. Maya listened intently while Isaac revealed all that as he's busy typing his work, not even taking a glance to Maya. But once a sultry, manly voice coming out from the bed behind him where Maya supposedly lounged around, Isaac instantly turned around and found himself surprised

"Maya???"

"Well....yes, but not really, as you can see,"

"H---how? W--why? What the fuck is happening here?"

"I enjoyed your company a bit too much. Like, I'm so tired dating these dudes trying to find my Mr. Right when I have an incredibly smart, kind and attentive best friend like you that beat most of those crusty men I dated. So I said, fuck it, I'll be your man,"

"Have you heard how insane that sounded like, and how is this situation totally not something you encountered everyday? Like.....for starter, how the fuck you--"

"It's actually simple. Turns out my family have this kind of power that skipped generations that reemerged with me right after that last eclipse. The said power bestowed us the capacity to change physical form of ourself and the people that we exchanged bodily fluids with. In other words, not only I can change myself, I can change you too since we fucked that one time when we were still sophomore,"

"That....is wild. And I don't want to be involved in any of this. Please just change back, okay?"

"Oh cmon, you literally are having a boner while talking to me now. You like this, you want me, and I definitely want you to be my man. I mean, just imagine how crazy the sex we can have now that I can mold you into any of your wildest dreams too,"

"Maya, no. You are not thinking clear. What the fuck is this desperation? I cannot be your man, and you cannot throw away your life just like that for me. I'll hate myself for that, it makes me feel selfish,"

"Desperation? This is me being kind to you. I cannot help but notice how you've been dating not a single person since we graduated uni. You are certainly lonely so this is me---"

"What is that insane gaslighting you are doing? Stop all of this madness and for fuck sake, change yourself back. It's so jarring looking at you like that. You will always be Maya for me, whatever form you take,"

"No,"

"Okay, whatever. If you want to continue being a nuisance, please sort yourself out. Just.....walk around the neighborhood and clear your mind or something,"

"No,"

"Maya--"

"No, don't call me that! I'm no Maya. Gosh, I hated to do this, but freeze,"

And just like that, Isaac froze in his place with no way of moving a single muscle whatsoever. Then, Maya grabbed Isaac's head and chanted some intelligible words before letting it go as Maya goes back to the bed while waiting for the spell to unleash its full work. Like a breaking ice, Isaac's frozen body started to be able to get back moving and pulsing. It started from the fingertips, that gets thicker and hairier as his finger and both of his hand turned calloused from heavy workout while his feet stretched his wool socks and enlarged to a decent size 13. As blood started flowing once more, the veins in his arm thickened while his legs bursted with muscle and blond hair in an otherwise lanky former runner legs. This built his physique is turning into clearly doesn't belong to a runner. As the pumped blood causing the arm to swole closer to 19 inches, it also affected the shoulder that becomes rounder and sturdier. The long sleeve he worn earlier of course already tattered to pieces while his pants already ripped due to his now incredibly muscular thighs. As the change spread across his neck and torso from the top, his lower body parts perfected itself into a sick v-taper that leads to a snaking 7 inches perfection stuffed into a tight white briefs that left nothing to the imagination. His tiny waist contrasted heavily with his massive back and shoulder, showcasing an insane dedication to his craft which is clearly bodybuilding. When the whole body parts below his neck completed its transformation, he's now a towering 6'6" muscle beast, clearly looking down on most people including the rendered-in-awe Maya. Is this Isaac's deepest desire? Turning into a massive bodybuilder? The power she used on him is to unearth his deepest desire, so having a boulder cannon for a shoulder is clearly part of his deepest desire then? How is his final look going to be? Babyfaced brutal beast? Matured daddy? All will be revealed in the next couple seconds as the transformation move upward

His jaw hardened but his face turned into more square-like, with dirty blonde facial hair framed the angular jawline. From the way his face remained clear and not much visible wrinkle formed, this is definitely a young guy, probably the same age like Isaac's current age, but he can be wrong though. As the lips turned into a smirk, Maya knows that the change is almost complete and that smirk indicated that he enjoys what he sees so far. As Isaac eventually able to move, he's practically no longer Isaac, but an entirely different person altogether. Maya ensured that this new version of Isaac, Maya named him Rod, would be falling head over heels for Maya's new look

"Theo," Rod said in his gruffy voice

Well, that's a good name....

"Why are you not spreading your ass in bed already? You know I have to get back to work later at 1, time is tight so I need to breed inside you ASAP before having my lunch and then get back to work,"

Maya is in shock......Isaac's deepest desire is to be an assertive alpha or something? And it dawned upon Maya, or Theo now, that he cannot acted like brats or said no to Theo's order. Is this part of his desire too????

"You are always one hell of an obedient boy, that's why you're my favorite cum dump. Now say aaaaaa-----

[felixaha]

Hii, hope youre doing okay ;D

I would like to request enji todoroki x trans male reader nsfw fic with something like a daddy/boy dynamic, if you are comfy writing, that is!!

Have a nice one

“fucking slut.”

AAAJSKDUJS IM SO SORRY IF IT ISNT WHAT YOU EXPECTED , IM NOT GOOD W DADDY/BOY DYNAMICS ! ! 😭😭😭 please let me know if i did anything wrong ! 🩵 and actually im on my period so i AM extremely horny .

ps : im really bad at english so its possible i have a few wrong grammers and im so sorry its short ! ! 😭☹️ THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING 💞💞

𖦹₊ ⊹ top!dom! enji todoroki x ftm

bottom!reader . degradation kink

with a mix of praise , daddy /

boy dynamic , mirror sex , used

terms of boypussy , cunt ,

chest , tits , overstimulation .

his eyes narrowed, eyeing the boy under him who was shaking from people, the grin plastered on his face widening.

“filthy slut, letting daddy do anything to you, is that how desperate you are?”

he coo’d, punctuating his words with hard thrusts that caused you to cry out.

“UghN—!please, daddy its t’much!!”

you moaned, your boypussy tightening around his cock as he let out a chuckle.

“aww, poor puppy is so overwhelmed huh? taking daddy’s big cock like you need it.”

he praised, caressing your cheek before changing positions causing you to face the mirror and see how much of a mess you were. out of shame and embarrassment, you turn your head to the side, letting out a choked moan at his sudden thrust.

“look at yourself, baby. look how much of a mess you are for me.”

his voice was firm, hand grabbing your chin to look at the mirror, eyes teary, hair messy and body full of marks, your cunt squeezing around him so tightly drove him wild.

“AH—?!” your eyes widened when he started thrusting harshly, hands gripping your hips to make you bounce up and down on his cock, your poor hole being abused repeatedly.

“fuck— good boy, thats it baby im- mgg..” he groaned, head throwing back as he lets you move and ride him. Gosh, how could he resist you..

“daddy pl- UwaAh— im- ah fuck—! daddy, s’too much!!” you whine out, legs shaking from the extreme pleasure as you gripped on his shoulders.

he lifts your head, pecking your lips before trailing down until he reached your chest, licking and sucking on your nipples.

you arched your back, vision blurry as you cum all around his cock again, you were so tired but it seemed he just started.

“you can handle more, pretty boy, come on.”

———————

how many hours has it been? you couldnt even count how many you came now.

your body was weak, shaking as he pants and smirked down at you. “was i too hard? poor puppy.”

he mocked, kissing your cheek before kneeling down in front of you, glancing at your confused face.

“what are you d-doing? uwaah—!” his hands gently spread your legs, revealing the tempting sight of your wet, glistening cunt.

Leaning in, he pressed his lips against your folds, his tongue flicking out to explore your sensitive flesh.

he was relentless, his tongue delving deeper, his lips sucking and nibbling on your poor clit. He savored the taste and the sounds of your moans, reveling in the power he held over you.

“Ngh—!! daddy thats- ah- i cant take it-“ you babbled out, back arching as his licks and sucks grew intense, causing you to cum again from the sensitivity.

he only hummed, suddenly kneeling between your legs, effortlessly pinning both your wrists in one hand.. thats hot. “one more time, baby.”

he purred, lifting your legs and placing it on top of his shoulders.

“you said that last round!!”

[namicakes]

Hiii Can I ask Levi Ackerman or Megumi Fushiguro who's s/o is their polar opposites?

y'know? their s/o's like extrovert and sunshines and cupcakes while he was like all grays and dullness

Of Shadows & Sunshines.

Fushiguro Megumi x F!Reader

Levi Ackerman x F!Reader

Note:( Fluff fic, Levi's in modern au. I kinda indulge myself in this fics because I am someone who loves the odd things in life, a very random person, and a very extrovert fella.)

Fushiguro Megumi

The first time Megumi Fushiguro met Y/N, he was baffled. She was like a burst of sunlight piercing through the gray clouds he’d grown accustomed to—bright, playful, unreserved. And he, well, he was used to shadows, to quiet places and serious thoughts. Y/N was the polar opposite of him, and yet, for reasons he couldn’t fully grasp, her presence felt… comforting.

It was a sunny afternoon, and Megumi, in his typical fashion, was brooding under a tree, book in hand. He wasn’t one to draw attention; in fact, he thrived in the art of going unnoticed. But that day, Y/N happened upon him, her arms full of a dozen shopping bags, her hair wild from the wind, and her smile brighter than the sun itself.

“Oh, hey there!” she said, plopping down beside him without a second thought. She dropped her bags unceremoniously, tilting her head with a curious grin. “What’s with the gloomy vibe? You look like you’re studying the meaning of life.”

Megumi blinked at her, unsure of how to respond. “I’m… just reading.”

She peered over his shoulder, her face lighting up with fascination. “A mystery novel? Oh, I love mysteries! The thrill, the suspense…” she paused, looking him up and down with a teasing glint in her eye. “But you don’t seem like the thrill-seeker type.”

“No,” he said plainly, slightly bewildered by her energy. She seemed to have an endless supply of it, her aura buzzing with liveliness.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence—Megumi reading his book, and Y/N rummaging through her bags. She pulled out a tiny stuffed cat with bright blue eyes and handed it to him with a grin. “Here, I found this in one of those claw machines. I thought you might like it. You know, to balance out all that seriousness.”

Megumi took the stuffed cat reluctantly, feeling the softness of the fabric against his palm. It was strange, yet… oddly charming. “Thanks,” he said, his voice a bit softer.

Y/N beamed at him, and that was how it all started. One little stuffed cat and a sunny afternoon that changed everything.

Y/N was like a whirlwind, sweeping into his life with her boundless energy and unapologetic enthusiasm for the oddest things. She adored colors—her clothes, her notebooks, her accessories, all a riot of hues that seemed to light up any space she entered. Megumi, who preferred a palette of dark blues and blacks, couldn’t understand how someone could wear so much color without feeling overwhelmed. But Y/N carried it effortlessly, as if the vibrancy matched her very soul.

One day, she convinced him to go to an art exhibit with her, an exhibit famous for its interactive, color-splashed displays. At first, Megumi felt out of place, hands in his pockets, trying to look inconspicuous amidst the vivid chaos. But Y/N was in her element, her eyes bright as she pointed out every little detail with such joy, he couldn’t help but be drawn in.

“Look at this one!” she said, tugging his hand toward a wall filled with a hundred tiny mirrors reflecting all the colors of the rainbow. She laughed, taking a photo of their reflections, the playful colors bouncing off their faces.

He found himself smiling despite himself. “You know, I don’t usually do this sort of thing,” he murmured, glancing at her. “But… it’s not terrible.”

Y/N nudged him playfully. “Well, I’ll make a rebel out of you yet, Fushiguro.”

And he couldn’t help but laugh, a soft sound he rarely allowed himself. Y/N had a way of disarming him, of peeling back the layers he’d carefully wrapped around himself, making him forget, just for a moment, that the world was anything but bright.

It wasn’t just her color or her brightness that made Megumi fall in love with her. It was the way she saw beauty in the smallest things, the way she embraced life with such vigor and joy that he couldn’t look away.

She loved taking pictures of odd things—a lone dandelion on the sidewalk, raindrops on a spiderweb, or even his frowning face whenever he realized she was snapping a candid shot of him. “You always look so serious!” she’d tease, giggling at his usual scowl.

But it was in those small moments that Megumi began to understand just how much she meant to him. He realized that he loved the way she noticed the beauty in what others overlooked. She’d sit for ages, watching a butterfly in flight or admiring a colorful storefront display, talking excitedly about things he never would have given a second thought to.

He loved the way she’d burst into laughter over silly jokes, or how she’d pull him along on spontaneous adventures—like the time she convinced him to go stargazing. They’d ended up lying in the grass, looking up at the night sky as she pointed out constellations, her voice full of wonder.

“You see that one?” she whispered, pointing. “The one that looks like a heart?”

He followed her gaze, though all he could see were scattered stars. “I think that’s just wishful thinking, Y/N.”

She laughed softly, rolling onto her side to face him. “You’re probably right. But sometimes, wishful thinking is enough.”

Megumi met her gaze, his heart beating a little faster. Maybe, he thought, wishful thinking was enough for him too.

As their relationship grew, they found a unique balance—a harmony between his steady calm and her effervescent joy. Megumi grounded her, gave her a safe space to rest, a place where she didn’t have to be endlessly cheerful or “on.” And she, in turn, brought him to life, her vibrant energy weaving color into the otherwise gray world he lived in.

She’d bring him gifts—little trinkets and silly souvenirs from her adventures. One day, she handed him a small snow globe with a tiny fox inside. “To keep you company,” she said with a grin. “Since you seem to like foxes.”

He didn’t tell her that it was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given him, nor that he kept it by his bedside, where he could see it each morning.

Their dates were simple but memorable—picnics in the park, late-night walks through the city, or quiet afternoons where she’d curl up beside him with a book of her own, her head resting on his shoulder. They didn’t need words; just being together, feeling each other’s presence, was enough.

But there were also days when he’d let her into his world—the quieter, shadowed corners he often kept hidden. When he had nightmares, she was there, stroking his hair, whispering reassurances, her gentle presence a balm for his troubled mind.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know,” she’d say, her voice soft but unwavering. “I’m here for you.”

And he knew she meant it. For the first time in his life, he had someone he could rely on, someone who loved him without conditions, without fear.

Their life together became a beautiful mix of contrasts—a blending of shadows and light, of quiet strength and boundless joy. Their apartment was a reflection of them, filled with small reminders of their adventures together. Y/N’s colorful plants filled the corners, while Megumi’s books lined the shelves, an odd yet perfect combination of their worlds.

She still teased him endlessly, sneaking little notes into his pockets, drawing funny doodles on his calendar, and taking candid photos of him whenever he wasn’t paying attention. But he didn’t mind. In fact, he loved it—every bit of it. Her presence softened his edges, brightened the darker parts of his life, and filled his heart with a warmth he hadn’t thought he could feel.

One evening, as they lay together on the couch, Y/N’s head resting on his chest, Megumi felt a rare surge of contentment, a peace he’d only ever found in her presence. He looked down at her, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“What?” she asked, glancing up at him, her eyes sparkling.

“Nothing,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her a little tighter. “Just… I love you.”

Her smile grew, lighting up her entire face. “I love you too, Mr. Gloomy.”

And as they lay together, surrounded by the life they had built, Megumi knew he’d found something precious, something he would hold onto forever—a light that would guide him through any shadow, a love that was both his strength and his joy.

Levi Ackerman

In a world where cold grays and muted tones painted the backdrop of Levi Ackerman's life, she was an unexpected burst of color. Y/N was a bouquet of pastels in a sea of monochrome, a song hummed under her breath in a silent room, a gentle chaos he could never have imagined wanting to keep close. But that was the irony of it, wasn’t it? Levi Ackerman, the man who could navigate the darkest corners without a stumble, fell in love with the bright, unabashed spirit of Y/N.

Levi met her on a rainy day, a day where the world felt as if it were washed out, color leached by the storm. He was finishing a particularly long shift, rain dripping from his dark coat as he ducked into a quiet cafe, hoping for a moment’s reprieve. But as he stepped in, he was met with the sight of her—a girl leaning against the counter, umbrella in hand, with a pink raincoat and matching rubber boots, every bit as bright and out of place as he was dark and muted.

She was taking a picture of her coffee cup, her phone angled just so, a soft smile on her face as she seemed to capture something only she could see. Levi found himself oddly captivated by the sight. There was a warmth in her gaze, a gentle energy, and before he even realized it, he’d spent the next fifteen minutes watching her in silence.

When she finally looked up, her eyes locked with his, and she gave him a small, inviting smile. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Levi felt his heart skip, just once.

It was enough.

The days that followed found him gravitating toward the places she loved—quiet cafes, local markets, small parks where she would sit on a pastel pink blanket, taking pictures of the flowers. Levi, ever the silent observer, watched from the edges, trying to puzzle her out, trying to understand what it was about her that fascinated him so.

They were opposites in every sense. Levi’s life was built on efficiency, on order. His apartment was a fortress of monochrome, clean and spartan, with barely a trace of warmth. And yet, somehow, he found himself drawn to Y/N’s world, one brimming with pastel colors and playful chaos.

She collected toys—small trinkets and dolls that Levi, at first, thought were the very definition of clutter. But when he saw her arranging them with care, dusting them off one by one, he realized there was something almost reverent about the way she held them. Each toy had a story, a place in her world, and he began to see them through her eyes—not as clutter, but as pieces of her heart, each one filled with a unique charm.

It was the first time Levi had seen beauty in something so seemingly pointless.

One day, after much consideration, he found himself at her doorstep, a small teddy bear in his hand. It was simple and gray, a gentle compromise between their worlds, but when he handed it to her, her eyes lit up with a joy that left him breathless. She hugged it to her chest, then hugged him, and Levi knew he was lost.

Their relationship became a blend of contradictions—a careful balance of shadows and pastels, of Levi’s quiet intensity and Y/N’s playful energy. Her apartment, with its walls adorned in light pink and delicate fairy lights, became a sanctuary he never expected to find himself in. Every time he stepped inside, he felt a strange sense of calm, a warmth that wrapped around him like a soft blanket.

She loved taking pictures, capturing the odd moments in life that most people overlooked. Levi, who could barely stand being in a photo, found himself becoming her favorite subject. She’d catch him in quiet moments—pouring tea, gazing out the window, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of her hair. At first, he’d grumble, scowl even, but she’d only laugh, assuring him that one day he’d see the beauty she saw.

And, over time, he did.

He began to cherish the photos she took, even the silly ones. They were moments of joy captured in small frames—snapshots of a life he hadn’t known he wanted. His heart softened with each one, the edges of his world brightened by her light.

Their relationship grew like a secret garden, each moment a petal, each memory a vine that intertwined their lives. Levi loved the mornings spent in her little haven, the scent of her flowery perfume lingering in the air as she prepared coffee for them both. They would sit together, he with his stoic silence and she with her gentle chatter, filling the spaces he couldn’t.

There was no singular moment when he realized he loved her. It happened gradually, like ink seeping into fabric, coloring everything from the inside out. He fell in love with her laughter, with the way she looked at the world with such unyielding optimism. He fell in love with the way she respected his need for silence, but filled it with a warmth he never knew he’d craved.

Her kindness was like a balm, softening the edges of his heart, filling the cracks with a love he hadn’t thought he deserved. She’d bring him tiny gifts, odd trinkets that she thought he’d find amusing—a small cactus for his windowsill, a bookmark with a quote she thought he’d like, a little keychain of a cleaning bottle she’d said “looked like him.” He never thought he’d enjoy receiving such things, yet they became treasures he kept close.

Every time he felt himself falling deeper, Y/N’s world caught him. And he let himself fall.

Living with her was both chaotic and beautifully simple. Her room was a symphony of pink and white, organized yet vibrant, decorated with soft pillows and delicate trinkets, each one meticulously placed. Levi, always the neat freak, never thought he’d be comfortable surrounded by so much color, yet he found himself helping her dust her toy collection, or adjust the fairy lights she adored. He was meticulous, she was creative, and together, they created a harmony that made him feel alive.

He loved watching her take pictures, capturing the fleeting beauty of life’s smallest moments—a flower, a butterfly, his own hand reaching for her. Sometimes, she’d hand him her phone and ask him to take a picture of her with a new toy, her eyes shining with delight. He’d grumble about it, but she knew he’d do anything for her.

Their worlds merged seamlessly, like two puzzle pieces finding their perfect fit. She brought light into his life, softening the harsh edges, while he grounded her, his quiet strength a constant she could always rely on. She showed him that love didn’t have to be loud, didn’t have to shout to be real—it could be found in quiet moments, in shared silences, in the warmth of a pink-hued room filled with laughter and warmth.

One evening, as they sat together in her room, her head resting on his shoulder, Levi looked around at the pink walls, the fairy lights casting a soft glow, her toy collection carefully arranged on the shelves. And he realized that this was his home now, not the empty apartment he used to live in. Y/N was his home.

With a gentle squeeze of her hand, he whispered the words he’d held inside for too long. “I love you, Y/N.”

She turned to him, her eyes wide, a smile blossoming on her lips. “I love you too, Levi. Even if you are a bit of a neat freak.”

And as she laughed, her voice filling the room, Levi felt something he hadn’t felt in years: a sense of peace, a certainty that this was where he was meant to be. In a world softened by pastels, his shadows finally felt at rest.

