#probably because of that scene where he steps out of the shadows

[another-goblin]

[solbaby7]

Wanting You, Wanting Me

pairing: azriel x reader

based off an anonymous request- got carried away but I tried to stay within the guidelines; this was actually a really cute concept

warnings: angst at first but it gets fluffy towards the end, swearing, jealousy, mutual pining, mentions of nightmares, sleep deprivation, probably some typos

summary: Silent yearning only remains silent for so long when you suspect your crush likes your best friend instead

--

Elaine was like flowers budding in the Spring; new and fresh, full of promise and beauty. She was kind and caring, compassionate and soft-spoken, dainty and slender—all the pretty things that males loved in women.

Or maybe it was just her.

Because you were fairly new and fresh too; just barely in your twenties and full on the idea of life and love and everything in between. Maybe you weren’t as kind, not as nice or welcoming; you didn’t always have the right words and in lou of sounding stupid or making a fool of yourself, you stayed quiet.

Watching; observing, learning the family around you as you navigated your place in it. Everyone already had their role; playing their parts as if they’d been trained their whole lives for it and even Feyre and her sisters had fallen into a steady rhythm after the Cauldron. But with all the new additions, couples pairing up and friendships pre-established a hundred years before you were even a thought—your place there seemed less clear.

Especially since Azriel had started paying such special attention to Elaine and her annoyingly beautiful garden and the plants that seemed to thrive tenfold at the mere sight of her.

You didn't mind at first; the three of you falling into a steady rhythm of hanging out together, taking walks and sharing stories but somewhere along the lines he stopped looking at you when he'd laugh. Envy builds for a woman too kind to deserve it and it makes you feel even worse--masking your distaste with soft smiles that you hoped looked as welcoming as hers.

You can’t even help the turn your thoughts take but no matter how much envy fills you; there’s not one con that presents itself when regarding her.

It becomes subconscious, the way you mimic her; fixing your posture, hands reaching to push back strands of hair and smoothen out the fabric that the soft curve of your stomach. Silently nitpicking parts of you that you’d never considered wrong before but that had to be when everything Elaine had got was so right.

He walks in like you’ve summoned him, steps silent and sure. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You mutter a beat too late, only realizing he was regarding you when you’d finally glanced up over the book in your hands.

You’re acutely aware of his every move, the radiating warmth of his body contrasted by the cool kiss of his shadows sifting through your hair when he leans over the back of the couch. The smell of his soap reaches your nose when he leans in, hazel eyes skimming over the pages you're reading and you thank the good Mother above that you’d gotten past the naughty scene three pages ago; where the good guy who pretends to be bad slides his fingers between the maidens thighs, urging her to be silent as he worked her over through her clothes while being surrounded by a whole camp full of males and a looming threat lingering somewhere in the trees. “Bad dreams again?”

You pray he doesn’t catch the slight uptick of your heart rate, the closeness forcing your body to react without permission and it takes great effort not to tear the delicate pages under the pressure of your fingers alone. “Something like that,” You grit out, reminded of the nightmares that assaulted your slumber; the sight of Elaine and Azriel—kissing. Enough to rip you awake and force you to empty all of your stomach contents; you’d just barely made it to the bathing chambers, hairs sticking to your cheeks and nightgown damp with sweat as you leaned into the toilet.

You still hadn’t been able to keep anything down; stomach too unsettled and brain spiraling enough to distract away any signs of hunger.

“She’s been getting them all week,” Elaine softly adds, fingers busy with her knitting needles and yarn; a new blanket for you to add to the giant collection neatly folded your closet. “—won’t drink the tea I made for it though.”

“Because the tea makes them worse and then I wake up from them with my body still paralyzed,” You’re quick to say, familiar with your best friends tactics in divulging important information to the shadowsinger to ensure you actually did something about it—that you took care of yourself. “I’ll happily keep just the bad dreams.”

Azriel's not even looking at you anymore though, already rounding the couch to sit beside Elaine, ball of yarn rolling between them and you can’t help but stare. “Tell me more about this tea?”

���I make it from the plants in the garden,” She points at the window behind them, pale green yarn still wrapped around her finger. “Camomile and ginseng and usually it helps but she just reacts to it differently.”

Azriel hums and you hate the way the words make you feel; like there was another thing setting you apart from the others and this perfect life that didn’t seem capable enough to hold room for all of your imperfections. You don’t wait to hear anymore, steps light and hands quick to stick your bookmark in place and collect your tea cup before you’re gone and down the hall; tears burning in your waterline.

Because, you were sure that if you had to sit there and watch them a second longer you were going to scream.

Scream at Elaine for being so sweet and gentle; so knowledgeable and helpful and certain that it was you that was the issue and not her stupid herbs grown in her stupid garden. You wanted to scream at Azriel until you were blue in the face, listing off every single thing you've ever done to show that the thing between you was way more than just friends. How he was everything and you know that maybe you weren't perfectly skinny like Elaine was but you'd always found great beauty in things that were different.

You can’t tell if you’re happy or not that no one comes to check on you the whole four hours it takes for you to relax; binging the entirety of a book until you were too focused on someone else's life to focus on your own and only once you'd finished the book in it's entirety were you forced to leave the room in search for the one that followed.

The library is empty when you enter, only a few lights still burned and you’re already murmuring soft words to yourself while you search around for what your looking for, fingers bumping over the slides of books; their engraved titles all unique and beautiful and probably interesting but still not quite right. It takes some time but you’re certain you’ve found it, a few rows higher than you can reach but it’s easy to drag over a chair for assistance. "Come on," You mutter, nose scrunching with strain as the tips of two fingers graze the burgundy spine. You’re prepared to jump and pray the chair doesn’t collapse beneath you when the book simply slides out and floats down to you, cool shadows twirling up the length of your arm as if to stabilize you as you step down. “I didn’t need help,” You grumble without looking at your savior, the weight of the book now in your palm and excitement swirls at the thought of more.

“You never do.”

You don’t mean to be so snappy but the sleep deprivation takes a toll and it was becoming harder to distinguish truth from dream; your brain always stuck on his mouth leaning in for Elaine’s and the anger that ensues is all consuming. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Azriel shrugs, sighing as if he knows how this conversation will end and in no way will he ever come out on top. “I don’t know—just don’t get why you wouldn’t have told me you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Because, Az, what would you have done? Help Elaine make me tea’s? No, thanks.”

Confusion spreads on handsome features, hazel eyes fierce even with his lids lowered. “What does Elaine have to do with any of this? Because she told me?”

The breath you let out is heavy, defeat settling in once you realize the hole you’d been digging yourself and it’s a struggle to heave yourself out and drag the chair back to its original spot but Azriel’s there in seconds. He’s quiet; waiting for an answer as he takes it from your hands. “No,” You concede, all fight leaving when it was a one-sided battle. “She doesn’t have anything to do with it. It’s fine—I’m just tired.”

“Then sleep,” He urges softly. “I’ll stay with you.”

“I can’t.”

You can’t even focus on the words of your page under his stare. You’ve read the first line six times over and you still haven’t fully processed it. The thought of him being nearby as you slept, the thought of his eyes on your body in nothing but a nightgown and your hair free from all its carefully done braids. “Can you tell me what you’ve been dreaming about?”

His brows raise when you suck in a sharp breath, cheeks flinching at the suggestion and you shut the book altogether. “I’d really rather not.”

“What’s so bad you can’t tell me about it?" Azriel's hand covers your own, voice so soft it hurt. "You tell me everything.”

Your heart thumps so hard in your chest you can hear it in your ears, your free fingers fumbling against the other under the table and you can't refrain from the nervous chuckle that pulls free. There's a second where you want to just tell him; to confess your feelings and how much you loved the way he was looking at you but fucking hated how you knew that look wouldn't stay if Elaine walked in. The reminder of her alone makes your body deflate, gaze going far off and Azriel's concern only grows when you stay quiet too long to be normal.

The cool touch of a shadow grazing your cheek pulls you out of it. "I suppose this just isn't worth telling."

It's not the answer he wanted, that much is clear by the frown that tugs on full lips, the wings that tuck in tighter and you want nothing more than to give him everything he'd wanted and more to get his face to stop looking at you like that but before you can say another word, another person enters. "Sorry to interrupt, I was just looking for you.

His eyes instantly go to her, hand pulling away from your own and attitude seeps out when you regard her. "Well, you found me."

Elaine's eyes bounce between you and Azriel as if she could feel the tension in the room that held so thick you could cut it with a knife. Her voice is hesitant when she begins, a steaming pot held in hands covered by thick oven mitts. "I made a new recipe for the tea," You don't even hear the carefully curated list of herbs she rattles off, informing their uses and how well they work together but you can't stop shaking; chest tightening at the way Azriel watches Elaine gracefully flit about the room and you can't stop thinking about how quickly he pulled away his hand. "It's really strong so you can't have too much but the madja said that it would help with the sleeping and the paralysis."

You couldn't of cared less, snatching the kettle from her grasp and in your anger you can’t even hear her gasp, can’t feel the burn of the boiling handle against your palm as you pour a mug so thick it nearly spills over the top. “Thanks, Elaine. Really, I hope it knocks me out for a week.” You don’t stay to take in the worry on Azriel's face or the hurt that laced your friends features. Your book is tight in your grasp and you’re halfway down the hallway when you feel your palm begin to throb.

Your bedroom door shuts with a slam, pure frustration pulsing through your whole being and you can feel it ebbing from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. A sigh pulls when you take an angry sip, it burns your tongue, slightly bitter but it was eased with a little sugar and a teaspoon of honey.

Guilt swells at the kind gesture and your misguided anger; Elaine had only been trying to help, making things to quell the dreams she didn’t even know were centered around her and man you loved but didn't love you back. It weighs on you as you change into your night clothes, smoothening ointment and wrapping thick gauze around your burn; there was no blistering but the angry red mark was sure to remain there for quite some time.

You try to distract yourself, silently sipping as you read your book.

It’s alarming how quickly you relax, the giant mug nearly empty when your book slips between your fingers and thuds to the floor, body slumping into the sitting chair and you don’t even have enough time to drag a blanket over yourself before your eyes flutter shut and sleep takes over.

And this time, you didn’t dream.

There was only peaceful silence and maybe an uncomfortable pressure in your chest that it came and went in waves; too grateful for the relief that settled in your bones to care. It was like you were sinking, body slowly falling into a sea of cushion and comfort and you’d have been willing to stay there forever.

Your brows furrow when a noise pierces through the silence; eyes squinting in the darkness to find the source but the harder you try to make it out, the darker the rooms gets. A hand rubs against your chest, the pressure coming back and this time it’s so hard it makes you cough, eyes clenching shut and it’s like that was the switch to wake you up.

Azriel is leaning over you, hands on your chest and cheeks red with exertion when you cough and cough, soul aching to return to the peace—that silence where there were no dreams. “Why’d you wake me up?”

“Wake you up?” His voice holds no more room for placating to your wants; hands shaking at his sides and it’s then you see the fear. “You didn’t have a pulse. I came to check on you and you were—“ Azriel clears his throat, voice cracking with his clothes disheveled and full lips firm in a straight line as he stood before you, crouching down to meet your eye level. “Tell me right now, what were you dreaming about that was so bad that you were willing to die to stop them.”

Your chest heaves as you take in air, a ringing begins in your ears and you back away; avoiding the words, the conversation—the sight of his mouth on hers. “I can’t.”

“You can and you will."

"Azriel—"

Az groans at your tone, turning his entire body away as if he physically couldn't bear hearing another aversion; another lame excuse as to why you couldn't tell him what was going on when you always did. "Do you not trust me? Is that it?"

“What?”

You'd never seen him so upset, eyes blazing and wings rustling in his frustration as he stood. "I'm just listing shit at this point because all I've done is try to be there for you—me and Elaine, and you just keep pushing us away."

"Oh, please," You snap back, gaining the strength to stand and the ache in your chest only gets worse and you begin to wonder just how long he was on top of you breathing air into your lungs and willing breath to stick with the push of his hands. "If Elaine's around, I might as well just walk right out of the room because that means you'll be otherwise occupied shoving your head up her ass."

"You sound ridiculous." He lets out a gruff laugh, arms crossed over his chest. "Are you jealous or something?"

"It's clear you have feelings for her. I get it—she's perfect and pretty and skinny and obviously you like that sort of thing but don't stand here and pretend you even notice I exist with her there." There's no taking back the words and you don't even care to look into the way his brows furrow at you, words punching at him a mile a minute as a dam breaks and days and weeks and months worth of emotions rage forward with no signs of stopping. "How couldn't I be jealous? When it’s so obvious that you love her and not me.” It feels pathetic to say out loud, hands crossing over yourself as you did your best to remain strong; to get through the feelings even though your skin was on fire and you couldn't stop fidgeting. "That's what my dreams have been about. Why I've been missing sleep and hiding things from you because every time I close my eyes all I can fucking see is you and her."

You don't even realize how much distance you'd been putting between you two, subconsciously searching for a way out when Azriel inevitability let you down easy. "You love me?" Words die on your tongue, feelings laid bare and vulnerabilities left out for his viewing pleasure; eyes like drops of gold boring into you as you gently nod. He sinks onto the edge of your bed, a breathless laugh emitting as scarring fingers traced over the soft fabric of your duvet. "The only reason I started talking to Elaine in the first place is because you and her had gotten so close and I wanted an excuse to be around you."

Your brows furrow, lips parting in confusion and the nerves begin to fade. "No."

Azriel's head nods once, settling into the fell of your room and the little trinkets you'd kept close on the nightstand; pictures neatly framed and resting on books you favored a little more than the others on the shelves. Hand sculpted vases made from blown glass that scattered rainbows across the room when the sun shone through the curtains to feed the bright flowers inside of them. "Yes, but you kept leaving and I thought it was because you weren't interested."

"But, I thought—"

"I think it's safe to say we both were off in our assumptions."

It feels like a dream and not the kind you'd been running away from but the one you'd been sinking and falling into earlier before Azriel had pulled you back. The one that felt like peace and comfort and something like hope begins to brew in your belly when you dare you look him in the eyes. "You like me?"

Azriel's features soften, the fear and worry from before a thing of the past when he stood and walked towards you, shadows kissing at your legs when warm knuckles grazed your cheek. "I love you," He corrects gently, his touch like home and its instinct the way you close the proximity. You can feel his heartbeat on your chest, the strong muscles of his arms itching to be traced and a smile forms at the blush that forms on the tops of his ears under your attention. "—and those smutty little books you've been reading."

