#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.

[amen-to-tiddies]

MOOOOREEE I NEED MORE MARKIPLIER IM GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE

Dumb, Big, and Absolutely Wrecking You in Public

Top Mark x Male Bottom Reader

Other Mark Fic: Dumb, Big, and Fucking you Senseless List of the fun stuff:

Shameless Smut, Dumb Himbo Mark, Size Difference, Public Humiliation, Vibrating Butt Plug, Overstimulation, Alleyway Sex, Weak-from-Pleasure Reader, Rough Manhandling, Desperate Orgasms, Dumbification, Clueless Mark Being Too Rough, Praise Kink (Receiving), Helpless Reader, Cock-Drunk, Breeding, Cum as Lube, No Aftercare Because Mark is Dumb as Bricks but Loves You.

It was supposed to be simple, you just wanted to try out something new.

And all he had was one rule. One tiny, VERY important little rule.

“Mark, whatever you do, don’t turn it past fifty in public, okay?”

even that was pushing it...

But of course, the himbo motherfucker wasn’t even listening. Nodding along with that cocky little smirk, flexing his massive arms like a dumbass, probably daydreaming about some random horror game he was gonna play later instead of focusing on the very, very crucial information you were trying to drill into his thick skull.

And now look at you.

Legs trembling, fingers clutching onto his bicep like a lifeline, the soft whirring of the plug inside you growing stronger, hotter, devastating.

this was way fucking more than 50%.

Mark was barely paying attention, just swinging your intertwined hands like the lovesick idiot he was, oblivious to the way your entire body was quaking, how your breath hitched with every step, how your thighs squeezed together in a desperate attempt to keep your composure.

“Man, this is nice, huh?” he said, totally unaware of the absolute torment you were in. “Just you, me, a nice lil’ walk through town, some fresh air-”

You nearly collapsed right there in the middle of the street when the plug adjusted and the vibrations pulsed straight into your weak spot.

Mark caught you easily, confused as hell. “Whoa, hey babe, what’s wrong? You sick or somethin’?”

You could barely think, barely breathe. Your voice came out strangled but hushed. “Mark- turn it- turn it down-”

“Huh?”

You gritted your teeth, fingers digging into his forearm. “The fucking- the-fucking-plug.”

Mark’s eyes went wide. And then, the bastard laughed.

“Ohhhh, that’s what’s got you all squirmy! Shit, babe, why didn’t you say anything?” He grinned, all easygoing and clueless. “I thought you were just having fun.”

“Mark, I swear to God-”

Before you could even finish the sentence, another wave of pleasure shot through you, making you whimper right there in broad daylight, and Mark’s grin got wider.

“Oh, shit. Oh, babe.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Are you, like… getting off right now?”

Your breath hitched. Your body jerked against him. You could barely keep yourself upright.

Mark’s eyes darkened, gaze flicking down to where your legs were clenching, where your fingers were practically clawing into his skin, how utterly helpless you looked beneath him.

And then, the idiot did the unthinkable.

He pressed the remote in his pocket.

Full power.

You gasped- a high, broken sound- and then you were gone.

Your knees buckled, body giving out as the vibrations tore through you, devastating, overwhelming. Your orgasm slammed into you out of nowhere, stealing the breath from your lungs, making you jerk and tremble like a fucking ragdoll. Your legs nearly gave out right there on the sidewalk, barely able to hold yourself up, barely able to stop yourself from making an absolute scene-

Mark was quick, moving fast, sweeping you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

“Shit, okay, okay, I gotcha,” he murmured, suddenly all protective, cuddling you up against his chest like a hero rescuing a damsel in distress. He waited for you to recover and then leaned in, his voice was laced with a sudden hunger. “Fuck, babe. You just came in public? That’s kinda hot.”

You barely registered being shoved into the shadows of an alleyway, your whole body still twitching, spent, ruined.

But Mark wasn’t done with you yet.

He pressed you against the brick wall, eyes glinting, so goddamn big above you, crowding you in with his sheer size.

And then his fingers trailed down past your pants, brushing between your legs, feeling the mess you’d made of yourself.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, awe-struck. “You’re still shaking.”

His cock was already hard, tenting against his jeans, pressed right up against you.

“Fuck babe I'm not gonna lie... I kinda wanna see you do that again.”

And before you could protest, before you could even think, he was turning the plug back on, watching as your body broke all over again.

He grinned as you whined, as you pleaded, as your eyes rolled back, the plug was in the most perfect fucking spot to where it just pulsed, throbbed and vibrated right against your g-spot leaving you weak, helpless and sagging against the wall all under marks huge frame.

you felt humiliated and mark was living for it.

You felt humiliated, and Mark was living for it.

He reached down, palm warm and rough as he cupped you through your soaked pants. “Goddamn, babe, you’re dripping,” he groaned, voice thick with need. His fingers now sliding down your waistband and wrapping around you, stroking slow, teasing, milking every bit of slick that pooled at the tip.

“Mark-” you whimpered, but it was useless.

“Shhh, just let me,” he whispered “Fuck, you’re so messy already, baby.”

He worked you over, jerking you off with slow, deliberate strokes, collecting every drop of cum and slick on his fingers until his whole palm was covered in it. wasn't long before he was slinging his jeans and boxers below his crotch and smearing the collected slick down the length of his cock, groaning at the feel of it. the dumb fuck had just worked 2 of the most leg shaking orgasms out of you.. was he really about to fuck you now? you're question was answered by mark spinning you around and tugging your pants and boxers

“Shit, babe, look at that,” he whispered, rubbing his tip against your entrance, pushing past the resistance. “You’re already so stretched out from the plug, bet I could just- push right in-”

no patience for this himbo. he did it as soon as he said it.

You sobbed as he sank in deep, so big, so thick, stretching you open somehow even more until you swore you could feel him in your fucking stomach.

“Fuck,” Mark groaned, hands gripping your hips, shoving you hard against the brick wall. “Goddamn, baby, you’re taking it so good.”

You could barely speak, barely breathe, barely do anything but whimper and whine and let Mark fuck you like you were made for it.

Mark’s pace was relentless, hips slamming against yours, every thick, brutal thrust forcing choked-out whimpers from your lips. His grip was firm, fingers digging into your hips as he held you in place, letting out a deep, satisfied groan every time you clenched around him.

“God, babe- fuck- you’re my best boy, y’know that?” His voice was breathless, awe-struck, like he was witnessing something divine. “Shit, the bestest boy of all.”

You could barely respond, barely think, too lost in the overwhelming pleasure of this mans huge dick just pounding your prostate.

Mark let out a dazed little laugh and pulled you up so could thrust that cock in even deeper. pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder “You love this, huh?” His words were stifled with dirty grunts and deep moans that made your body shiver in his huge arms, but his words were so damn soft. “God, you feel so good- so goddamn perfect for me.”

His hips stuttered for a second, like he was trying to hold back, trying to savor it, but the way you squeezed around him had his restraint snapping in half.

“Shit, babe, look at you,” he groaned, running a huge, calloused hand down your stomach, feeling the way he stretched you from the inside. “So fuckin’ beautiful- God, I love you.”

His other hand slid between your legs, fingers teasing, giving slow, lazy strokes. “Best fuckin’ baby,” he murmured. “Nobody else could take me like this. yknow that?"

You let out a collage of unholy sounding whimpers synced with each thrust of his cock barely able to stay standing, and Mark fucking melted more at each one.