Levi Ackerman, the man who had spent his life in shades of gray, had found his heart painted in hues of pink. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[project-sonadow]

happy hour drabble # 2

Sonic had been dragging his feet all day. It was Monday again, which meant there wasn't much to do at Speedy's. Count the change, polish his roller skates, clean the fryers. That was his routine. By the end of his shift, it felt like there were lead blocks stuffed in his socks.

One of his coworkers gave him a strange look when he hung up his hat. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," the girl replied. For some reason, her eyes looked sad. "Get some rest tonight, won't you, Arthur? We can't have you calling out; you're our best skater!"

Sonic raised an eyebrow, but before he could ask what she meant by that, she disappeared out the back door. Though her voice was muffled now, he could still make out her last request: "And don't forget to lock up!"

Rolling his eyes, Sonic twirled the keys in between his fingers and shook his head. This wasn't his first rodeo! After switching out his skates for his regular, non-wheeled shoes, he left the restaurant with his laces still untied. The door closed behind him, and he locked it with a soft click.

Shadow was waiting for him in his usual spot. The headlights on Shadow's motorcycle illuminated the dark parking lot with warm yellow light, and its engine filled the air with a weighty hum. Sonic hopped onto the back of the bike in one swift motion, and then wrapped his arms around Shadow’s waist like he'd been waiting to do it all day.

"No detours tonight," Sonic said. "I'm bushed!"

Shadow glanced back over his shoulder and was greeted by a mess of wild brown-and-blue quills. "Fine," he said. "That disaster you call a coat would give us away in an instant. Save your strength so I can fix it before bed."

If Sonic replied, it was drowned out by the sound of the motorcycle's engine as it roared to life. Sonic rested his head against Shadow's shoulder as the dark hedgehog drove them back to their apartment. The cool air felt nice against Sonic's fur as the wind whipped through it.

Soon, they arrived. Shadow parked the motorcycle in front of their apartment building before the two of them got off. Only then, under the bright white streetlights, did Shadow see the red flush on Sonic's cheeks. Without so much as a word, Shadow stepped forward and pressed the back of his hand against Sonic's forehead.

"Uh?" Sonic blinked. "Sh-- Lance? What're you...?"

Shadow dropped his hand from Sonic's forehead. "You're burning up," he said matter-of-factly. Then, he took Sonic's hand. "Come. Let's go inside."

Sonic let Shadow lead him up the stairs as he processed what he'd just said. "Wait," Sonic said as Shadow pushed open the door to their apartment. "I'm sick? But it's Monday!"

"Correct."

After both of them were inside the apartment, Shadow shut the door. Now, Sonic's face was screwed up like he was trying to solve a difficult math problem. "That doesn't make any sense," Sonic was saying. "I wasn't sick last Monday, or last last Monday, or--"

Shadow interrupted, "It's possible our minds aren't the only things that remain intact throughout time."

Sonic frowned, "So, someone's germs from the last loop are making me sick in this one?" He paused to think about that for a second. "That's not good, dude. That means..."

"Any consequences will persist regardless of our current place in time," Shadow finished. He was frowning now, too.

"Great," Sonic said, even though nothing about this was great. "Well, there goes my Plan A."

"And what was that?"

Sonic grinned, "'Run straight at the bad guy and hope for the best'!"

Shadow pursed his lips and sighed. Loudly. With agitation. "That's always your plan."

Sonic opened his mouth to reply, but a sneeze cut off whatever snarky remark he had prepared. His grin faded as he remembered how tired he was. Talk about a buzzkill! Next time he saw Tails, he'd have to ask him to make a shrink ray, so he could fight off germs with his fists.

Shadow shook his head as he watched Sonic's ears droop. "Go. Sit," he said. "I'll take it from here."

Sonic wanted to argue, but Shadow’s stern brown eyes made him feel funny. “Whatever,” Sonic muttered as he averted his gaze. “Just don’t take too long. I can’t promise I’ll stick around if you do!”

In truth, Sonic wasn’t going anywhere. Now that he was free from the constraints of his 9 to 5, and the horrors of capitalism were held back by the immutable strength of their apartment door, he was left with nothing to distract him from his fever. He shuffled into the bathroom and plopped down on the stool, waiting for Shadow to come in with the dye.

He sniffled. His bones hurt. He scratched his head, irritated. This never would’ve happened to world famous superhero, Sonic the Hedgehog. It was only because he was disguised as some random punk that he’d gotten sick.

“I seem to remember your fox friend recounting a tale to the contrary,” Shadow suddenly said. He’d appeared in the doorway, dye in hand. “Something about you and Arabian Nights…?”

Sonic waved his hand. “That was different,” he said.

Shadow popped the lid off a bottle of brown dye. “Oh? Is that so?”

Huffing indignantly, Sonic replied, “Yeah. That time, my worst enemy was a super powerful genie. This time, it’s customers!”

Shadow lowered his head. Sonic could’ve sworn he saw him smile. “Hold still,” Shadow said, his hands freshly gloved up and covered in dye. “I’ll be quick.”

Regardless of the truth of that statement, Sonic was physically, mentally, and emotionally incapable of holding still. He tried. Of course, he didn’t want to squirm around like a worm in the rain. But he couldn’t help it! Just like he couldn’t help but tap his foot against the linoleum, his claws clack-clack-clacking against the tile as he did so. That was, until one of Shadow’s hands moved to the back of Sonic’s left ear, and Sonic froze.

Sonic felt Shadow rub the dye into his fur. He felt his claws brush gently against the softest part of his ear. And Sonic stopped thinking about how lame it was to be sick. He didn’t worry about holding still. His heart fluttered in his chest and his eyes closed, totally focused on how good it felt to have Shadow’s fingers in his fur.

Shadow paused, having noticed the strange shift in Sonic’s behavior. But there was no time for him to lean forward and investigate, because a gentle pressure was now pushing against the palm of his hand, urging him to continue. 

It was Sonic, leaning into Shadow’s touch. 

Shadow nearly choked, but he managed to keep his composure. He isn’t feeling well, Shadow reminded himself. That’s all this was.

And yet, when Shadow resumed styling Sonic’s quills, he wasn’t thinking about covering up all the blue spots anymore. Instead, he focused his attention on just that one spot behind Sonic’s ear. He didn’t know why. Maybe he pitied Sonic. As the Ultimate Lifeform, he would never know how it felt to be ill.

Sonic leaned deeper into Shadow’s touch. His tense shoulders relaxed. His job, their mission, the time loop–none of that mattered anymore. Somewhere inside his chest, next to his heart, a soft rumbling began. Purring.

Sonic was purring.

Abruptly, Shadow stood. He turned away from Sonic, so he didn’t see him blink his eyes open sleepily. 

“Shadow…?”

“That’s all for now,” Shadow said stiffly. “Count yourself lucky. If not for your… illness… you would’ve been sitting there for much longer.”

And then he exited the bathroom, leaving Sonic sitting there as the last of his purrs quietly faded away.

[vodika-vibes]

Happy 500!

I would request a sapphire with Rex in autumn, a season of change, Rebels Era time frame.

Thank you!

Forever Is A Long Time

Summary: Years after the end of the Clone Wars, you and Rex have managed to make a life for yourselves on your grandparent's old farm. Autumn always brings its own challenges, but that’s not always a bad thing.

Pairing: Rebels!Rex x Former Jedi GN! Reader

Word Count: 934

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff. You have been warned.

Prompt: Sapphire - Wise Love

A/N: Full honesty, I've never seen Rebels, so I decided to play around with everything. I hope you like it!

You think you love autumn.

You love how the world bursts into a wild array of colors, how the miserable summer heat settles into something tolerable, and how everything is pumpkin or apple-flavored.

Lazily, you stretch your arms over your head, able to feel Rex’s shirt creep up your thighs as you reach up, though it falls back into place as your arms fall back to your side. 

Speaking of Rex, where is he?

You turn your head away from the window that looks out at the orchard, to focus your attention deeper into your home. He hasn’t gone outside yet, though you know that he plans to work on his speeder today. Your handsome Captain seems to think that having a working speeder will make the harvest easier.

And he’s right, it will.

But you’re not going to tell him that.

“Rex?”

“Back here, mesh’la!” He calls from the back of the house.

Curiously, you push away from the kitchen counter and follow his voice through the halls until you reach the back hallway which leads to the mudroom. 

“What are you doing?” You ask as you settle on the bench that was built into the wall, your head tilting to the side as you try to figure out what, exactly, he’s working on.

He glances at you, a grin on his face, “What? You can’t tell?”

You scrunch up your nose at him, and then glance at his project. It’s some kind of electronic device, based on what you can see. But what you don’t know about computers and mechanics could probably fill several archives. “I give up.”

“You didn’t even make a guess, cyare.” His voice is dancing with amusement, and you make a face at him.

“Oh, I dunno…Is it a comm?”

“Close, but no.” Rex focuses on it for a moment longer, snapping a few pieces together, “It’s the old radio that your brother gave you.”

“The radio he broke in a fit of temper? That radio?”

“The very same.”

“Huh.” You move off the bench so you’re able to lean on Rex’s shoulder to peer at his project, “Why are you fixing it?”

“Because it was broken,” He replies simply.

You nudge him gently, “Come on, Rex. It’s been broken for years.”

He glances at you and then sets his tools on the ground so he’s able to tug you onto his lap. You release a startled noise as he settles you comfortably on his lap and leans in to press his forehead against yours.

His dark eyes scan your face, and you aren’t able to stifle your soft giggle as you reach up and press your hands against his cheeks, your fingers gently brushing his beard.

Rex’s eyes crinkle with the strength of his smile, and his arms tighten around you, “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” You reply, grinning widely. 

He tugs you into a gentle kiss that turns into several gentle kisses, pulling even more delighted laughter from you. When he kisses you like this, you feel like you’re back at the start of your relationship, all those years ago. When he was a Clone Captain, and you were an Archivist at the Jedi Temple.

“I saw you looking at the radio the other day,” Rex says lightly, “So I decided to fix it.”

“You did?”

He bumps his nose against yours, “What? You think after all these years I can’t tell what you’re thinking?” Rex teases lightly.

“Of course you do,” You murmur in turn. “I was considering throwing it away, though.”

“Well, now there’s no need.”

“Rex,” His name is a laugh, “We have so much stuff.”

“Well, seeing as neither of us had any stuff when we were younger, I think we have just enough.” He adjusts you on his lap and focuses his attention on the radio again, snapping a few more pieces back together, before putting the whole radio together and standing it up.

And then he flips the power switch, and soft music fills the hallway.

Familiar music.

You recognize the tune immediately, it's the song that was playing the day that Rex confessed to you. The song that was playing when he proposed. The song that you danced your first dance to.

“Well now,” Rex grins at you, “Seems like fate.” Gently he nudges you to your feet and then stands up to tug you into his arms. “May I have this dance?”

You beam at him, “You can have all of them.”

He spins you in the narrow hallway, before pulling you flush against him. His expression is soft and warm and for you and you alone. 

“Tell me, cyare.” He murmurs as the pair of you sway to the soft music, “Is this what you expected from life?”

“No, I didn’t.” You snake your arms around his neck, “But this is so much better than I expected.”

“That right?”

“I’ll spend forever in your arms,” You whisper to him.

Rex chuckles, “Forever is a long time, cyare.”

“And I’ll happily spend every minute of it with you.”

He kisses you then, slow and deep, “You spoil this old clone.”

“Well, someone has to.” You reply against his lips.

His grip tightens around your hips, “Do we have plans for today, cyar’ika?”

“Nothing that can’t be put off for a couple of hours.”

“Good.” He lifts you as if you weigh nothing, and then carries you into your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him as your giggles fill the home you built with Rex.

Forever might be a long time, but in your opinion, it’s not nearly long enough.

@bad4amficideas @justiceandwar98 @Mira-Loves-Star-Wars @tiredbi-peach @dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023 @kimiheartblade @padawancat97 @falconfeather23435 @etod

@bb8-99 @kiss-anon @continous-mistakes @yoitsjay @imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

[imagine-darksiders]

So, what do you think of this? Bowser sees Y/N in an extreme state of danger, like, I dunno, trying to be taken against her will by an arranged Prince suitor or something, and the state of her distress/fear get's him so mad he transforms into Giga Bowser.

Well, first of all, I have done nothing BUT think of this for the past week! Thanks so much for the inspiration! Here's a little drabble <3

TW: Physical abuse, Kidnapping, Captive Reader, Implied arranged marriage, Giga Bowser is kinda scary? Mentions of being eaten etc

----

Bowser's thunderous footsteps come grinding to a halt of their own accord, stilling the colossal Koopa in his tracks at the opposite end of the docks, his eyes bulging open at the sight that looms out of the mist to greet him.

He's found you, his little runaway, for which he's rendered breathless with palpable relief.

But to his mounting dismay, there's another human with you.

A stranger...

A man.

And not only is this man encroaching well into your personal space, but his hands have captured your wrists as well, keeping you anchored in place with his chest shoved firmly against yours.

The pair of you are so wrapped up in the presence of the other, that neither one of you notices the King lurking nearby.

For a single beat, Bowser almost can't tear his wild-eyed stare away from the fingertips squeezing into your supple skin.

But then, he hears your voice, laden with thick and palpable alarm that's badly disguised by the composure you're attempting to maintain.

“Falkner, please,” you're shakily telling the other human, “Whatever agreement you may have had with my father is null and void now that he's dead!”

“Bullshit!” the stranger is quick to contend, giving you a rough jostle that throws fuel on the fire already raging in Bowser's gut, “Your old man promised you to me! I didn't sail halfway around the world just to be told no!”

Neither of you register the Koopa, not even when he lowers his horned head and takes a heavy, dangerous step towards you, his hackles starting to rise just like his gorge.

Just who the Hell does this idiot think he is to speak to you so crassly?!

Another step sends the pebbles near his feet skittering across the ground.

Your jaw is set, but you continue to tug at your ensnared wrists as you retort, “Promises made in a drunken stupor are hardly binding agreements!”

The man's face is swiftly changing from sallow and pallid to a vivid crimson and he parts his lips to shout, “You are mine by rights! You're coming with me!”

“Let me GO!” At last, perhaps inevitably, your voice cracks.

Bowser's jaw aches with how tightly his fangs are wedged together.

He can feel a fireball trying to crawl its way up his throat, leaving a sting that burns like venom along the walls of his trachea, but he gulps it down. No matter how great and terrible his rage might grow, he'd be remiss to let an attack loose with you so close to the firing line.

But there's something else building in his chest. Something swollen and ugly that rumbles like a slumbering giant just underneath his scales when he sees the moisture glistening on your dainty eyelashes.

Bowser hasn't ever seen you cry. Not even when he informed you that you'd be a permanent guest at his castle. Not even when it dawned on you that you could never go back to your old home across the seas. Not even when you fell from your window during an escape attempt and sprained your ankle, and the pain was great enough that you actually clung to him as he lifted you gently into his arms, your lips stuffed together to refrain from whimpering.

So to see you this close to tears now instills an outrage in him that differs from his usual temper. This is tumultuous. Primal, even.

He wants you to notice him now, to glance over and see that he's here for you, that you'll be all right because Bowser would never let anything bad happen to you.

Heart aflame, his pace quickens to a lurching gallop.

With a wrench, you manage to free one of your hands from Falkner's grip and use it to pry his fingers from your remaining wrist. “I said, GET! OFF!”

The anger in Bowser's chest dims only slightly to make room for a burst of pride.

But that momentary delight is stamped out as swiftly as it comes.

In an awful, jarring instant, the man - evidently fed up with your continued resistance – reels his hand back into the air behind his head, fingers pressed together, open-palmed...

Bowser can see the disaster unfurling right in front of him, but his shame is in knowing that he was too slow to stop it from happening.

The hand hurtles forwards...

A harrowing 'CRACK' ruptures the air as calloused skin meets the vulnerable flesh of your cheek.

Your head is flung sideways and you cry out, eyes wide with shock, and it's only then that your startled gaze land upon your audience. Cheek humming, the tears finally spill over the walls of your eyelids, tumbling in ceaseless rivulets down your face.

You choke on a wet sob, unable to drag your gaze away from the Koopa.

You can't summon the will to be pleased for his interference, if anything, you're ashamed to have been caught by your captor in a moment of such vulnerability.

Perhaps it's the tears distorting your vision, or perhaps the slap had knocked something loose in your brain, but through blurred vision, you think you can see a change come over Bowser, and if you didn't know any better, you'd almost swear that he was growing.

A hiss from your side catches your attention, but you don't turn to look at Falkner, though you can see him flapping his hand about to rid it of the lingering sting. “Damn,” he sucks a breath through his teeth, “Now look what you made me do... If you hadn't been so difficult, I wouldn't've had to do-” He finally notices the ground trembling beneath his leather boots. "-that...?"

Whatever had been hiding under the surface of Bowser's scales is howling out with rage, stirred from its slumber by the vicious and unprovoked attack on his friend.

Muscles ripple and bulge as they expand, bones snap, twisting out of shape. The Koopa King's gums burn as his fangs grow longer, sharper, squeaking against one another whilst his rapidly changing jaw struggles to keep up with their rate of growth.

It's agony, this transformation, but it can't be helped.

His friend has been struck. Hurt. And everything in him, every last instinct and sinew and atom, is bellowing out at him that he needs to protect you.

He would swallow this agony over and over again if it keeps you from experiencing pain.

He may be monstrous in size and temperament, but he isn't a monster.

He can't be...

Anger feeds into his expanding body, giving itself more space to spread like a wildfire, or perhaps more like a wave of churning acid that washes through his veins and takes the place of his blood.

It must... Because his body feels as if it's corroding.

“What the HELL is that?!”

Falkner's shriek adequately echoes your own inner monologue.

And you thought Bowser was terrifying before.

The tyrant must be absolutely livid with you for managing to escape from your room. If only you hadn't run into Sir Falkner on the docks. You went looking for a rescue party, but the man who did come to 'rescue' you might be even worse than King Bowser. At least Bowser, for all his uninvited clinginess, had never raised a hand against you.

Now though, locked in his blood-red stare, you start to wonder if you've pushed your luck just a step too far.

Pounding footsteps take off behind you, slapping against the cobblestone as Falkner simply turns tail and runs, leaving you frozen in place with your limbs as rigid as petrified wood, like your body knows instinctively that to turn your back and run from something with teeth that sharp is a very bad idea.

Inevitably, Bowser's head shoots up almost the moment Falkner starts to flee, and you're helpless but to watch on in horror as a gigantic paw surges over your head and snatches your would-be suitor right off the ground, hoisting the man up into the air.

Falker's resulting scream chills you down to the marrow in your bones, so wracked with terror and urgency that it sets your teeth on edge.

The oversized Koopa draws the thrashing human up to his maw and peels back his thick, rubbery lips, giving Falkner an uninterrupted view of his fate.

A constant growl spills between gleaming fangs, each one about the length of your own forearm, and the sound itself is loud enough that it could be mistaken for an unending grumble of far-off thunder, easily drowning out the man's screams.

It's gruesome to see. Your imagination runs wild with awful possibilities that you pray don't come to pass. Trembling in your boots, you lower your gaze to stare unblinkingly at the ground instead whilst short, sharp breaths fall out of your lungs, coming fast enough to leave you feeling light-headed.

Slowly, carefully, you take a single step back.

This might be your only chance to escape.

But then, like a damning acknowledgement of your cowardice, Falkner screams your name.

“Y/N!” he screeches, his back arched against the pain of being crushed in Bowser's grip, “HELP ME! PLEASE!”

'...You don't have to help him,' logic whispers into your ear, set on self-preservation, 'Nobody but his mother would miss him. He's a bad person, and you're not a hero.'

No. You're not a hero. And it certainly wouldn't be heroic to save a man like Falkner, who does more harm than good most days.

Bowser's immense jaws part in reaction to the human's screams, and his growl explodes into a deafening roar that blasts the man's hair back and forces him to pinch his eyes firmly shut.

Similarly, you raise your hands and slap them over your ears, teeth grit until the sound starts to fade. You can only imagine what the volume had done to Falkner's eardrums.

Even through the cushioning of your palms, you still hear him crying out once more, “DO SOMETHING!”

… Your head twists slowly towards a little wooden boat that bobs invitingly on the nearby docks. You're strong enough to work the oars, you could very easily jump into it, raise the little, white sail and let the wind carry you far out to sea, away from this place.

Away from Bowser.

This could be your only shot of escaping imprisonment and going home.

“I beg of you!”

… You could...

“Y/N!”

… Oh, damn it all.

Your eyes snap back up to Falkner and you immediately start to feel the burning of your cheek, as if to remind you of what he did.

But already, your scruples are disintegrating. A direct cry for help is a tough thing to ignore, after all.

On shaking knees, you reclaim the step you'd made in retreat and instead move towards Bowser, tipping your head back and peeling your tongue from the roof of your bone-dry mouth. “B-!” You falter on the first syllable and have to swallow roughly before trying again. “Bowser!”

Almost as soon as it had begun, the thunderous roar falls silent, echoing off in the distance until it's lost over the crashing waves.