His chest is hard when you jokingly smack it, cheeks going hot and eyes darting to the book laid forgotten on the floor. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The lie doesn't deter him and neither does the little gasp that pulls free when he gently forces you to look up at him, hazel eyes trained on your mouth and the tongue that darts out to wet plush lips. "I'll pretend I believe that if you just shut up and let me kiss you."

Maybe reality was better than dreaming.

Because this time, when he leaned down with intent to press his mouth against another’s for a kiss—it was with you.

[teeskzagain]

original post got taken down unfortunately😔😔, here is the updated version

Anonymous asked:

I keep imagining Mingi forcing you to cockwarm him at a movie theatre AHHHHHHSHSHH and like he teases you by occasionally thrusting up to hit all the right places and saying it was just him “getting comfy” or “he had a cramp” when he really just enjoys seeing you try to keep everything together 👹 I also feel like he’d whisper in your ear like “pay attention Angel, I didn’t spend money on these tickets for nothing” WITH HIS DEEP ASS VOICE AHHHHHH IK GENUINELY TWEAKING RN- 🙏🧎‍♀️AHEM- He would also SO massage your thighs and hips (IMAGINE THROWING YOUR HEAD BACK AND HE STARTS PEPPERING YOUR NECK WITH KISSESHSJSHSHHSJSGRRRRRRRRR)

There are so many “also’s” in that sentence 💀 BUT WHATEVER YOU GET THE POINT HOPEFULLY 🤡 don’t feel at all obligated to make anything of this especially since idek if you take requests 😭 I just thought that this is such a YUMMY Drabble prompt 😀 and HAD to share it <3 take care pookemssss

OHH??? uh first off I would like to say I'D LOVE TO TAKE REQUESTS (you're actually the first to provide me with a prompt) and second this is so absolutely delicious.

warnings: smut (COCKWARMING, exhibition, semi-public, teasing, kissing) 18+

wc: 1.2k

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this probably wouldn’t even be the first time you found yourself in this situation. no, it’d be a regular occurrence at this point, a developmental game if you must. that’s why bf!mingi absolutely loves the movies, because that’s when he get’s to play his favorite game.

‘how long are you gonna last this time around?’

imagine bf!mingi, who’s caressing your thigh tenderly with the backs of his fingers, shushing you and mumbling sweetly into your hair while your ass continues to squirm against his pelvis. getting situated always took the longest. so tedious, finding that perfect spot where you can just slide down and onto his lap, your walls gripping his cock and swallowing it whole.

he sits idly and unmoving, allowing you to move around for a bit. because at some point, bf!mingi’s gonna start the fun part of the game. the part that really tests your strength.

and once you finally achieve that perfect spot, the sensation makes your face scrunch pleasantly and a soft sigh floats out of you. so entranced, you almost don’t notice the pretty pink blanket, draped over the both of you, slip just slightly down your leg.

“shhhh…okay baby, i need you keep still,” he’d tell you, and a part of him almost doesn’t want to go reposition it. what if he left you out and exposed? imagine, someone walking up and discovering the disgusting scene. it’s exciting him, these thoughts, but soon enough he’s lowering himself down and recovers you two, all the while holding back a smile. it’s enjoyable for him, just the riskiness of it all.

how the dark theatre somehow shadows your lewd actions, yet the monumental screen ahead provides illumination onto your struggling face, “if you wanna win, you know you can’t move.”

after many weeks of playing, you haven’t won a single round. not once. you would get so close, but then luck out whenever bf!mingi would buck a bit too hard, or your own desires began to consume you. every, single round, a loser had been made out of you.

“last time, you couldn’t even make it through the previews before you fucking came all over my legs,” he reminds you, a slow and sick grin spreading wide, “you gonna try harder? wanna get your prize tonight?” it’s pathetic how you have to bite back a mewl from his words.

this is always the hardest part for you: the taunting. it kills you every time.

at the start of the movie, it’s through his teasing voice; his low, grumble of a tone that buzzes perfectly into your head.

“see? already made it through the trailers,” he’d laugh. as a reward the aimless touch he provided earlier turns into a hard grab, kneading at the flesh of your thighs with a quiet groan, “one step closer. just needa make it through the movie.”

then, it’s through his touches.

as you become more conscious of your ragged breaths, his hand trails from your leg and drags up towards your shirt. teasing your breasts through the fabric, he grazes absentmindedly before running then back down your stomach, only stopping when he meets your bare pussy. it takes his full strength to not end the game by just simply fingering the orgasm out of you. but if that were the case, then he wouldn’t be able to see you whither. and that’s always his most favored part.

the most you could do is shut your eyes and pray your body doesn’t betray you. but even that doesn’t get you far, with just a few minutes into the movie, friction starts to build within you. while bf!mingi rests his back against the plush seat, grateful for his top view of the movie theatre, a slow thrust of his hips find a rhythm in your core.

it's torturous. the intentional, unhurried movements, leisurely rocking in and out of you. it's like he's rubbing himself inside you, and you're forced to seal your mouth.

"you holding up okay, angel?" he mutters and you give him a brisk nod, turning to the side momentarily. he finds that comical. your desire to always win. the need to prove him wrong.

but he knows you. he knows you're slipping with every second his leaking cock stays within you, radiating the pleasure you so desperately seek. he knows you're crumbling. you’re gonna unravel soon.

right when you think you've conquered this section of the challenge, a quick shift from underneath you has your eyes vibrating, a small gasp leaving you as bf!mingi practically buries himself closer to your cervix.

"ah, oops, sorry...just need to.." he moves around some more, adjusting his position, along with you, before halting once again, "alright, there we go. i feel much better. how about you?"

the angle he’s now hitting feels like it’s splitting you open and a strained yet airy moan tupples from your lips. with no more strength, your head falls down into the space between his shoulder and neck, eyes shut and brows furrowed, "i can't- i can't do it-"

"mmm, baby, no," he wraps an arm around your torso to reach your cheeks, clasping them together with a smush then forcing you back forward, "baby, you gotta keep your eyes open."

he drops his hand but that doesn't stop your whining, you sobbing out a, "no- i can't-"

"shhh y/n what did i say?,” he locks onto your inner thighs and widens them, “you know i didn't spend money on these damn tickets for nothing. come on, watch the movie."

as you feel him start up again with his quiet thrusts, you loll your head back with a grimace and hooded eyes, little noises now spilling out. your neck fully exposed, bf!mingi takes initiative to lean up and bring his lips to the vast area, nipping and kissing at it. he suctions onto your skin which sends a jolt throughout your core.

and just like that, you're done for.

"you're so close, i can feel it." he whispers on your neck as a devilish smirk overtakes his kisses, "i fucking knew it. i knew you would lose."

his words nearly egg you on as you accept defeat, allowing yourself to succumb to the slow pace of his length sliding against your insides. your fingers curl with the repeated motion, a continuous build up until eventually you burst and your orgasm hits you hard.

it causes you to wriggle against him, contracting your body so tightly you’re shaking then releases you, repeating this over and over again all the while bf!mingi keeps his kisses coming on your neck.

like said, this is always his favorite part of the game. the thing he looks most forward to. because no matter how hard you've tried, it always ends the same.

"aww," he notices your high coming down, excluding the occasional body twitches, "and the movie was almost over."

"you're awful." you could hardly muster that sentence, your back resting on top of his chest while you regain your composure. your cunt still pulsed every now and then around him.

he supplies a silent laugh before going in your ear once more, "well, look at it this way. now we can go home and play your favorite game."

while bf!mingi returns back to his seat, bringing you with him, a small whimper is produced by you. because absolutely not what was to come, your favorite game. in fact, it felt merely like an extension of this game.

‘how many different ways are you gonna make bf!mingi cum tonight?’

[sabersandsnipers]

A Stray on the Road

Author’s Note: I work with a lot of the pediatric population as a nurse, so I thought about what Halsin and Astarion’s reactions would be to me having to protect and take care of every kid I find lol

The day was grueling. The sticky sensation of blood covers every inch of your skin. Aches and pains rattle your bones, and the road seems endless as your group searches for a good place to set up camp. The only thought keeping you going is that of curling up between Astarion and Halsin later. 

“Gods, this is hell,” Karlach complains. 

Wyll responds with some snide comment, but you’re only half listening, because you’re approaching a rather violent scene. Wagons are tipped over, and bodies litter the road. You slow as you approach, noticing a small figure sitting by a pair of bodies. 

Your gaze sharpens, and you see it’s a young girl. No older than 5. Tears stream down her cheeks as she sits by a pair of dead bodies. Your heart sinks as you realize it’s probably her parents. 

“Hang back, guys,” you say. You fear the approach of such a large group will frighten her. Attempting to wipe the blood off your face, you walk up to the girl. 

Her clothes are tattered, and you notice she has a few cuts lining her arms and legs. You crouch next to her.

“Hey,” you say softly. 

Big beautiful brown eyes meet yours. Something twists in your chest. 

“What’s your name?” you ask.

She sniffles. “Eowyn.”

“Eowyn, do you have family nearby?”

She shakes her head. “No. And I don’t know where I am.” 

Her voice trembles, and your heart breaks for her. You look back to your companions. Most won’t mind her staying with them, except for Astarion, who will be annoyed by the young presence.Your friends look back at you expectantly, wondering what your next move is. 

“Would you like to stay with me and my friends for the night?” you ask her.

She looks to the group behind you, and you half expect her to run away in fear with how harsh they look. 

But her expression doesn’t change, she simply nods her head. 

“Do you think you can walk?” you ask her.

She shakes her head. 

You smile at her. “That’s okay. Halsin?”

The elf approaches. Eowyn stares up at him, eyes wide. 

“Is it alright if my friend carries you?” you ask her. 

She nods. “He’s so tall.” Her eyes are filled with wonder.

“He is,” you say with a chuckle. You look to Halsin and he nods. He reaches down and picks up the child, placing her on his shoulder. 

“Hold on, child,” he says. There’s a slight smile on her face, but then darkness fills her eyes again. 

Your group ventures forth once more. The sun is beginning to set, casting shadows along the road. But you can’t help but admire the beautiful colors streaking across the sky. 

Astarion falls into step beside you. “Picked up another stray, I see.”

You nudge your shoulder against him. “You were a stray once too.” 

He gives a half smile. “I’m just worried you’re going to burden yourself with her safety.”

You let out a sigh, knowing he wouldn’t like her presence. “She has no one, Astarion.” 

He doesn’t say anymore, but you can feel the tenseness between you two. Your relationship is still being navigated. But even with your difference in values, you couldn’t stop yourselves from being drawn to each other. 

A giggle pulls you from your thoughts. You look back to see Eowyn playing with Halsin’s braids. He’s grinning back at her, thoroughly enjoying her laughs. The sight sparks a warmth within you, and you can’t stop the smile from growing on your lips.

“Ugh.” Astarion comments. “Does he always have to be so…Halsin?” 

You shoot him a half hearted glare. Despite him being agreeable to Halsin joining your relationship, he always seems taken aback by his general goodness and willingness to help others. 

Your trek continues, Astarion allowing your hands to brush ever so slightly as you walk the dusty road. 

The fire crackles as Karlach throws more wood onto the flames. A warm stew has been shared amongst your group, Eowyn getting a healthy portion. Conversations scatter around, commenting on the latest tavern you stopped at, or how a fight went along the way. 

You sit on a log between Eowyn and Halsin, but Astarion sits over by his tent. He’s reading one of his books, sipping on some wine. 

Every time you glance to Eowyn, you notice her watching Astarion. Her gaze is curious, and she seems completely enthralled with him. Not that you can blame her. You’re completely enthralled as well. 

“He’s so beautiful,” she suddenly comments. You smile at her and then look at your love.

“Isn’t he?” you respond. “He’s awfully nice too, to the people he likes.”

“I saw you kissing earlier. Are you married?” she asks. 

You laugh. “No, but I do love him very much.”

Confusion crosses her face, as if she can’t comprehend how you can be in love but not married. She takes another bite of her stew. Her eyes flicker back to Astarion. 

A few minutes later she taps you on the shoulder. You turn away from your conversation with Halsin as she leans over to you. 

“Do you think he would read me a bedtime story?” she asks in a whisper. 

You grin, and glance at Astarion. Although he would most definitely deny her request, he can’t deny you. 

“Yes. You should go over and ask. Tell him I sent you.” 

Her expression brightens. She gets right up and makes her way over to Astarion, who doesn’t acknowledge her until she’s standing right in front of him. He finally looks up, his expression mildly annoyed. Eowyn talks for a few moments and then he shoots a glare in your direction. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to say no. He bites the inside of his lip. The seconds pass as you wait for his response. 

Finally, his body relaxes and he nods his head. Eowyn sits down on the cushion next to him, snuggling up right close to him. Although Astarion tenses a bit, he doesn’t push her away. You watch them for a bit, admiring how adorable they look together. 

A pair of hands find their way to your shoulders. 

A familiar voice whispers in your ear. “I’m going to bathe in the river. Would you like to join me?” Halsin asks. He places a hot kiss against your neck. 

“Halsin, the day I say no to that question, I want you to push me off a cliff, because clearly I’ve gone mad,” you respond. 

A breathy laugh caresses your skin. You give him your hand and the two of you make your way to the water. 

When you return from your excursion with Halsin, skin still tingling, you’re astounded by the sight before you. Astarion and Eowyn still sit together, except Eowyn is sound asleep in his lap. Astarion looks down at her, his hand resting lightly on her hair. You can’t read his expression. 

When you approach Astarion, you crouch down and place a kiss to his temple. He smiles at you, and it makes your heart flutter just like the first time. 

“I can have Halsin take her to my tent,” you offer, brushing back a strand of his white curls. 

He hesitates, looking down at Eowyn. “I think we’ll be okay. She looks so comfortable.” 

She’s curled right up, her head resting on his chest. Her face looks so serene after all the horrors she’s experienced today. 

“Okay. I’ll go spend the night with Halsin then. Just come get me if you need me,” you tell him. 

“I think we’ll be okay, darling,” he replies. 

You smile and kiss him goodnight. As you make your way to Halsin’s tent, you take one last look over your shoulder, and allow yourself a moment to admire the two of them. And it brings you great joy to know Astarion is finding just as much comfort as she is. 