“fuckin perfect, yknow that? you're so perfect,” he cooed, pressing kisses along your jaw, completely obsessed, completely gone. “You’re takin’ everything I give you- such a good boy for me.”

He pulled your head sideways just enough to see your expression, eyes hooded, lips parted, your whole body weak with pleasure. The sight alone nearly made him lose it.

“Fuck, baby." he groaned, voice thick with adoration. “I'm gonna..”

Pushing his cock as deep as he could the man released rope after rope coating your insides and filling you up until you were leaking his cum even with his cock still inside you. this insanely hot feeling brought you well over the edge for your third orgasm of the day.

"That's my boy" the man still in his state of euphoria gave you a big ol' hickey right on the side of your neck "I'll try getcha cleaned up"

[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?’

[severus-snaps]

Snape (and Dumbledore) in The Chamber of Secrets: conspiracy theory time

A coalescing of events meant that I saw this delightful gifset at around the point I reached one of the below sections in my sporadic reread of CoS, and I was struck by how differently the staff responded to Snape in the beginning of the book, when Harry first discovered Mrs Norris compared to how how they responded to Snape in this later scene.

TL;DR: Snape was always the black sheep of the staff, who modelled their feelings towards Snape off of Dumbledore's feelings - and Dumbledore didn't trust him until towards the end of GoF. I also lowkey think that Dumbledore suspected Snape of being involved in the Chamber opening - at least for a little while.

Included below is the section after which Harry has been found near a Petrified Mrs Norris:

Here, Snape is very much sidelined by his attitude to Harry, because although every teacher knows that Harry is not telling them the full truth, only Snape seems to want to actually get that truth out of him. The truth - the thing that Snape is after - comes second even to Quidditch.

Other key takeaways from the first interaction, for me, are some of the things I've outlined in my ramble here, which include potential parallels drawn between Snape and the Bloody Baron as pale, gaunt, staring, separate from the others owing to their intimidating and/or unsettling nature. 'Gaunt' is used to describe Snape here also, where JKR usually only uses it for ghosts - and, much more notably, Azkaban prisoners. 'Gaunt' in JKR's writing signals further that Snape is Other: outcasted, depressed, isolated, and practically sick, and trapped at Hogwarts as much as any prisoner might be in Azkaban. Whether he's trapped by his memories, his obligations, or Dumbledore himself, is up for interpretation.

Snape alone is described as standing in the shadows, apart from the other teachers, rather than alongside them. Notably, Harry, Ron, and Hermione are also apart from the teachers and sat 'outside the pool candlelight'- excluded by the fact that they are students, and Dumbledore and the others are authority figures, as professors.

The other authority figures - namely McGonagall and Dumbledore - do not have his back against Lockhart, and overall Snape's more aligned with Filch, as he (sort of) was in the first book, going to Filch instead of Madam Pomfrey following his injury at the teeth of Fluffy - the same Filch who is similarly 'othered' and not taken seriously in the wizarding world, but by virtue of being a Squib.

There also seems to be some continued dismissal of Snape and his position in Dumbledore's wording, right here, in this scene:

‘Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made which will revive Mrs Norris.’ ‘I’ll make it,’ Lockhart butted in. ‘I must have done it a hundred times, I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep –’ ‘Excuse me,’ said Snape icily, ‘but I believe I am the Potions master at this school.’ There was a very awkward pause. ‘You may go,’ Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron and Hermione.

But what I found interesting is that Snape's "I believe I am the Potions master at this school" could both refer to Snape dismissing Lockhart trying to bumble his way through a potion he's not capable or qualified to make, and refer to this moment of Dumbledore saying "I will have a potion made" where his phrasing is virtually omitting Snape from any responsibility or involvement in the process (as in why not say "Professor Snape can produce a potion to revive Mrs Norris" in the first place, since Snape's right there, and Filch is half a step away from losing his mind. To contrast, Snape even gets full credit for making the Wolfsbane potion, despite his somewhat strained relationship with Lupin in PoA).

I probably wouldn't have noticed if I wasn't busy obsessing over Snape, but something else I've picked up on during this reread of CoS is that nobody refers to Snape being involved in brewing the Mandrake Restorative Draught. Professor Sprout is credited with growing them, which is fair, and "Madam Pomfrey was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving childhood", and Madam Pomfrey is also credited with handing out the Mandrake 'juice' to revive people at the end of the book - which is also fair, since she is the school nurse, and that's literally her job. But whose job is it to make the potion? I'd wager that normally it would be Snape, otherwise he wouldn't have been so sniffy with Lockhart about stealing his job.

Snape likes to feel useful, likes to believe that he is essential, and he likes people to know both of those things - just look at his behaviour in OotP, proud and bragging to Sirius and Harry about his job of collecting information on Voldemort. So, as usual, Snape's comment about being the potions master also plays into his characterisation as someone who's very aware of his position (and power) in relation to others, always asserting his authority as a teacher - but also constantly being reminded of the limitations of that authority, and his (often lower) position in relation to the others. We see a similar sort of thing unfold at the start of the book, when Snape is trying to expel Harry and Ron for crashing into the whomping willow. They've broken the law - not even just school rules this time - and so, they should rightly be expelled (to Snape's mind):

Instead, however, Snape is unceremoniously invited to leave his own office. Don't get me wrong, Dumbledore was very friendly about it - jocular, even - but if anything, that only served to undermine Snape's authority further. Plus, calling Snape 'Severus' (especially within the same sentence that 'Minerva' is referred to as 'Professor McGonagall') highlights Dumbledore's (and McGonagall's) more senior positions, their higher levels of authority, and Dumbledore's more paternalistic role toward Snape. By contrast, Dumbledore's use of 'Minerva' shortly after, to me at least, reflects a more equal, friendly-professional relationship - especially given that Dumbledore and McGonagall are closer peers in terms of age and authority (both having taught and held authority over Snape during his student years, and both being deputy headmistress and head of house/headmaster, where Snape is only head of house for the often-maligned Slytherin). It's almost as though it's Snape who's in trouble, not Harry and Ron.

As pointed out by this on Quora, which I agree with:

[Snape] and McGonagall have a teasing rivalry which may well be affectionate, but she and Dumbledore can’t seem to make up their minds whether to treat him as a colleague or a student.

The upshot of all of this is that Snape's authority is routinely ignored and removed entirely; far from Snape's view of justice, Harry and Ron receive one single mild detention from McGonagall - a very light slap on the wrist for breaking wizarding law, being late to school, and damaging school property - and, at the end of the book, not only are they not expelled for doing it again, putting themselves and others in danger when they could have gone to get a teacher* - but in fact they're again rewarded, with 200 points each, promising them the House Cup for the second time.

*Yes, I'm aware that if they went and got a teacher it would ruin the adventure of a kid's book - but I'm here for the Watsonian analysis, specifically Snape's pov.

So, returning to the moment Mrs Norris has been Petrified, Snape already perhaps feels that his expertise and his authority are being ignored and tested by both Lockhart and by Dumbledore, in front of his colleagues (who perhaps don't like/respect him very much) and the students (who definitely don't like/respect him very much); perhaps he even feels he's being overlooked for a task that he thinks he's undoubtedly going to be a part of. After all, he's the potions professor. Of course he'd be involved in brewing the potion to cure those who have been Petrified.

Or is he?