Falkner continues to gasp and whimper inside the colossal fist, but those haunting, blood-red eyes turn gradually in your direction, pinning you once again in their subtle glow.

Your legs threaten to buckle as you realise he's now focusing solely on you.

You've no idea if he can be reasoned with in this state, but you know you can't do much else but try. “Release him, Bowser!” you yelp without an ounce of any real authority, “I'm the one who ran from you! Not him! Put him down!”

The docks are still and disarmingly placid for a time, disturbed only by the sounds of Falkner struggling to free himself, and the breaths that enter and leave a set of gargantuan lungs.

The hulking Koopa continues to glower down at you, his nostrils flared wide to reveal a red-hot glow from within, like a burning core.

Just as you begin to fear that your plea will go unheeded, Bowser hisses through his fangs, and then, without much ceremony, he simply opens his fist and Falkner goes tumbling out of it, landing awkwardly on his ankle and eliciting a yelp of pain. Still, he wastes no time in whirling over onto his backside and kicking madly to push himself out from under the behemoth's shadow.

You follow his retreat from the corner of an eye, but you don't break Bowser's stare.

You daren't, even as he takes a lumbering step in your direction. The ground underneath your shudders with the impact, as though the island itself is afraid of his wrath.

Another step covers much of the distance between you, and the realisation that he's coming your way snaps you out of your trance. You've given Falkner a chance to escape. Now, you'll be taking yours.

Skirts flying, you whip yourself about and take off in a dead sprint. Behind you, the air quivers as Bowser releases an urgent chuff, the heat from his breath washing disconcertingly over the back of your neck and spurring you to kick up your heels.

However, you barely make it ten paces before a colossal palm suddenly descends from the sky and crashes into the ground just ahead of you. You let out a yelp and hit the brakes, but you've already come too close to his hand, and so, like a venus fly trap closes around a hapless insect, Bowser's fingers spring to action, sweeping you up off your feet and pinning you against the soft, warm leather of his palm.

“No, no, no!” you bleat, scrabbling desperately at thick scales as the ground falls away below you and you find yourself lifted up to Bowser's big, yellow muzzle.

All you can do is wait for the crunch. For the pain. To hear your bones grind together when he eventually clenches his fist.

You're ashamed to cry in front of him, but you're too afraid to stop. Nausea churns your stomach and you screw up your face in anticipation, eyes clamped tightly closed.

The agony of waiting is almost too much for you to bear.

You're too wrapped up in your fear to notice that Bowser has yet to even slightly tighten his grasp. If anything, his hold is shockingly gentle. The pad of an immense thumb is pressed against your belly, exerting just enough pressure to keep you safely tucked in the hollow of his palm.

Several, unbearable seconds tick by whilst you quiver and breathe as though you've just run a mile.

You nearly lose your composure, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself from demanding that he just get your punishment over with.

And then, you feel it.

A gentle pressure, so light that you'd think a butterfly must have landed on your neck, but when your eyes burst open and you catch sight of a monolithic finger all but filling your field of view, you realise what a fool you were to close your eyes at all.

Bowser, it seems, has raised his unoccupied hand towards you, and the very tip of a single claw has come to rest in the hollow of your throat. You can feel it's ghosting presence as you swallow thickly and your larynx presses a little more solidly against it for all of a second.

You're too stunned to make a move.

With a gentleness that doesn't at all befit his size, Bowser slowly lifts his claw, and in doing so, your head is pushed up, then turned slightly to one side, exposing your cheek.

The cheek that had been viciously struck.

Why is he...?

Pinned under the weight of his scrutiny, you fall utterly motionless, your mouth stuck open as if you're emitting a silent scream.

A lonely tear escapes the confines of your lashes and trickles down to your chin when it dangles precariously for a before it falls, plopping down onto Bowser's fingertip.

The behemoth's muzzle shifts close, and those dark and dangerous eyes narrow to thin slits as he inspects your cheek. You'd almost entirely forgotten about the throbbing ache lancing across your face, and even now, adrenaline is doing wonders at keeping most of the discomfort at bay.

All of a sudden, Bowser's pupils shrink and a thrum of aggression starts up in his chest like the engine of some ancient and powerful machine. Drawing his head away from you, he twists it over his bulging shoulder and aims a vicious snarl in the direction that Falkner had fled.

You can't help but flinch when his fingers twitch around you, but he must have noticed the movement, because not a second later, the growl is cut off and he swings his nose around to peer down at you again, his slitted pupils expanding like ink in water once they land on you.

Your pulse is jackhammering against your skin. Nothing about this is adding up. He seems more agitated about Falkner than about you. But... you're the escaped prisoner...

You don't have much time to ponder over his strange behaviour though. Just as carefully as it had appeared, the Koopa's forefinger slides gradually from beneath your chin and you can finally gulp down a greedy breath of air, realising belatedly that you'd stopped breathing the moment he touched you.

All around you, the behemoth starts to move, pulling you close and tucking you against his chest as he takes step after impossibly lengthy step, turning his immense bulk about to head back across the island to your gloomy, familiar prison.

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

You used to wonder if it was simply Bowser's ostentatious taste in décor that made him choose such grand, wide doorways to separate the rooms of his castle. Now however, as the gargantuan Koopa squeezes himself through the entrance to your given chambers, his shell scraping noisily against the wooden doorframes, you realise the design might lend more to practicality than aesthetic, especially if this... transformation happens on a regular basis around here.

God, you hope not...

You've remained stiff as a board in Bowser's unwavering grasp all the way back, fearful of provoking a violent reaction out of him like you had when you tried to struggle out of Falkner's grip.

Shoulders sagging as he releases a massive sigh, the Koopa trundles to a stop at the foot of your bed and at long, long last, he peels you away from his chest. Your ears ring after so much time spent having to listen to a mighty heart thudding rhythmically right next to your head.

Again, with a care that you certainly never would have expected him to possess, Bowser cups you in his palms and lowers you onto the plush sheets, sliding his hands out from underneath you as if he's placing down a fragile, porcelain doll.

As soon as you're out of his grasp, he deflates, heaving a billowing breath and all but dropping onto all fours in front of you. Alarmed, you scramble backwards until your spine hits the bed's headboard, blurting out a yelp when Bowser's chin drops down to thwack on the sheets in front of you. The weight of his skull alone causes the bed to buckle and groan in protest, but to your astonishment, it somehow manages to support him as he gets himself settled, peering down the length of his snout and ensnaring you in that ruby-red gaze once more.

Your fingers flex into the sheets around you, bunching them up and wrinkling the fine cotton.

'Now what's he doing?'

His eyes are glued to your cheek again, his intense stare broken by the occasional, languid blink.

You're not expecting it when he suddenly moves.

He only extends his neck a little to bring his head closer to you, but he's so massive, the motion it far more jarring from your perspective. With a shriek, you slam your eyes shut and instinctively throw up your hands, pressing them hard against the soft muzzle, as if they alone are enough to keep him from advancing on you any further. To your immense shock however, the moment your fingers meet the warm surface of his nose, Bowser falls still.

You risk prying open an eyelid to peep up at him.

Judging by the impossibly wide smile that now stretches across his face, he's apparently delighted by this new development.

This is the first time you've touched his face.

Your palm is almost lost to a vast expanse of yellow skin, sitting right on the ridge of his nose between his flaring nostrils.

The Koopa's own gaze is heavy-lidded, each pupil angled to keep you within his sights whilst a pleased hum travels through his throat and causes the bed to quake underneath you.

His fangs remain safely tucked behind his lips, and as the seconds tick by without your hand getting snapped off, the tension in your fingers gradually begins to dissipate.

With your heartbeat receding as well, you allow yourself to lightly stroke just the tips of your fingers down his snout until they pause on the cusp of his upper lip, drawing a reverent shudder from the almighty juggernaut.

Pressing your teeth together, you inhale slowly through your nose, and murmur, “...Bowser?”

It's as if you've just broken him from some kind of trance.

The King's face suddenly twists up and he emits a throaty groan, like he's in pain.

Quick as a flash, you tear your hand from his muzzle and press yourself back as far away as you can when he peels his chin from the bed and brings both of his gargantuan paws up to clutch at his head, staggering to his feet.

“Bowser!” you cry again, this time in alarm, “What's happening!?”

A disconcerting notion occurs to you - that he could be on the verge of going bezerk - and you hurriedly throw back the covers with a view to scramble off the bed and make a break for the doors. But as soon as you move, the Koopa's eyes spring open again and zero in on you, trapping you in a stare so full of frantic desperation that you stop at once, though more from confusion than fear.

And so, you're left to do nothing but watch as the jagged behemoth undergoes another, painful transformation.

The heavy shell on his back grows smaller, losing the serrated quality of its spikes. His tail shortens, his jutting fangs soften around their edges. The sweeping horns on his head recede back inside his rapidly shrinking skull until only their tips remain poking out from between his mess of a mane.

You almost choke on a gushing sigh of relief when at last, the King is back to his regular, brutish self, knelt on the ground at the foot of your bed - though it strikes you quite abruptly that you shouldn't be feeling reassured by Bowser's presence, no matter which form he takes.

Despite your misgivings, you still find yourself croaking out, “A-are you okay?”

Arduously, he braces a palm on the end of the bed and uses it to push himself up onto his feet again, eventually dragging his eyes over to you. He gives you a brief, searching glance, focusing for an uncomfortable minute on your face, then, without a word, the Koopa spins around and staggers purposefully towards the adjoining bathroom, disappearing through the door.

Plagued by uncertainty, you allow your fists to tentatively unclench around the bedsheets, lowering them into your lap as the squeak of a tap filters out from beyond the ensuite door, followed by the unmistakable rush of running water.

Another squeak... and a few moments later, the Koopa comes stomping back into the room, this time with a wet flannel clutched inside his meaty paw.

“You should've let me pulverise 'im,” he grumbles, stalking around the bed until he comes to the side you're sitting on.

Gobsmacked, you let your mouth fall open, close it, then open it once more to ask, “I... I beg your pardon?”

“That GUY!” he snaps, “You shouldn't'a stopped me. He deserved the worst!”

You blink stupidly, lifting your eyebrows in tandem until they sit high on your forehead. “I'm sorry.. Are we... not going to talk about what just happened to you!?”

“What's there to talk about?” he grunts, flicking his tail up onto the bed before sinking his hefty backside down after it, fidgeting with the sodden flannel between his claws, “You got hurt. I got mad.”

“You got mad!?” Scoffing at the absurd understatement, you continue, “Bowser - you turned into a gigantic, terrifying monster who looked like he was three seconds away from chewing me up and spitting me back out! All because somebody slapped me!?”

You expect an uproarious retort, which would definitely be in keeping with your usual repartee with him, so it comes as a shock when Bowser glares heatedly at you for a few moments, then merely turns his nose away from you, hiding his expression.

It's... notably uncharacteristic of the hot-tempered Koopa. So much so that it prompts you to tilt your head and call, “Bowser?”

You can't see his face beyond the shell that covers his back, but motion on the covers draws your gaze down to see his tail. Slowly, the appendage curls inwards, tucking itself up against his thigh. Dejected.

“You didn't deserve what he did...”

You look up at Bowser again, blinking owlishly to find his arm reaching back towards you, though the King keeps his face stubbornly pointed in the opposite direction. The little, white flannel is draped across his proffered palm.

Keeping a dubious eye on the Koopa, you hesitantly stretch your hand out to his, pinching the fabric between your thumb and forefinger and pausing for a second to marvel over how cold it is. Drawing it into your grasp, you waste no time in bringing it up to your face and gently pressing the cool material against your cheek, unable to keep back the tiny smile that grows on your face with that slight modicum of relief.

You recognise his gesture is meant to be a peace offering, and you are grateful for the flannel... But you're also still bitter.

“So,” you hum pensively, eyeing his robust arm as it drops down to rest on the bed beside him, “I didn't deserve that. But I do deserve to be locked up and held prisoner in your castle?”

“I keep you safe.” His head twitches in your direction with a cursory show of teeth that are hardly very frightening anymore, not now that you've seen what they can become, “I keep you fed and warm and happy. I'd never hurt you.”

“No. You keep me fed and warm, and that's it,” you tell him sharply, “I don't feel safe here. And I am far from happy.”

You're more than aware that you're antagonising him, but you think you're damn well within your rights to do so. It isn't enough that he keeps you locked up in this castle and forbids you your freedom, but now he expects you to act as if you're happy about it too?

Another, disgruntled noise leaves him as he lurches off the bed, landing on his feet with a thud.

"Where are you going?" you demand.

"I'm-!" Bowser heaves a sigh, running a clawed hand through his thick, fiery mane. “I'm goin' to get you a proper ice-pack...” Trailing off, the King tromps heavily across your room, making his agitation known with every, deliberate step until he reaches the door.

Your teeth tug at a piece of loose skin on your lower lip. “... Bowser.”

He pauses, his hulking frame suddenly looking so small and vulnerable in the gargantuan doorway, with one of his hands sitting poised upon the handle.

Even from the bed, you can see the flash of his crimson iris swivelling in your direction.

You try to regard him passively, but the ice in your gaze is starting to melt fraction by fraction, and you don't know whether he can see it or not. “... Thanks,” you call gently anyway, lifting your shoulder into a shrug, “For... you know, for scaring Falkner off.”

You watch his eyelid widen, as if he's surprised to hear a word of thanks, from you of all people.

There's even the minutest quiver in his lip as it tries to tug itself up into the ghost of a smile. But then, he gives his head a rough shake, and the smile is gone.

“Just protectin' what's mine,” he rumbles, pushing the door open and slipping through the gap. The door closes again a second later, and your ears catch the sound of a heavy key sliding into the lock and turning, sending the tumblers clunking home.

… What's his...

Right.

A hollow space expands between your ribs, the familiar hole that disappointment often leaves behind.

Drawing your knees up against your chest, you wrap an arm around yourself for comfort, keeping the flannel pressed to your cheek as you wait for him to return with that ice pack.

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Aftermath au: Red Letter Day

Barney gets a call that Gordon Freeman had been found after ten years of being missing in action.

Word count: 4382

Notes: Another fic for my au "Aftermath" because I think its neat. I'm not sure what else to put here, enjoy the fic

Barney was beginning to remember how much he hated Winter as he stared through the warehouse window in front of him. Despite it being the beginning of March, spring was yet to come, meaning the snow was still falling with the temperature following suit. Barney had always hated the season, and as much as he tried, he could never come up with a proper reason. Maybe it was the fact it was cold, wet, and dreary, making any trip outside miserable, or perhaps it was the fact he was mainly cooped up inside all day, leaving him to get cabin fever. Or maybe it was a mixture of those two at the same time, along with the loneliness that came from them. No matter the reason, Barney kept quiet about it, realizing he had no ability to change the weather. All he could do was drink his hot coffee and put on a few more layers than usual. 

Barney took a sip from his mug as he looked away from the window, instead focusing his attention back into the room he was in. It was a storage room, full of random junk and scientific doodads Barney had no knowledge of. Boxes and crates were stacked up in piles taller than he was, stacked in such a way that it made Barney nervous even being near them in the case of them toppling over. Due to the lack of a radiator in that room, it was even chillier than the rest of the refurbished warehouse, making Barney glad he was wearing the warmest sweatpants he could find in his closet, along with a worn out grey hoodie, with the logo on the front being so faded that it was hard to make out as Black Mesa’s logo.

As he looked around, he was startled by the sound of a box slamming against the concrete floor, along with a short exclamation. “Oh, blast it!” “You alright, Doc?” Barney asked the other man in the room, watching as he bent over to pick up the fallen crate.

“I’m fine, just…hoping whatever was in here isn’t fragile…” 

Dr. Isaac Kleiner, or “Doc” as Barney referred to him as, was wearing a white lab coat over a robin-egg-blue dress-shirt and black tie, trading warmth for safety at his place of work. His glasses were slipping off his face as he moved boxes and rummaged through everything in the storage room, making it even more of a mess than it was before. 

“Where on earth could she have gone?” Kleiner asked, not necessarily expecting an answer. “There aren’t any vents she could have crawled in, are there?”

“I hope not,” Barney stated. “Last thing I want is that thing to fall on someone.” As Kleiner looked under a table, Barney spoke up again. “You think it ran off or something?”

“Oh no, I don’t believe so,” Kleiner stood up straight, “I’m sure she wouldn’t. After all, she needs to get fed eventually, so I imagine she’ll come out for that.” “If the thing didn’t eat someone's cat or something.”

“Hush!” Kleiner held a finger up to his mouth, causing both he and Barney to become silent as he listened closely. Barney attempted to hear what Kleiner was listening for, but to no avail, hearing nothing but silence. “Fie! I could’ve sworn I heard her moving around…”

Barney let out an exhausted sigh, “Doc, please, there’s plenty of those pests out there–”

“But there’s only ONE Lamar!”

“...Right.”

“Now, are you going to help me look?” Kleiner adjusted his crooked glasses, “Or are you going to simply stand there, doing nothing?”

“Uh…” Barney glanced away, thinking for a moment. “...No thanks.”

“Oh, you act like she’s some kind of wild animal.”

“It kinda is.”

“She’s been de-beaked and trained, and you know this!” Kleiner stated as he walked towards a filing cabinet near the corner of the room.

“‘Trained;’ I don’t think that thing is really…trained. My dog is trained, and I know you can train cats, but I don’t think you can train a literal parasite–”

“Oh! I think I’ve got something!” Kleiner said excitedly, “Help me move this cabinet, would you please?”

Barney reluctantly approached the metal cabinet as Kleiner positioned himself to the side of it, ready to move it as soon as Barney was. As soon as Barney placed his free hand against the side of it, he pushed, with Kleiner on the other side pulling it towards him.

Barney let out a loud yelp when something leaped at him from behind the cabinet, causing him to fall on his back and drop his mug on the floor. It was Lamar, the “Pet” headcrab that Kleiner had lost, and it was even uglier up close. As it laid on Barney’s chest, its six small, beady eyes stared back at him as he remained absolutely still, afraid of it trying to attack him. Its teeth on its stomach prodded at his stomach, along with its chipped, large front claws, which had colorful duct-tape covering the tips of them to prevent them from being too sharp. After a few moments of tense silence, Kleiner came to the rescue, picking up Lamar from where it rested on Barney’s torso, allowing him to take a breath.

“LAMAR!” Kleiner exclaimed, looking at his pet with relief in his eyes, “Oh, delightful! I’m so happy to see you weren’t left out in the cold somewhere…”

“Mm-hm…” Barney lifted himself off the ground, looking at his feet to see his knocked over coffee cup, with its contents spilled over. “Ugh…” 

Barney picked up his cup from the floor as Kleiner let Lamar go, watching as it waddled across the floor before jumping up onto one of the tables. Barney stared at it with contempt, the opposite reaction to Lamar’s rediscovery compared to Kleiner’s joy. 

“Do you even have a license for that thing?” Barney questioned as Lamar sat down on top of some loose documents. “If you don’t and animal control finds it, they’ll kill it–”

“I’m…in the process of getting one,” Kleiner stated, voice stumbling slightly. “And I hope no one finds her, cause if they do…I’m afraid of what you said coming true. I’m sure it will be fine regardless, at least she knows to stay inside.”

“...Sure.”

“Is everyone safe?”

Barney and Kleiner turned towards the doorway that led to the rest of the warehouse, seeing a lone, albino Vortigaunt staring back at them with her four maroon eyes. She was wearing a similar lab coat to Kleiner’s, with a borrowed pair of black dress pants, along with a fitted light brown sweater, with a hole in the middle of her chest for her third pseudo arm. She stared at Kleiner and Barney for a little while before Barney answered her question. 

“Yeah, we’re fine…” Barney sighed, glancing towards Lamar, “We just found Kleiner’s…pet.”

“Everything’s under control, Violet, you can get back to work!” Kleiner added.

“I see.” Violet’s gravelly voice seemed quieter than usual, making Barney’s brows furrow a bit.

“You alright?” He asked.

Violet seemed puzzled. “Hm?”

“Are you doing alright? I have noticed you’ve been a bit…closed off for the past few hours.” Kleiner inquired.

“We have been…distracted…” Violet responded. “I imagine it will be cleared up soon.”

“We?” Barney asked.

Violet didn’t answer. “I must get back to helping the others…the teleporter is nearly ready for its first test...”

“Oh! Wonderful. I’ll be there in a little bit.” Kleiner stated as Violet left the room. Barney remained puzzled, looking back at Kleiner with a feeling of unease in his chest.

“She said ‘we’.” Barney stated.

“I’m aware,” Kleiner responded. “You see, the Vortigaunts are able to tap into something they refer to as the ‘Vortessence’, and are thus all conne–”

“I know, Doc, I just…” Barney paused for a second. “If she’s talking about all the Vortigaunts, then wouldn’t that be a bit worrying?”

“...Maybe, but I'm not sure.” Kleiner stated. “Though, one of the members of the survey team we sent earlier today was a Vortigaunt, and that team hasn’t returned yet so…maybe there is a connection there.”

“Maybe.”

“Either way, I believe i’ll go and speak with her, just to make sure everything’s alri–”

Barney’s phone ringing from his pocket interrupted their thoughts, and when Barney pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open, he saw the number was from one of his coworkers at the hospital. “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

“You’re fine, you go ahead and I’ll go check in with the others.”