[dixons-sunshine]

hi!! i absolutely adore your writing, could i request daryl and gn!reader celebrating the reader’s birthday (fluff please)? it’s my birthday and i’m a very guilty lover of self-indulgent fics 💗

Happy Birthday, Bug | Daryl Dixon x Reader

A/N: Happy birthday, my love! I’m sorry this is so rushed and not my best work, and probably not what you had in mind, but I hope you like this! (Also, I feel like Daryl is a bit ooc in this, but I’m rolling with it lol.)

“Daryl, where are you taking me? We’ve been walking forever,” Your voice rung out through the air. To say you were confused about the archer’s behaviour would be an understatement. Having been together since the fall of the farm, you had slowly but surely started chipping away at his walls, worming your way into his heart and soul. Due to that, you could read the huntsman quite well.

However, at that particular moment, as you followed Daryl deeper into a part of the prison that you had yet to explore since it had been cleared out, you realized that there were still moments where you just couldn’t decipher what was going on in his complex mind.

“Jus’ follow me, Bug,” Daryl chuckled, his crossbow lifted in front of him in case the two of you encountered any threats that could potentially be lurking in the shadows. “Promise we’re almost there.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said ten minutes ago,” you mumbled, grimacing at the pain that shot through your elbow when you accidentally hit it against the side of the wall when you and Daryl took yet another turn.

Daryl heard the slight hiss that left your mouth, and he shot you a concerned look over your shoulder. “Y’alright?”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him with a small nod. “I’d feel even better if I knew where we were going and why I was dragged out of our cell at...” You checked your watch, one of the few items that somehow still worked after all that time. “Eight in the morning, when I was asleep after getting back from my watch shift.”

Daryl simply turned his head, not trusting his face to remain neutral, and he was correct in his mistrust; a small smile spread across his face. You didn’t even realize what made this particular day so special. That just added to the element of surprise. “S���a surprise,” he mused, taking another turn down a corridor. The surprise was set up quite a bit away from the main part of the prison, due to the fact that Daryl didn’t want anyone, especially not the newest additions to the group—the Woodbury residents—interrupting what he hoped would be a good moment.

“Wha—” Your response to his words were cut off when the archer came to an abrupt stop. You collided against his back, nearly falling flat on your behind. You would have, had it not been for the fact that Daryl turned around caught you just in time. You sent him a grateful smile, although a tinge of playfulness was laced in it. “Is my surprise being in the arms of the man I love? Because if it is, I can tell you that you didn’t have to go through all of this. I gladly would’ve let you hold me if you just asked.”

Daryl rolled his eyes affectionately and stepped away, before walking to stand behind your back. “Nah, s’not yer surprise.” He covered your eyes with his hands, ignoring your sounds of protests as he slowly and carefully led you a few steps further, guiding you down a final turn, right to your surprise. “This is.”

His hands fell away from your eyes, and you gasped at the sight in front of you; rose petals littered the ground, leading up to a table that held two bowls of what you assumed to be some sort of stew, a bottle of whiskey resting in the middle, and the scene was illuminated by a few candles surrounding the table.

“Happy Birthday, Bug,” Daryl whispered in your ear from behind, his hands rubbing up and down your arms in a soothing manner.

A surprised laugh escaped your chest, and you shook your head at yourself for forgetting what day it was. However, in your defense, with everything going on, it was a bit hard to keep track of the days, so you were pleasantly surprised to know that Daryl had done so. You turned to him in surprise. “How’d you know it was my birthday?” you questioned, still amazed by the effort your partner had put into his surprise for you, one you greatly appreciated.

Daryl shrugged nonchalantly. “Beth’s been keepin’ track’a the days in that diary of hers. Asked her to tell me when yer birthday was comin’ up, so that I could do somethin’ special for you.” Unbidden, a look of insecurity flashed through his eyes. Did you hate the surprise? “M’sorry this ain’t exactly like those movies. I asked Carol to help me set this up, and we did the best we could with the things we could find. I wanted this to be at night, like the movies, but I have to keep watch tonight, so I figured—”

You cut Daryl’s rambling off by pressing a soft, tender kiss on his lips. When you pulled back, you gave him a big smile. “It’s perfect,” you reassured him softly, your hands gently cupping his cheeks. “It’s absolutely perfect. Thank you.”

Daryl smiled bashfully. “Ain’t nothin’.” Suddenly remembering something, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out, and you gasped at the object in his hands—it was a bracelet with little bees and fireflies as the charms, and the sentiment, the callback to the nickname he so affectionately called you, made you tear up. “I, uh... I got this for ya.”

You pulled Daryl in for a hug, one that took the archer off guard, but he reciprocated nonetheless. “Thank you,” you whispered, nuzzling your face into his chest.

Daryl rested his chin on top of your head, his heart swelling with love for you. “‘Course,” he mumbled, placing a kiss on top of your head. “I love ya, Bug.”

“And I love you, Daryl. I love you so much.”

[sodaequalsbubbles]

Okay this is going to be a long ass negative Dragon Age the Veilguard post. So don’t read if you don't care about negative opinions on this game.

First of all, I should have never looked at the veilguard art book. I shouldn't have looked. WHY DID I LOOK THROUGH IT ughhhhhhhhhhh.

Before I just felt disappointed about this game. But now it's a genuine bitter sadness after seeing all of the art book.

I had a feeling that this game was probably frankensteined together, because datv felt so half-baked with chunks of story missing from it. Honestly parts of the game gave me the same sensation as when you skip a cutscene or speed run an area, it felt so off sometimes. So I knew there was probably a lot of stuff that was removed or altered until it was unrecognizable, but I didn't realize how bad it was. We were actually robbed. BioWare stabbed us in the middle of an alley way, made off with our wallets, and stepped on our hopes for this game on the way out. (Dramatic I know, but you get the point)

And before people start saying that it's unfair to criticize this game from its concept art because, "it’s just concept art and ideas. A lot of those concepts don't end up making it to the final game. Especially with the development of a triple a". I know that, but veilguard doesn't feel like they just cut out some characters, levels, game mechanics, etc. etc.

It feels like a whole separate game was cut out, and we were left with the glued together scraps of what could’ve been.(Sorry for the poor screenshots, it was difficult to find online scans for the art book )

What? The South of Thedas was actually going to matter instead of being nuked? Who was chosen as the Divine, and maybe even the rulers of Orlais and Ferelden were going to have more impact on the story? Yeah probably.

______________________________________________________________

The agents of Fen'Harel were originally going to be a part of the game like it was hinted at in the end of Trespasser. And constantly be sabotaging your plans to stop Solas. And instead of elves giving the biggest possible meh response, to the fact that the ancient elven gods were back and trying to restore their empire, by destroying the current world. They actually react as one should in this situation lol.

And many end up joining Solas ( and probably Elgar'nan, and Ghilan'nain as well). Because it kind of makes sense for enslaved, oppressed, and abused people that have been suffering for centuries to throw their lot in with those that promise to free them.

______________________________________________________________

Another cut idea made it seem like the first act of the game was going to start with your party sneaking into Tevinter, to get ahold of the red lyruim idol from DA2. But Solas and his agents are one step ahead, and he takes it before you can. Then turns the idol into the purified lyruim dagger he uses in the ritual at the actual start of the datv. (Better than Varric just telling you where the dagger came from, ah this game really loves telling instead of showing.) So that probably means the scene of interrupting Solas's ritual was going to be further along in the story. Instead of Rook just being air dropped into this mess, with even less of an explanation than the concept art lmao.

______________________________________________________________

Rivain was going to be a trading post, kind of sleazy and a melting pot of different Thedas cultures. Instead of an endless sandy coast with ruins strewn about.

______________________________________________________________

The real Tevinter was going to be seen. Its opulence, pride, and strength built off the backs of slaves and magic. Because believe it or not, outright ignoring slavery in Tevinter is worse than showing it. Instead of giving us the chance to confront it, and put a stop to it like the Shadow Dragons, Maevaris Tilani, and Dorian have been trying to do for years, the game just outright acts like it’s not happening basically. Making me feel like no one in the game gives a damn about these people that are suffering. Pretending it’s not there doesn’t change anything.

A little section in the book shows that we maybe could have started a slave revolt in Tevinter as well.

______________________________________________________________

Whoever was left behind in the Fade after Inquisition, was going to appear when Rook gets trapped there.

______________________________________________________________

Isabela was intended to be an advisor, perhaps alongside Morrigan and Dorian (like Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine were in DAI). And provide you a ship, and a captain for your journey. Instead of being a glorified WWE announcer for a fighting ring. She was also going to have a proper outfit; unlike the absolute mess we got in game ugh.

______________________________________________________________

In the concept art there was more politics. Such as gaining allies from opposing sides, like the Qunari and Tevinter.

______________________________________________________________

There were also perhaps plans for more divisive and conflicting sentiments within the companions. And events where they could betray you depending on choices made in the game. (Real conflict and consequences, in my Dragon Age?!)

______________________________________________________________

The Inquisitor probably was going to have more involvement in the story.

______________________________________________________________

You could ride a GRIFFON while hunting dragons.

So yeah, the art book brought more sadness than curiosity out of me. I will now go into the salt mines, to mourn the game we could’ve gotten instead.

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 5

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: It's time to find your handler and make him answer for what he's done to you.

Warnings: Violence, Torture, Gore (nothing too graphic)

Word Count: 4715

Notes: This took a while to write, I'm sorry about that but life has been kicking my ass. I really hope it makes enough sense because I've found I'm not very good at writing action scenes (but that's also not the main focus). Hope you enjoy!

Part 4 ○ Part 6

The moon was high in the sky, its pale light guiding your way through the forest. The air was strangely quiet, the leaves crunching beneath your feet were the only thing that could be heard between the trees. Even the wind was serene and no animal dared make a sound, as if sensing what was to come. The atmosphere allowed you to keep your composure, any incoming threats would be easier to detect like this. Unfortunately, so would your allies.

It's funny how so much can change in a matter of days. Before, when you were only a relatively low ranking member of the guild, walking through the dark woods as you are doing now would simply be the norm, whether you were on a mission or not, but, after everything you learned, not having Azriel and his shadows near you makes you feel off-kilter, like you can't protect him if he stands too far from you.

If it weren't for the millions of problems that keep piling on, you'd probably sit on this feeling, dissecting it until you realize how peculiar it actually is for you to feel so achingly connected to the shadowsinger who, even if had been your husband during a time of your life you've now forgotten, was essentially a stranger to you now. You've only really known him for about two weeks, not nearly enough time to be feeling like a part of you is missing.

You weren't used to worrying about anyone else at times like these. Even when your missions weren't solo, you didn't actually know your coworkers, much less cared if they survived or not. But now, you can't stop thinking about all the ways this could go wrong, of how Azriel and his family could get hurt because of you. You stayed up thinking about this all night, if this would all be truly worth it just to get your memories back, but had decided that you wanted to know what happened, no matter the cost, and knew that, as much as the Inner Circle was helping you recover your memories, not all their motives were altruistic. They all wanted revenge as much as you did.

All of you had planned this out meticulously, going down to every last detail and considering every possible outcome. Everyone was also extra careful on how to approach using you as bait. You expected it from Azriel - he's been protective of you ever since you stepped foot into his High Lord's home - but seeing the rest of them so worried about you made you want to recover your memories that much more. You want to remember these people, want to know how they all, especially Azriel, came to care for you, so much so that even death didn't stop those feelings.

There had been other plans brought up, ones that didn't involve putting you in such a risky situation, but it was soon decided that the only way to get to Norris would be to show up alone. If he so much as caught a glimpse of anyone else, you know he would simply run and if he truly put his guard up and went into hiding, finding him would be nearly impossible even with Azriel's spies and shadows at his disposal, he hadn't found you after all.

The tree you were looking for comes into view as you get lost in your thoughts, the magic traces left behind on its bark unmistakably familiar. The guild has used this system for as long as you've been a part of it. Every important meeting with your handler had taken place next to any object or area marked with this exact faint magic, enough for the attuned eye to pick up on but not so strong that anyone else might come across them and meddle where they're not welcomed.

You don't have to wait by the marked tree for long before an imposing figure appears beside you. He had probably been watching you for as long as you've winnowed into the edge of the treeline, keeping his eyes on you as you walked to the meeting place. The air shifts, the wind picking up slightly as if sensing the tension threatening to form in your body.

Turning around as casually as possible, you face your former handler, the male you thought had saved your life but you've now learned did quite the opposite. Not that there had been any particularly fond feelings between you and him, but it still hurts to know how easily the male manipulated you and turned your entire life around with no remorse.

He was mostly covered with a black hood, only a bit of his face being visible through the shadow it cast, enough to meet his eyes. You've only seen him without it a few times, you know that dark brown hair lays under the hood and a few scars adorn his face. Truthfully, you're not even sure if this isn't some intricate glamour. Nothing that comes from this male should be trusted.

His form gives nothing away, no nerves or suspicions, but his brown eyes rake over your body, searching for something. Since he thinks you've just crawled out of a cell or worse, he's probably looking for any signs of injury, or that you've betrayed him and the guild. It's best you don't let him find anything that tells him otherwise.

“Norris,” you greet him as you would any other time, nodding once at him with a passive expression.

He crosses his arms and meets your eyes when he hears your voice. His eyes dart over the forest around you as if he knew Azriel would be lurking in the shadows. His self assured expression doesn't help with your nerves. Norris always seems like he's three steps ahead, and more often than not he was actually four.

“I didn't think I'd see you again,” he finally speaks up.

“I thought so too.”

Norris hums in response. You're not sure if he believes you or not, but short and distant answers are the norm for him. Either way, you need to stick to the plan, there's no turning back now. “How did you escape the Night Court?”

“They thought I was someone else, someone they used to know,” you start, trying to convey some of the confusion you'd experienced the first time they told you who you were. He knows you well enough to expect you to have some trouble maintaining the same level of apathy he so easily displays, he'd warned you multiple times to act more like an assassin and not let your emotions get the best of you. “It eventually led to a fight between the High Lord and his Spymaster. They couldn't agree on what to do with me from what I heard. I managed to escape in the chaos.”

You stop for a second, licking your lips. You decided not to completely lie to him so it would be more believable, this version of events could have come true had you not trusted Azriel, had your feelings not been so suffocating and confusing.