Maybe we're supposed to believe that Dumbledore trusts Snape from the moment he's turned spy (or, at the very least, from the moment that Snape vows to protect Harry, even once Lily is dead). But more and more I'm beginning to wonder if that trust developed more slowly, and wasn't solidified until Voldemort actually returned in GoF, and Snape risked his life in returning to Voldemort. I know it is, in part, to do with the vibe of the books earlier in the series, being shorter, simpler, and generally more light-hearted for younger children, and therefore less interested in the more complex aspects of any of the adults' lives - Snape is presented as a generic mean teacher, he's wrong, the kids love getting one up on him, there's less suggestion that he's a prodigy or a redeemed hero or whatever, he's often the butt of the joke, etc etc. But stick with me here.

After all, there's no inkling in Snape's memories of Snape or Dumbledore growing substantially closer before GoF - in fact, Snape's memories make it seem as though Dumbledore is largely disinterested in Snape in PS:

The office dissolved but re-formed instantly. Snape was pacing up and down in front of Dumbledore. “ — mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule-breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent — ” “You see what you expect to see, Severus,” said Dumbledore, without raising his eyes from a copy of Transfiguration Today. “Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child.” Dumbledore turned a page, and said, without looking up, “Keep an eye on Quirrell, won’t you?”

Dumbledore doesn't even look at him here, completely disinterested in what Snape has to say. Sure, Snape is bitching about an eleven-year-old, but there's none of the level of familiarity that we see in Snape's memories - starting from the 'you're a braver man than Karkaroff' in GoF, and moving into the later books (and even then, half of Snape's life in GoF is Snape very much believing - but not wanting to believe - that Dumbledore would doubt him). There's also an argument to be made that Dumbledore is sort of Occluding Snape here, like he did to Harry in OotP, keeping Snape out of the loop in the event that Voldemort returns, so Snape can honestly say he had no idea that Voldemort was attached to Quirrel - but surely the great and talented Dumbledore could effectively Occlude Snape for five minutes? This wasn't the strange connection that Harry shared with Voldemort, nor would Snape likely try and actively use Legilimency on Dumbledore - and even if he did, we know who holds all of the power in that relationship, so I doubt Snape would even try.

Anyway, building on the idea that Dumbledore doesn't trust Snape very much: at the point at which the Mandrake is due to be prepared, the Slytherin password has been "pureblood" (and who knows what else), Harry & co point out that no Slytherins have been attacked, it's Slytherin's monster going around targeting Muggle-borns, it's Slytherin's heir, Slytherin's secret chamber. Dumbledore strongly suspects Voldemort's influence/involvement (given the similarities to Myrtle's death), and later suspects Lucius Malfoy's involvement - two people who had a not-insignificant measure of control over Snape in the past.

But, at the beginning of the year, it may not even have been clear to Dumbledore that Lucius was involved. Still, someone had to have set everything in motion - and Dumbledore obviously didn't suspect Harry. Snape is more or less narratively excluded from any hint of involvement in the Mandrake draught, despite being an expert on potions and their ingredients, and at the time when it is first mentioned, he's lurking in the literal shadows, stood apart from the other teachers, who may or may not know or have heard rumours that he has a dodgy past as a DE (given that the trial we see in GoF was hardly a private affair):

So at this point, Dumbledore can have only theories as to who - or what - Petrified the cat, and how they went about it. All Dumbledore knows for certain is that someone with some exceptionally advanced knowledge of the Dark Arts or Dark Magic could've done it, someone in the school, with a likely history of being aligned with Voldemort - and at the same time, Snape's hardly doing himself any favours here by trying to incriminate Harry, a literal child.

Side note: it is really funny to me that Snape spends the anniversary of Lily and James's deaths this year trying to get their kid into shit for killing a cat. Snape is so bitter and I love him.

It's not until the end of the story that Dumbledore is made more clearly aware of the diary, its powers, or Ginny's involvement, and pieces together that Lucius alone would've had the motive to both remove Dumbledore from the school and to frame a Weasley. Up until that point - if we assume that Dumbledore doesn't fully trust Snape - it's just as likely that Snape is working from inside the school somehow, perhaps at Lucius'/Voldemort's behest, to frame Harry and rid the school of Muggle-borns, now that Voldemort is becoming more active.

As always, Dumbledore would have many theories, "each of them as unlikely as the next".

A part of me wonders, then, if Dumbledore wasn't just hedging his bets, keeping Snape sort of distanced from the process of making the Mandrake Draught and instead giving the responsibility to Madam Pomfrey, just in case Snape decided to go back on his word or had been influenced by Lucius (or the memory of Voldemort himself) and sabotage the Draught.

It might not even have been Dumbledore doing it on purpose (we're all susceptible to bias), and it might even have influenced by some of the other staff accidentally associating Snape with the Slytherin antics - until Ginny goes missing, that is:

And suddenly, from the reader's/Harry's perspective, Snape is not on the outskirts, but at the very front, leading the charge; far from being sidelined and ignored, he is quickly supported by the rest of the staff, including a very enthusiastic McGonagall. Granted, some of this is likely due to Lockhart's grating personality finally becoming the bigger evil than Snape's general shitty attitude when the fight has escalated, combined with the need to remove Lockhart entirely so that the staff - in Dumbledore's absence - can try and formulate a plan in peace.

But I also notice that it tends to be Dumbledore who belittles Snape first/the most, not the other teachers. McGonagall and Snape share what seems to be a friendly rivalry from as early as PS, and Quirrell tells Harry that Snape made himself unpopular with the other staff when he insisted on refereeing the match, suggesting that he hadn’t been especially unpopular before.

Returning to that Quora answer, though: "After he kills Dumbledore, though, most of them seem willing to believe him a traitor. Most of them come up with some variant of “Dumbledore trusted him and I trusted Dumbledore”. Only Slughorn speaks of his direct, personal relationship with Snape (“I thought I knew him”), and only Hagrid hangs on to the idea that Snape is doing as Dumbledore told him."

So they can't have been so close that they trusted him just on his own merits, even after working together for so long. I don't know about you, but I'd be surprised and doubtful even if my least-liked colleague ever turned out to have killed someone.

I think at this point it's also worth noting that my interpretation of this scene isn't only one of friendly rivalry over points (frenemy bffs), but also an infliction of McGonagall's authority over Snape, her assertion that he was in the wrong, in a workplace-friendly way:

Don't get me wrong, I think Snape was genuinely pleased to see her, and deep down happy to acquiesce - but it was also a power play on McGonagall's part, and they both knew it.

I've yet to do my reread of PoA, but I think it's fair to say that it's a book marked by Dumbledore's (and others') dismissive attitudes towards Snape, turned up to 11. All year Snape's warned Dumbledore about Sirius, and Lupin; he's humiliated in the eyes of his students by the Boggart incident; his experience with the 'prank' (which should be renamed 'the trick', because nobody ever called it a prank in the books) has been silenced, ignored, and diminished by Dumbledore since he was a child; despite being (almost) right, despite following the letter of the law, and despite attempting to save Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Snape is made to look as though he's absolutely insane in front of the Minister for Magic, his credibility damaged, his hope for justice or catharsis snatched away at the last moment, and his only personally satisfying moment includes making himself unpopular again by 'outing' Lupin, who appeared to be well-liked. We can gather from the ending of GoF that Dumbledore doesn't even care to explain to Snape the events of PoA in full until over a year later - despite Snape preparing to return to Voldemort's side, and already offering intel which Dumbledore doesn't seem to particularly care about, diminishing both Snape's preparedness and his sense of usefulness still further. No wonder he's got such a chip on his shoulder, come OotP.