Barney nodded, watching Kleiner leave the room before he answered the call and put his phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

Barney listened closely to the person on the other end of the phone, barely processing what they were saying. 

“What’s going on? 

Not going to believe what? 

So what, why are you telling me this?”

Barney listened closely, all before he felt his heart skip a beat. The sinking feeling in his chest was enough to render him silent, all before he let out a meek “I’ll call you later.”

Barney rushed out of the room, running past Kleiner in the process, nearly pushing him over as he approached the exit. “Barney? What’s going on, are you alright–” “They found him.” Barney’s voice shook as he spoke, with him barely being able to make out the words from how tight his throat was.

“Found who?”

Barney was already out of the building by the time Kleiner asked the question, leaving it unanswered.

Barney saw his own breath clouding in front of his face as he sprinted across the parking lot of the warehouse, nearly slipping on ice multiple times but not giving any time to care. When he reached his car, he swung the door open and crawled inside, starting the engine and speeding off without a single word. His thoughts ran through his head faster than his car was capable of going, slurring together without a single cohesive thought coming through. He didn’t care if he was a few miles above the speed limit; he needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. He needed to see if what his coworker said was right.

If it was truly Gordon Freeman that was brought into the ER, he needed to be there.

When Barney made it to the hospital lot, he rushed through the front doors, looking around before approaching the front desk, out of breath from both the physical and mental strain that was put on him. Through harsh breaths, he asked, “Is Gordon Freeman here?”, with pleading eyes focused on the woman behind the desk.

“Oh, hello Mr. Calhoun, I can look through the system for a ‘Gordon Freeman’, if you’ll sit tight for a moment.” She looked towards the computer in front of her, typing in something and looking through files as Barney waited, his impatience building up inside of him.

“Fuck this.” He pushed himself away from the desk, storming down one of the hallways despite the woman at the front desk telling him he wasn’t allowed to as he was off duty. Barney rushed past hospital workers, asking them if they knew where Gordon was, only to be met with worried and frightened looks along with no answers. Barney’s frustration only grew as he ran through the hospital halls, with the familiar building beginning to feel like a maze meant to confuse him. As he ran further into the hospital wing, he slammed against one of the doctors in the hall, causing him to topple to the ground as Barney tripped over his own feet.

“Sorry, I just have to–”

“Barney? What the hell are you doing back here?” The man questioned as Barney sped past him.

“I’m looking for Gordon Freeman,” Barney answered, turning around. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s in the ER right now,” The man snapped back as he slowly stood up. “You can’t see him until he’s out of surgery.”

“Surgery? Is he safe? Is he alright?” Barney questioned, walking closer to the doctor. 

“Yes, he’ll be fine, just…” The doctor let out a tired sigh. “Get out of here, you’re off duty and risking your job with a stunt like this.”

“I need to see Gordon, alright?” Barney explained. “He’s been gone for a fucking DECADE, and he’s been found again, I can’t just leave him–”

“Calhoun.” The man raised his voice as he glared at Barney with a look of both contempt and pity. “...Listen, just wait until he’s out and I’ll see what I can do, do you understand?”

Barney remained silent for a moment, letting out a sharp breath before nodding. “Alright,” He stated, defeated. “But he better be getting the best treatment in there.”

“I’m sure they’re doing all they can, they understand his reputation–”

“I don’t care about his reputation, if i’m right, that’s my goddamn friend in there.” Barney spat. “...Let me know when he’s out. I need to at least…make sure it’s…the right guy.”

“I’m sure someone will let you know.” The doctor stated. “...Now please go back to the waiting room before I call security.”

Barney did as he was told, reluctantly walking across the hospital premises and back into the waiting room, where he will stay for another few hours. He paced around the room, bounced his foot up and down, fidgeted with his hands; anything to try and pass the time as the minutes passed by agonizingly slow. After he had already been there for what felt like days within the timespan of a few hours, he saw a nurse walk towards him. “Mr. Calhoun?”

Barney’s head lifted up, looking towards the nurse before following her down a hallway. After a couple-minutes walk, they stopped in front of a door leading to a recovery room. “He’s in there,” The nurse stated. “He’s currently sleeping, so I ask you to be quiet and not attempt to wake him up.”

“...Yeah.” Barney hesitated before walking through the door, stepping into the room, seeing a curtain blocking his view of the bed. He paused, standing in place for a moment as he wondered if the face he was about to see was truly Gordon, or simply someone mistaken as him. He wondered if he wanted the answer, or if he’d rather live in ignorance, avoiding the crippling disappointment if it wasn’t the man he thought it was, but as he walked past the curtain, every worry in his mind ceased and his thoughts became silent as he looked at the man on the bed.

Sure, his body was covered with blood-soaked bandages, his right leg was in a cast, he had medical equipment around him, and he was missing his glasses, but his face was painfully recognizable. Barney choked back a sob, covering his mouth when he saw Gordon’s face again.

“Are you alright?” The nurse behind him asked, noticing Barney’s teary-eyed look.

“I’m fine.” Barney whispered before letting out a short chuckle and a forced smile. “It’s just…he didn’t change a damn bit.”

Barney hadn’t even noticed it had been an hour since he entered the room, being surprised when he glanced at the clock and saw it was nearing 10 PM. He sat on a chair beside Gordon’s bed, having moved it from the corner of the room to right beside it. His leg bounced up and down as he looked at Gordon, all before lowering his head and letting out a deep sigh. He wished to speak to him but he was out of words he could possibly say at that very moment, not to mention the wish to stay quiet so Gordon could recover without being woken up. He wanted to tell Gordon everything that had happened in his absence; how Kleiner started up another lab to continue Black Mesa’s studies, how Eli also set up one on the other side of the city, and how Barney had finished college and was able to become a nurse. Gordon missed so much, and even though Barney wished to dump every piece of information onto him, he realized that even the realization that it had been ten years would be overwhelming enough. Thus, Barney figured to start simple, and just talk, like friends, for the first time since the Black Mesa incident.

As Barney leaned back into his seat he felt the back of his head hit something that wasn’t there before, feeling bitter cold yet organic at the same time, like a corpse’s fingers curling around the top of the backrest. He swung around, half expecting someone to be there, yet he saw nothing of the sort, seeing only the beige wall behind him. Barney let out his breath, looking back at Gordon before realizing he should head back; his stress and emotional state must have made him paranoid, not to mention the feeling of his hair standing on end. He stood up, walking towards the door out of the room before taking one last look back at Gordon before he finally left.

Later that night, Barney paced around his living room, being watched by his pet rottweiler as he talked on the phone. “The Survey team were the ones that found him?” he asked.

“That’s what they said,” Kleiner stated from the other side of the line. “The Vortigaunt was apparently the one that found him, specifically.”

“I see.”

“Quite Miraculous,” Kleiner continued, “The fact that Gordon had survived there for ten years before being found.”

“Yeah…” Barney unsurely stated under his breath.

“Nevermind that, what are you planning now?” Kleiner asked. “Should we have some kind of party? A celebration should be in order for him being back, I’d say–”

“I think he needs rest, he’s…been through a lot.” Barney stated. “I’ve thought of him staying over at my place until he can find a place of his own or until he recovers, but we’ll see how he’s feeling.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure we can find a spare room in the lab for him.”

“I dunno if he’d wanna live in a loud lab with a headcrab, doc.”

“...I suppose you have a fair point.”

“It was just so…strange.” Barney stated. “They say it was a ten year coma, but I don’t buy it. I don’t buy it at all.” “What makes you believe that?” 

“The fact he was bleeding. The fact he had fresh wounds from Black Mesa,” Barney elaborated, brows furrowed and his free arm crossing over his chest. “Not to mention the fact he was found with that…suit on.” “What kind of suit?” Kleiner questioned. “Oh, do you mean the Hazardous Environment Suit?”

“Yeah. Why would he be wearing it ten years after the incident was already over?”

“Who knows,” Kleiner sighed, “I’m sure I can talk with Eli to see if he has any ideas on–” Kleiner was interrupted by a loud crash and squeaking coming from behind him, audible through Barney’s phone. “Goodness gracious, LAMAR, NO–”

“You alright Doc?” 

“I’ll have to speak with you later, Lamar got in the vents again–Lamar get DOWN from there, that’s not safe!” After that, the call ended, and Barney was left to himself once again. Barney sighed, putting his phone back in his pocket before he heard a deep ruff coming from his dog, who was laying next to the couch in the living room, with its white patches of fur on its snout showing its age.

“You hear that, Gordon?” Barney said. “You might get a new roommate…a…different Gordon.”

The dog yawned and rested his head on his paws as Barney walked towards the living room couch, sitting on it and resting his feet on the coffee table in front of it. He leaned over the armrest, scratching the top of the dog’s head. “Guess I’ll have to explain to him why you’re also named Gordon, huh bud?”

Gordon didn’t respond, instead just letting out a soft ruff again. Barney leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling before folding his hands on top of his stomach. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining why his pet was named after his friend, he realized. After all, it’s not very easy to tell someone you thought they were dead for years.

As soon as Barney received the call that Gordon was awake the following evening, Barney rushed back to the hospital to visit him once again. As he drove across the city, worries he didn’t think about before began to creep up inside his brain. Even though he didn’t necessarily believe the coma theory the doctors had, nor did he believe even they believed it fully, he thought of the possibility of it being true, and if Gordon would even remember who Barney was after a full decade of sleep. It would be a surprise if Gordon remembered anything after that amount of time, but Barney pushed down his pessimism, trying to be optimistic just this once.

After making his way down the hospital hallway once again, he found himself back in front of the door to Gordon’s room, with a nervous feeling deep in his gut as he prepared to walk inside. He took in a breath and stepped inside, looking towards the bed in which Gordon was laying on, only to have his gaze met by two bright green eyes, ones Barney hadn't seen since ten years prior. Barney froze in place, staring back at Gordon, who appeared to be surprised to see him. As Barney sat down in the chair beside the bed, he swallowed hard, wondering what he could possibly say now that Gordon was awake. As he thought to himself, a question left his mouth that he wasn’t initially planning on asking:

“Where were you?”

The question lingered in the air like a foul odor, with Gordon’s brows furrowing lip quivering slightly, all while he curled his hands into fists. He turned away from Barney, looking down at his feet, thinking of something to say, though his hands didn’t once lift up to sign a single word.

“You…disappear for 10 years without warning,” Barney continued. “Leaving everyone to believe you were dead.”

Gordon didn’t make eye contact with Barney as he spoke.

“I thought you were dead and buried somewhere, Gordon,” Barney choked. “But…You’re here in front of me now.”

Gordon glanced at Barney before he felt arms being wrapped around his shoulders, tight, but not too tight to make it hurt.

“I fucking missed you, Gordon.” Barney said as he hugged Gordon, feeling the gesture being returned to him. Gordon’s hands shook, feeling weak and cold, yet he didn’t want to let go of the single shred of kindness he had felt since what felt like eternity. After a few moments Barney let go, sitting back down with red, tear-filled eyes. 

“...You…missed a lot.” Barney stated; Gordon nodded knowingly in response. “I’d tell ya’ everything, but…I don’t even know how to start.”

“Are they safe?” Gordon’s hands were shaking, but Barney could make out the message regardless.

“Who, like…Kleiner? Eli?”

Gordon nodded slightly, lips pursed in anticipation. 

“They’re alright,” Barney assured, allowing Gordon to let out a breath. “In fact…they’re excited to see you again. Kleiner especially, he’s hoping to get you back into his lab…don’t know if you want to do that, but the offer’s there.”

Gordon appeared to have had a weight lifted off his shoulders at the news, but the cold yet somber gaze didn’t leave his eyes. Barney planned to tell Gordon that they were among the few survivors of the Black Mesa incident, but he bit his tongue for the time being.

“...Never thought you’d be in the history books, did ya?” Barney let out a lighthearted chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You’re a hero in everyone’s eyes, now.”

Gordon shook his head, looking down and away from Barney’s gaze as he clasped his hands together on his lap. Barney stared at him with a look of confusion and worry, all before forcefully clearing his throat. 

“I’m just…happy to see you alive, Gordon.” Barney stated. “After…a few years I began to…to lose hope.” Barney paused for a second, realizing Gordon was still not meeting his gaze. “...Should’ve known you were a tougher son of a bitch than that, I guess.”

Gordon scoffed slightly before shaking his head again, still staring at his feet. Silence fell as Barney attempted to think of something else to say to ease the tense atmosphere, though his thoughts were blank and void of any ideas. Barney looked towards Gordon yet again, seeing he was raising his hands up to sign something:

“Missed you too.”

Barney smiled slightly, despite feeling as if he wanted to cry right then and there. He never anticipated he’d be this emotional in his life, yet here he was; about to cry for the second time that day. Seeing his legally dead friend after ten years of being missing in action was enough to warrant it, he supposed.

“I’m sure the others will be happy to show you everything they’ve been working on,” Barney said, with Gordon finally looking back up at him, before looking directly behind him, “They’ve been working on a new telepor–”

Gordon flinched, staring at something behind Barney before attempting to crawl backwards, nearly ripping off his IV in the process. Barney looked behind him, seeing nothing but the wall before he heard a loud thud coming from the bed. He turned, seeing Gordon had fallen off of the bed and onto the cold linoleum floor. “Gordon!” Barney quickly ran to his aid, holding out an arm for Gordon to grab, lifting him off of the floor. When weight was put onto his right leg, Gordon grimaced, using Barney as leverage as he was put back onto the bed. “Jeez Gordon, what got you freaked out so ba–”

Barney was silenced when Gordon hugged him without warning. Barney could hear him quietly sobbing into his shoulder, and as he returned the hug, he wondered if he had ever seen Gordon so touchy before; It was as if he hadn’t had human contact in days. This time however, Barney wasn’t quick to let go. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his best friend behind again.

Not this time.

[applesontheground]

walking on the wild side 🦇

I'M A WEREWOLF FUCKER BUT DAMN THAT NEAR DARK (1987) CAN NEAR DARK (1987). amongst my other new hyperfixes i've been screaming about on here, i really liked the southern vamps and wanted to write about them and that one guy that i don't even try to hide the immediate fascination for. (would you be mad if i said i thought mr. paxton was cute in twister, too, so i knew this was coming for me?)

also, i decided to split this up. it got longer than i thought it would, an old problem i haven't had in a long time, so i've got a triple-feature coming at ya!

also also, enjoy a pic of a baby bat that i looked up while writing this! they're called pups, which i 100% included as a disgusting petname in this. 😭😭😭

SFW | Word Count: 1,694 | Severen x GN Turned!Reader contains canon typical/mentions of murder, reader has a light accent and smokes 🎼: x, x ➡ continued in the wire between will and what will be

Like the sore thumb you were, you had come home late from hunting as though it were your routine. Being your newest skill, something you just weren’t planning on doing with that life of yours a few months ago, you were aching all over and less human the longer you stayed away from the morning glow.

Speaking of, it was catching on your coattails as you slunk into the shade, reading the poorly etched number on the key you had fished from your pocket, hands still trembling from exertion – grabbing shirt collars, holding fast to the neck until the pulse stuttered enough to immobilize the body… and finding the matching room number, you stuck it into the worn slot.

Shallow relief to be given entry, you stalked through the doorway, still walking with a mild limp but a full stomach settling the pain. You heard the room turn, first to look down on you in their usual lack of warmth – then change tune as they witnessed you pull the yellow bandana from your pocket, and dab your mouth just to make a point, half of its color splattered something vibrant.

“…Fresh?” Diamondback crooned; eyes locked on the blood and hopeful. She was always banking on you being the next charity project, like Caleb had been before you fell into the way of their wayward travels. You shot a shamed glance across the floor, leading to the four of them playing poker, plastered grins and cigarettes clouding any semblance of fresh air you had rushing in your face minutes beforehand.

Finally, you nodded, continuing to stagger across the room and ignoring the way Severen shot up from his chair. “HOOO! HOW ‘BOUT IT, [SHORTSTOP/SWEETIE]!?” He hollered, feigning your jolting reaction to the loud noise for ignoring him completely.

“There’s our [man/girl/stud].” Jesse spoke much quieter, and that was what made your eyes fall back on them for a beat. “Turning into a real killer.”

You quickly slunk into the bathroom to wash the sweat, the lamenting, all of it from your body. Your handkerchief fell to the floor, stomped on by a heeled boot without second thought.

It felt as though the next time you opened your eyes, and felt ready to speak again, you were seated at a nearby diner after a day’s rest with the clan. Sleep was still in your eyes as you stared down at a plate of toast you had no intention of eating; they had ordered it for posterity, not ready to show their nature at a place with quite a few parties in the vicinity with you. It was just you, Jesse, Diamondback, and Homer; Severen, Mae, and Caleb had better places to be, you assumed. Diamondback had spoken to you, and when you realized it was a cue to speak, you just started saying the first thing that fell on your tongue from the fog of your newly turned brain.

“This can be hard, but…” You stopped, thinking legitimately before mumbling again in a careful voice, “I’ll manage. I have to if I’m gonna be hanging off your clan, and all.”

“Well, you know what makes it easier?” She asked you, making your eyes flicker back up to her from over your coffee going cold. “What?” You had a dumb tone of voice despite your efforts, unable to help the way your eyes grew a little, a sliver of hope showing in the way your shoulders rose up from a slumped posture.

She smiled and answered, “Having a partner to feed with.”

“...Who?” You felt a bizarre smile grow on your face, “…Homer?” He looked up from coloring his kids menu, flipping you off when he realized you were kidding. You stifled your spirit as you basked in your joke, seeing the other two conceal their own laughs. “No, no.” Diamond giggled, “That’s not who I was hinting at. Homer finds playmates his age, anyways.”

You blinked, suddenly feeling a prickle against your neck at what she meant. The name was dawning on you one moment too late, and you nearly grimaced. “Oh, I…” You cleared your throat, “He don’t…He d-doesn’t like me, Diamondback.”

Jesse snorted, “He’s the one who turned you, it’s only natural that it’s gonna be him.” You shifted in your seat as he went on, “He needs the help sometimes, [Y/N], in more ways than one.”

“I’m not that help.” You insisted quickly, shooting a glance out the diner window, your voice lowering fast and finding the comfortable excuses that should be clear as day to them all...no pun intended. “I’m pretty useless, and it’s best I stay alone for now 'til I’m not.”

“Suit yourself, kiddo.” Jesse stopped leaning back in the booth, making your eyes widen again as he leaned towards you, “But he’s connected to you one way or another, and that bond is going to be potent between us all until one of you goes up in flames.” He scoffed when you furrowed your brow at that, “Hey, it happens, just not old age and all that shit. Give it the time of day, time of night, and you’ll be crawling all over each other.”

“I really don’t need that …And that’s fine, I don’t ask anybody to.” You stated plainly. Diamond sat forward now, extending her sharply manicured hand to you as she cooed, “See, that’s not true, sweetie. You can feed yourself just fine, and we like having that [pretty/stunning] smile around in the small times we get to see it. We do want you here, you know.”

Jesse and Homer gave blank glances to the way your clenched hand fell from where it had been folded over your mouth to take hers, and you hummed, “I hate to say that I try to believe that.”

“Well, you're in luck. Don’t mind sayin’ it ‘til you do.” She shrugged, squeezing your hand.

After “breakfast”, you sat on the edge of the motel’s parking lot, Jesse deeming it safe to stay one more night since no one had found your clan's mess quite yet. You were waiting for the moon to rise a little higher in the sky, still aching in some places from last night. Your hunger was quickly diminished with the new turn still, well, new to your body. You could hear pulses as people passed to their rooms, used the vending machine nearby, and the dust that kicked up from the passing cars from the road itched your eyes and nose even more than it ever had as a mortal growing up in this very desert.

It was fine to sit with, but too much of it would overwhelm you fast, which was what would make you either lash out at the next daywalker or slink in for an early rest.

“Oh, I can't believe my eyes. Is that a wild child I see out yonder?”

You tensed at the sound of his voice, holding your inner elbow tighter as the cigarette planted between two fingers started to tremble where you had left it. It suit better to burn instead of trying to inhale it in an attempt to feel a lethal sensation that couldn’t touch foreign immortality germinating with each breath into your body. You couldn’t help the anxiety that came with hearing his boots scuff on the pavement as he walked over, growing closer in slow motion as you hung onto your last quiet moments. His demeanor was too casual for you to stomach just with how tense you usually were, and the situation you had to drift from in the sense of daydreaming to keep from losing your fucking mind.

“Gonna just sit here like a sack of shit, or are ya gonna hunt?” Severen asked, plopping down next to you. You shot him a look and mumbled, “Cool it. I’m just waiting for the right time, after midnight is where the drunks start getting plastered beyond compare.” You sounded uncertain of your words, so you weakly concluded, “…That’s the best ones to go after.”

“Feedin’ off the drunkies? That blood can be a little sour, make you a little wasted alongside ‘em.” He laughed, and you replied dryly, “I don’t mind, ...it feels good.” He hummed in agreement to that, and then sighed in that usual teasing twang, “You're still such a breakable little thing, though. Someone should come with ya tonight, make sure you don't get caught in bad sit-ee-ations.”