“I waited for a while before contacting you, to make sure they didn't come looking for me,” you continue eventually, the fact that he isn't asking more questions makes your heart pick up ever so slightly.

He turns his head to the side, a faint smirk playing at his lips. You resist the urge to clench your sweaty palms, not wanting to let him see through you. “Who did they think you were?”

“The Spymaster's former wife,” you admitted, hoping you sounded as detached as possible.

“And what do you think about it?”

“What?”

“Do you believe them?” You didn't expect him to ask you outright. It would make more sense for him to try to cover it up, stopping any doubts you might have had before they grew.

“Of course not. I've never been married,” the lie tastes wrong on your tongue but you make sure not to let any of it translate into your body language or your voice. Which is why you're so caught off guard by his next words. “I think you're lying to me.”

Norris turns you around and grabs you to him before you have a chance to react, pulling you flush against his chest and pressing a dagger to your neck, power rumbling under his skin, raising the hairs on the back of your neck at its intensity. This isn't that surprising to you since you were more than aware of how much faster and stronger he was, and that tricking him would be extremely hard, but this means you need to move to plan B. And you were really hoping you could avoid a direct conflict like this.

Azriel is the first one to show himself, emerging from the shadows with deadly calm, hazel eyes never straying from Norris as his hand hovers Truth Teller. As much as you try to keep calm and not give anything away, you know Norris can feel you tense up and hear your heartbeat picking up when you see the shadowsinger walking straight into danger.

You feel another presence behind you, Morrigan, followed by Cassian and Amren on each side. The sisters had stayed behind, despite their many protests. In case anything happened, Velaris needed its High Lady and the Valkyries at least. You also know this is a personal matter for the fae present, you had been their friend and been ripped away from their lives by the male currently holding you at knife point, threatening to end your life once again, for good this time.

They all start walking slowly to you, effectively forming a circle around the two of you, getting ready to attack if Norris hurts you or tries to run. He appeared as calm as if he had just been caught on a night stroll, his heartbeat never rising in tempo against your back even under Azriel's chilling stare. He had been expecting your betrayal, and had been ready for them.

You could feel the fury in the air, could see it written in Azriel's eyes as he studied every single one of Norris' movements. You had been worried that he wouldn't be able to keep his composure since he was against this plan from the start, in fear of this exact situation coming true. But he seemed completely focused, not even risking looking at you too long in case he'd get distracted. This made you relax ever so slightly. You'd planned out for this situation and even if you ended up hurt or worse, you know Azriel won't let Norris go unharmed. You would get your revenge one way or another, you just hoped you could spare the male in front of you any more pain.

Rhysand winnows in next to Azriel moments later, darkness clinging to him as he takes a few steps closer to you nonchalantly. Talons scratching your mental walls before checking in on you. All according to plan.

“I would say it's a pleasure to meet you but even I can't spin a lie so effortlessly,” he starts, arrogance dripping in every word. You'd never admit it, much less to him, but Rhysand was every bit the perfect High Lord, especially at times like these. It showed in the way he carried himself down to the seemingly bottomless pit of power at his disposal. No matter how strong Norris is, anyone with even a little of self preservation would think twice on how to handle him.

“I came prepared for your little tricks, High Lord.”

You frown at his words, confusion settling over you before you realize what it meant. Rhysand must have tried getting inside his mind as soon as he appeared. Norris had expected him to, had put up walls to ensure it didn't happen. This would only make things harder.

“Skipping pleasantries, are we?” Rhysand's face gives nothing away, but as he drops said pleasantries, it gives way to some of the anger bubbling under the surface, the next words coming out in a serious tone. “You're not walking out of here, Norris.”

“I wouldn't be so sure,” Norris says as he leans in closer to your ear, voice dropping to a whisper, “Did you think I would come on my own?”

A sinking feeling grows in your stomach as you watch dark figures manifesting all around you, far outnumbering your group. You recognize some of them, know their clothes and masks mean they're assassins from the guild.

A fight breaks out right before your eyes, causing you to struggle desperately for the first time in Norris' arms. He tries to keep you in place by letting the blade touch your skin as a warning, a few drops of blood escaping the small wound. You know he could easily kill you, but you're also aware that if he did the chances of him escaping would drop to zero. That's the only reason you're still breathing, so he can use you as a shield.

Your eyes were following Azriel's shadow covered form as he fought against multiple attackers, the feeling of helplessness rising with each clank of his sword. You can't stand there and wait any longer, so you grab the blade still positioned dangerously close to your throat and wrap your fingers around it tightly so it cuts your hand instead of your neck while swinging your elbow back to try to push off of Norris. Just as you expected, you weren't strong enough and he pulled the knife back from your grasp, intending to stab your stomach to stop you, but you had a new trick up your sleeve.

Azriel's shadows had moved to you as soon as Norris grabbed you, crawling up your legs discreetly in the dark of night, where they stayed waiting for your signal. And, as they tasted your blood in the air, they engulfed Norris, giving you enough room to push back and to elbow him a few more times, also letting off some of your power and finally being able to release yourself from his hold.

The shadows aren't enough to keep him away from you for long, the lack of visibility barely slowing him down as he attacks you before you even have the chance to take a breath. Luckily, your little helpers' singer rushes in, getting between you and deflecting Norris' strike. He hands you a sword so you can fight back with him and pushes back against Norris without wasting a single moment.

The three of you enter a match, barely being able to pay attention to what's happening around you, though you can tell everyone is in the same predicament. Even between you and Azriel, keeping up with Norris proves difficult, he's not only an exceedingly proficient fighter but he's also familiar with your attacks and style, making it easier for him to avoid your attacks and focus more on Azriel's.

The fight goes on for longer than you'd like. Even with your and Azriel's joint efforts, you had barely managed to wound Norris. The bastard was too strong and experienced, he was one of the guild's oldest assassins for a reason.

Suddenly the sickening scent of blood reaches your nostrils, in a concentration you haven't experienced before. It makes you falter in your movements, but luckily it has the same effect on Norris, leaving him open to Azriel's attacks, who seems undisturbed by it. You risk a glance behind you, but all you can see is the rest of the Inner Circle watching the battle, while the ground and their bodies, even the trees around them, are covered in blood. You're not exactly sure what happened, what they did to completely obliterate the assassins to a point not even their bodies were left, but you don't have more time to linger on this as Azriel finally manages to get a few good hits in, leaving Norris stumbling back away from him.

Rhysand is next to you in the blink of an eye, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. You move to help Azriel, hoping to distract Norris enough for him to be able to infiltrate his mind. It doesn't take much longer before Norris finally drops unconscious at your feet, and you immediately let out a relieved breath. Azriel's shadows move to tie him up so he has no chance of escaping.

Your plan had always been to catch Norris off guard or wear him down enough so that Rhysand would be able to infiltrate his mind, successfully knocking him out so you could take him back to the Night Court for interrogation. And, as much as you'd planned for the possibility of him bringing backup, the assassins had made this harder to achieve. You all had been worn down more than expected, but, as you look around, you see no one seems to be gravely injured.

Cassian smiles and nods at you when he notices you eyeing the blood trickling down his shoulder, it wasn't too deep of a wound and the blood was already stopping from the looks of it. Azriel did tell you Illyrians heal faster than most fae. Speaking of, you feel scarred fingers wrap around your wrist as you give Cassian a tentative smile of your own.

Your focus is stolen by Azriel, your eyes finding his instantly as he holds up your hand carefully, examining the wound and the blood that had been smeared all around you during the fight. He's wearing a conflicted expression, pain visible in his eyes. You've found Azriel shoulders too much guilt, even when what happened wasn't his fault.

His other hand reaches out to touch your neck, where a small cut overlaps with the pronounced scar on your skin. He's been blaming himself for your death for over a century, he must have been terrified of not being able to stop it again, even if it was happening right in front of him.

“I'm alright, Azriel,” you smile up at him, hoping to calm him down, “This will be gone by tomorrow.”

“We need to take you to a healer.” You shake your head, not wanting to stay behind and leave them to deal with Norris by themselves. Gently prying Azriel's hands away from you, you go to tell him as much.

“He's right,” Morrigan interjects, “I can take you to Madja and she'll fix it for you in an instant. I can bring you back right after.”

“It's just my hand.” You don't understand why they're making such a big deal out of it. This wouldn't need a healer, aside from some discomfort it won't hinder you in any way. They all have small wounds of their own that they seem to be ignoring.

“You're hurt.” There's a finality in Azriel's tone that is starting to rub you the wrong way. You understand he's concerned, you've tried to be considerate of his complicated feelings ever since you found out you had been his wife and the tragic way in which he had lost you, but that doesn't mean he can order you around.

“Barely.” You try to keep your voice leveled, pointing at Norris' unconscious form still covered in shadows. “And this is a lot more important. I need to know what he did.”

“I'll tell you everything we find. You don't need to go with us.”

“What?” You can feel the confusion taking over your features. Azriel has been forthcoming with any and every bit of information, you don't understand why he's trying to keep you away now.

“It's best if you don't come to the dungeon. You don't need to see that,” he offers, his face becoming irritatingly blank, the mask you know he uses as the Night Court's Spymaster. This only makes your anger spike even faster.

“See what?,” you challenged, head tilting to the side, “Do you think I never tortured anyone?” Your voice rises with every word, annoyance taking over your body. “I know the female you married was much different from what I am now, and I don't know if she let you order her around like this, but I'm not her.”

“I'm not ordering you-” Azriel's face falls at your words but you're too far gone to even try to interpret what it's written in his eyes, to even listen to what he has to say.

“It sure sounds like you are.”

Rhysand stands between you two before the argument can escalate further. “This is not the time to be fighting. We need to take him to a safe place before he regains conscience. I can only keep him down for so long.” He eyes Azriel for a moment, studying his features as some sort of understanding takes over his own. “Mor will take you to a healer,” he holds up a hand as you open your mouth to argue back, “It will only take a moment and then you can meet us in the dungeon. We won't start without you. I promise.”

By the expression on his face and authority behind his words, you know trying to argue with the High Lord won't take you anywhere right now. He's too used to calling all the shots and you can't change his mind in a matter of minutes, not when there's a much more pressing situation on your hands. You need to choose your battles.

You simply turn to Morrigan, ignoring the hazel eyes staring straight into your soul. “Take me to your healer then. The sooner I get this done the better.” She nods at you, extending her hand as she winnows you both back to Velaris.

The adrenaline of the fight started wearing off as the healer, Madja, worked on your hand, stitching skin back together with expert ease. As much as it had annoyed you to be sent to the infirmary, you could admit the pain had been worse than you expected as your body calmed down. It still wouldn't have been much of a problem to warrant that amount of concern.

Morrigan simply watches as the old fae works on you. She tried to talk to you about Azriel but you pushed her away, not wanting to hear any explanations from her. He's old enough to speak for himself, and you'll probably be eager to hear what he has to say after this whole situation is worked out. Right now, you only want to go back to where they're holding Norris so you can finally understand what he did to you and hopefully learn how to fix it.

Just as Madja is wrapping your hand in a white bandage, keeping the strong smelling ointment she spread in place, the healer speaks up for what feels like the first time tonight. “That boy loves you more than anything. Give him a chance to explain. I'm sure he never meant to hurt you,” she finishes as she pats your hand softly. “All done.”

Her words give you pause. It does make you wonder how obvious your and Azriel's love had been that everyone seems to have no doubt in their minds that he would do anything for you. He seems to be very private in his affairs, especially personal ones. It also makes you curious if you'd known her before, it's more than likely since she's the Inner Circle's healer. You push those thoughts away, knowing you wouldn't ask the old healer about your relationship before anyway. You were so close to getting your memories, you needed to focus on that.

“Thank you.” She gives you one more smile before gathering her things, making you stand up and rush to Morrigan, who has a somewhat nostalgic and understanding smile on her face. She holds onto your shoulder before you even have the chance to say anything, knowing what your next words were going to be.

As soon as you winnow in, you understand why they called this place a dungeon. There really was no other way to describe the dark, stone covered space. The air was thick with humidity and blood, the kind you know has lingered for centuries and will never be completely washed out. You have to blink a few times to let your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, it was truly close to pitch black inside, the perfect environment to torment someone in, especially when you're the shadowsinger.

You never let your eyes meet Azriel's when you walk in, even as he turned to you, only allowing yourself to focus on your former handler, heavy chains on each of his wrists as he stood on his knees in the middle of a cell. He was already awake, it seems they did start without you. Rhysand speaks into your mind, sensing the incoming protest. He woke up sooner than we expected. He's been trained for this.

A sigh almost escapes you. Norris was trained for every possibility, this was going to be a gruesome session. As much as you were arguing with Azriel to stay, the truth is this is not something you ever enjoyed. So many in the guild did this sort of thing for pleasure but you only ever tortured anyone when it was strictly necessary and they had truly done something awful to warrant it. You can only hope it at least gives you the information you've been searching for and the freedom you never even dared to dream about.

“I almost thought you weren't going to show your face again.” It's infuriating how unaffected Norris sounds even though his blood already stains Azriel's favorite dagger.

“Wouldn't miss this show for the world,” you admit. He was one of the few individuals you believed deserved this and much worse, for all he has done to not only you but so many others. You're almost certain your conscience won't bother you for this.

Up until tonight your feelings for him were passive. You never particularly liked him, but you always felt obligated to show him respect as your superior, there were also less than ideal consequences if you let your true feelings show. Still, there had been some small, stupid hope that he didn't really do all those awful things to you. He trained you and taught you a lot, knowledge that you know has helped you in a lot of bad situations, that has kept you alive through them, and will continue to do so in the future.

A sickening smirk overtakes his face at your response. “I always liked you better when you acted like one of us.” Fury and shame travels across your body, but Azriel moves before you get the chance to, slashing his blade across Norris' chest, a sharp noise of pain escaping him. The gesture almost makes you smile, as twisted as that may sound.

“You'd do well to watch your mouth. My Spymaster doesn't take well to disrespect,” Rhysand's voice sounds different, arrogant but nothing short of furious.

“Still hung up on her? Since you stopped searching I thought you found yourself a new shiny toy.” Azriel's fist connects with Norris' jaw as he gets the last words out, a laugh escaping him despite the flow of blood rushing through his teeth for being able to rattle the shadowsinger.

You decide to step in, not wanting to let Azriel speak or act for you when you're more than capable of doing it yourself. And knowing how much he blames himself for your situation, for stopping his search when you were alive all this time. You'd be damned if you let Norris hurt him in any way. He's done more than enough.