Returning to my original point, then: it seems as though Snape was always the black sheep of the Hogwarts staff; the others were led, by and large, by Dumbledore's attitude towards him - and that attitude didn't become particularly positive until Snape began to 'prove himself' in GoF, and was quickly dashed at the end of HBP. As a result, I think it's perfectly plausible that the reason Snape is socially/professionally sidelined in CoS is because Dumbledore has yet to make up his mind about whether or not he trusts Snape, and lowkey thinks that Snape might be involved in opening the Chamber or sabotaging the Mandrake Draught. No matter what he tells Harry, or anyone else, he doesn't entirely trust Snape - and the amount that Snape is 'liked' by the other staff sort of increased when Dumbledore was briefly no longer headmaster in CoS. That sense of uselessness, and lack of social power and authority, feeds into Snape's insecurities in PoA, GoF, and beyond.

[keepswingin]

⸻ LEFT BEHIND ⸻

pairing: caleb x reader

genre: angst, romance, hurt/comfort, canon compliant, caleb character study

w/c: 6.7k

summary: finally catching up, ever decides to take what they believe has always been theirs. caleb refuses to lose her again.

cw: kidnapping, scenes of violence, character death (not of main characters), mentions of past trauma, implied torture, implied medical experimentation

a/n: this has been finished for so long i was just stalling because i didn't feel like editing but then i figured i should post it so that it doesn't end up in the rotting wip pile xD hopefully everyone enjoys!

Ever takes you.

It's less climatic than it should be - an off night, a thundering sky, a wrong turn down an alley you've taken too many times before. Easy to track down, really, because you've gotten comfortable. It's a rule you know above all else, to always be on guard, to never stay in one spot for too long, especially now, when you're poking around in places you shouldn't be, when Caleb is the one you can't quite let go. 

But a storm swirls overhead and you turn down that same alley. You watch your shadow flicker over the bricks, listen to the sound of your footsteps, one after another. You think about how it's odd that the association has been so quiet lately, when it very much seems like it shouldn't be, with everything happening at once, with everyone trying to get their hands on aether cores no one will ever truly understand. 

Lightning flashes, illuminating the world around you. 

You blink. Glance up at the sky. Watch grey clouds move fast above you, promising rain. When you look in front of you, you notice more shadows than before, growing closer. Thick coats bundled around black face masks and leather gloves, eyes that shine under the quickly fading sun. More than you can handle, even as your hand inches towards your waistband, where your gun awaits. 

Panic doesn't push you into action quite yet, but there is a part of you that thinks you should bring your hunter watch to life, that if you ping your location someone would probably be there in minutes to investigate. But was it worth the risk of putting someone else in danger? Was it worth - 

Something sharp pricks at your neck and all at once your world tilts on its side. 

A strangled sound escapes you as you stumble forward a step, and then fall, unable to hold yourself upright. Your knees scrape the pavement as your vision wavers and then wanes, your heartbeat thudding hard in your ears. The figures in front of you grow closer and then blur into a mass of darkness and you have no choice but to close your eyes, unable to make a sound, unable to move. 

A cold hand roughly grabs your chin and turns your head, holding it for a long moment before letting go. Thunder rumbles from above. You can barely think. "We've been looking for you," a voice whispers, close to your ear. "Finally found you." 

As everything around you finally begins to fade, you can't help but think about Caleb. 

You wonder if he'll miss you like you'll miss him.

x

Caleb sits in the living room of a house that feels far too big and watches as rain slides down the window. His phone sits abandoned on the coffee table in front of him, silent and dark. He wonders if she had forgotten they had dinner plans, but there's a part of him that thinks she would never forget. 

The storm is bad. The wind is dangerous, and the lightning is deadly. Storms are always worse in Skyhaven, but it's something he's learned to weather, though it was easier still when she was by his side, or tucked under the blankets in a bed that was no longer his. He reaches for the phone and brings up his messages with her, staring at the unread words. 

He types out another message. Clicks send. 

The storm rages on.

x

"Something wrong, Colonel?" 

Caleb startles, looking away from the window. He doesn't remember the last time he hadn't heard someone approach, and the thought itself isn't something he wants to dwell on. He straightens and turns towards the voice, facing an older man with various medals decorating the crest of his suit. Caleb pauses for a moment and stares, brows knitting together. He doesn't remember his man's face, doesn't remember ever seeing him before. It wasn't odd for Ever to throw in new recruits when they felt like it, but he could usually pick them out of a crowd like the sore thumbs they were. Whenever they dared to add researchers to the mix, or people who had been around since Ever's start, Caleb was usually able to pick them out too. 

This man...this man is an oddity. 

"Did you need something?" Caleb asks, voice firm, eyes giving a quick scan to the rest of the room. It's only the two of them, the rest of the control room empty. Today's a training day for most of the Fleet. He doesn't usually need to be here for days like this one, but he didn't have anywhere else to go. 

He had called her earlier. He had called her last night. He had sent more texts than he would like to admit, and still, there was nothing but silence in return. Paranoia was starting to creep in from the edges of his mind. He was minutes away from making his way over to her apartment. 

The older man doesn't bother to stand at attention. It bothers Caleb, makes him think of the man more as an insurgent than a fellow comrade. If he was from Ever, he must've been a newer model, one that didn't have to go through the same rigorous training as the rest. "No," the man drawls, eyes flickering up to Caleb's face. "Just checking in with you, sir."

Caleb bristles and turns back around. "Don't bother me with such trivial matters again." There's another storm brewing on the horizon. It's been days. He doesn't know how much longer he can wait. Anxiety curls at his insides like a snake around his ribcage. What if she's hurt? What if he's failing her by waiting?

"As you wish, Colonel," the man replies, eerily even. 

When Caleb doesn't hear him move, he uses his Evol to throw the door open. Wood splitters as the handle pushes through the wall. He hopes the man flinches. A few seconds later, he listens to the man's fading footsteps. 

Alone again, Caleb releases a shaky exhale. One hand comes up and runs through his hair. 

What if it was his fault she was missing?

x

x

x

x

Caleb stands in the middle of her apartment and looks around at a place stuck in a moment of serenity. 

The door is broken at the hinges and everything is perfectly in place. There are no signs of struggle, no signs that she's been home anytime recently. There is no takeout in the trash, no dishes in the sink, no laundry piled by the washer, no blankets askew on her bed. There is no signs of life, no signs that someone has lived within this apartment, and Caleb feels his shoulders begin to shake, his heart beating faster. 

Nothing is packed away in suitcases. She didn't decide willingly to leave him. But there hasn't been any contact, and his calls go straight to voicemail, and his messages are delivered but unread so someone is looking at her phone, or too sentimental to destroy it. Or maybe that's apart of evidence of her grisly murder and Caleb is already far too late and she's already gone and he's done nothing but waste time because he was trying to better and it didn't get him anywhere - 

Caleb collapses to the floor, chest heaving, vision blurring. He - He needs to calm down. If he doesn't calm down the chip, the chip will make him - he can't forget, not now, not ever, not when he's already wasted so much time. He needs to calm down, he needs...he needs her. He needs her because he doesn't quite have himself anymore. 

His breath catches in his throat. He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't just sit here and let the chip - 

Pain in his chest. Pain in his head, pain shooting through an arm far from human.