“Oh. Did they ask you to?” You quickly asked, “’Cause I don’t want to make you hang around-” You spit it out after a moment’s hesitation, “With a newbie, alright? You really don’t have to.” Severen stopped smiling to himself, and then quickly asked with a shrug of his hand out in the front of both of you, “Well, what if I wanted to? Then what, [Y/N]?”

You rose one eyebrow, squinting as you prodded, “Do you?”

“Yes’m.”

“Really, I-”

“YES, I want to bag one of these blood-filled piles of meat with you, see what kinda easy targets you’re settlin’ for.” He slung his arm around your shoulders, shaking his head as you met his eyes in a startled glower. “We hunt best in groups, and yeah, Diamondback did tell me to entertain this lil slice of bait in front'a me, but…” He smirked at you, “You hold me back, I’m gonna let you crash and burn. Simple as that, and guess what else?”

You almost asked, but he didn’t let you. “Don’t matter that I bit ya. Bite a lot of [fellers/girls/people]. They just don’t find a way to live like you did, is all.” You thought about that, but finally hummed in a surprise of agreement. “Sure, sure. It’s only fair.”

His smile faltered once more, and you stood up and brushed yourself off, dropping the cigarette and snuffing it with your boot.

“Alright. Let’s shake a leg, wildcat.” You hummed as you walked down the road without a second more of hesitation, feeling a little more guarded with the prospect of Severen deciding you were worth his evening.

“Hey, ain’t no wildcat to you, puppydog.” He retorted, but the spurs that clinked after you spoke otherwise.

[thegatesofsilverandbone]

The sun blazed brightly over Splash Haven, the mysterious new water park that had seemingly appeared overnight on the outskirts of town. Alex, Jake, Leo, and Ryan were excited; the park had become the talk of their small town after flyers advertising its grand opening had appeared on every doorstep. The flyer promised “an experience like no other” and entry was free for the first day. No one knew who owned the park or who worked there, but that only added to its allure.

The four friends arrived at the gates and were immediately struck by how pristine everything looked. The attractions were brand new, the water sparkled under the sunlight, and the air was filled with the distant echoes of laughter and splashing. But as they scanned the grounds, they noticed something odd: there were no visible staff. No lifeguards, no ticket attendants, no one running the food stands. It was as if the park was running itself.

“Is this place even open?” Jake asked, looking around skeptically.

“I guess it’s just all self-serve?” Leo shrugged, already eyeing the massive water slides that snaked through the park. “Hey, free water park, I’m not complaining!”

Ryan grinned, throwing off his shirt. “Let’s split up and check it out. We’ll meet up at the wave pool in an hour?”

The group agreed, and they each went their separate ways, eager to explore. But as Alex walked deeper into the park, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. He spotted a few other visitors, all looking as lost and amazed as he felt, but still no staff in sight. Then, slowly, he began to notice them—men working the stands, operating the rides, and wandering through the crowds. They were all muscular, burly, and hairy, with confident smiles and tank tops that barely fit their chiseled bodies.

As Alex passed a food stand, he watched a large, bearded man flipping burgers, his hairy arms flexing with each turn of the spatula. Something about the man’s eyes seemed familiar, but Alex couldn’t place why. He moved on, feeling a little more uneasy.

Further along, he passed a lifeguard, perched on a tall chair with a whistle dangling from his neck. The lifeguard’s thick mustache and bright green eyes reminded him so much of Jake, but it couldn’t be—Jake was slim and smooth-faced, nothing like this muscular, hairy man who greeted him with a friendly nod.

Alex continued through the park, noticing more of these burly employees at every turn. One managing the arcade had wild, curly hair and a chest-length beard, a carefree smile on his lips. Alex swore he recognized the smile, something he’d seen a thousand times before in Ryan’s joking expressions, but this man was far from the Ryan he knew.

It was only when Alex approached the Dreamwave Slide that he started to feel truly disoriented. The slide towered above him, twisting and glowing with an eerie blue light that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. A sign at the top read: “One Ride Can Change Everything.” An attendant stood at the entrance, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a beard and a knowing smile. He gestured for Alex to climb the stairs.

“Trust me, this ride’s gonna be something special,” the man said, his voice deep and familiar in a way that Alex couldn’t quite grasp.

Alex hesitated but eventually made his way up, drawn by the promise of something different. He sat at the top, looking down at the glowing tunnel that awaited him. With a deep breath, he pushed off.

As Alex plunged into the slide, he was engulfed by the warm, glowing water that wrapped around him like a comforting embrace. The tunnel twisted and turned, and Alex could feel a strange sensation spreading through his body. He glanced down and saw his arms thickening, his muscles expanding with every twist of the slide. His biceps bulged, veins pressing against his skin, while a fine layer of dark hair spread over his forearms and up to his shoulders.

His chest tightened and expanded, his pecs pushing out, covered in a dense mat of hair that trailed down to his sculpted abs. Each breath felt stronger, more powerful, as if he were becoming someone new. His legs lengthened, thickened, and grew hairy, his feet large and rough. The transformation moved up his spine, broadening his shoulders and thickening his neck. Every inch of him became more defined, more masculine.

Alex felt his face change last. A thick beard erupted along his jawline, his once-soft features sharpening into those of a rugged, handsome man. His hair grew longer, wild and untamed. He felt more confident, more powerful with every passing second. The tunnel around him continued to pulse with light, and Alex’s memories began to blur and shift.

His awkward teenage years faded away, replaced by new visions of himself as the owner of Splash Haven, overseeing every detail of the park’s construction and operation. He saw himself recruiting his friends, turning them into the muscular, hairy men who now ran the park alongside him. Jake, Leo, and Ryan weren’t just friends anymore—they were part of his team, men who shared his vision for the park.

As Alex emerged from the slide, splashing into the pool at the bottom, he rose from the water as someone entirely new. He was no longer Alex; he was Lex, the proud, strong owner of Splash Haven. He was a leader, a visionary, the man behind the world’s first all-gay water park and resort.

Jake was there at the wave pool, now the tall, mustachioed lifeguard who kept watch over the guests, his green eyes still sparkling with mischief. Leo was at the grill, his thick beard framing a broad smile as he served up burgers to happy visitors. Ryan lounged by the arcade, his wild hair and chest-length beard giving him a carefree, charismatic aura. They were all exactly where they belonged, transformed into the men they were always meant to be.

Lex looked around his park, feeling an overwhelming sense of pride. This was his kingdom, his creation, and his family. He had built a paradise where he and his friends could be free, proud, and happy. The park was more than just a business; it was a celebration of who they had become.

Lex glanced at his friends, now employees, and knew that their transformations weren’t just physical. They had each found their true selves, embraced their new roles, and were thriving in ways they never could have imagined. As Lex walked through Splash Haven, surrounded by laughter, splashing water, and the sun-kissed faces of happy guests, he knew he had found his perfect life, and he would never want it any other way.

[thejacketscloset]

Avenging myself against @forestshadow-wolf this one got a little away from me I'll be honest but i like where I ended up LMAO

Soap daydreams about retiring sometimes, never honestly thinks of the idea as something that would happen for him, but he finds entertainment in the possibilities. Different lives he'd like to try leading if he was anyone else, some more absurd than others.

It started as something to keep his mind off nerves when he was deploying, something that stuck with him all through his rookie years. Then he adopted the use of his journal, and the plans got more cohesive as he jotted them down.

Each page it was something different, none of them particularly sticking with him enough to think of them for too long. The scenarios always seemed to be missing something

It doesn't quite click until after Soap meets Ghost on what was missing.

It starts off as a harmless joke in his own mind, wondering what Ghost would do if he retired. The ideas getting more and more absurd with any new thought.

Thinking of Ghost in domestic settings just seems strange, which how cold he has known the man to be he could never imagine him doing something as mundane as frying eggs for breakfast or taking his dogs out for a walk.

The betrayal in Las Almas changes his mind.

After he finally gets out of those rain filled streets and into the truck Ghost is speeding, Soap desperately needs a distraction from his shoukder bleeding out. His mind falls back into his ritual of thinking up retirement plans for everyone.

And suddenly, its not so strange to imagine Ghost living the quiet life in the countryside. He thinks of one or two dogs, despite his own personal opinions of dogs. He thinks of a small cabin-like house with big property. He thinks of a forest to take hikes in every day. He thinks of himself visiting Ghost in this life, maybe even staying the night. Then he thinks of himself making breakfast for Ghost, bringing it up to him so he can eat in bed, climbing onto the mattress beside him-

And woah. Thats a new one. Soaps brain seems to fixate on the thought, the idea of sharing a life after retirement. Soap can't escape it, and after maybe five minutes of failing to escape it, he gives up and indulges. Maybe he indulges a little too much.

"What kinda dogs would ye want L.T.?" He asks, hardly even thinking about how out of place his question might me.

He sees Ghost glance at him from where he's driving, and he has half a mind to apologize for the strange question before the other is responding.

"You're seriously asking me that after the 'half a dog' joke?" And oh Soap can practically heat the grin Ghost's wearing under his mask.

"Jus answer the question," Soap is laughing in response.

Ghost seems to genuinely consider the question for a good moment, Soap watches him the whole time.

"I'd get a Pitbull." He answers after his consideration.

"Scary dog, aye?"

"Nah. They're all sweethearts, just need the right person to show their soft side."

Ghosts eyes seem to flick over to Soap and linger for a long moment after what he said. Soap tries not to let his mind run too wild with what Ghost could mean by that.

"And you Johnny? What would you get."

"I'm no' much of a dog person. Maybe I could be though, if a nice enough Pitbull came around."

[praetorqueenreyna]

Summary:

soare cu dinți - “sun with teeth.” A day that is invitingly sunny and bright, but deceptively cold. What if in ACOTAR when Nesta set out to rescue Feyre, she succeeded in getting through the Wall?

So excited to be able to reveal my fic for the @acotargiftexchange! I was Secret Santa for @sadiebluewin, who requested a Neris fic. I hope you enjoy it, I had so much fun writing this!!

You can find this fic on AO3 here, or continue reading below.

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

Nesta hated the faerie lands. She hated the trees that whispered a mocking prayer over her head, wishing for her to stumble and fall. She hated the unfamiliar animal noises that rang through the darkness. She hated how one moment she seemed to be in a warm spring day, and the next a bitter winter’s night. Her days traveling through the faerie realm blurred together until she had no idea how long it had been since she had left the mercenary at the wall and entered this hellscape alone. Throughout that time, she never allowed herself to be afraid. Instead, she was angry. She rode on her fury like a wild stallion, doggedly moving through the forest that tangled in her hair and pulled at her clothing. Feyre was somewhere here, in this horrible place, and she was going to find her.

A snarl rang out, closer than the other animal sounds. Nesta froze, scanning the trees around her. She now appeared to be in a deciduous forest in the middle of autumn, her vision obscured by trees covered in leaves the color of flames. The growl came again, closer this time, from her left. That was all the warning she got before a monster leapt out of the trees and tackled her.

She didn’t scream as she fought and writhed against the beast. It was too close and too fast for her to get a good look of it, she only observed it in flashes. A hint of matted fur here, a patch of scales there. More pressing were the sharp yellow teeth that snapped in the air, itching to rip her throat out. Nesta put out an arm to push the thing away, only for those teeth to sink into her flesh. Now she did scream as drops of her own blood began to rain on her face. She instinctively pulled, howling in pain when the monster tightened its jaws on her forearm. Her free arm uselessly beat against its side, but she might as well not have bothered. This was the end. She was going to die.

Suddenly, the beast collapsed. Its grip on her slackened and it sank onto her, a dead weight. It flopped to the side and freed her, allowing her to view her savior. Her first thought was that he was not human. He was too pale, too graceful, too cruelly beautiful to be anything other than one of the High Fae. His bright red hair blended in with the fall colors in the background, as if he had simply stepped directly out of one of the tree trunks. He wasn’t looking at her, instead preoccupied with drawing a sword from the flank of the monster and wiping the thick green blood away with his sleeve.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a conversational tone, still giving all his attention to the sword. As if he were too good to even glance her way. Despite him saving her life, everything about him pissed Nesta off.

“None of your business.” She pushed herself to her feet with her good arm. The sudden change in position made her lightheaded, and she wondered how much more blood she could lose before she passed out.

“Considering you’re on my land and I just saved your life, it very much is my business.” He finally was looking at her, scanning her with cold eyes that seemed to find her wanting.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” She made to take a step forward, only to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder. She resisted, and the pressure increased, pinning her in place. Refusing to show any deference, she huffed in annoyance. “My sister was taken by a beast. I crossed the wall to find her.”

“You came here alone?”

“Yes.” Nesta was tired, and she needed to tend to her arm. She hadn’t looked at it yet, but it throbbed painfully every time her heart beat. “Can I go now?”

The faerie hummed, but didn’t answer. He glanced over her, noticing her injury for the first time. “I can fix that for you.”

“No.” Nesta was no idiot. The faerie would offer to heal her, in exchange for her body, or her soul. She’d be trapped in his clutches for all of eternity, and she’d never find her sister.

“You’ll die if I don’t.” His tone indicated he didn’t care one way or the other. “Then I’ll have to find a way to hide your body. It’ll be a whole thing if the High Lord discovers a live human in this court. Far easier to fix you up and have you walk out.”

She didn’t want to go with him, but she was running out of options. She had clutched her injured arm against her chest, and already the front of her dress was soaked in blood. “Fine. Just promise that I’ll be allowed to leave alive. Soon, not in one hundred years.” Everyone knew that the fae couldn’t lie.

His mouth twitched into what could be considered the beginning of a grin. “I promise.”

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

The faerie led her to a surprisingly small cottage that reminded Nesta of the one they had only recently been able to leave. The interior was minimalist, barely furnished for a single person. From what Nesta knew, the High Fae were greedy materialistic assholes. She was expecting some kind of luxurious castle, adorned with the riches this fae had stolen. Uneasy, she wondered what else she had taken as fact about the fae was also untrue.

“Sit down, human,” the male ordered.

Nesta bristled. “Don’t talk to me like that. My name is Nesta.” He acted like he hadn’t heard, gesturing to a chair with a dismissive wave of his hand. Nesta chose to remain standing. With a long-suffering sigh, he approached her and reached for her arm. She jerked away in alarm. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to heal you.”

“No. No magic. Get me some first aid supplies. I’ll do it myself.” Nesta didn’t trust the faerie as far as she could throw him, and she certainly didn’t want him laying his hands on her.

“Fine.” He brushed past her to sit at the dining room table. In front of him was a bottle of liquor and an empty glass that hadn’t been on the table a moment ago. There was also a roll of white bandages, a towel, and a bowl of faintly steaming water. The male dropped down into a chair and poured himself a generous helping of the amber liquid. With him thus occupied, Nesta approached the table warily. With one eye on the faerie, she rolled up her sleeve to assess her wound. It wasn’t as bad as she had thought, once she used the towel soaked in hot water to dab away the blood. The beast’s teeth had left ragged holes in her flesh, but the bone wasn’t broken and she could still move her hand. As she wrapped the bandages tightly around her arm, she asked the question that was burning on her tongue.

“Who are you?”

“I am Eris Vanserra. My father is the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”

Oh fuck. Not only had she been found by a powerful High Fae, but he was the son of a High Lord? Nesta was in a lot more danger than she had thought. Keeping her voice neutral, she asked, “Is that where we are? Autumn?”

“Yes. There are seven Courts in Prythian: Autumn, Spring, Summer, Winter, Dawn, Day, and Night.” He spoke slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. Nesta was offended, even though she knew nothing of the faerie realm.

“When I crossed the Wall, the forest…changed. Sometimes it was night, then day. Spring, then winter. How could that be if I was only crossing one Court?”

Eris shrugged. “Prythian is hostile to humans. It’s very possible the forest was messing with you, bouncing you between different Courts.” He took a thoughtful drink. “That would explain how you ended up here though. We’re hundreds of miles from the Wall.”

Nesta wanted to scream. If this damned realm was capable of transporting her anywhere, how could she ever find Feyre?

For a few hours, they talked, Nesta having resolved to find out as much as possible about this land and her new host. When she asked why he was staying in such meager lodgings if he was some kind of prince, he had shrugged and said that most of his family was away, and he was the only one who was able to occasionally come back. When pressed for details, he stopped answering her questions. He also wouldn’t give her a good answer when she bluntly asked why he hadn’t killed her yet.

“I’m bored. You’re the most interesting thing that has happened in a year.”

Her next question was interrupted by a huge yawn. It felt like she hadn’t slept in days. Eris dismissed himself and disappeared through a doorway that presumably led to a bedroom. At some point, he had magically replaced the couch in the living room with a small bed. Nesta didn’t like the metallic scent of magic that clung in the air, but she was too tired to put up a fight. She sank onto the bed and fell asleep immediately.

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

She stabbed him that night. Nightmares filled with gnashing teeth and Feyre’s screams had her sitting bolt upright, pale and sweating. She dug through her cloak to find the iron dagger she had bought from the mercenary, clenching it in a clammy fist. Suitably armed, she crept into Eris’s bedroom, swathed in the cold light of the moon. Asleep, his harsh features had softened. Before she could look too closely and lose her nerve, she drove the dagger into his thigh. Like a striking viper, his hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist. His eyes were open, and he looked annoyed. Nesta struggled, fully expecting him to rip her in half. Instead, he pulled out the knife and dropped it on the floor. Then he swung his bare feet out from the bed and frogmarched her out of his room, barely limping.

“Iron doesn’t do much to us, sweetheart. Next time, try ashwood.” With a slight shove, he released her and closed the bedroom door in her face. There was a dramatic click when the lock slid into place. At a loss for how to proceed, Nesta returned to her bed.

In the morning, Nesta began to walk. She struck out in a straight path through the forest, keeping track of her progress by carving an “X” on the trees every few yards with the iron dagger that had been cleaned and left on the dining room table. Eris accompanied her as an irritating shadow. She would have insisted on going by herself, but she was terrified that setting out on her own would mean that she’d be transported somewhere else, miles away. With the fae at her side, the land seemed to cooperate; she stayed within a grove of oak and maple, a crisp chill note in the air.

In the evening, she returned to the cabin. Eris had mentioned that most of the forest’s creatures were nocturnal, leaving her to make the decision for herself. While she loathed her companion and yearned to make more headway through the realm, she was a realist. There was no way she could fend off another one of those monsters by herself, especially not with her injured arm that throbbed painfully every time she moved it.

They settled into a routine. Each morning, Nesta would awaken and begin shuffling around the kitchen. A few minutes later, Eris would emerge from his room, fully dressed. It didn’t occur to Nesta until a few weeks in that Eris likely woke up before her, but waited in his bedroom until he was sure that she was awake as well. Nesta had no idea where the food in the kitchen came from, but it was always fully stocked: fresh fruit and vegetables, pastries still warm from the oven, ice cold decanters of water and juice.

Sometimes, when they stepped outside, Eris would give a piercing whistle. A chorus of howls answered him, and a fleet of gray shapes streaked through the trees towards them. The first time it happened, Nesta had been sure that Eris had grown tired of her and had summoned a demon to kill her. Instead, the shapes had flashed past her to Eris, coalescing into a flock of a dozen baying hounds. They wound between his legs and jumped up to lick his face. He was a lot less intimidating covered in dog slobber and trying to fend them off with an amused grin. They were being taken care of somewhere else, apparently, but were always ready to come when Eris called.

At first, Nesta refused to even acknowledge Eris during their exploration. She was focused on her mission of finding Feyre, constantly scanning the treeline and searching for signs that her sister had come through here. It was lonely. Nesta had never truly been alone. Through everything, there had always been Feyre and Elain. She began to ask Eris questions about Prythian, safe questions that she could pass off as a way to learn more about the land to aid her in her quest. When he answered those, she began asking questions about himself. She learned that he had six younger brothers. That even though he was the eldest, he wasn’t necessarily going to become the next High Lord. That she was the first human he had met since the war. That he had already been over 100 years old when the war started.

Eventually she began talking about herself. About her mother, her father, and Elain. And Feyre. She told Eris about the years in the cabin, and everything Feyre had done for them, culminating in her sacrificing herself to a fae beast. The riches and return to status that had followed was because of Feyre, Nesta was sure of it. Even from her prison in Prythian, she made sure her family was taken care of. Despite how they had treated her.

“Why were you such a bitch to her then?” Eris asked, holding aside a tree branch for Nesta to duck under it.

Nesta had long stopped being insulted by Eris’s blunt language. She found it refreshing. By now she had learned that the fae could lie, but Eris rarely did. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I think…I think I was trying to drive her away.” She paused, bracing herself on his arm to take a large step across a creek. “She would have been better off on her own. Without us. I wanted her to leave and force our father to step up and take care of us.” A sigh. “It was stupid. Father was broken, and Feyre would never have left him.” It had been so easy to blame everybody else when they were in the grip of poverty. Now, Nesta only wished that she had done more. Maybe things would have turned out differently.

Eris didn’t look disgusted with her. Instead, he spoke slowly, considering. “My youngest brother was always the best of all of us. I hated him for it, sometimes. That we had all been through the same things, and he was still good.” He gave Nesta a wry smile. “He did leave us, though. He’s better off now.”