“So you admit you were the one who found me.” You walk until you're standing over Norris' beaten body, right next to Azriel, close enough he has to adjust his wings not to touch you.

“Of course, you were one of my finest projects.” You let out an acknowledging hum, temperature dropping around you as your icy power rose to your fingertips. The pain would be a lot worse if you kept his body temperature down, you want his whole body to ache. This was going to be a long night, thankfully hurting Norris was nothing short of enjoyable.

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[sexypantsriorson-na]

VIOLET IS SCARED OF THE DARK! BUT WHY? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

🚨 Spoilers for Fourth Wing and Iron Flame Below ��

When reading Fourth Wing one of the many times I've read it I noticed that Violet seemed scared of the dark on several occasions. However, the newest Xaden POV bonus chapter (Ch 27) solidified my crack theory that may mean nothing at all even further.

Fourth Wing:

⚡️Chapter 1: "The Captain nods and points to the open door into the turret. It looks ominously dark in there, and I fight the urge to run like hell."

-> This is the weakest evidence but I wanted to include it. Even though the majority of the fear probably stems from having to cross the parapet and going into the riders quadrant I can't help but notice how the darkness of the turret is pointed out in relation to her wanting to run away.

⚡️Chapter 19: "'Hope you're not afraid of the dark.' He pulls me inside, and suffocating darkness envelopes us as the door closes. This is fine. This is absolutely fine. 'But just incase you are,' Xaden says, his voice at full volume as he snaps. A mage light hovers above our head, Illuminating our surroundings. 'Thanks'"

-> side note: as Nicole from FFG would say ITALICS! Is this a Xaden intinsic moment or is this similar to Ch 27 where he senses her fear down their bond?

⚡️Chapter 27 from Violet's POV: "Xaden lifts a hand a few inches above the table, and shadows pour from underneath our seats, filling the room and turning it dark as midnight in a blink. My heart jumps as my sight goes black."

⚡️Chapter 27 from Xaden's POV: "I lift my palms just enough to clear the table and summon the cooling darkness of the shadows. They stream out from under the table and blanket the room in less than a heartbeat, devouring all traces of light. Panic skitters down the silver bond."

Iron Flame:

⚡️Chapter 36: "He steps forward, raises his arms, and shadows rush in from the wall at our backs, engulfing the formation - and us - in complete darkness. Theres a glimmer of a caress across my cheek, right where it's split to what feels like the bone, and more than one cadet screams."

-> The structure of the first sentence, the emphasis on 'and us' is what clued me into the fear in this chapter. And once again Xaden, who is also the source of the darkness, uses the shadows to comfort her. Based on Ch 19 and Ch 27 of Fourth Wing he likely knows she's scared of the dark at this point.

Noooowwwwww - What does all this mean? Well.... I have no idea!

As mentioned before it might mean nothing at all. Rebecca might have just thrown it in there as a quirky personality trait of Violet's. I personally just don't think that's the case.

According to a study done by John Mayer (the clinical psychologist, not the singer) only 11% of adults in the US are scared of the dark. So, its not that common of a fear. Also the amount of times it's brought up throughout the two books we've had so far makes me think it might be significant.

On July 8th Rebecca Yarros and Red Tower Books released a joint Instagram reel with a small video showing the cover of Onyx Storm for the first time. The caption has the tag line "Are you ready to BRAVE THE DARK?" written just like that with 'brave the dark' in all caps. 'Brave the Dark' is also written on the cover of the book in the same way 'Fly or Die' and 'Burn it Down' was used as a tag line of FW and IF respectively. This is another one of the most prominent reasons I think that these allusions to Violets fear of the dark are more than just a basic character trait. In each of the scenes mentioned (with the exception of chapter 1) Xaden comforts Violet in the darkness. Furthermore, if you search 'dark' in the FW ebook there are over 80 occurrences of the word and almost all of them are in relation to Xaden (I couldn't search IF because I don't have the ebook). We know that OS is going to focus on Violet trying to find a cure for Xaden. Is Xaden part of this darkness Violet is scared of?

The Empyrean Series is my current hyper fixation so I couldn't get this spiral out of my head since yesterday.

Please weigh in on what you think Violets fear of the dark means or where it comes from! I'd love to hear other peoples opinions. Also, if you know of any scenes I missed where Violet is scared of the dark please let me know.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk TairnTalk. (I stole that from someone else but I can't remember who said it first but credit to them you are hilarious).

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I headcanon Color with narcolepsy type 2, but he manages it well enough that it's not easy for outside sources to guess he has a sleeping disorder at all. (Obviously Epic, Delta, and Killer can made educated guesses, since they know the bastard)

However, it is the excessive daytime sleepiness that gives him the most trouble. It takes him forever to get out of bed, and even longer to "wake up" completely once he's gotten coffee.

This could serve as another foil between him and Killer, since Killer avoids sleep and perhaps can't stay asleep for long, Color can't seem to get away from it even though his anti-depressants help his functioning substantially.

This becomes more apparent once Killer learns how often Color experiences sleep paralysis.

Oh that’s an interesting headcanon. Read one little article on it, will probably read up more, but according to the article, a way to help daytime sleepiness is having planned 20 minute naps throughout the day, and like, I can see the Chromatic Crew all reminding Color to take naps if he doesn’t have anything planned for the day, which probably actually isn’t very often with how much that old man is out exploring or wants to be out exploring.

Actually I can see it like, Killer often times going out in nature walks and trails with Color (whenever he doesn’t want to be alone and have some time to himself), and like they carry along stuff like a little picnic blanket and stuff so whenever they stop somewhere, they just lay out the blanket and maybe enjoy a picnic and use this as time to see if color needs to take a nap or if he’s okay to keep going or wants to go back home.

And whenever Delta, Epic, and Cross go out on the walks with Color, I like to think they kinda carry or give him a piggyback ride home if he’s so tired or sleepy to walk— which isn’t often, but enough to be noticeable.

And like, because neither Killer or Epic really sleep much, I can picture like—they take turns sitting around and just talking to or reading to or just sitting near color or gently touching him/encourage him to try and move a muscle whenever they notice that he’s dealing with sleep paralysis.

It’s probably most likely to be Killer, since they probably share a room in their home in the Omega Timeline, but im picturing a scene where they aren’t sharing a room yet and Killers out roaming the house and being a little creep—checking up on everyone and entering their rooms and watching people sleep (probably because he hasn’t yet settled in with the crew or in the new environment and wants to find out as much information as possible), and like—all Color sees is Killer stepping out of the shadows out of his bedroom and approaching him and staring at him with those big fucking eyes and creepy ass smile before he starts trying to help him out 💀

(And like maybe color falls asleep again not long after and killers gone when wakes up and he thinks killer was like his sleep paralysis demon or something)

And reading up on this disorder a little gave me a few ideas on how killer might try to ‘help’ but in a way that’s kinda toxic and fucked up despite good intentions due to lack of grasp on clear boundaries and morals (and possibly just doing what was done to him thinking it’d help/need for control) but I’ll not talk about it here

{ @sarcosticsarcomere }

[nightcrawvler]

: a certain touch starved, orange chested little bird.

Damian Wayne had to always be at least the greatest to be shown love or any type of appreciation.

Anything beneath that— and the young bird would be deemed unworthy of any praise and recognition.

Being born into an organization founded for the most lethal killers and skilled individuals isn't something Damian doesn't take pride in. It's quite the opposite, really, being the heir to the demon was an honor Damian was ready to accept onto himself any day. The countless hours of training, the discipline, the power. In a world where your prowess and stealth was your trophy to respect and worth, the Al Ghul heir would chase it through desert and snowstorm. As his training progressed and Damian became more and more skilled and exceptional, Damian was also stripped from any sense of need for another person, a shoulder to lean on, Damian Wayne could do anything by himself. He didn't need anyone. And he sure as victory didn't have time for distractions.

That is until, however, one night as Damian returns from a nightly patrol with Batman. Damian is reluctant, 'over-my-dead-body' in denial of the way he feels. Exhausted. Living with his family, his father, siblings, — Pennyworth, has melted his stoic coldness a little, bit by bit. Had he still been with the League Of Assassins, he would've rather died than admit weakness. Surely, he would've been punished, too.

After having saved a few hostages from a warehouse by the docks along with his mentor, Damian found himself watching the scene a little longer than was needed: He didn't return to disappear in the shadows; much rather he was watching a child cling to its returned mother. The scene was objectively emotional, watching the child's tears dry with the hold of their mother. Damian's mother never cared about him like that.

Damian returns home, a few steps behind Batman, and his mouth suddenly isn't running the way itd usually be. The Robin seems to be deep in thought. Bruce notices, but he lets it be for now.

Damian is conflicted, as he often is. He's stood between his mother and father his entire life. His mother gave him power, his father gave it meaning. But who to turn to? These thoughts have plagued Damian for as long as he can remember. Now this new feeling adds onto it.

He decides to seek out the bird he dislikes the least, he supposes.

"Grayson," Damian said monotonely, standing by the doorframe of Dick's office he occupies whenever he's operating in Gotham along with Batman. Dick was startled for a moment, not because he was afraid, but because he was confused. Concerned, even.

He didn't recognize that tone in Damian's voice. It was faint, light— and he probably wouldn't have noticed it if his mind hadn't drifted of that exact moment, from the bright screen of his computer. There was uncertainty. And Dick could swear he noticed a sense of longing his the little birds emerald gaze.

Damian felt a physical affect to his feelings. These, he admits, scared him the most. He, for once, didn't feel exposed in front of his sibling: His body felt unstable. Like he was going to fall apart if somebody ...

didn't hold him the way he needed to.

"Huh. Yeah, what's up, Dami?" Dick answers in a careful casualness, putting on a reassuring smile. "Anything on your mind?"

Damian glanced away for a moment, his fingers twitching to fidget at his shirt's fabric in a very uncharacteristically damian way. "Today, I helped father take out most the criminals in the fashion district. I say my skill was quite impressive. I also made sure the hostages weren't in any immediate danger."

Dick didn't know what to do with that information. Why did Damian report this to him? Did he want praise? When did Damian ever need it?

"Thats... great, Baby Bat. What else?"

Damian ponders for a moment. "I ... I believe I deserve a reward." He says vulnerably, trying to keep his head up pridefully. His expression falters. "Perhaps a.. a h.." He shuts up. "What do I have to achieve to receive a hug?"

"Huh?"

"I said..." Damian tries again. "A hug. Squeezing someone tightly against another. Typically in a form of ... of affection."

"A ... hug." Dick says, before realisation dawns on him. His face softens up, and he lets out a sigh. His heart clenches at the sight of his littlest brother, his Robin, thinking he'd need to achieve something, be something in particular to be worthy of his affection. "Of course. C'mere, lil bird." Dick says, getting up from his chair and walking over.

Damian internally sighed in relief and reluctantly stepped forward, his chest tight in vulnerability. Dick takes him into his arms, warm and secure. The painful and uncomfortable knot in Damian's chest was undone as he sagged against his eldest brother, for once not feeling weak. He felt held together.

Dick buried his face in Damian's hair, frowning: "You don't ever have to earn my affection, Damian. Or anyone's of the family. You're part of us. You're loved." He says firmly, protectiveness in his tone. "Incredibly so."

In response to that, Damian's hand clenches into a fist against Dick's t-shirt, his body tense. "Y-Yeah." He mutters. Images of his family flash in the young boys mind, and for the first time in his life, he's confident to say that he's loved.

@rickroll-25 's idea.

[reborrowing]

skipping breakfast

if you give a mouse a cookie, he may still want to leave. (part of stranger swap, but stands on its own) contains: fear/PTSD flashback, misunderstandings, reference to past abuse

Hollow’s ears pricked at the muffled sound of a phone alarm. It was the right tone to be from this unit and loud enough that it probably was sounding from the next room over. He scowled, counting the days back in his head. He was still sure it was a Monday.

He hadn’t bothered to check for the host before setting out. In the six months since they’d moved in, they hadn’t once missed a day of work. He held his breath as the alarm looped and repeated itself in a louder cry—maybe they’d forgotten their phone? No. Another second passed, something heavy shifted in the other room, and the alarm went silent. Maybe they were sick.

Hollow decided he didn’t care. He just needed to stay out of sight, same as ever. 

There was no good way to get off this shelf in particular without roping into the open, but the display was a decent enough place to hide, however eerie it felt. The host here made and collected miniatures.

To Hollow, and any other borrowers lured in by the strange collection, it felt like an alleyway cut out of some alternate universe’s walls or maybe a series of theater stages.  The shelf was busy and strange enough that some came here even without any intention of borrowing, only to see the strange collection. The rooms were more exposed than any living space had any right to be with half the walls missing and the furniture was mostly too small to be used by an adult, but some things made more sense after seeing them as they were meant to be seen—the sheer monotony of their counters and furniture disappeared, if nothing else.

And there was plenty to take  for someone of Hollow’s mindset: piles of decorative items, wall hangings, cushions, occasional bit of dinnerware—all of it felt much nicer than the cheap plastic and cardboard pulled out of a child’s toy box. And Hollow found that the colony kids always liked the little clay foods, familiar ingredients made alien when portrayed as handheld objects. Most stuff in these shelves was pretty junk, essentially, not stuff anyone needed, but the host also kept nice fabrics and clay and other useful materials in their crafting cabinets. The apartment was a good unit to borrow from, when the host wasn’t home and thudding into the room.

Hollow ducked behind a wooden counter—one now missing a piece of its carefully arranged tea set—to get out of sight. He meant to stay there until the host settled down somewhere with something to hold their attention. He didn’t have a backup plan when they decided to pause in front of this particular display shelf.

Hollow shuddered. He hated borrowing when the host was home. He hated them, all of them. He wouldn’t have come here had he known the host was home. Had he left something out of place? Had they seen him? Had they already seen someone else borrowing from them? Did they know?

The shadow of the host’s reaching hand, even while it was still a foot away, sent him scrambling in the opposite direction, making them yelp. So she hadn’t actually noticed Hollow until he panicked. At least he could take advantage of the host’s surprise to bolt. His breath trembled in his throat. He was so intent on getting safe, he forgot where he was, just that he couldn't let her catch him because this time she’d kill him. He tore through one carefully placed scene and then another. He only stopped when he reached the end of the shelf and only to grab his line—the line that he’d left out on the other end of the shelf to allow for a quick escape. He inhaled sharply and considered the long drop in front of him. 