It hurts. Everything hurts and the world blurs. 

No, he begs, anything but this, anything but now - 

x

Caleb awakens in the middle of the floor of an apartment he doesn't truly remember. 

Slowly, he pulls himself upright, a dull ache deep in his chest, a headache forming in the crevices of his mind. He looks blearily around the room, takes in the furniture, the color palette that isn't as dark and dreary as his own home. There's a stuffed animal from a claw machine sitting between the couch pillows, just out of reach. 

Caleb carefully climbs to his feet and makes his way over to the stuffed animal, picking it up and holding it close. It looks like it's supposed to be a fluffy white dog, but it's missing the right fluff. A stray thought enters his head, that it would look cuter with a colored collar around its neck, and then he freezes. 

I got a collar with a bell. I put it on the cat.

His fingers curl tighter around the plushie.

If I had that kind of bell right now, I should make you wear it, right?

"Fuck," he whispers, bits and pieces coming back to him. It slips through his fingers like sand, even as he desperately tries to hold onto something. He could forget everything else, but he could never forget her. He was...he was wasting time, wasn't he? He was...in her apartment and here for a reason. He needed to - 

He walks towards her bedroom, stuffed dog still clutched in hand and places it carefully on top of her pillows. Then he bends down and reaches under her bed, fingers gazing across the box he's looking for. He tugs it out and pops it open, digging carefully through old and new memories alike. When he reaches the bottom, he finds what he's looking for and pulls it free. 

She would never leave without it. Even if she hated him to the ends of the world, he knows she still wouldn't leave it. It's a small ring fit for a child, crafted out of fraying string and beads. He had given it to her before they were old enough to know what promise rings meant, and he thinks that's what it was always meant to be.

Tucking the ring away and pushing the box back under the bed, next he moves to her closet, picking through the clothes hanging there. Every outfit is in place besides her hunter uniform, and a quick glance at her dresser tells him she was in a hurry to leave last time she was here, makeup sprawled across the desk. 

This...it's a start. He can do something with a start. 

"I'm going to find you," he whispers, a promise to himself and the empty home around him. 

x

x

The Hunters Association is only helpful after he threatens further action through the Fleet. 

He thinks he would feel bad about it any other time but he doesn't, not when it's nearing a week and he still has no trace of her. They offer him everything they know and it gives him her last mission, and her possible last location. Her last mission had something to do with abandoned research labs out on the outskirts of Linkon, though it didn't turn up anything new and she had returned to the base empty handed. 

She was dismissed by six o'clock that night. Security cameras show her walking out the front doors of the association five minutes after. She decides to walk home and takes a left down the street. One of her co-workers tells him that's the path she usually takes. Caleb rewatches the footage three times, trying to find anything abnormal but there's nothing and he is still left with more questions than answers. 

He thanks them for the cooperation and tells them to call him - not the Fleet, him - if they hear anything about her or from her. He feels the distrusting eyes of her Captain burn into his back as he leaves, but he doesn't really care about that either. All he cares about is finding her. 

x

x

He retraces her steps, forwards, backwards, until his feet hurt and his body aches. 

When he finds no evidence the hard way, he returns to the Fleet and checks the cameras. The Fleet has access to nearly all the public cameras in Linkon, though not everyone in the city needs to know that. He's able to find her on one camera after she leaves the association, closer to her apartment, but he loses her when she ducks into an alleyway off the beaten path. 

The cameras on either end of the alley have no footage, disabled from within. 

Caleb digs deeper, searching the access files. If cameras are shut down it's usually for construction or security of a political figure, not for some random hunter choosing to walk down an alley. It's suspicious and makes him uneasy, the further he searches, the less files he finds. It's like the system has been wiped from the inside out. He stares at an empty file screen, where logs of usernames are supposed to be, and finds only his name staring back at him. 

He deletes himself from the system and makes a copy of the footage to a spare flash drive before deleting that too. 

Not for the first time, he wonders if she was taken because of him, because he dragged her too close to the sun. He tried to keep her out of it, tried to make her keep her distance, but she was stubborn and he was helpless to stop her when she made up her mind, unless he took extreme measures. 

Maybe they weren't extreme enough. 

He tucks the flash drive in his pocket and turns to leave, only to be met by the face of the older man from earlier in the week standing in the doorway. He's missing some medals, ones Caleb saw pinned to his suit last time, and his suit isn't as prim and proper as it should be. There's something dark in his eyes that Caleb can see even from across the room.

"Colonel," the man says happily, taking a step forward. "I've been looking for you." 

"Have you?" Caleb asks, crossing his arms. "Because I haven't seen you anywhere."

The man laughs, raspy echoes bouncing off the walls around them. "I think we both know why," he responds, shooting Caleb a crooked smile. "Missions come and go."

He shifts, and his uniform moves with him. Caleb's eyes catch the symbol sitting branded against the cusp of his collarbone. Things begin to fall into place as soon as he starts lining things up. He had tried to protect her and all he did was put her right in the line of fire. There was no telling if she was even still alive if...if they were the ones who took her, finally, after all this time. 

"Were you sent to keep an eye on me?" Caleb asks, and it's hard to keep his voice steady when so many different emotions are shooting through him all at once. It's hard to keep focused when he's worried about her, the chip, the deceiving man in front of him, the organization responsible for plucking him for death and giving him a second chance as something much different. "You've done a shit job," he continues, meeting the man's eyes defiantly. 

"But I've done my job," the man whispers. "She's long gone by now - " 

The man chokes. He reaches up to his throat, scratching his fingernails against his skin desperately. 

Caleb doesn't release him. He only steps forward, and with each step he takes, the harder it is for the man to breathe. "Where. Is. She?" Caleb demands, squeezing tighter and tighter. The man's lips are nearly blue by the time he reaches him, eyes holding a deadly intent. "I have no problem killing you," he spits dangerously. "It's up to you if you want to ever breathe again." 

He watches as the man's widen and a horrible sound escapes him, as if he's trying to speak. Caleb scoffs and releases him, taking pleasure in the way the man's body crumples pathetically to the floor, He struggles to breathe in as much oxygen as his body will allow. Caleb crouches down and waits a moment before using his Evol again, grabbing the man by the chin and jerking his head so that he faces him. 

"Where is she?"

"I - I don't know!" he rasps, still struggling to breathe. "They - They didn't tell me!" 

Caleb chuckles darkly. "Don't lie to me." His Evol tightens. The man cries out in pain. Bloodied marks begin to peel at his chin.

"Wait, wait, wait! I'm - I swear I'm not lying, I'm not lying! They - They sent me here to keep an eye on you, to - to make sure you wouldn't do anything they didn't account for! They were afraid of - " 

"Afraid of what?" he whispers, sick of the man's blubbering already. He tightens his grip even more, sick of the games. He'll kill him even without getting the answers he's looking for, he doesn't mind, not when he has a feeling this man is omitting more than he needs to be, especially with his life on the line. 

The man reaches out and grabs at Caleb's wrist, fingernails digging into the seam of his suit. Caleb goes to shake him off, disgust rolling in his gut, but before he can a strangled sob spilts from the man's battered throat. He pauses, arm hovering in the air. A tear slips from the man's eye. He doubts it's because he's suddenly grown a conscious, especially not if he's part of their - 

"You," he cries, pain straining the tone of his voice. "They're afraid of you." 

Caleb leans back and releases him. 