“Where did he go?” Nesta asked, but Eris turned away from her and wouldn’t answer.

That evening, like every evening, he told her to sit down so he could examine her wounds. Every other time Nesta had refused. Now, she sat at the table and held her arm out on the bare wooden surface. If he was shocked, he didn’t show it. He unwrapped the bandages, exposing the gouges that the monster’s teeth had left behind. It hurt like hell, but Nesta bit the inside of her cheek to keep from whimpering. She was ready to yank her arm away if he tried to use magic. He didn’t even try; just wiped down the wounds and rewrapped them. His hands were warm, almost too hot to be comforting. She told herself it was that searing heat that made her feel his touch for hours afterwards.

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

Months passed. Nesta didn’t realize how fond she had grown of Eris until he started leaving the cabin for a few days at a time. He wouldn’t tell her where he was going, but she assumed it had to do with his role as the High Lord’s son. The first time he left, she was overwhelmed by an aching loneliness that took her breath away. She missed eating breakfast with him, and their trips through the forest looking for Feyre. She missed his stupid smirk and making fun of him for needing to use magic for everything. His smokehounds had learned to come when she called them, but even their company wasn’t enough to ease the pang of her solitude. Though she would die before ever admitting it, she began sleeping in his bed when he was gone, curled around one of his pillows with the youngest of the hounds pressed against her back.

She had never felt this way about a man. Not even Tomas, when she had been prepared to marry him. Reminding herself that Eris was not a man, and that he likely viewed her the same way he viewed his dogs, didn’t help. It didn’t matter anyway. As soon as she found Feyre, she was getting them both out of here.

The search for her sister had continued every day. After one of his trips away, Eris had returned with two horses, increasing their search radius by miles. Even now Nesta didn’t know what exactly she was searching for. Especially since it was possible that the forest had dumped Feyre and her captor at the other end of the continent, far beyond where Nesta could travel in a single day. Her arm was getting better, but she could still barely move it. If she tried to go off on her own, she’d surely be killed. The next step of her plan was working up the courage to ask Eris to accompany her.

For now, they explored Autumn. Nesta could almost forget her mission and the danger that she was in, riding horseback next to Eris, chatting as they trotted through the woods. A glint of silver through the trees caught her attention, and she made a beeline to its source. It was a gorgeous pond, still and smooth, filling a crater in the bare rock. Eris dismounted and knelt next to the water’s edge to examine it.

“It’s a hot spring,” he exclaimed after sticking his hand in the water. “I never knew this was here.”

Nesta followed his lead and dipped her hand in the pond. It was comfortably warm, like bathwater. She hadn’t known such a thing even existed. “What makes it hot?”

“Volcanic activity under the surface, usually.”

To Nesta’s alarm, Eris began undressing, pulling off his boots and socks. “What are you doing?”

He gave her a look like she was an idiot. “Going swimming.”

“Is it safe?” Nesta was too proud to admit she didn’t know what volcanic activity was, but if it had the power to heat the pond she didn’t want to find out what else it could do.

“Probably.” He stopped as he began unlacing his tunic. “Are you coming?”

“I can’t swim.” Nesta could feel herself turning red at the admission. “You go on, though.”

“Oh.” Eris thought for a moment, then changed tactics and began rolling up the legs of his pants. “We can just wade in the shallows, then.”

“No, you don’t have to—”

“I’ll hold onto you the whole time, you won’t fall in. I promise.”

Faeries could lie, but Eris didn’t. Not allowing her mind to wander, Nesta took off her own shoes and stockings. She gathered her skirts up in her good hand so they bunched up around her thighs. Eris took her by the elbow and guided her into the water. It felt wonderful, soothing and warm, the smooth bare rock heaven on her bare feet. Tiny fish whizzed by them in the crystal clear water. Eris was right next to her now, one hand on her arm and one on her waist. His scent, which at first had been overpowering and threatening, now comforted her.

“Aren’t you brave?” he murmured, right in her ear. Nesta slipped, flailing inelegantly as she tried to catch her balance. Eris moved to catch her and managed to keep them both upright. She had dropped her skirts and was now waist-deep in the pond. In his effort to save her, Eris was now clutching her tightly against him. They were both soaking wet from her splashing. Instead of being annoyed, he chuckled. “Clumsy, too.”

“I am human,” she retorted. Instead of mocking her, Eris regarded her closely. One of his hands came up to brush a few damp strands of hair away from her face. Her breathing stuttered, her heart beating so rapidly she could feel it in her fingertips.

“Yes you are.” The back of his knuckles skimmed across her cheek, her jaw, her neck. “I never knew humans could be so…” he trailed off, and then instead of finishing his sentence, he kissed her.

Nesta had been kissed before. Just never like this. Eris kissed her like he had been fasting and she was a decadent meal he could finally indulge in. In that moment, Nesta forgot everything: her wounded arm, Feyre, the fact that she was in a land that was actively trying to kill her. Eris pulled back too soon. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” With a forwardness she had never possessed, she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and pulled his mouth back to hers.

At some point, they had to leave the hot spring. Eris used his magic to dry them both off, so they could comfortably lay down in the grass. Nesta found herself half on top of Eris, lazily kissing, her injured arm folded between them.

“Will you finally let me heal this?” he asked, lightly touching the arm in question.

“No,” Nesta answered against his throat.

“Stubborn woman.” Eris hooked his fingers under her chin to bring her lips up to where he wanted them.

During a break for them to catch their breath, Nesta sighed. “I’m never going to find Feyre, am I?”

“Probably not. We’ll keep looking though.”

“I just wish that stupid beast had said where it was going.”

Eris sat upright. “It talked to you?”

Nesta sat up as well. “Yes. It said that since she had killed a faerie, it would take her and keep her in Prythian forever. A life for a life.” Reliving the moment that that horrible monster had burst into their home and taken her baby sister was too painful, and she had never told Eris the full story of what had happened.

“And what did the beast look like?” Eris was staring into her eyes intently, with a much different energy than he had had a moment ago.

“Like a mountain lion mixed with a wolf. With elk antlers.”

Eris cursed and rose to his feet. “I’m such a fucking idiot.” He pulled Nesta up as well. “I know where your sister is.”

The air left Nesta’s lungs. “Take me to her.”

[cookiesupplier]

Every Rose Has Its Thorns - Part Forty-Four

pairing: Ricky Olson x ofc x Chris 'Motionless' Cerulli

warnings/tropes: slow burn, soulmates, strangers to enemies to lovers, betrayal, angst, fluff, smut, language, online bullying, panic attacks, stalking, mental health issues, conspiracy theories.

summary: In a world where soulmates inexplicably receive a tattoo that will match that of their soulmate the moment they turn eighteen years old, being famous and covered in very visible tattoos can make finding your true soulmate a questionable fate. For everyone involved.

author’s note: Unbeta'd as usual, enjoy!

To read from the beginning, check out the Masterlist Here!

tags: @faceless-mirror @missduffsblog @tamtam-elizabeth @witchyweeb34 @tearfallpixie

@wild-child-7747 @shilohrosechicken @lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens @valiantroeagleangel

@bngurngheart @dominuslunae @collapsedglasshouses @embracethereaper42 @emmmm127

@sunsshinesunny @spicywhenspeaking @dontdiganothergravetoday

If you would like to be added to this tag list please see THIS FORM

Their drive to their next destination was just as full of laughter, this time less about their day, and more devoted to Ricky surrounding his argument that he couldn’t possibly be vegan anything, thank you very much. He ate far too much meat, it just wouldn’t work. That was about the time that Talia decided that if they were going to be testing her tonight, it was about time she could try to test them just a little bit too, and she was going to. That was where the remark came from next, she was sure.

“Well, Rick, if you aren’t vegan anything, how could Chris possible get to enjoy eating you then.”

Looking out the window so calmly with a little knowing smile as her tattoo flared, whether the origin was Chris, or Ricky, who could say. The silence in the car, aside the traffic they were driving through, was telling as far as she was concerned, she very much had their attention dying down from the laughter and the jokes.

“We both know Spookie wants to swallow something.”

She only glanced over to Ricky then when she heard the choked sound in the back seat.. Giggling slightly, Chris having not expected that.. Obviously. Perfect. If she thought she was able to catch both of them out, however, she seemed to have to think again with the mischievous look in Ricky’s eyes as he pulled up to a set of lights. As he focused on her at that moment, the smirk on his lips,

“Oh, Sweetheart, I don’t think he’s the only one that wants to swallow, desperately.”

Damn you, Richard Olson. Mostly because as she felt her tattoo tingle again, she knew they likely both felt it too. Talia could only console herself that it had also flared up before, but it didn’t change the fact that it had given her away, just as it did them. She longed for the days when the only tip off to give herself away was the state of her face. With how warm her skin felt, she felt like she might as well be lit up like a damn Christmas tree. Bright and ruby red, she didn’t have a doubt about it. Though, with Chris sitting behind her, and Ricky had to pull his eyes back into the road as they started driving away, she had some reprieve from them looking right at her. 

They didn’t have much further to go after Talia tried to tease them, Ricky was sure she was probably a bit grateful for that, or miserable as she didn’t have a lot of time to calm down. Either way, Ricky was pulling the car into a small little park with other vehicles.

“No, way, really Ricky?”

That was what he got from Chris in the back seat when he saw where they were, and Rick just grinned wide, 

“Why not, trust me, just trust me.”

Ricky climbed out of his seat and got out of the car, walking around the front quickly to get to Talia’s door so he could help her out. Yes, yes he was aware she could get out of a car just fine on her own, but now he would admit, he wanted to see her reaction. That was what was going to seal the deal whether this place was going to be a good idea. 

Mini-Golf. 

She did a double take, her eyes going a little wide before she looked at him, a bit quizzical.

“You aren’t friends with me on my socials, and I made them private after Grace’s live, how have you been stalking my accounts…”

Smiling a little.. Before then, they both said at the same time, him confirming her guess,

“Ava.”

He had been attempting to try and figure  out something fun to do, and he wanted it to be fun, not just sit around boring, so, of course, he wanted it to be special to them as people. They could do hang out, other days normally, but there was something about a first date you just wanted to remember… and with Talia, Ricky had so much to make up for.

“I asked her for help, however I didn’t want her to just tell me where to go. I just wanted her to give me a guide, so, she sent me to your personal Insta, and this, this, was what I came up with.”

Ricky sighed as he glanced towards the building behind her, it was an indoor mini-golf course, admittedly specifically designed to play at night. Black Light Mini-Golf, his hope was it was exciting, and different enough that she wouldn’t be triggered, and still enjoyable for her. As he turned back to Talia now,

“I know you used to love it, and I know your family ruined it for you. You deserve to have fun memories again, Sweetheart, but if you say the word, I’ve already looked it up, there is a movie in the park event tonight that is going to start soon. I have some blankets, we can all snuggle up and have a fine time.”

He didn’t want to pressure her into playing. Ricky had seen the way she talked about the wonderful memories she used to have about mini-golf, how she’d played with her grandmother before she passed, and then how after she did her family had just destroyed everything about it. Every chance they got, it had turned into a mockery, and they’d turned into something, pathetic, and cruel towards her. Ricky thought it was about time it became fun for her again.

Holding his breath as she looked into his eyes, Ricky for the life of him couldn’t tell how she felt about his choice. Whether she was upset, about to scream and cry, or whether she was overjoyed, she just was looking at him for a long moment. As much as he wanted her to be happy, really, what he wanted was her to be safe, and okay. If what made her happy the most was for them to leave this very moment and never come back here, he’d do it, in a heart beat. He’d fucked up enough already with her, he didn’t want to keep going,

“Talia, I-”

Next thing he knew, she was stepping closer to him, and pressing her lips gently to his cheek, with the softest whisper,

“It’s perfect, thank you, Ricky.”

As she leaned back then, she had this shy smile on her lips, and he could just tell she was biting the inside of her lip. It made him want to reach up and pull her lip from her teeth and kiss her properly, not some kiss on the cheek, but he swallowed, as much as he wanted to, he didn’t. He knew that he’d only get all kind of distracted if he did, and the whole rest of their night would be derailed. As much as he was sure that Chris probably wouldn’t mind the detour either, at all, Ricky meant it, what he said, Talia deserved those fun memories again.

“Alright, Sweetheart, come on then, let’s go get our putt putt on.” Ricky reached to take her hand, smiled to her before glancing to Chris, raising an eyebrow, grinning as he got the picture when he took her other hand in his so they could all head into the building together. Once they were inside, Ricky paid, already calling ahead and making sure it would be fine if they just turned up and didn’t need to book. Seemed, as long as they weren’t a massive party, and they didn’t have to provide catering of any kind, they were free to roam. Sure enough, they headed out to the course.

Talia absolutely lit up at everything in the course, giggling like crazy as they played through the different holes in the course. It was such a silly little thing, and she couldn’t explain why she felt so giddy right then, but she did. It wasn’t just that she was here, but who she was with. That were having a completely wonderful time, she, was having a completely wonderful time. From the deranged looking clown under the black lights, to the freaky looking dinosaurs, and then there was the iconic windmill that you couldn’t forget.

Just because they were inside, didn’t mean you could forget the windmill, it was always electric powered anyway. Not to mention, the black light effect made the colours blur like streaks of neon paint in the air as the turbines blades spun even more dizzying. As she stood at her ball, biting her lip, she felt hands curl around her hips, causing her to shiver, especially with the way she’d semi hiked up the skirt of her dress. She didn’t know who it was at first until he was leaning against her back, leaning close and whispering low against her ear,

“Be sure not to miss, JellyBean.”

She didn’t mean to, but the low timber of his voice had a roughness to it, and in the semi-darkness, even with all the bright colours around, it had just the most distinct effect. The tiniest moan slipped out from her at the sound of Chris’ voice. 

“Spookie.”

She could feel the way his lips curled into a smile against the shell of her ear, and she had to bite her lip a little more to stop herself to make any more of a sound. Soon as she did though, she felt another hand on her, fingers gripping her chin firmly, directing her to look at Ricky, his thumb gently prying her lip from her teeth.

“Now, now, Sweetheart, none of that, or we can’t be held responsible for what we’ll do, and the date isn’t over yet. You wouldn’t want to disappoint us by ruining our fun, now, would you?”

Whimpering as she shook her head. No, no, she didn’t want to disappoint them, at all.

Her score on the windmill hole was an utter disaster. Utter. Disaster.

Ricky better be driving them directly home, all Chris could think about was getting home, home, and his hands on both of them. Seeing the way that Ricky was with Talia, was the hottest fucking thing in the damn world, if he was honest. If he wasn’t going to get his mouth, hands, anything involved with at least one of them tonight, he was going to need some serious alone time because damn. His only other option was going to be an ice-cold shower and really, and he had to deal with that enough on tour, thank you. Hell no.

It was safe to say that when Ricky pulled over at another food truck to the side of the road, Chris groaned,

“I’m going to kill you, Olson..”

Ricky just smirked over his shoulder,

“We are almost home, don’t you want dessert?”

Before Chris could even reply though, Rick was already climbing out of the car, and Chris huffed, he was going to be impossible, but he supposed it was only fair. They’d had something for Chris, dinner, something for Talia, mini-golf, dessert could be for Ricky, how could he complain? Ice-Cream sundaes.. And yes, there were vegan options. Rick had thought of everything. Chris got the Banana choc brownie vegan sundae.. And he’d admit it, it was good.. But it wasn’t until he was walking back to the car, sucking on a spoonful of sundae that he heard a groan from Ricky… and glanced over at him. 

He had a dumb founded look on his face, staring at Talia… the moment he looked at her, it wasn’t hard to tell why. 

Fuck. She was getting them back for all their teasing tonight, and then some. Talia had gotten a strawberry ice-cream sundae… She had gotten a strawberry ice-cream sundae, and it had real strawberries on it, which she was staring Ricky down as she wrapped her lips around the plump fruit, biting into it slowly. Chris felt the groan that came from his best friend and soul mate. 

“Fuck.. Can we go home, now, Rick?”

If that question wasn’t rhetorical, he was going to kill him, hear that, kill him.

“Get in the car.”

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[dan-the-womans-blog]

---

Hi! Could you please write a Billy Loomis x Reader x Stu Macher one-shot with a mix of fluff and angst? I'd love a story where the reader has been friends with Billy and Stu since childhood and has always been the glue holding them together. Despite the chaos of high school and the mounting tension in Woodsboro, the reader has managed to keep a sense of normalcy and happiness in their trio.

However, the reader starts noticing disturbing changes in Billy and Stu's behavior—late-night disappearances, strange conversations, and an unsettling intensity in their eyes. The reader confronts them, leading to a heated argument where dark secrets are revealed. In the aftermath, the reader is torn between the fear of their actions and the deep bond they share.

The angst peaks when the reader decides to distance themselves, hoping to find clarity and safety. But Billy and Stu, realizing how much they need the reader, come up with a plan to win back their trust and prove their loyalty.

I'd love to see a blend of intense, emotional scenes with moments of tenderness and vulnerability. How does the reader navigate their fear and love for Billy and Stu? And how do Billy and Stu cope with the possibility of losing the one person who truly understands them?

Thank you so much!

---

Of course i can write this for you anon, i love writing ansgty stuff, i live for it, i hope it is up to standard!

Title: Haunted Hearts and Healing Shadows

---

The old, creaking playground echoed with laughter that had long since faded, now replaced by the whispers of autumn leaves. You, Billy, and Stu had grown up here, your friendship forged in the crucible of scraped knees and shared secrets. This playground, once a sanctuary of childhood innocence, now stood as a silent witness to the tangled web of your lives. From carefree days to the tumultuous years of high school, you had been the glue holding your trio together. But lately, the edges of that bond had started to fray, and an unsettling darkness loomed over your once inseparable friendship.

High school in Woodsboro had its own set of challenges, but you had always found solace in the company of Billy and Stu. Your dynamic had always been unique—Billy with his brooding intensity, Stu with his wild charisma, and you, the calming presence that balanced their extremes. Together, you managed to create a bubble of normalcy amidst the chaos of adolescence. However, as senior year progressed, the changes in Billy and Stu became harder to ignore.

Billy's eyes, once filled with a deep, contemplative warmth, now held a flicker of something darker, something you couldn't quite place. Stu, ever the life of the party, had begun to wear his manic energy like a mask, his laughter sounding more forced, more desperate. They started disappearing at odd hours, their conversations becoming hushed and secretive. You told yourself it was just the stress of impending adulthood, but the pit in your stomach suggested otherwise.

One night, after a particularly tense evening at Stu's house, you couldn't take it anymore. The air crackled with unspoken words as you confronted them in the dimly lit basement. "What's going on with you two?" you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. "I can't keep pretending everything is fine when it's not."

Billy and Stu exchanged a glance, a silent communication that only deepened your unease. "You wouldn't understand," Billy finally said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Try me," you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest.

The floodgates opened. Dark secrets spilled forth—tales of manipulation, of violence, of a thrill that transcended the normal teenage rebellion. Billy's voice was cold, detached as he spoke of their actions, while Stu's eyes flickered with a twisted excitement. The room felt like it was closing in on you, the walls pressing down as the weight of their revelations crushed you.

"You did this?" you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "How could you—how could you involve me in this?"

Billy stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "We did it for us, to protect what we have. Can't you see that?"

The words hung heavy in the air, a cruel irony. They had done this for you, for the bond you shared, yet it was that very bond that now felt tainted, corrupted by their actions. You stumbled out of the basement, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. You needed distance, space to process the horrors they had confessed.

The days that followed were a blur. You distanced yourself, seeking refuge in the familiar yet now alien corners of Woodsboro. You grappled with your feelings, torn between the love you had for Billy and Stu and the fear of what they had become. Nights were the hardest, the shadows in your room a stark reminder of the darkness lurking in your friends.

Billy and Stu, for their part, struggled in your absence. Billy's stoic exterior cracked, revealing a vulnerability you had rarely seen. Stu, usually so effervescent, became subdued, his manic energy replaced with a hollow emptiness. They realized, perhaps too late, just how much you meant to them—how integral you were to their very existence.

Desperate to win back your trust, they devised a plan. It wasn't grand or elaborate, but it was heartfelt. They showed up at your house one evening, their expressions a mixture of hope and fear. "We need to talk," Billy said softly, his voice devoid of its usual edge.

You let them in, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. They apologized—not just for their actions, but for the pain they had caused you. They spoke of their need for you, how you were the light that kept their darkness at bay. Billy's hand trembled as he reached for yours, while Stu's eyes, filled with a rare sincerity, mirrored your own turmoil.

Tears flowed freely as you listened, your heart aching with the weight of their confessions. You could see their vulnerability, the cracks in their carefully constructed facades. They weren't asking for forgiveness, not entirely; they were asking for a chance to make things right.

In that moment, you realized that despite everything, you still cared deeply for them. The bond you shared, though damaged, was not beyond repair. You agreed to give them another chance, but with conditions—honesty, transparency, and the understanding that they needed to seek help.

The path to healing was not easy. There were nights filled with nightmares and days of strained silence. But there were also moments of tenderness, of genuine connection that reminded you of why you had loved them in the first place. You saw glimpses of the boys you had grown up with, buried beneath the layers of pain and darkness.