“Whoa, no, don’t—”

Hollow jumped.

The laminate floor was far enough to hurt, he knew, but he had plenty of practice being hurt. As long as he landed right, he ought to be able to roll under that chair before she could step on him at least. It would take the kid a few seconds to get her hands down to the floor and hopefully he’d be able to get some more distance between him and her before–

A mattress of flesh interrupted his fall. He stared up in horror at a stranger’s face and shook under the memory of a much angrier human’s glare. He couldn’t bring himself to move, even as he was probed by a thumb half as tall as he was. The meaty digit lingered on his right side and massaged the point where his arm ended and his prosthetic began. Hollow flinched in slow motion.

“Oh,” the host breathed with a convincingly sympathetic tone. “You’ve really been through it huh?”

With a shaky hand Hollow reached for the sewing pin on his back and wished he had worn his uglier prosthetic. It was awful and clunky, and not particularly helpful on a normal borrowing run, but he bet that pen knife sticking out of it would have been enough to make a human flinch. As soon as Hollow aimed his pin down at the palm that held him, another pair of fingers came out of nowhere to easily pull it away.

“Okay, no, no, please don’t make me drop you, okay? I’m really sorry if I’m scaring you, I’m trying to help,” the host said.

They gave him a pitying smile and Hollow scowled, looking away his tongue before the shadows could twist back into that girl and beat him. Each time Hollow tried moving towards the edge of the palm, the host tilted their hand or brought up their fingers to block him. After several attempts, he shuddered as one of the fingers landed against his chest and sat back down in the middle of the open palm. 

“I don’t want you to fall, little guy. Why don’t we go sit down at the counter? I was about to make breakfast,” the host said. The wall of their belly jerked with a brief laugh. “Well, I was going to see how that polish dried, but I’ll deal with that later. You steady?”

Hollow buried his head in his knees and tried unsuccessfully to pretend he was somewhere else. His stomach dropped as the hand swayed then bucked as his clawed toes reflexively clung to the moving floor.

The host exhaled sharply and cupped their hand to better secure him. Hollow shivered, his fur standing all on end as the flesh closed in around him, and braced to be crushed. The movement slowed and Hollow peeked out to watch the host grab one of the chairs from another display. One of his toys. Hollow was just another thing to be played with. 

“I’m Jude, by the way, he/him,” the host said.

There was a pause.

“You don’t talk much, huh? Can you at least understand me?”

Hollow nodded, still glaring down towards the floor. He wasn’t even sure if he could speak at the moment and he didn’t want to try. Borrowers didn’t speak to humans, as a rule, even when they did get caught. He’d done it when he thought he had had no choice and it hadn’t made things any easier.

“That’s good, I guess, so you at least know I’m friendly.” 

Hollow believed no such thing.

Jude stepped away from their miniature displays—away from the critical gear Hollow had left behind—and crossed the apartment to the kitchen. Hollow watched Jude’s feet shuffle across the carpet with a seething envy. It was such a quick trip this way, straight across the open room in just a few easy strides. Sometimes, he wished he had followed his mother to an outdoors life where he wouldn’t have to spend so much time in human spaces where he found himself comparing their lives to his own.

“Alright, I’ll set you down here, if that’s okay?”

Hollow would be okay being set down anywhere, even onto a heated burner, if it meant a chance to get away from the host’s sweaty fingers. But with nothing to say and the human staring down at him expectantly, he exhaled shakily and nodded.

The host’s fingers shifted beneath him and he slowly slid onto the blessedly solid countertop. He spun back around and craned his neck to watch the looming host. He didn’t want to look at Jude, didn’t like the overwhelming reminder of their difference in scale, but preferred it to facing his back to the giant.

“You’re still shaking. You really are afraid of me, huh? I'm sorry,” Jude said. “Here, why don’t you sit down?”

Hollow tensed as the host’s second hand stretched towards him. For a moment it was the girl’s hand again and a memory of pain flashed down his spine. His half-tail twitched and tucked against his leg as he backed away. Jude set the toy chair down beside him and withdrew. He stared suspiciously at the human’s toy couch. The back looked stiff and uncomfortable but otherwise sturdy.

“Yeah, there you go. Take a minute to breathe, it’s okay, no judgment,” Jude said.

He did as he was told but as soon as Jude’s back was turned, Hollow started looking for his escape route. There was a familiar outlet nearby, one that Hollow and every other working borrower in the colony used to get into this unit. He couldn’t be seen going out that way, not if anyone wanted to use it again. And it would be a shame to lose access to this apartment, this was such a good one to borrow from. He needed to get to the floor where he could escape unseen. The drop to the floor still didn’t scare him; a borrower could fall a long ways without getting hurt, but so long as Jude was watching, Hollow was stuck. He wouldn’t do anything that risked bringing that fucking hand back towards him.

The way Jude moved the world within the kitchen made Hollow too aware of how small he really was. The plastic vat of flour, the tower of baking powder, the door to the nigh-impenetrable refrigerator…in Hollow’s world, these things were all well-secured vaults that had to be broken into. It took time and a solid plan to retrieve the contents. Jude did so instantaneously, talking the whole time, and in nearly unthinkable quantities.

No matter how many times he had been here, this was not Hollow’s world.

He sat quietly on the toy couch until the quiet got too loud and the host turned to look at him. He realized suddenly that the host had stopped talking and that the words had probably been for him and he really should have made an effort to listen. He could feel the expectation that Hollow should do something in those big eyes and he tensed, waiting for the girl to lunge forward to hurt him, or maybe this time she’d hurt…

Hollow grit his teeth. He was alone. With Jude. Who was, so. far, significantly less hostile than the girl or any other human he’d encountered. He could try to get along until he could get away. Maybe some of them were capable of mercy, or at least some patience.

He doubted it.

- Jude was already awake and out of bed by the time he registered that he had the day off and he’d just forgotten to turn off his stupid alarm. He looked back at the blankets but knew the chances of him falling back to sleep now were slim to none. He may as well take advantage of a few extra morning hours on his extra day, not that he had any plans. It was just nice to not have to rush out and deal with a parade of impatient strangers.

He stretched lazily and made his way to the front room. Sun filtered through the curtain and caught a cloud of dust particles dancing in the light. If Jude were a slightly more meticulous person he might spend the day tidying his place but already his thoughts had started to wander to what he might be able to craft or at least get started on before the day’s end. He’d finished his last project the previous night so could work on just about anything without stressing over anything in-progress.

At least, he hoped he had finished the project. He could check on it now that it had had time to dry. The pieces would be done one way or the other, but there was a decent chance he’d ruined them instead of finished them by using some questionable varnish. It was all he had had on hand and at 3am with nothing open but Amazon it had seemed like a good idea to risk it instead of waiting.

A shadow on the shelf shifted when he went to check and Jude screamed, embarrassed as soon as the sound left his mouth. Then came the second wave of embarrassment at being so self-consciousness when nothing was here to watch him but a few sculpted figures and their shadows.

His eyes caught back up with the movement and he realized that it hadn’t been a trick of the light. It’s just a figurine falling over, he thought at first, then, oh no, mouse? as it scrambled across the shelf. Jude shook his head as his mind caught up with his eyes. It was a tiny person, slightly larger than any of Jude’s figurines, and they were very much alive. He wasn’t alone at all and for a moment he was dumbstruck.

He’d always wanted fairies to be real. It was why he had started making miniatures and dollhouse furniture way back when he was a little girl and had persisted into his adulthood. And now, here one was, apparently enticed by Jude’s own handiwork. He had to bite back giddy laughter, lest his little guest think he was being laughed at. The poor thing looked nervous enough as it was.

Terrified even, he realized as he leaned forward for a closer look. But not scared enough to try to jump from up there, right?

Right???

Wrong.

Jude was too slow to stop him, but thankfully quick enough to catch him. He gasped as he landed in his hand. Jude didn’t know why he would expect otherwise, but the intruder was so light—about as substantial as the mouse he’d first been mistaken for. Jude pulled his hand in close to better keep steady as he looked. him over.

He wasn’t quite a fairy, at least not how most people would think of them. His guest had no wings or glitter and was far too grim to be made of light or children’s laughter. He didn’t seem bloodthirsty enough to be the other type of fairy either. He was …just a little guy, and not a very lucky one by the looks of him. He was dressed in rags and missing his arm and most of an ear. His tail looked like the end was scarred and withered; Jude suspected he’d lost the rest of that too.

The little guy’s eyes watered like he was about to cry and Jude did his best to soothe his fears. God, he was a pretty thing. Jude had spent a lot of time admiring the details of miniature things, but the little intruder was unbelievably exquisite: a masterpiece that only nature could craft. Jude was flattered that the little guy would be interested in his clumsy work at all.

He was determined to give the little guy a proper thanks before parting ways. Maybe if it went well enough, it would convince him to stay for awhile. Maybe even stick around as friends? Jude could hope. In any case, he thought pancakes and a comfortable seat would be a good start.

He did his best to move slowly and carefully as he prepped the kitchen, making sure to give the little guy as much space as he could. He wished he knew what to say to help the poor thing understand he wasn’t in any danger here. Everything Jude did only made him tremble more. Maybe just sitting there with a little cap full of cool water for a few minutes would let his panic wind down.

But as he mixed the batter Jude started to worry it wasn’t or that he was failing as a host in some other way. Had he missed some nicety the little guy expected or broken some unknown rule? No touching, maybe, but he’d already put him down. Were pancakes a bad choice? He’d given Jude a quick glance at his teeth and they had looked pretty sharp, maybe Jude’s vegan pantry was no more appealing to the little guy than the sculpted fruits on the shelf.

“You can eat this, right? Or maybe I shouldn’t assume? I could do something else or even run to the store if there’s not anything in my kitchen that looks like a proper meal to you? Is there something else you’d normally eat?”

Jude looked over to his guest for an answer and got only a slight shudder and a blank stare. A second passed and it was like the little guy saw a ghost. He paled and shrank back into the couch, mouthing something beyond Jude’s perception. It was all Jude could do not to reach out to try and physically reassure him—something that could only make things worse at this point.

“That’s, aw, you’re just too quiet, huh? Um, maybe just nod or shake your head? Do you eat pancakes? Or want to, at least?”

The little guy took a breath of relief and nodded hastily, shoulders easing back down when Jude smiled at him.

Jude turned his attention back to his cooking, neatly pouring out the batter. His heart skipped with delight as he doled out a few bite-sized drops for his guest. Pancakes made it easy to offer up a miniature serving alongside his own breakfast and the stack looked perfectly adorable on the coin-sized plate he’d pulled off of his display. Evidently the meal looked good to the the little guy as well, as he was willing to lean forward to grab it off of Jude’s finger. He snatched it away with his one hand, letting the tiny fork slip down onto the countertop, and flinched back into the couch.

“Can you…should I grab you a table as well? I wasn’t thinking about how you’d hold it” Jude said.

He shook his head without looking up. Jude watched with eager eyes as the little guy shifted slightly in his seat and the clasp at the end of his prosthetic opened then pinched closed, catching the edge of his plate to keep it steady in his lap and freeing up his hand.

“That’s so cool, did you make that yourself?”

The little guy glanced at his prosthetic and, if only for a brief second, a proud smile flickered across his face. Then he nodded and hid the expression by stuffing half a pancake into his mouth.

“I’ve got syrup, you don’t have to eat that plain, if you don’t want,” Jude offered.

His guest watched him suspiciously but his eyes widened and he nodded when he recognized the bottle of syrup that Jude retrieved. He poured a bit into the lid—he’d just have to clean it up later—and slid it across the counter to his wary guest, who eagerly sopped up as much as he could from the cap once he was sure he had his space back. And when he ran out of pancake, he scooped out an extra helping with his bare hand. Sweet tooth, Jude thought affectionately as he sat down with a plate of his own.

“You’ve been coming here for awhile, right? I’ve noticed stuff going missing since I moved in,” Jude said.

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. The little guy froze, letting the rest of the syrup drop into his lap, and his eyes once more danced around in a search for an escape. Jude raised his hands in a show of innocence.

“No, no, it’s okay! I just—you don’t have to sneak around. I’m glad someone likes my stuff, and you’re getting more use out of it than anyone on etsy would, you know?” Jude said. “I was gonna say you’re welcome to come back again for more. I wouldn’t mind seeing you again.”

The little guy’s posture truly relaxed for the first time that morning and Jude wondered what it was that was so reassuring—that he was welcome to keep taking props, maybe? Jude hoped he wouldn’t regret that in the coming weeks. Some of it would hurt to lose.

“It’s a shame you can’t talk. I’ve never seen anyone like you before, you know? I don’t even know what to call you,” Jude said.

The little guy chewed his lip thoughtfully for a second before pointing at the small pile of mail sitting on the edge of the counter. With a little more prompting, Jude picked out a seasonal bit of junk mail advertising local fall deals.

“The flyer? No, the pumpkin? Uh, jack-0-lantern? Jack? Your name is Jack?”

The little guy’s brow furrowed as he shook his head. He pointed at the clip-art again, this time holding up two fingers. Two words? Two syllables? Two…something.

“Jack-o? Jackie?”

A scowl.

“Um…Pumpkin?”

Little guy rolled his eyes.

“Not pumpkin, then? That would be cute though, a little Pumpkin,” Jude said.

Probably-Not-Pumpkin huffed impatiently and mimed writing something. Jude felt his ears tinge red. He should have thought of that.

“Duh. Okay, yeah, yeah, I’ll grab you a pencil lead or I think I have…I’ll find something you could use to write, gimme a sec,” Jude said.

He hopped up to grab something from his desk. He had some tiny colored pencils he’d picked up on a whim once, but they’d probably be too large. It might force the guy write large enough that Jude could actually read his handwriting though—was that selfish? After a minute or so of back and forth with himself, he snapped a bit of lead from a mechanical pencil and turned back to the kitchen. That minute was all that Not-Pumpkin needed to disappear.

Jude searched carefully around the kitchen floor, but found no sign of where he’d gone. He sighed. He really thought they’d been getting along. He just had to hope the promise of sweets and props would be enough to bring the little guy back.