The man falls to the floor once more, curling around himself, gasping. The noises he makes are unfitting of one from Ever, and he can't help but wonder if they've stopped paying attention to the newer ones because they finally have her. Guilt begins to claw its way up his throat, nearly weighing him down. He tried to protect her, he told them she wasn't worth the time, that he was better, that he would always be better. He tried to stop them, to keep them from ever being able to reach her.

And now they were sending unfinished soldiers out to the frontline. 

Maybe they were right to be scared of him. 

"Did they say anything else?" Caleb's voice is deceptively calm. He returns to his full height and readjusts his glove, straightening out the wrinkles. The man coughs and sniffles, barely turning his head in the other's direction. 

"No, nothing. Nothing, I swear on my life."

Caleb is still and silent for a long moment. "That's not much to swear on." 

The man doesn't have time to react as the bullet is lodged between his eyes, and smoke swirls from the end of Caleb's pistol as he returns it back to his side. He reaches into his pocket, fingers brushing against the flash drive, answers just out of reach.

x

It's a bad idea.

A horrible idea, if Caleb stops and actually thinks about it, but it's the best way for him to get answers, even if he has to play dumb to get them. The door ahead of him tugs open, revealing a face he knows all too well. Something close to fear shivers down his spine. 

The Professor stares back at him, eyes crinkling at the corners once he realizes who it is standing in front of him. "Caleb," he says, sounding surprised. "What are you doing here at this hour?" Caleb keeps his hands locked behind his back, a picture of posture, even if his insides say otherwise. It takes everything within in to keep a steady, uncaring tone to his voice. 

"I was curious about when the next round of testing was going to start." 

The Professor regards Caleb with a cautious stare, shifting. "Is there a reason why you're so eager to begin?" he asks carefully, eyes flicking across Caleb as though they're trying to find something strange or out of place. 

Caleb plays the part well as he flexes his arm slowly, rolling his wrist. "My arm has been a bit slow on the uptake. I was hoping we could make some adjustments alongside everything else." 

It's the right thing to say. Immediately, Caleb can see the Professor relax, like he's provided a suitable enough reason to be poking around about future Ever projects, especially when this isn't a place Caleb enjoys visiting. The Professor allows his lips to almost twitch into a small smile. 

"Unfortunately, the next round has been momentarily delayed. A few of our scientists have been redirected to a different project." 

"Oh?" Caleb hums, acting clueless. "Did they finally figure out a better resource?" 

There's a gleam in the Professor's eye that Caleb doesn't like. "Something like that. I'll let you know as soon as we're able to begin the next stages. For now, just keep things running smoothly, Caleb." 

Caleb gives a short nod and a quick duck of his head as the Professor bids him goodnight, the door shutting quietly behind him. Caleb can't get out of the place fast enough, heart thumping hard as he makes it across the street and down the first alley he sees. He stops and allows himself to lean his forehead against the cold brick, forcing himself to take deep breaths. 

At the very least, he confirmed what he thought. 

Ever did have her and they were already pushing other projects back because they knew she was the key to the lock that they were looking for. At least the Professor told him what he needed to know, even if he didn't realize it. 

He talked specifically about the scientists that worked with Caleb, which meant he knew which places to check. 

x

Four weeks. 

Four weeks since he's last seen her face, heard her voice, held her close. 

He craved her touch like a man would water in a desert, and he didn't know how to combat that feeling. Instead, he resorts to the one thing he knows he can do. He hits the research labs he knows best, and when those turn up empty, he begins going for the ones Ever tries to hide. When he runs out of those that he knows, he interrogates the next scientist he comes across. 

Blood sticking to his palms, he heads for the next round of labs. 

Night bleeds into the horizon. 

He's so close. He knows he is.

x

He didn't know this lab existed. 

The building is small and tucked behind some other abandoned buildings, nearly trespassing into the N109 Zone, windows broken and brick decaying into dust. It was the last lab on the list and so far Caleb was doubtful there was anything inside besides the hollow remains of what used to be, but he makes his way into the building anyway, using the force of his weight to push through the front door. 

It cracks and falls apart as he steps over the threshold. The room before him is bare and covered in discarded papers, weathered with age, some shredded into tiny pieces. Plaster peels from the walls and there's a hallway tucked behind a fallen bookshelf towards the back of the room that he steps over. 

Following the hallway brings him to a second room, this one smaller than the first. Furniture sits askew, wood splintering and cushions thrown to the corner, ripped in two. Thick layers of dust cover empty picture frames barely hanging onto their hooks. There's no signs of life, no signs of anyone having touched this house in years and Caleb's hopes fall deep into the pit of his stomach. 

Did the scientist lie to him? Broken and bleeding and alie slips from between his split lips?

Anger is a close second to the disappointment, the cocktail of emotions beginning to stir deep within him. He's failed again. He can't do anything worthwhile, he never has, and now she's probably dead and gone and he couldn't even protect her when it mattered the most. What was the point of him coming back if nothing changed? If he was still just as useless as he was all those years ago, ignored and thrown aside as they reached for her every single time - 

Caleb's eyes abruptly catch on the far wall. 

There's dust everywhere. There is not dust on the corner of a larger picture frame that sits awkwardly towards the bottom of the wall, just enough to be out of place. 

He walks over to the frame and stares at it for a long moment, and it's then that he sees the traces of fingerprints, sticking to the remains of the frame. There's a small indent within the wood. 

Ever was smart. Caleb always tried to be smarter.

x

The smell of antiseptic burns his nose the further into the lab he gets, the sound of his boots echoing throughout the empty rooms ahead of him. It's too bright, and the sounds of different machines whirring and clicking sets him on edge. He hasn't seen a single person in this place that grows larger and larger after every step he takes, and yet his heart tells him he's in the right place.

She's here. He knows she's here.

There's tables with restraints in most of the rooms. Equipment, clipboards, computers. Needles awaiting their hosts in one, scalpels and hard cloth in another. He quickens his pace, heart pounding. If he thinks too much about this, about where he is and where he has been, the chip will take control. He can't allow that to happen, not now, and he tries his best to keep his breathing steady as he finally makes it to the end of the hallway, only to be met by an eye reader beside the door. 

It's barely a sound decision to break it, bits of metal and glass shattering to the ground but the door opens as he does, spitting broken error codes in an calm voice as he pushes his way through. Several shocked eyes turn to face him as he sees the massive room before him, wires curling from the ceiling down to troves of different devices, to empty tables awaiting test subjects, to -

To her, lying on a lone table in the middle of the room. 

Caleb's world freezes once he sees her. He thinks his heart stops. 

She's restrained by metal around her wrists, ankles, and forehead, keeping her from looking around. Her chest heaves with frantic breaths and a scientist stands above her with a scalpel in hand, blood dripping from the blade. There's needle marks trailing alongside her neck, cuts across her arm, a gash along the curve of muscle in her leg, poorly healing, wrapped in bruising of purple and yellow. She's still in her hunter outfit, though it barely hangs onto her body, already so malnourished and small and if Caleb didn't know her like another side to his heart, he wouldn't know who he was looking at. 

There's six scientists in room. The one standing above her goes to speak but Caleb throws him back with his Evol before he can get any words out, his back hitting the far wall with a loud crack of bone. He doesn't have a chance to scream but one of the other scientists does, scrambling to run, the others attempting to follow. 

Caleb pulls out his pistol and takes aim, exhaling. 