The resolution was not a fairytale ending, but it was realistic. You forgave, but you didn't forget. Trust was rebuilt slowly, brick by brick, as you navigated the complexities of your relationship. And while the shadows of Woodsboro still loomed large, you found solace in the small moments of light—those fleeting instances of happiness that reminded you of the strength of your bond.

In the end, your discovery was a testament to the resilience of love and friendship. It was a demonstration of navigating the fine line between fear and forgiveness, of finding hope in the darkest of places. And as you stood between Billy and Stu, their hands in yours, you knew that while the road ahead was uncertain, you would face it together, bound by the shared shadows of your past and the healing light of your future.

Leave a note if you'd like, it doesnt really matter how, if not thats fine too!😊

[greyias]

22. playful teasing from the blossoming romance prompts?

Pairing: Gale x Tav (pre-relationship) Words: ~4600 Notes: More self-indulgent fluff, takes place the first morning/second day. A follow-up to this previous piece, but can be read on its own.

Gale woke with a crick in his neck, an ache in his back, and an all-too familiar gnawing deep within his chest. A groan escaped him as every bone and muscle protested the hard ground that had been his bed. He had a few choice words for the many scribes who extolled the virtues of sleeping under the stars, nestled in the ample bosom of nature’s beauty. He would take a proper mattress any day.

The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, its golden rays starting to chase away twilight’s dim gray hold over their camp. He’d never been much of an early riser, candles usually burning low into the night as he’d get lost in one text or another — and the comfort of his tower back in Waterdeep afforded him the luxury of the simple things: an actual bed, linens, and the ability to snooze well into the morning hours. A twinge of protest in his lower back chased any thoughts of trying to close his eyes and catch a little more sleep, so he resigned himself to face the day.

Pushing himself to a half-upright position, that unnatural, ever-present hunger churned with a renewed vengeance. It hadn’t been sated in days, and it certainly wouldn’t be assuaged by any worldly meal. Absently, he brushed his hand against the ache, only for his traitorous stomach to voice complaints of its own with an insistent gurgle. Well, it seemed everything was just going to complain today.

Scrubbing the grit of sleep from his eyes, he slowly shuffled toward the campfire. Despite the late summer date, a chill still clung to the pre-dawn air and the warmth of the fire beckoned now that he’d abandoned his bedroll. It had burned low overnight, and Gale could make out the silhouette of one of his newfound companions tending to the dying embers. Faint light danced off scale mail, glinting underneath the deep blue and silver tabard embroidered with the tenets of a paladin’s oath to devotion. It seemed Aravyn had risen early enough to change from the fine yet travel-worn sleep attire she’d worn in the evening. If she’d managed to change into her armor already, he had to wonder exactly how early she’d woken up.

She glanced over her shoulder at his approach, and he suspected the keen sense from her elven lineage had picked up the sound of his footsteps in the quiet of the morning — not that he’d been trying to be particularly stealthy. In the dim light, he could just make out her quirking a brow in amusement at his approach, but she kept her voice pitched lower, likely in deference to their still slumbering companions. “That is quite the windswept scholar look you have going on today?”

Gale blinked, trying to parse that statement before raking a hand through his hair and encountering a wild tuft sticking straight up in the air. He attempted to smooth it with his fingers and hoped the slight reddening of his cheeks could be blamed on the morning chill. “Yes well… not all of us can wake up looking freshly groomed and put together, can we?”

“Contrary to popular belief, not all of elven descent awake fresh and pure as morning dew.” She gently stoked the fading embers, trying to prod the struggling flame back to life. “Even we must contend with bedhead and morning breath.”

“I will respectfully keep my distance in that case.” Despite his jest, he still shuffled closer to the sputtering flames, although the embers did little to provide much warmth. “So if you do not wake up perfectly composed and dressed for battle, I take that to mean you’ve been up for a while then?”

Aravyn gave a small shrug as the returned her focus to the struggling flames. “My sleep was a little restless. Too many thoughts swimming about, not to mention our unwanted guests.”

“I was going to blame our accommodations, but that is a valid point.”

“Not used to roughing it?”

“I’ve camped among the elements many a time,” Gale insisted, “but sleeping on rocks have never done my back any favors.”

She wrinkled her nose, glancing back at him. “You set your bedroll up over some rocks?”

An exasperated sigh escaped him. “I was intending a broader condemnation of the unyielding nature of the earth itself, rather than implying I selected the most jagged plot to sleep.”

“I don’t really think the ground is going to listen to any constructive criticism you offer.” From the suspicious way her lips quivered as she pressed them together tightly, Gale gathered he was being teased. 

“Perhaps not.” He eyed the way she continued to gently prod the logs with her stick, and while there was nothing wrong with a light touch — certainly a clumsy oaf could push the smoldering logs apart and smother the flame, but there was a far quicker and more effective way to achieve this particular goal. “Here, allow me.”

With a murmured incantation, he conjured a small bolt of fire and let it loose at the embers she was still trying to coax a proper flame out of. The kindling popped and crackled before the fire roared back to life. There was once a time that he could have made the whole thing come alive, take a shape of a dragon that would roar in delight. And maybe even would have, just for a little extra show. 

“I could have done that,” she protested.

“Why didn’t you then?”A small huff escaped her, and he just managed to keep from smirking in response.

“Not every problem needs to be solved with a magical solution, you know.”

“Yes, but now we have a nice fire.”

“We still would have if you’d been a little more patient.” Another huff, and this time he couldn’t stop the smirk from blossoming, or adding a little poking of his own.

“But this allowed us to reach the desired outcome much more expediently.” The gnawing void in his chest may have spoken to at least some of the wisdom of her statement. Still, old habits died hard, and it was easier to feign exaggerated indignance than to indulge in too much self-reflection before the sun had even fully risen. “Honestly, wasting time poking it with sticks is borderline arcane masochism.”

Her brow arched as she quietly echoed, “Arcane masochism?”

“There’s no reason to abstain from magic merely for some misbegotten sense of character building?”

“Are you about to tell me to go to hell again?” For a moment he thought the question might be serious, but the glitter of mirth in her eyes gave her away.

Despite himself, the corner of Gale’s mouth twitched at the reminder of his darker musings from the previous night. “I wasn’t really planning on it — but perhaps that’s just my hunger talking. Clearly sustenance is in order before my temperament grows any darker.”

“I’ve got just the thing.” She held up a finger, as if telling him to wait, before delving into one of the nearby bags where they’d gathered all of the provisions from their group’s scrounging the day before. After a few moments of rustling around with some quiet mutterings, she produced a plain strip of dried meat for him, with the flair of a subject presenting a prize catch to their lord. “Here. You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

“Hilarious.” Gale eyed the meager rations with the air of a man facing his imminent demise. 

He wouldn’t have to deal with such indignities if he still had the power to summon an extradimensional space with a fully-stocked larder that could even put the one in his tower to shame. Even a Heroes' Feast wouldn’t go awry — not that particular spell had ever been part of his domain of magic. And would disappear in an hour. He really was desperate, wasn’t he?

Gale was stalling. Out loud he added, “I seem to recall us having a conversation just yesterday about you not inflicting your culinary masterpieces on others.”

“Yes, but this is different,” Aravyn insisted.

“How?”

“I haven’t boiled this piece of jerky.”

“That statement is not nearly as comforting as you mean it to be.”

 “Just trying to be helpful.”

"Yes, your generosity truly knows no bounds.” His tone was as dry as the piece of jerky he accepted with great trepidation. Rather than eating it right away, he just stared at it glumly. “What I wouldn’t give for a proper Waterdhavian breakfast right now. Almond cakes, buttered buns, oh, gods — some strong coffee would not go amiss either.”

“Oh, coffee…” A wistful, borderline indecent sigh escaped the half-elf. “What I wouldn’t give for a mug of the Smilin’ Boar’s finest roast.”

“The Smilin’ Boar?” It was Gale’s turn to quirk an eyebrow.

“Oh, it was this old tavern that got turned into a cafe back in Baldur’s Gate. The menu took, let’s say, some creative liberties when naming their dishes, but they served the best coffee inside of these cute little mugs shaped like a pig’s head. Or at least it was the best coffee in the Bloomridge District.”

The Bloomridge District — now that was interesting. If memory served, that was one of the wealthier neighborhoods in the Lower City, with some of the estates there threatening to rival the opulence of the Upper City itself. If he factored in the fine leather and golden embroidery from her sleepwear the night before, Gale was starting to suspect that whatever her past, their troupe’s little paladin hadn’t been born to the life of pauper.

It was an intriguing puzzle these little details presented, and it just a little too tempting for him to resist plucking those loose threads and trying to weave them into a larger fabric of knowledge. He peered past the thoroughly unappetizing slab to appraise her with renewed curiosity, an investigator sizing up an intriguing conundrum. Breakfast (if it could even be called that) could wait — this enigma required his full concentration.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” she asked.

“I’m looking for inspiration.” He waved the desiccated mystery meat product absently in the air. “Tell me more about this creative menu.”

“Oh, you know. They had things like ’Sow’s Delight’ and ‘Three Pigs in a Blanket’. It’s all a little raunchy for such an upscale cafe, but considering they reused the signboard from the old tavern…” She trailed off, as if hoping that maybe his attention had wandered, then seeing it had not, cleared her throat. “Well, the original tavern incarnation didn’t cater to quite the same clientele.”

“You’re really building this up,” teased Gale.

“The sign featured a smiling boar.”

“I had gathered that much.”

“…mounted atop a sow.”

The loud guffaw that erupted from Gale took them both by surprise, and he quickly glanced around the camp to see if he had accidentally woken any of the late risers. Mindful of his manners, he lowered his voice once he managed to contain himself. “That is positively delightful. If by some happenstance our merry little band winds up in your hometown, we must visit this charming little cafe.”

“That’s a long way to go for a cup of coffee.” Aravyn pointed out. “If you just need something bitter to sip on, I could try boiling some tree bark or mushrooms.”

“You do know that there are other ways to prepare food and drink than merely boiling everything into an unpalatable pulp?” Gale countered, still holding the unconsumed jerky almost at arms’ length. “Although at this point, I can’t say whether that would help or hurt this allegedly edible morsel.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re seeking distraction from that rather than inspiration.” Her teasing lilt was as sweet as honeyed wine but contained just a little too much levity to be believed as completely innocent. “Go on, just pretend it’s a Sow’s Delight.”

He wasn’t sure how, but she’d managed to make the bland piece of meat even more unappetizing. His lip curled involuntarily as he valiantly tried to banish the image of said sow’s delight and its causes, and took the daintiest of nibbles from the edge — and nearly gagged.

Aravyn beamed at him with the widest and most innocent of smiles. “Inspired yet?”

“Thoroughly.” Face contorting, he forced himself to swallow the salt-cured leather. “However, I do think we need to fill our larder with something of a bit more sustenance.” And flavor. Never forget flavor.

“We do have quite a few mouths to feed.” She tapped her chin, considering. “I’m not sure how far we’ll be able to stretch our current rations.”

“Well, perhaps if you ask everyone else to picture two pigs rutting, it should give us a few more days.”

Aravyn’s cheeks flushed a deep scarlet, as if only now realizing her perhaps unintentional double entendre, before her lips curled in a smile that was caught somewhere between apology, mischief, and mirth. “I don’t know. It somehow got you to take a bite.”

“I… you—” Gale sputtered. While not for the first time in his life, it had been a long, long while since someone had rendered him at a loss for words.

Dawn chose that moment to crest the horizon, its warm glow highlighting the faint spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks. The deep flush there lingered, spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. The image had a certain endearing, almost innocent charm that was captivating. An unexpected stirring in his chest skipped just a single beat, but it was enough proof there was maybe something in there beyond the rot chipping away at him.

The impishness edge of her grin softened, hovering on the edge of something warmer. That moment, that stirring, lingered with a tension that seemed to crackle like the kindling had.

“I guess I need work on my sales pitch.” Aravyn rubbed the back of her neck, a little flustered.

“Maybe start by avoiding porcine copulation.” Gale said, though his gaze lingered on her smile a beat too long before he redirected it to the sparking flames. Clearing his throat, he grasped for a fresh conversational thread. “You know, while scavenging yesterday, I couldn’t help but notice those ruins up on the cliffs.”

“Yes, they did look rather… crumbly.”

“That is a way to describe them, I suppose.” He stole a glance back in her direction to see her lips pressed together, whether in amusement or deep thought, he couldn’t tell. “Their structural integrity aside, I can’t help but wonder what sort of secrets they might hold.”

Aravyn tilted her head, considering yet also dubious. “I doubt we’ll find any coffee there.”

“I have other needs aside from coffee.” His tone was light even as the dark, necrotic orb in his chest twinged once more. He resisted the urge to massage it — best to not draw attention to his condition, especially with a group of strangers he’d not even known a full twenty-four hours. “The whole place has an air of mystery to it, don’t you think?”

“I mean, a little.” She slid a considering glance in the far distance where said ruin lay. “Although I think it it may just be a chapel. I’m not sure what you’d expect to find there.”

“Yes, but a chapel to who? Aren’t you curious?”

From the furtive way she averted her gaze, he could tell that her curiosity had been piqued. “I thought you were eager to find a cure before the ‘wee ones’ got too hungry. I think we’re more likely to find that at the druid’s grove those tie flings mentioned. Or at the every least some fresh vegetables.”

Gale tried not to make too much of a face that that, but some adding some roughage to their diet was probably not entirely uncalled for. “Yes, yes, fresh produce is nice and all. But it’s hard to resist a good mystery, is it not? Just think of the secrets those old walls could hold, magical relics even.”

Perhaps that was giving away his true intentions too strongly, but as she began to chew her lip in consideration, he could tell she was losing the war. “You could say they’re almost on the way we were being directed. It would only be a little detour.”

“That’s the spirit! Besides, how long would it really take to poke our heads into an old church?” He waggled his eyebrows with a conspiratorial flourish. “Who knows, it might even shake loose some ideas rattling around in our skulls about what to do about our larger problem. Give the ol’ noggin something to do besides house our new guests.”

Aravyn scrunched up her nose in distaste at the description. “I’d rather not be reminded on how much they're.... squirming up there."

“Ah come now, just imagine them as hairless spiders giving your mind a massage.”

“Is this revenge for the Sow's Delight?”

“Perhaps.” To his credit, he managed to not sound too smug, but they were rapidly getting off topic. Time to veer the subject back around, although bury the lede lest he come across overeager for the expedition. A spot more innocuous chatter should do the trick. “But regardless, those ruins don’t look too massive. Should be a quick in and out. And even if we don’t find any fun arcane toys to play with, there might be some dusty tomes in there to add to my collection. My personal traveling library is rather paltry at the moment.”

The indelicate snort that escaped her echoed nearly as loud as his earlier burst of laughter. “I thought you said last night you already had enough books to fill a shelf or two.”

“If I’m being completely honest,” he was certainly threading the needle on that particular phrasology, but no matter, “I may have embellished slightly the amount of reading material on my person. It was only a satchel’s worth when I was snatched up by that ship.”

“You only had a satchel filled to the brim with books on your person when you were unexpectedly kidnapped by mindflayers?” There was just enough dubious sarcasm laced in her tone, he wasn’t sure if he should take offense. Probably best to forge past it.

“Well, should our luck prevail, we’ll find a veritable enchanted horde, but barring that, I’ll settle for uncovering a few tomes. Never been much for religious reading, but you never know what knowledge you may find.” Ever a hand talker, Gale instinctually went to rub his hands together in eagerness, but the feeling of dried meat smushed between his palms gave him pause, making him glance down in confusion at the half-flattened jerky. With a small huff, he futilely tried to reshape the pulverized snack as he forged on. “And you never know, perhaps we’ll find a musical score or hymn to expand your own repertoire?”

Aravyn tilted her head in that unique way of hers, as if she were trying to examine him from a different angle. “I’m not sure why I would need that.”

“Apologies, I just assumed after your performance last even—”

Gale caught himself as she flushed again, this time a deeper shade of scarlet as she averted her gaze once more. “Ah. I… guess you heard that.”

Sensing that he might have stepped into a sore subject, a bit of diplomacy was probably in order. “I may have caught a few notes.”

Her gaze was still firmly fixed on the campfire, the glow from it and the dawn seeming to accentuate the color in her cheeks. “Yes, well… it was the first time I had played since I was a child. I’m afraid it showed.”

“I was under the impression that the lute was a difficult instrument to master.” The smile he offered was meant to be encouraging, but the sentiment was likely lost as her eyes were firmly fixed on anywhere but him. “That you had done so as a child speaks volumes.”

“I wouldn’t—I wasn’t a master by any means.” She gave a small, awkward half-shrug. “Certainly not talented enough to pursue it beyond a hobby. Scholarly pursuits are far more practical and likely to pay the bills.”

A nearly imperceptible undercurrent of bitterness ran underneath that confession. None of the details shared quite meshed with the reality before Gale, and once again those frayed threads just begged to be picked apart a little more. A rounded education made sense for a privileged upbringing, but in his experience, rote book learning was rarely a sure path to fortune. Probably not best to lead with that, though.

“I would be the last person to discourage the pursuit of knowledge,” Gale said, “although it seems a shame your creative passion had to fall to the wayside because of it.”

The embarrassed, almost shuttered expression gave way to surprise and her startled gaze finally met his, before flitting away once more. “That is kind of you to say but… I’m not sure I’d count yesterday’s attempt as anything particularly creative.”

“Come now, it wasn’t that bad. You certainly seemed to be enjoying it before, well…”

“Someone suggested a violent and gruesome end to the performance?”

“Pshh,” he waved a dismissive hand in the direction of Lae’zel’s tent, “a little culture won’t hurt this lot.”

“It’s more than a little generous to call that noise ‘culture’.” A dry humor laced those words. “We should probably let yesterday’s mistakes be erased by the dawn.”

The urge to prod, poke further and try to trace those threads to their source was strong. Just as a careless hand could smother the fledgling flame of a dying fire, so too could a clumsy nudge undo delicately laid social groundwork. Trying to wrest secrets not meant to be thrust into the light of day was a recipe for disaster. Of that, he knew far too well. 

 It would be far wiser to let matters lie. For now.

“I feel like you are being a little too harsh,” he said, “but I can also tell when a subject changed is required.”

“Thank you.” The words came out almost as a breath, but they still rang with gratitude. A small victory, but well earned.

“However, I do admit that you have piqued my curiosity.”

Her brow crinkled. “I thought you were changing the subject.”

“I am — to you, my friend.” He meant to emphasize his point by pointing directly at her, but once again forgot he was holding his inedible breakfast, and wound up using the desiccated meat product as an impromptu pointer.

Unintentional as it was, the absurdity of the visual was apparently what was needed to deflate the remaining tension, and she tried to cover her smile with her hand. “Me?”

“You have to admit, you present an intriguing conundrum. You claim education took precedence for you for financial reasons, and yet now walk the path of a paladin.” He tactfully left out the part about her musical proclivities. “That’s a curious progression.”

“I never claimed I was a good scholar.” The breath of laughter that escaped her had a hint of that same self-consciousness from before. “I was always a little better at wielding a sword.”

“That can be very lucrative work itself.”

“Depends on who you ask.” Something in her inflection gave him pause. Her expression darkened for a fraction of a second, and then melted back into a pleasantly neutral facade so quickly he wondered if he’d imagined it.

“And yet something brought you here,” he tried once more.

“Oh, you know that one already.” The glint in her eye and that impish curl to her smile let him know he’d walked right into something again. “Same as you: mindflayers.”

“Very funny.”

Her eyes crinkled as her smile blossomed further. “I like to think I have my moments.”

“You do realize this is not diminishing any of the intrigue.” As Gale shifted to steeple his fingers for emphasis, he once again had to catch himself mid-gesture, still holding that thrice-damned scrap of petrified mystery meat. He resisted the rising urge to hurl the horrid thing away in favor of making his point. A point he most definitely had.

“I think you’re building up more mystery to the situation than there really is. My life has been pretty mundane, especially when you look at the rest of our motley crew. I’m afraid I’m very boring in comparison.”

“I’m starting to suspect your self-assessments might be more than a bit biased.” He shook his head. “But! Our acquaintance has been brief. So, who am I to judge?”

A particularly bright beam of sunlight forced them both to squint, and the dawn’s growing light crept over the rest of camp. Around them, the first stirrings of life broke the relative quiet — a loud moan about someone needing to turn off the sun, shuffling footsteps, and a murmured curse or three.

Aravyn looked at the untouched jerky still pinched between Gale’s fingers. “Well, go on then. Might as well eat up before the others descend. Can’t imagine you want more of an audience for choking that down.”

“Ah, yes.” He grimaced at the fate he had managed to put off until now. “Sustenance.”

As she watched expectantly, that endearingly elfin grin threatening to spill over, Gale steeled himself. He endeavored to banish the lingering images of phantom hooves and porcine faces in flagrante delicto, and shoved the entire strip of jerky in his mouth. He chewed valiantly through what now tasted distinctly like old saddle leather, with about the same consistency. With visible effort, he managed to swallow it down and fixed her with the most aggrieved expression he could summon.