-

In the wallways, Hollow hesitated to mark the unit as unsafe. He knew Jude wouldn’t forget about this visit, wouldn’t forget that borrowers were real, but if he’d already known…there was no reason to get himself in trouble with the council if the host wasn’t going to try and trap any intruders. Jude hadn’t meant to keep him there, it seemed, though Hollow didn’t understand exactly why. He was just grateful that he'd been willing to believe that Hollow would write to him.

He made hesitant scratches in the wood to warn his fellow borrowers that the host inside had seen something. It was a simple glyph, vague, and hopefully enough to make the next person to pass through extra careful. He didn’t take the time to mark the other escapes. He was tired. His panic was subsiding, leaving him frustrated and exhausted.

His bag had been left behind, along with the best of his gear and all his loot. But as he trekked back through the darkness, he let relief win over the frustration. He had plenty of time to rebuild his kit. He wasn’t in a cage. He’d gotten away. He’d even had a good, rich meal and stuffed away enough leftovers to give his daughter.

He was home. They were safe.

--

taglist: @da3dm @whumpsday @gt-daboss @whumpinthepot (To be added/removed from the taglist please comment, ask, or message, I’ll forget if it’s just in the tags of a reblog!)

[heylittleriotact]

🕯️ THE RITUAL HAS BEEN COMPLETED AND I AM SUMMONED BY @emmg 🕯️

WIP ✨WHATEVER✨

I have a lot of Emmrook things in mind that I want to write (I made a list!), but I only have one brain and one dominant hand for writing, so I’m just dawdling away at my leisure.

Currently I’m working on my take on a scene that would take place directly following the end of the game because BioWare hates us and decided we don’t need any closure for our Rooks or their love interest aside from some vague ‘live, laugh, love’ bullshit epilogue slide.

Rook works their fucking ass off the entire game and is basically the emotional sponge for everyone else’s issues, pushing themselves beyond what’s healthy to see their goals through. Emmrich remarks on it on at least two separate occasions, so I think my Rook would probably find herself in a position within hours of everything concluding where her body and her mind just stand on the brakes and say, “Nope! We’re done! We cannot and will not do any more things until you take some time to recuperate!”

And who’s going to make sure that happens in the most romantic, wholesome, and slightly stern but sexy way?

Emmrich, of course 🤍

Also, I’m reverse uno-ing @emmg because I want to know what you’re cooking. LET ME INNNNNN.

I’m also tagging @allofthebarks because she said she has things she wants to write but the writing just isn’t coming, so comfort yourself in my clumsy, unedited WIP and just write A Thing. Dooooo it!!!

Veilguard End Game Spoilers Under The Cut

Cheering and accolades followed them through the ruined streets of Minrathous, and Amina took the time to ensure that no waiting hand was left unshaken, no hug went unreturned, and no condolence went unoffered. It took them nearly two hours to make their way to a damaged but still structurally sound estate secured for them by the Shadow Dragons but as far as she was concerned, it was time well spent.

As the ornate doors of the manor closed behind them and the cacophony of their victory was muffled, Amina took two steps into the manor, bent at the waist, and splattered the floor with the contents of her stomach.

Emmrich was on her in an instant, holding her long black hair aside with one hand and stroking comforting circles on her back with another.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Taash demanded, taking a step forward. Her voice was distant - drowned out by the screeching whine in Amina’s ears.

She felt her legs wobble and give way, her armoured knees colliding roughly with the ground as she threw out a hand to steady herself, not caring that it landed right in her sick: everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too… real. It felt like she was being driven out of her own body like a wayward spirit, her essence clinging desperately to whatever it could hold onto to tether her here.

Just as distantly, Amina could hear Emmrich respond to Taash but his words were lost on her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and lurched clumsily to her feet.

“Harding - I need to go to her mother—“ Her voice broke: she hadn’t had time. None of them had had time to tell her mother about Harding’s death before Elgar’nan forced their hand.

She clenched her teeth at the sensation of hot tears cutting through the accumulation of grime and gore and sweat on her face, snarling defiantly through the deluge of agony crashing through her… breaking her from the inside.

There’s still work to be done…

She was pulling away from Emmrich, her course uncharted but steadfast: she needed to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as she was doing something… as long as she was helping. But no matter how she pulled and tugged, he wouldn’t let her go: lithe as Emmrich was, he wasn’t weak by any stretch.

With some effort he managed to put himself in front of her, gold rings clinking against silverite where he gripped her shoulders before pulling her tight against him.

“Breathe, darling.” He instructed, enshrouding her diminutive frame in his own. “I need you to breathe… can you do that for me?”

She managed an anguished sob in reply but nothing more: any attempt to draw breath was met with unforgiving resistance as her airways slammed shut in seeming rebellion of life itself.

Arrangements need to be made - things need to be taken care of, and I’m the only one left to take care of them.

No. First I need to breathe.

“I’ve got you: you’re safe with me.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes clenched shut and she forced a thin, ragged inhalation into her lungs.

“Well done, darling.” Emmrich encouraged, ever calm, ever heartening. “Now let’s try for another one, shall we? I’ll do it with you. Let out your breath on the count of three: one… two… three…”

She felt Emmrich contract against her as he slowly exhaled with her. None of this was new to her: Nevarran breathing techniques were required learning for Watchers. Claustrophobia could present unpredictably, and if one found themselves turned around or overwhelmed in the Necropolis, being able to stay calm was vital to survival.

“Perfect. Now another breath in…” He waited while Amina drew another shaky breath then loosened his hold on her to gently cup her cheek. Within moments she could feel the familiar soothing tingle of Emmrich’s magic coursing intimately through her, seeping through her nervous system and providing some relief.

“Emmrich,” she rasped, clutching at his chest. “I… I need to—“

“Do absolutely nothing.” He interjected sternly, his voice absent of any playful familiarity or scholarly flair, though it softened almost reflexively as he continued. “You’ve overextended yourself, Amina. You’ve been overextended for some time, but you pushed through to see this to the end - and you have - but my love, you can’t evade the reality of what you’ve been through indefinitely… you need to rest and take time to come to terms with things.” He drew his thumb over her cheek, speaking to her like she was the only person in the room.

“But—“

“All that needs to be attended will be seen to: Lace’s mother will be informed of her sacrifice in an appropriate manner, and the… actions of the Inquisitor will be communicated to the south.” He hung on the word ‘actions’ seemingly unsure of its accuracy but ultimately too focused on Amina to care.

She opened her mouth to argue, but likely having anticipated this from her, Emmrich spoke first.

“You’ve done so much and helped so many without asking for anything in return… please let me be the one to help you in your moment of need?”

His eyes searched hers, soft and pleading, and she studied the face of the man she loved: each pleasing curve and angle that she had committed to memory etched on her heart. The crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and the creases around his familiar mouth spoke of years of smiles offered to comfort and soothe.

He was filthy too, and his hair was limp and disheveled, strands of it hanging into his face… but oh Maker how she loved him…

“I love you…” He whispered for her ears alone, his lips ghosting over hers. “And I so look forward to reminding you of that fact every day for the rest of our lives… so let me begin now: let me take care of you.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Look, I don't want to sound like a presumptuous person but I just read your OC Vendetta and Healer Darling.

Now please consider Healer Darling that will beat someone till they almost died but Darling went "Not so fast-", will revive/heal them again with the power of healer because in their mind the beating is not enough. Then this cycle will go on and on till the Darling is satisfied. Just- just a healer person who are not afraid to use it for bad...

[Yan Magical Boy + Healer Reader Blurb]

[Tw: Violence, implied attempted assault]

"On your feet."

Choked sobs spill from blacked and bruised lips. Blood dirties your colthing and the filthy alley streets - kissing your aching knuckles and some even splattering on your face from the spray. Your would be assailant clutches their right leg, glazing up at you with their good eye and silently pleading for mercy.

You almost laugh - saving all your energy for the fist you throw at their jaw.

"I said - get on your feet."

"I...I can't...I'm sorry.. My.. leg.. my leg I think it's broken. I can't put any weight on it. Please, please just let me go. I won't do anything like this again, I swear-"

"I know you won't."

You place a hand on their leg, nails sinking into the damaged flesh as they jerk in a feeble attempt at kicking you away. Radiance emanates from your palm - the discoloration of their flesh peeling away as it flares brighter. Your attacker can only watch on in horror as the feeling returns to their battered limb. You beckon them upward.

"Come on. Get up. No excuses now."

They stumble to their feet. Silence falls over the scene say for their labored breathes as they stand there, weighing their options. Clenched fists relaxed around their cracked. They already underestimated you once tonight. Your attack takes a step back to leave the opposite way they came-

Ending up right back where they were moments ago as your foot connects with their chest.

Some of your shots may be cheap, but you'd have to be a coward to hit someone while their back was turned - and tonight alone you've proved you're anything but.

"You didn't actually think we were done, did you?"

The wet crack of flying teeth bounces off the alley walls. A molar lands at the feet of the shadow hiding just beyond a collection of dumpsters outside of your range of sight and rage - followed by another soon after presumably from the same placement. He probably should've stepped in by now, but the only time he cared to was before you threw the first punch and knock your attacker off their feet.

Vendetta waits until you're fully invested in pummeling the poor fuck before reaching out and scooping up the collection of teeth to keep as a trophy. Maybe he'll make matching necklaces to surprise you with some day in the future. For now he had to focus on regaining the strength in his own limbs so he could get the hell out of here before you noticed him. Who needed porn when he got to witness something like this? He was dying to meet you in person, but approaching you in this state probably wasn't the best idea for a first encounter. He'd probably ask you to punch him too and climax on the spot.

"h....help....."

Vendetta looks up - lips curling into a cruel smile as his eyes meet with the source of the pathetic whimper. He presses his fingers to his lips, hushing your attacker as they're dragged away screaming. Vendetta clicks his tongue as he pockets the handful of teeth - heartbroken over the fact he can't join the fun just yet.

He'll just have to settle for the leftovers once you're done.

[aphrosephone119]

How I think the final scene of 4x10 should've gone with the Pogues around the bonfire.

"The crown..." Kiara said suddenly, startling the group from their thoughts.

"What?" Pope replied with a sigh. He was so exhausted, and the crying had just made him even more tired.

"The crown! The blue crown! It grants the wearer a wish, right?" Kie glances around at her friends, waiting for them to confirm.

"Supposedly... Buts it's probably just a myth like the whole curse thing. Why?" John B asked, not really with it and staring into the blazing fire in front of him.

"What if it's real? What if we can get that crown and use the wish?" The pogues look towards Kie with mixed expressions. Some understood where she was going with this, but others, John B and Pope, were still confused, not able to really think straight.

"You're thinking what I think you're thinking, aren't you?" Cleo announces, standing from her spot on the sand.

Then it clicks for the boys.

"Kie, you can't be seriously suggesting that?" John B says, pulling at the bandana around his neck.

"Why not? After what just happened, we have nothing left to lose, John B."

He rubs at his head, trying to think through what Kiara was saying.

"Look. We find Groff, kill him, obviously, get the crown, and see if it works. What's the harm in trying this?" Kie stands, making her point known.

"He's gone, Ki-"

"NO! He's not. He's not gone, Sarah, because we have a way to bring him back! I- I can't... I won't- Guys I can't go on without him... I can't leave here knowing he's out there buried in the desert alone in the dark. John B, you KNOW how much he hates being left on his own! How much he hates being in the dark. We can't get leave him here when there's a way to bring him back!"

The group fell silent, Kiara's words cutting through the night like the crackling of the fire. John B glanced at Sarah, her eyes glossy and rimmed with tears. Cleo crossed her arms and looked out into the horizon as though trying to see the future written in the stars.

"Kie..." John B started, unsure how to continue after the speech his friend had just made.

"We're bringing him back, John B. Where's your faith?! I thought he was your best frie-"

"Don't!" John B interrupted, tear tracks now dried to his face as his red rimmed eyes looked up at the girl from over the fire.

"JJ was my best friend. He was my brother. Don't you dare try to use that against me, Kie."

Kiara took a step back, her breath hitching as John B's sharp tone echoed through her. The others stared at the two, waiting for someone to break the tension.

"I'm not trying to use it against you." Kie whispered, her voice trembling.

"I'm just saying... he wouldn't give up on any of us. Not ever. So how can we give up on him?"

John B's jaw tightened, and he looked away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"And what if the crown doesn't work? What if it's all just a stupid story and we risk our lives for nothing? What then, Kie? What if we do this and we lose someone else?"

Kiara stepped closer to him, her eyes burning with despair and sorrow.

"And what if it does work, John B? What if we get him back? We owe it to him to try. I can’t-” Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard before continuing.

“I can’t live with myself if I don’t at least try. I'll have to look my dad in the eye and tell him JJ's gone...”

"Your dad hated JJ."

"No. He WAS JJ. He used to be JJ when he was a teen. He saw himself in him. He wouldn't want JJ-... He wouldn't want JJ dead."

The others really didn't know how to respond to that. Kiara spoke up again.

"Pope... Would you be able to tell your folks what happened? would you be able to look Heyward in the eye and tell him? Tell him what happened?"

Pope's expression hardened as Kiara's words hit him. He stared down at the sand, the firelight casting shadows across his face. He thought about his dad. About how much Heyward loved JJ, even if he didn’t always show it. The idea of walking into the shop, seeing his dad’s hopeful face, and having to crush it with the truth made his stomach turn.

“No,” Pope admitted quietly.

“I couldn’t. I can’t.”

Kiara nodded, her resolve growing stronger with Pope’s agreement.

“Then we do this. Together.”

The group was silent again, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the waves lapping at the shore. Finally, Sarah broke the tension.

“Kie's right.” she said softly.

“JJ would never give up on us. Not ever. And if there’s even a chance we can get him back…” She trailed off, glancing at John B.

John B looked around at his friends, his family, their faces lit by the flickering fire. He saw the pain in their eyes. It was the same pain he felt every time he thought about JJ’s laugh, his cheeky grin, the little 'JJ' mannerisms and actions that they all had learnt to love, even the slightly irritating ones that would result in him getting in trouble. JJ could make even the worst situations feel like an adventure... And John B couldn't even imagine himself going home without his brother.

"Alright."

He said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"We’ll try. But we do it smart. If things go south, we'll have to pull out. We can't risk any more losses. JJ wouldn't want us to sacrifice ourselves for him."

Kiara’s face lit up with relief and determination.

“We won’t need to pull out. This is going to work. It has to.”

"Well I, for one, am down to kill that scamming prick." Came a voice behind John B.