He blinks away what he thinks might be tears before holding the far door they all run to in place with his Evol, listening to the growing sound of their distraught cries as they look back at him. 

Before everything, before this, maybe he would have felt something. Guilt, horror, disgust. But he is what they all fear, and this is clear in a way it has never been before as he sees the way they pull at the door like they can make it move, like they can change the outcome that's already been foretold. As they look at him like a monster, Caleb knows there was never a chance that he wasn't, not when it came to those he loved. 

He shoots them one by one in quick succession before lowering his gun. Their bodies are piled on top of each other, motionless and silent, a scene out of a horror movie neither of them could ever finish when they were younger.

He pockets his weapon and turns back to where she's been abandoned, running over to her side.

It's worse up close. An Evol suppressor sits locked around her neck, skin underneath rubbed raw from struggling. Her chest is a mess of open wounds, some festering and others still bleeding, her skin mangled and messy. Caleb struggles to keep the chip from taking him away right then and there, heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears. His eyes drag back up to meet her own, taking in her sunken cheeks, her pained eyes, the small cut below her lip. 

With a shaking hand he reaches down and wipes his thumb across the cut, wiping the blood away. She flinches with the motion, even as her eyes stay locked with his, and he freezes, unsure what to do next. He wants nothing more than to hold her and never let go, to take all her pain and make it his, to stitch up the wounds and drag the needle along his own skin instead - anything to make it so that she doesn't look how she does now, like the life's been drained out of her, frail and scared and tiny even though she's always been anything but. 

His lips almost tremble. He tries to say her name, to whisper it like a prayer that was never answered, but he finds that nothing comes out, that he is stuck standing over her with his hands half raised and useless when she needs him most. He couldn't protect her then, so how could he protect her now? Offer her comfort when his touch was something she couldn't even bear, broken and bleeding and all his fault?

He keeps his gaze on her as he uses his Evol to carefully dislodge the restraints before leaning over and removing them one by one. She flinches with every movement, each clatter of the metal as he throws it aside, fingers shaking by the time he reaches the suppressor. He's overly careful to keep space between them as he leans in further, not wanting to box her in,  unable to get a good enough look and wanting to be sure of the angle before he gently pulls it from around her neck, the device beeping as it's deactivated. 

It drops the floor unceremoniously. A part of him wants to use his Evol to snap it to pieces and another part of him wants to rip everything in this lab apart, to take whatever data they've gathered and destroy it once and for all, but no part of him wants to leave her. 

He swallows and inches closer to her, one hand gingerly slipping under the curve of her back. He tries not to react to her flinch, but he's sure his face doesn't hide the emotions he feels well. "You're safe now," he whispers, nearly desperate. "I'm going to help you sit up. One, two - " 

He pulls her up as gently as possible, other hand coming to a rest on the side of her waist, one of the only uninjured parts of her. His touch lingers as she cries out and squeezes her eyes shut from what he's sure is pure agony on her wounds, and wants nothing more than to take the sound away and replace it with something else. 

He knows he should let go of her. He knows he should. But he can't. 

He's so lost in thought that he doesn't notice as she slowly lifts her hand up and then rests it on his cheek. He grows still, eyes flickering back to her own. A tear slips down her cheek. And then another. "Caleb?" she whispers, and he - he remembers the last time she sounded like this, broken and tiny and crying and nothing but a failed experiment to everyone around them and - and - 

Caleb nearly breaks himself when her other hand grapples for him, fingers tangling around the chain of his necklace. She looks down at the necklace and then back up at him, squeezing the pendant in a tightly closed fist full of new scars, and Caleb can't take it any longer. 

He surges forward, arms wrapping around her, closing the distance between them until they're breathing the same air, feeling the beat of each other's heartbeats. A sob rattles deep in Caleb's chest when she starts to cry, and he squeezes her tighter, her arms sliding around him, his fingers knotting in her hair.

"This is my fault," she whispers unbidden, words muffled into the cusp of his shoulder. Caleb tucks himself closer, pressing soft kisses to the skin he can reach, shaking his head.

"No," Caleb murmurs, voice choking on another sob. "Not your fault." He's barely able to form sentences, let alone words, body shuddering with the force of emotions he struggles to keep under control. "Never your fault." A tear breaks free, slipping against her skin. "I'm sorry." 

She hiccups, sniffles. He thinks maybe it could've been a laugh, if only they were somewhere else. 

"You found me, Caleb," she says. "You found me."

"Always," he breathes, kissing her again. Her fingers dig into the cloth of his jacket, desperate to find skin and hold on tight. Caleb shifts slightly, nearly pulling her off of the table and into his arms but stopping when her breath hitches. Another kiss and he's tugging at her again, waiting until he feels her hold grow tighter before attempting to pick her up, her arms wrapped around him like it's where she's always belonged. He slides a careful hand down her back before settling his hold on her waist, the other under her knees, tight, secure. Safe. "Let's go home," he says, voice nearly catching and breaking. 

He feels her nod against him.

And he finally takes her home. 

x

You find that you like sleeping with the lights on, after. 

You know it's stupid, really, when there's so many worse things than the dark, but it scares you in a way it never did before, fear curling around your insides until it was the only emotion you knew. You hated it, hated feeling so weak, hated feeling so stupid walking over to the light on the far side of the living room and flicking it on like clockwork every night at six o'clock sharp, always before the sun disappeared under the horizon. 

Tonight is the same as any other, your finger pressing against the light switch before you breathe a small sigh of relief and return to the couch, watching idly as the weatherman tells you that it's going to storm all week, another thing you didn't fare too well with anymore. 

It made it hard to be in Skyhaven, the storms. They were so, so loud up there, closer to the clouds. It reminded you of that lab, of the echo every single instrument made, of the way some machines made you scream and others made you beg. It's all just too much and for a long moment, you're back there, and there's thunder outside and you are trapped on a table with a scalpel above you and no way out - 

The front door opens and closes.

Footsteps echo, growing closer and closer to you. You barely notice, trying to bring yourself back from a place you never want to revisit, and then there's a hand sliding across your back, squeezing tightly at your shoulder. Warm breath ghosts across your ear. "Missed you, pipsqueak," Caleb whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek and lingering for a long second before pulling away, ruffling your hair as he goes. "I'll start dinner." 

You wait for his footsteps to fade before turning and watching as he starts opening cabinets and pulling out ingredients, stacking them in a neat pile on the counter, followed by pans and lids. He fills a pot with water and places it on the farthest burner, flicking on the stove. When he turns again, his eyes catch your own and he slows to a stop, watching you. 

He's still in uniform. His hat is pristine and perfectly in place. He's preparing to make you dinner, as though he knows that your head isn't in the right place tonight. He looks at you like he already knows everything you could say. He's hard lines to soft edges that never quite disappeared, and you find yourself moving off the couch and towards him. 

He waits until you're close enough before opening his arms and wrapping you into a hug, reading your mind once more. You exhale and the sound shudders through you. The twisting of your gut and shadows of your mind go with it. 

Caleb presses a kiss to your hair. He waits for you to speak first and for a long moment you simply follow the rise and fall of his chest. Words swell in your chest before they finally decide to spill from you, whispering across the silence between you. 

"I think I love you." 

The water in the pot begins to boil, soft pops echoing from the stove. A soft chuckle rumbles through Caleb's chest. One of his hands intertwines with your own. "Popping the question so soon, pipsqueak?" he jokes quietly, and you can't help but roll your eyes, gently shoving him with your shoulder. He holds onto you tighter in retaliation. 