She returned it with a grin radiating playful delight. “As they say, ‘waste not, want not’.” 

“The eponymous ‘they’ may want to rethink that particular axiom,” he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It did nothing for the lingering aftertaste. He wasn’t sure even the highest proof alcohol would get rid of that.

“Must you both make such an insufferable racket so early in the morning?” Lae’zel grumbled as she stalked over with a scowl. “You sound like a pair of foo dogs with a bad case of interplanar indigestion.”

Gale was extremely proud of himself for managing to keep a straight face. “Apologies. You must forgive our zeal, as we were just discussing the merits of the local cuisine.”

“That is far more enthusiasm than I can bear at this hour.” She rubbed at her eyes irritably. “Especially over something as pointless as a culinary debate.”

There were a few more choice gith words uttered Lae’zel’s breath before Aravyn oh-so-helpfully produced another piece of jerky for her complaining companion. The friendly effort at first seemed to yield only a withering look, before the offering was accepted with far more grace than Gale had been able to muster.

The githyanki seemed much less bothered by the meager fare, and chewed it in contemplative silence as the other two members of their merry band roused and joined them at the campfire. Gale tracked Aravyn as she cheerfully inflicted more of the tasteless rations on a bleary and unsuspecting Astarion and Shadowheart. Their grumbling complaints echoed his own, but somehow that relentless cheer managed to win over in the end. Astarion’s exaggerated eye rolls, Shadowheart trying to hide spitting out the jerky, only for Lae’zel to loudly call her out.

It was an unremarkable, entirely mundane moment, yet something still stirred within him. A resonance that touched beyond even the ever present void behind his ribs. Like he was witnessing another kind of dawn, and they were all on the cusp of cresting a brand new, unseen horizon.

[hexpea]

Ch. 12 - Iris The iris symbolizes faith, courage, hope, and wisdom -- its name derived from the Greek word for 'rainbow.' AN: TW: drug use

You led Naoya through the winding corridors of your family's estate, a masterpiece frozen in time compared to the Zenin estate. The shinden-zukuri style was evident in every meticulously crafted detail. The hallways were adorned with sliding fusuma doors that featured delicate hand-painted scenes that depicted Japanese folklore. Soft ambient light filtered through the shoji screens, casting a warm glow on the tatami mat flooring beneath your socked feet. Being back home brought you a certain sense of nostalgia, the scent of fresh wood bringing you back to your childhood.

"This way," you murmured, guiding Naoya toward your bedroom.

As you entered the room, Naoya's disdain collided with the traditional atmosphere of your room. The minimalistic interior, though lacking in the opulence he was accustomed to, radiated an understated grace. "This is it?" He scoffed in a voice full of derision as he glanced around the nearly empty room. "Where's the comfort?"

You suppressed a giggle at his incredulous expression. "Welcome to the Kamo estate," you replied with a teasing smile. "Where tradition reigns supreme."

His eyes narrowed as he took in the room once more. "It's like stepping back in time," he remarked, his voice laced with contempt.

You shrugged nonchalantly. "Our family takes pride in preserving our heritage," you explained. "The Kamo estate has remained virtually unchanged since the Heian era."

Naoya's expression shifted from disdain to disbelief. "You mean to tell me we'll be sleeping on futons the entire weekend?! ...How quaint."

You nodded with a teasing smirk. "That's right."

Naoya let out a snort. "Your family's living in ancient times," he muttered under his breath.

You chuckled at his reaction, finding amusement in his discomfort. "It's not so bad once you get used to it," you reassured him, though your own apprehension about the upcoming nights on the thin mats lingered in the back of your mind. You knew Naoya was going to complain the whole weekend about it.

"So, Y/N," he began, quickly changing the subject, a trace of irritation in his voice, "do you know of any nightlife around here? Places where I can actually unwind? Or is this entire city stuck in a time warp?"

You couldn't help but shake your head with a small smile. "I never went out much before I got engaged to you, Naoya, let alone when I was married to Naohiro. I'm afraid my knowledge is very limited on that."

Naoya groaned, the prospect of being confined to the Kamo estate seemingly unbearable. "I can't fucking believe I'm stuck in this ancient place with no escape! There must be something around here." He got out his phone and began to do some Googling.

A mischievous idea crossed your mind, and you suggested, "why don't we ask Daisuke? He used to be quite the partier in his twenties."

Naoya scoffed, dismissing the idea immediately. "Daisuke? Please. I doubt he knows of any places worth my time. He's practically an old man."

You raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smirk. "Daisuke's only thirty-eight, Naoya. You might be surprised. Besides, he knows Kyoto better than anyone. Let's go find him and see if he can't point us in the right direction."

Naoya grumbled under his breath but allowed you to tug him along. It didn't take you long to find him in his room tending to one of his few bonsai trees. He was meticulously clipping some of the branches when you walked in.

You greeted him with a warm smile. "Uncle, we're wondering if you could recommend any places for Naoya to unwind. You know, some nightlife options."

Daisuke glanced up from his meticulous work, his eyes narrowing at the mention of Naoya's name. "Unwind, you say? I doubt he knows how to do that without causing trouble."

Naoya crossed his arms, a defiant smirk on his face. "I can handle myself just fine, Kamo. Your bonsai guru here probably never had a wild bone in his body."

Ignoring Naoya's remark, Daisuke turned his attention to you. "Nightlife? Well, Kyoto's changed a bit since my days, but there are still a few places worth checking out. I'll jot down some names for you, Zenin." He moved swiftly to the table in his room, kneeling down to write down a list on a small notepad before tearing the sheet off and standing up.

Naoya grunted, reluctantly accepting the list Daisuke handed to him, crumpling it in his fist as he took it. "I doubt I'll find anything worthwhile in this ancient city."

Daisuke shot him a pointed look. "Respect the traditions, Naoya. They've been around much longer than you."

Rolling your eyes at the exchange, you decided to change the subject. "Thanks, Uncle. We'll let you get back to it."

As you walked away, Naoya muttered under his breath, "old man and his trees. What a waste of time."

You walked back to you room from there. When you got to your room, you noticed that the attendants had finally brought your luggage to your rooms. Naoya wasted no time in rooting through his for more casual clothes in order to participate in his upcoming night of revelry.

"Naoya, leave my uncle alone," you scolded him gently, watching as he continued to rummage through his belongings. "And remember, in ten years, you'll be pushing forty, too." Naoya shot you a cold look but chose not to respond, instead focusing on selecting a set of clothes. As he prepared to change, you decided to broach the topic of his plans for the night. "So, are you really planning on going out tonight?" You asked, trying to hide your interest.

"Obviously," Naoya replied dismissively, as if the idea of not indulging in his usual festivities was absurd. "I'm not going to let a weekend away from Tokyo mess with my routine."

You hesitated for a moment before deciding to extend an unexpected invitation. "Can I come along?" You found yourself blushing, the fear of rejection, as if it even mattered coming from him, too much for you to handle.

Naoya raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your unexpected request. "Why the hell would you want to come?" He retorted, a tone of disdain in his voice. "It's not your scene."

You folded your arms, determined not to let his arrogance dissuade you. "Why not? I want to unwind, too, Naoya. Besides, I remember how much fun we had that night a few weeks ago. It might surprise you, but I can handle a bit of nightlife. It's like you said, why would I want to spend my wedding weekend sober?"

His eyes narrowed as he shot you a skeptical look. "That was a one-time thing. And I'm not interested in a repeat performance."

You rolled your eyes at his predictable response. "Relax, Naoya. I'm not expecting a repeat of our last escapade. I just want to have a good time and unwind a bit."

He sighed in frustration, realizing that arguing with you might be more trouble than it was worth. "Fine, but don't expect me to babysit you. You're on your own. And we're definitely not repeating anything from last time."

You smirked, seeing through his attempt to assert control. "Sure, Naoya. I'll find something to wear, and we'll see how much you can handle."

"Quickly, or I'm leaving without you," he warned, a hint of impatience in his tone as he began to undress.

You chuckled, heading to your suitcase to pick out an outfit. As you sifted through your clothes, Naoya finished dressing and stood to watch as you continued rooting through your things. He glanced at his watch, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Come on, Y/N. Time is ticking," he urged with an irritated expression.

Rolling your eyes, you selected an outfit and held it up. "How about this?"

He glanced at it briefly and nodded in approval. "Good enough. Now, hurry up. We're not here for a fashion show."

You rolled your eyes at his impatience, accustomed to his brash demeanor at that point. You proceeded to get undressed without a second thought. Naoya, however, found himself in an unexpected dilemma. His eyes involuntarily fixated on your form as you stood in your underwear, the sight stirring his dormant desires for you. 

He quickly averted his gaze, a surge of frustration coursing through him. "You really don't care, do you?" He muttered under his breath, his voice laced with both desire and disdain.

You shot him a pointed look, unfazed by his comment. "Why should I? We've seen each other naked before," you retorted nonchalantly. And it's not like you don't do the very same to me...you thought.

Naoya's jaw clenched as he struggled to maintain composure, his mind battling against the conflicting emotions swirling within him. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean you have to parade around like a slut," he remarked sharply.

Your expression hardened, a flash of anger igniting in your eyes. "Watch your mouth, Naoya," you snapped, your voice cold and firm. "I won't tolerate your disrespect."

Naoya's anger flared at your defiance, his ego wounded by your rejection of his authority. In a swift motion, he grabbed you by the arm, his grip tight and unforgiving, as he pulled you closer to him.

"You think you can talk to me like that?" He hissed, his tone dripping with venomous authority. "You're going to learn your place, Y/N. You're going to learn to obey me."

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his rough grasp, his words sending a shiver down your spine. With your resources back at the Zenin estate, you were unarmed to defend yourself against his aggressive nature. You were physically strong, but you knew he was stronger. Despite the fear bubbling within you, you refused to cower before him. 

"I'll do as I please," you retorted defiantly, your voice trembling with suppressed rage.

Naoya's grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Not anymore," he growled, his tone laced with a dangerous edge. "You're going to be my wife, and you will do as I say."

You felt a surge of anger coursing through you at his arrogance, but you knew better than to provoke him further. With a deep breath, you forced yourself to remain calm, refusing to show any sign of weakness. "Let go of me, Naoya," you asserted, yanking your arm from his grasp with a determined force. "Neither of us wants this marriage, so let's just leave each other alone. I won't tolerate your attempts to control me."

Naoya's lips tightened into a thin line, his jaw clenched in frustration as he reluctantly obeyed, releasing you with a sharp exhale. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his eyes blazing with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine.

"Hmph," he grunted, his gaze locked on you with resentment.

Ignoring his hostile glare, you focused on slipping into your dress, the fabric clinging to your skin as you struggled to get the zipper up your back. Frustration welled within you as the zipper stubbornly refused to cooperate, your fingers fumbling with the delicate mechanism.

Naoya's patience wore thin as he watched you struggle with the zipper, his irritation bubbling to the surface. With an exasperated sigh, he moved towards you, his steps heavy with frustration. Without a word, he grabbed you by the waist and forcefully turned you around to face away from him, his grip firm and unyielding.

Your heart raced as he suddenly pulled you closer, his proximity sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through your veins. With one hand, he pushed your hair away from your back before settling it against your waist. His touch was rough, his fingers pressing into your skin with an intensity that bordered on painful. Despite the discomfort, you couldn't deny the heat that bloomed in your cheeks at his proximity. With a grunt of frustration, Naoya aggressively zipped up your dress, his movements rough and hurried. His hands lingered at your waist, his touch possessive and demanding, sending a shiver down your spine. 

"There," he muttered curtly, "let's go."

His abruptness caught you off guard, leaving you standing there as he turned away without a second glance. You hurried behind him, fixing your hair along the way as you followed him toward the front gates of your estate.

As Naoya walked outside, you followed closely behind. His demeanor seemed more agitated than usual. He reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone while you pretended to adjust your dress while subtly eavesdropping on his conversation. His voice was hushed, but you strained to catch every word, your curiosity piqued by the secrecy of his tone.

"Yeah, it's me," Naoya muttered into the phone, his tone curt and businesslike. "I need a favor. I'm in Kyoto for the weekend, and I need to...unwind." You frowned at his choice of words, a nervous sensation settling in the pit of your stomach as you realized the true nature of his intentions. "Yeah, that's right. I need something to take the edge off," he continued, his voice tinged with impatience. "You know what I'm talking about."

Your heart skipped a beat as the realizationdawned on you. You panicked slightly, a subtle hint of interest alongside your usual disgust for his unfortunate habits. You continued following, slightly jogging to match his wide steps as he hurried toward the front of your estate.

"Just tell me where to meet you!" Naoya snapped, his frustration palpable even through the phone. "I don't have time for games!"

You recoiled at his aggressive tone, the reality of his true character becoming clear once again despite his brief tender moments of comforting you on the plane ride. Despite his rarely charming facade, Naoya was nothing more than a manipulative, entitled brat, willing to stoop to any level to satisfy his selfish desires.

After a brief exchange of information, Naoya hung up the phone with a satisfied smirk, his eyes glinting with anticipation. He turned to you, his expression masked with a false sense of nonchalance as he gestured for you to follow quicker. "Come on, Y/N. We're not getting any younger," he quipped as he sped up even quicker. He halted in his tracks when he realized he didn't know where he was going. "Where do you keep your damn cars?"

You rolled your eyes at Naoya's impatience, leading him toward the estate garage with an exasperated sigh. Inside, Naoya's expression shifted from annoyance to mild disbelief as he scanned the row of basic luxury cars, none of which met his expectations for a night out.

"Boring, I should've expected..." he grumbled under his breath.

You suppressed a smirk, shaking your head as you gestured toward a black BMW M4 that was tucked away in the corner. "That's Daisuke's car," you mumbled, grabbing the key from the hook by the door. "It'll have to do."

Naoya raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk as he turned to you. "Can you even handle driving this?" He chuckled lowly, his tone dripping with condescension. "Or are you going to scratch it like you did my LFA?"

You shot him a withering glare, your own patience wearing thin as you resisted the urge to snap back at him. With a deep breath, you ignored his taunts and climbed into the driver's seat, starting the engine with a determined resolve. As Naoya put in a certain address into the GPS, your eyes widened in alarm as you glanced at the screen. "That's a seedy part of town, Naoya," you remarked, your voice tinged with nervousness as you pulled the car onto the road and began carefully driving down the street.

Naoya grumbled in response, his gaze fixed on the road ahead as he clenched his jaw. "I know," he muttered, "it's where I'm going to pick up the coke."

Your heart skipped a beat at his casual admission, your cheeks flushed with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. "Speaking of...coke..." you began tentatively, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced at him every few seconds while driving. "Can I have some?"

Naoya's smirk widened at your request, amused by your sudden boldness. "Well, well, it looks like I've brought out the rebellious side of the Kamo's precious princess," he remarked with sarcasm as he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

You rolled your eyes at his comment, biting your lip nervously as you waited for his response. Despite your apprehension, you couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement at the prospect of indulging in something forbidden with him.

Naoya chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Sure, princess," he replied, his voice laced with mockery. "We can share some. But don't come crying to me if you can't handle it. I'm not going to babysit you."

You bristled at his condescending tone, a surge of defiance coursing through you as you met his gaze head-on. "Don't worry about me, Naoya," you retorted sharply. "Need I remind you of my technique? I think I can handle it...and if it becomes too much, I'll just flush it out of my system."

Naoya's smirk faltered slightly at your confident response, his eyes narrowing as he studied you intently. "Fine, suit yourself," he replied curtly, his tone betraying a hint of begrudging respect. "But don't say that I didn't warn you."

As Naoya finished speaking, you pulled in front of a dark set of office buildings, the ominous atmosphere immediately making the hair on your arms stand up. Naoya wasted no time, swiftly getting out of the car and disappearing into the shadows to meet with the mysterious figure. You watched nervously, biting the inside of your cheek as you awaited his return. Minutes felt like hours as you sat in the car, your heart racing with fear and anticipation. 

Finally, he emerged from the darkness, a triumphant smirk plastered across his face as he brandished the baggie of cocaine like a trophy. "I got it," he declared proudly, his voice tinged with excitement. "Let's get this night started."

You swallowed nervously, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for the baggie. Naoya pulled it away with a teasing smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Not so fast, princess," he chided playfully. "I'll be the one in charge tonight."

You suppressed a sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that his ego would always come first. With a forced smile, you nodded in agreement, silently cursing yourself for getting involved in his reckless escapades once again. He shoved the baggie into his pocket and plugged in one of the clubs from Daisuke's list into the GPS and instructed you to get there. You complied without protest, driving through the dimly lit streets of Kyoto with a sense of unease gnawing at the pit of your stomach.

You expertly maneuvered the BMW into a tight parking spot, your hands steady despite the lingering nerves that prickled at your skin. As you paid for parking, your eyes darted around the unfamiliar surroundings, taking in the neon lights and pulsating music that spilled from the entrance to the club. Naoya, his excitement palpable, wasted no time in grabbing you roughly by the arm, pulling you toward the entrance with an impatient urgency. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard by his sudden aggression, but swallowed your protest as you shot him a warning glare.

Once inside, the sensory overload hit you like a wave, the cacophony of music and flashing lights overwhelming your senses. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol, the pulsating beat of the music reverberating through your bones. The club itself was a labyrinth of dimly lit corridors and crowded dance floors, the walls adorned with neon signs that flickered with a hypnotic glow. People of all walks of life mingled together in a chaotic dance of bodies, their laughter and shouts blending into a symphony of chaos. You couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and apprehension as you followed Naoya deeper into the heart of the club. It was a side of Kyoto that you'd never seen before, a raw and untamed world that existed beyond the confines of your sheltered upbringing. This was your home like you'd never seen it before.

As you navigated through the throngs of people, Naoya abruptly pulled you to the side, his grip firm and possessive as he led you away from the prying eyes of the crowd. You opened your mouth to protest, but Naoya silenced you with a steely glare, his lips curling into a smirk of triumph. "Do you want this or not?" He demanded, his voice low and commanding as he produced the baggie of cocaine from his pocket, holding it tantalizingly close to you.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you nodded nervously, your eyes locked onto the baggie in his hand. Despite your reservations, the allure of the drug was too powerful to resist, a forbidden temptation that promised to drown out the chaos of your thoughts.

As Naoya smirked at you, the neon lights dancing on his face, opened the baggie, the faint scent of the drug mingling with the sweat and alcohol that permeated the air of the club. Licking his thumb, he then placed it in the baggie, ensuring that the powder coated his skin before shoving the bag back into his pocket. With a firm grip on the nape of your neck, he pulled you closer, his touch sending a shiver down your spine as he held your head still. His eyes locked onto yours, a predatory gleam dancing in their depths as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"Ready, princess?" he murmured huskily, his voice sending a jolt of anticipation coursing through your veins. "This is gonna be one hell of a ride."

With that, he pressed his thumb against your gums, the powder transferring onto your flesh with a tantalizing warmth. Your breath hitched in your throat as the cocaine's roughness scratched against your sensitive gum-line. Naoya's thumb left your gums and he sensually licked the residual powder from it, his eyes never leaving yours. Within a few minutes, you began to feel the effects, a rush of euphoria washing over you like a tidal wave. The world around you blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations, the pulsating music fading into the background as you became lost in the intensity of the moment.

Naoya's smirk widened into a wicked grin as he watched the drug take hold of you, his fingers trailing lightly against your jawline as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. "Feel it yet, princess?" He taunted, his voice laced with a cruel edge that made you shiver. "Or are you too much of a fucking lightweight to handle it?"

You let out a shaky breath, your body humming with pleasure as you leaned into his touch, craving more than you should for the intoxicating sensation that only he could provide.

"Fuck you, Naoya," you whispered hoarsely, your words slurred with the effects of the drug. "I can handle anything you throw at me."

Naoya chuckled darkly and rubbed some of the cocaine onto his own gums. Meanwhile, you couldn't help but feel a surge of exhilaration coursing through your veins. The drug took hold of you with an intensity that bordered on intoxicating, filling you with a sense of euphoria that eclipsed any sense of inhibition. As he pulled away, he murmured into your ear about how long the high would last, his words barely registering in the haze of pleasure that enveloped your mind. You nodded absentmindedly, your senses heightened and electrified by the rush of adrenaline that pulsed through your veins. 

With a sly grin, Naoya disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to your own devices in the midst of the pulsating chaos of the club. You took a moment to steady yourself, the world spinning in a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations as the cocaine took full effect. Determined to make the most of the night, you decided to head to the bar and order a drink, the burn of alcohol mingling with the lingering warmth of the drug in your system as you allowed its effects to take hold. Each sip sent a thrill coursing through you, the combination of substances heightening your senses to a dizzying degree. 

As you mingled on the dance floor, the music pulsating through you like a second heartbeat, you lost yourself in the music. Every movement you made felt fluid and effortless, a motion that carried you away on a wave of pure ecstasy. You felt alive in a way you'd never felt before, the weight of your responsibilities and obligations fading into insignificance as you surrendered to the hedonistic pleasures Naoya was well-accustomed to.

Dates: June 22-23, 2018 - Naoya and Y/N head off to a club in Kyoto where Y/N decides to try a little something new.