Oh. They'd forgotten Rafe was there too.

He was ready to take on Groff no matter what.

“So what’s the plan?”

Cleo asked, sitting down cross-legged and pulling out her knife to idly sharpen it.

“Groff's our only lead. We track him down, he couldn't have gotten far. This place is massive. We get the crown, and…”

She hesitated for a moment.

“...we bring JJ back.”

“And if Groff doesn’t have the crown?” Pope asked cautiously. There's always a chance those others had found him by now and taken the crown for themselves.

“Then we keep looking." Kiara replied firmly.

“Whatever it takes.”

John B sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Alright. Tomorrow, we start tracking him. We'll start at first light. But tonight…” His voice faltered, and he looked deep into the flames.

“Tonight, we remember JJ.”

[fickle-fixations]

Helpless

Oops! I wrote a smut fic 🫣 I haven't even watched Scenes from a Marriage yet but I was watching some clips (this one in particular) and then suddenly this entire fic just showed up on my Google Docs. I don't even know what this man does for work I just know that he's gorgeous (and Jessica's character makes him sad lol). adult content begins directly bellow the cut. Also I'm reposting bc it wasn't showing up in any tags earlier.

Pairing: (soft dom!)Johnathan Levy x f!Reader

Word Count: 1235 // Warnings: sexual content, female masturbation, inability to orgasm, fingering, kind of praise kink, slight degradation, possibly OOC Johnathan - I've only seen like 10 minutes of clips // second person POV, afab female reader

Summary:Your husband comes home to find you trying to get off. Emphasis on trying.

You’d known it was pointless when you started, but you did it anyway. You’d been sitting alone at home when one thing had led to another which had collided so conveniently with the fact that you were ovulating, and you felt that familiar need growing between your legs. At some point, you’d sunk down to the floor so your back was against the bed frame, and one hand had slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, while you used the other to find pictures of your husband on your phone. 

If anyone ever found out you masturbated to pictures of your husband, you’d die of embarrassment. They usually weren’t even nudes, because he never really sent any. You’d heard your nephew use the phrase “down bad” once. That was probably what you were. But there was just no one you were more attracted to, and nothing that turned you on more than your husband.

It got to the point where your fingers were desperately pumping in and out of your sex, your head lolled back, eyes almost closed but still glimpsing one of those rare nude photos that glowed dimly on your phone, now discarded on the floor. You knew you’d reached your limit. Whenever you touched yourself, you would always eventually hit a wall it seemed only Johnathan in the flesh could help you climb. 

It didn’t stop you from trying. Imagining your hand that groped your breast under his shirt that you were wearing and that played with your clit was his. You thought of how turned on your breasts made him. Even when you protested and said they were nothing special, just touching them for a little while would get him so hard and so eager to please you. It made you feel a bit smug that just a part of your body always had such an effect on him. 

You remembered exactly how he would touch you. How he would stroke your hair and mutter how good of a job you were doing while he helped you reach your high.

You moaned and pushed your head further back against the box spring. Your walls were twitching around your fingers. You breathed his name over and over like a prayer.

“Aw honey, well that’s not gonna do you much good, is it?” 

A voice from the doorway snatched you from your reverie, sounding over the obscene squelching, the only other noise in the room.

Jonathan was leaning against the doorframe, looking down at you with little more than mild curiosity. He looked like a work of art, the way the light from the hallway glowed around him where he stood between there and the dark room. You could hardly see his face as it was cast in shadow, but the outline of his curls and his frame was still such a sight to behold.

All you could do was whimper with need when your eyes met his. He knew full well the power he had over you. He knew you were chasing something only he could provide.

“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?” he asked, stepping closer. He said it like he was casually inquiring about what book you were reading, rather than seeing you quivering on the floor, whimpering and moaning his name. 

Your fingers ceased their motion, starting to slide out from underneath your boxers, your chest heaving, when he said, “No, sweetie, did I say you could stop?”

“No,” you replied breathlessly. 

He raised an eyebrow at you expectantly, nodding towards where your hand had just been. 

You started circling your clit with your slick-soaked index finger, your hips bucking ever so slightly forward with the motion.

He crouched down beside you, an amused smile spreading across his face at the sight of the picture that was still displayed on your phone.

“Aw, that’s so sweet, baby.” He kissed your forehead and you leaned up into his touch, chasing the physical contact, but he quickly pulled away. “You didn’t think you could get off without looking at me, did you?”

You shook your head in response - you couldn’t find the ability to speak, you were so overwhelmed by sensation and need. Your fingers rubbed faster and you thought maybe, maybe you could get closer to the edge, now that he was here, talking down to you like this.

“But you and I both know that was never gonna get you there.” 

He slid off your boxers as he spoke, your hips jerking towards him as soon as he hooked  a finger in the waistband. He pressed a few soft kisses to the insides of your legs, never venturing higher than just above your knee. His eyes were fixed on your dripping core. He hummed in appreciation at the little show before him.

You only barely noticed the tears of frustration dropping down your cheeks. You needed him to touch you, and give you that release that you craved.

“Johnathan please,” you begged. You sounded so pitiful when you said it. “I need you please-mhhm please.”

He reached up and tenderly wiped away your tears.

“Okay sweetheart,” he soothed, “It’s okay, I’ll help you.”

He kissed your cheek as he replaced your hand with his own, immediately sheathing his middle and ring fingers into you, the palm  of his hand rubbing against your clit.

“I know you can’t do it on your own, sweetheart and that’s okay,” he said against your skin while his fingers curled inside you, beckoning your release. “It makes me feel so special, baby - that you’re so helpless without me. That I’m the only one who can make you come.”

You whined, your hips bucking towards him. You felt your release building within you now. You were already so close-

He took your hand that wasn’t gripped in his hair and brought it to cup the growing bulge in his jeans.

“So special,” he reiterated.

He captured your lips in his and curled his fingers against your sweet spot once more, and that was all that you needed. You came, spasming around his fingers, your fist clenching in a vice-grip in his soft, gray hair. 

He kissed along your jaw, muttering praise as you came down from your high. “You did so good for me, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”

When you were eventually able to think and move again, you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his neck. You were a little embarrassed, but mainly just happy to be back in his arms.

“I’m sorry you had to walk in on that.” you said lightheartedly.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, baby,” he said, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather see.”

You both just stayed there for a while, holding each other in comfortable silence.

“What got you so worked up?” he eventually asked.

“I dunno,” you said, shrugging. “I just missed you.”

You pulled away to look him in the eye. You could get so lost in those big brown eyes. He blinked slowly, a smile teasing the corners of his lips. 

“Did you um,” you asked hesitantly, “Did you miss me?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding, his eyes glazed over with lust.

He started kissing your neck, his hand snaking up to cup one of your breasts, and a small moan erupted from your chest. He rolled his hips and you felt his firm bulge grind against your leg.

“I missed you so much.”

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thanks for reading :)🖤 If you liked it and are Oscar Isaac trash like me, I also wrote an Anselm x Reader imagine (1.5k words) and a Jake Lockley x Reader fic (1.5k words)

[multifandomimagin3s]

Them as Dads - 141 + König

Requested by Anon

Fluff, hints of angst

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon's childhood was, to say the least, horrific.

No child should have had to experience when he went through.

Those experiences have stuck with him all his days, emotions buried deep down to a point where he doesn't feel them anymore.

There's a distinct divide between Ghost and Simon - and since he's considered legally dead, he has no reason to drop his mask anymore.

Needless to say, when he found out he was going to be a Dad, he short-circuited.

Didn't even say a word, and just left.

Of course he felt guilty for it, and he knew that what he did was wrong, but he needed to think.

The last time he had even been around a child was his little nephew...

And that tragic part of his past truly was the final nail in the coffin for him.

He was terrified of being like his own Father.

He did eventually come back but for the duration of the pregnancy, a cocktail of emotions swirled in his stomach.

The day he held his child for the first time, he was stunned.

This tiny little human, with their little button nose and - his eyes.

He grew angry - angry at his Father, and by extension the World.

How could anyone bring something so small, so fragile, so perfect any harm?

Needless to say, he's a very protective Father.

If any of the Team were to meet the baby, he probably wouldn't even let any of his comrades hold them.

Maybe Johnny - but that's at a push, and he'd be hovering around him the whole time like a shadow.

He'd be soft for his child - but he'd try to be the strict parent, teaching them to be ready for whatever the world may throw their way.

If he had a daughter, would let her paint his nails - would sit there still as a statue, watching with soft eyes at how her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth in concentration.

Speaking of, regardless of the child's gender - boyfriends / girlfriends / significant others would absolutely be interrogated before they even step a foot through the door.

"Who the fuck are you?" "You're 16?? Cunt, you look 30!"

It would essentially be like that scene from Bad Boys 2 - Soap would definitely be Will Smith in that scenario, accepting no criticism~

Would try to be there for every life event and would feel a deep seated guilt if he couldn't because he'd been deployed.

Overall, from day one, he'd made a promise to himself that he wouldn't let history repeat itself - he'd give his child everything he ever wanted growing up and more.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

I can see him as a chill Dad.

He wouldn't let his child get away with murder, but he would be good cop 99% of the time.

Would absolutely spoil them rotten - they would have to so much as look at something they liked and he'd get it for them.

It would be his Mother that would have to try and get him to reign in the spending a bit.

Also carries the baby around in one of those baby carriers across his chest.

I think he has a big, close-knit family so the child would have a ball playing with all their cousins of mixed ages.

If he had a son, definitely tries to style his baby hairs into a little mohawk with gel.

Lets his kids express themselves however they want.

They want to dye their hair? He's driving them to the shops to get the supplies.

They want a piercing? As long as they're old enough, he's fine with it - and if they want him to go with them for moral support, he's already in the car.

I think the only think he'd be awkward about would be periods.

He'd try to be helpful...but he's not great at handling it.

C/N: Dad, I got my period.

Johnny: Oh - OH! Okay, that's - that's fine...ehh...do you...do you know what to do with it...or?

I can also see him just running into a shop in an absolute panic - asking the store clerk for assistance because he doesn't even know what he's looking for.

Returns home with three massive bags of supplies.

He'd be supportive with whatever they wanted to do in life - if they wanted to go to University, he'd help them with their application; if they wanted to get a job, he'd be helping them look for vacancies, driving them to their interviews; if they wanted to join the military however...he'd be reluctant, but he would never discourage them for pursing anything.

The only thing he'd have an issue with...is if his daughter got a boyfriend.

He'd not be as...hostile as Ghost, but the silent threat is always lingering in the air.

If anyone ever hurt his child, he can switch from fun-loving Johnny to Sergeant in the blink of an eye.

Captain John Price

That child has this man wrapped around their finger from day one.

Would give them the world if he could.

Would never smoke his cigars anywhere in the vicinity of them, and would hide them out of reach - especially during the curious toddler stage.

I can see him cutting up their grapes into smaller pieces, paranoid that they'd choke otherwise.

Has dozens of photos of them wearing his hat - even got them a toddler version of his own because they liked it so much.

Doesn't matter how old they are, they're still that little smiling baby in his eyes.

So needless to say, he's very protective.

Doesn't threaten potential partners - he doesn't need to, he's a Captain in the military, so nobody would be so stupid as to try and hurt his child.

Only brings the child on base when he knows that only people he can trust are there - ie. the 141 taskforce.

Follows the toddler as they waddle around, waving happily as they pass people - Soap ends up joining the little adventure since the little one took his hand and he didn't have the heart to let go.

Speaking of, despite not being given the official title, Soap becomes Uncle Soap the moment he claps eyes on Price's child.

Gaz too - he sent Price the photos he took of them wearing his sunglasses, a beaming smile on their face.

It came as a shock to everyone when they saw the child approach Ghost.

It even shocked Ghost when the child made eye contact with him - and didn't cry. Instead, they smiled, tugging on the leg of his trousers to be picked up. And, even more surprisingly, he did.

Price never has to worry about keeping his child safe - because god help whoever tried to hurt them when they have 4 highly trained SAS soldiers coming for them.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

He’d be one of those young, cool Dads.

Buys himself and the little one matching shoes.

Also matching outfits are the thing, especially during the toddler stage.

His kid would be the drippiest kid in the playground.

FaceTimes and calls home whenever he can when he’s deployed, seeing their little smiley face just makes his day so much brighter.

When he’s home he’s more than happy to spent chill days just watching cartoons with them on the couch, making pillow forts - he probably enjoys it more than the kid to be honest.

I reckon he’d struggle to actually parent the child, and would rather be their best friend than an authoritarian figure - ironic, considering he’s a Sergeant.

So it would probably be up to the child’s Mother to reign him in when he’s being a bit too soft or blasé.

Helps his kid build the best Minecraft house.

Loves being able to bring the child on base, showing them off to the Team.

Price secretly loves having the little one around, and they’re often found chilling together in his office.

Would absolutely spoil them - whether it be new toys, sweets or anything they wanted, he’d get it for them without a doubt.

Uncle Soap once spiked up the little one’s hair to match his own mohawk - Gaz wasn’t mad about it at all, and thought it actually looked cool as fuck.

If he had a daughter he would definitely sit down and learn how to do little braids in her hair.

Would also let her put little clips and bows in his hair, painting his nails to match.

He’d just be so soft for his child.

König

When the child was little, Konig was absolutely terrified that he would end up accidentally hurting them.

They were so small, barely even taller that his knee when he was standing, and all he could think about was what if he accidentally stood on their little foot or walked into them without noticing.

So, most of the time, he carried them around.

Would read books to them at bedtime, teaching them German and English to the best of his ability.

I don't think he'd wear his hood around them often, preferring his child to see his face rather than two eyes surrounded by black cloth.

Was genuinely surprised when they didn't cry after seeing him with it on; their little hand touched the cloth before breaking out into a sunny grin, "Dada!"

He probably cried a little bit after that.

He didn't have the greatest time growing up - so I think if his child ever got bullied, he would struggle to compose himself.

In his eyes, his child was perfect, so for anyone to go and make them feel bad about themselves - or worse yet, make them cry, it makes him see red.

Doesn't go and threaten the child - he'd not cruel. But the sight of a giant, masked man looming over all the other parents at school pick-up is more than enough to put the fear into anyone who had been picking on his kid.

Would probably teach them how to fight and defend themselves from a young age - he wouldn't always be around, due to deployment, so it gave him some peace of mind knowing that they would be able to defend themselves.