"I'm serious," you say. 

"So am I," he returns, and when you turn your head to look at him, he's smiling down at you like you're the sun. "I've always wanted to spend the rest of my life with you." A pause. His eyes, staring right through you. "I love you too." 

You feel something inside you start to mend with his words. The sounds of the past are eased away with the sound of his voice, the bitter cold biting at you washed away by warmth. His words settle deep in your chest and easily make a home where you thought only an empty chasm remained.

You close the distance between you, your lips meeting his. He sinks into you, smiling, and you pull him closer, kiss him deeper. You think this is what love must feel like, what it must taste like, what it must look like. You think this is what devotion is, what your hopes and dreams are, what you've been missing for what feels like your entire life.

You think this is home, and that it's never once been a place, because it's always been a person. 

It's always been him.

[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.”

[chaekii]

CONVENIENCE STORE LOVERS -P.SH

. . . SCENE ───a fridge door opens, a distance closes, and maybe this isn’t just coincidence.

• Stranger!Sunghoon & fem!reader r 𓂃 Fluff ,crack,mysterious, strangers to lovers? ✶ slight skinship, pt 2?

Like & reblog please!

It’s too late to be making decisions, but here you are, standing in front of the convenience store fridge, staring at rows of neatly lined-up bottles like one of them is going to suddenly call your name. You’re not even that thirsty, you just needed an excuse to step out, breathe in the cold air, and pretend the city isn’t pressing in on you from all sides. The soft hum of the refrigerator fills the silence, and the glass is cool under your fingertips as you reach for a drink.

But just as your fingers brush the plastic, another hand gets there first.

It happens so quickly that for a second, you think you imagined it, but when you turn your head, he’s right there,tall, dressed in a grey hoodie, with sharp eyes that flick toward you in mild amusement. He’s holding the very same strawberry milk you were about to grab, tilting it slightly in your direction like he’s trying to decide whether or not to give it up.

“Were you reaching for this?” he asks, though it’s obvious he already knows the answer.

You let out a slow breath, steadying yourself. “Yes, actually.”

There’s a beat of silence where neither of you move. He looks down at the bottle in his hand, then back at you, expression unreadable. The lights overhead cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the way his lips twitch at the corners, like he’s holding back a smirk.

“You hesitated,” you point out, crossing your arms. “You weren’t even sure if you wanted it.”

For a moment, he just studies you, as if he’s weighing his options, and then,just when you start to think he’s going to walk off with it,he extends the bottle toward you. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even try to make a show of it, but there’s something about the way he hands it over that makes it feel like a test.

You take it, fingers brushing his for half a second before he steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“See you around,” he says, turning away before you can respond.

It’s a weird thing to say to someone you’ve never met before, but you don’t dwell on it. You buy your drink, step back into the night, and tell yourself it was just a random encounter. Nothing worth remembering.

Except three nights later, it happens again.

This time, you spot him first. He’s by the register, idly scanning the shelves, looking entirely too comfortable for someone loitering in a convenience store past midnight. You tell yourself it’s just a coincidence,because that’s all it could possibly be,but then, just as you’re about to grab another drink, he appears beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here again,” he says, reaching for the fridge door, and the way he says it makes it sound like he absolutely did.

You glance at him, skeptical. “You don’t even know me.”

“True.” He pulls open the fridge, but instead of grabbing something, he leans against the door and watches you. “But I was right, wasn’t I?”

You exhale through your nose, trying not to let your irritation show. “Right about what?”

“That we’d see each other again.”

The way he says it, like it was inevitable, makes something tighten in your chest,not in a bad way, necessarily, but in a way that makes you a little too aware of how close he is, how his presence feels too solid, too intentional. You should probably say something, but before you can, he reaches into the fridge, grabs another bottle of strawberry milk, and places it in your hands like it’s some kind of inside joke you’re not entirely in on yet.

You stare at it, then at him. “what is this?”

He shrugs. “Thought I’d save you the trouble this time.”

And with that, he turns toward the counter, leaving you standing there with a drink you never actually asked him to get, wondering if maybe—just maybe,this isn’t the last time it’s going to happen.

[tempestimes]

Last week I was going to write an essay on the symbolic parallels of the imagery in Ave Mujica to Revolutionary Girl Utena aka The Lesbian Anime ever, but right now I'm also just disappointed by episode 11 because of. Everything. It feels weird to make so many references to such an iconic queer anime then slap the "and they were related !!" thing on a major (albeit unhealthy) ship. To be clear, I'm not an Uisaki shipper and I never saw Uisaki as endgame, mainly because Uika's obsession over Sakiko is far from healthy and is clearly not romanticized or portrayed in a positive light. It clearly has an impact on Uika's ability to function and maintain other relationships and obviously Saki is not happy about this. But at the same time, there were so many connections I could draw between the imagery in Uika and Saki's relationship and Utena and Anthy's.

The MV for Imprisoned XII is packed with Utena imagery:

The coffin filled with roses a girl is sleeping in.

2. The endless stairway up to "eternity" (which is supposedly some kind of freedom, but that freedom is only an illusion constructed by the people who control the greater stage play)

3. The setting of the bird-cage like garden.

And then there's the references/imagery inside of the actual show itself.

Sakiko reading Demain, which has this iconic line about a bird breaking out of its shell, which is referenced repeatedly in Utena.

2. The two cups of coffee Uika always makes for herself and Sakiko, and the cups of tea Anthy and Utena share. (The "I poisoned the tea" and the "Well, I poisoned the cookies" bit in RGU ugh UGH)

3. The theatrical and stage play nature of Ave Mujica itself and the artificial world/theatricality of RGU (perhaps best illustrated by the Shadow Play or the moving architecture much like stage pieces in the film Adolescence of Utena).

Additional note: the line between Gothic dolls and fairytale princes/princess ough ough.

Additional additional note: Uika was designed to be fairly ambiguous in gender, which really interests me as this relates to Utena Tenjou and her masculine gender presentation as a way to be more "prince-like" but also her insistence she is "still just a girl" wearing a boy's uniform.

Additional note to the additional additional: Y'all remember all the fanart of Sakiko stabbing Uika with the "you could never be my prince, because you are a girl" line, right? Y'all know that's a direct reference to Utena right?

There's probably more I'm missing out on but these makes me so conflicted about how Uika and Sakiko's relationship is portrayed.

Both Uika and Utena have this interest in/curiosity for a girl (Sakiko, Anthy) who is trapped in a patriarchal system where she is at once idolized and villainized (along with other factors playing into the complicated nature of each of their situations, Sakiko's being class and Anthy's being race). But whereas Utena takes that scene she saw as a child of Anthy's suffering and decides to become a prince/play into gender roles to save Anthy from cycles of abuse (something Anthy can only step out of on her own later on), Uika - being a lonely and isolated child- built up an idealized image of the girl who her sister got to experience joy with, the girl who had all that she was denied, the girl who could give her meaning, and ended up becoming incredibly and deeply obsessive over someone who was ultimately her family member. I could go deeper into some of the Sakiko and Anthy parallels, but it is just so heavy.

I don't think I need to go into detail about how fucked up is (especially because of fucking Akio Himemiya and what he did to Anthy), but yeah. It just feels like a slap in the face to make so many (what felt to like to me) clear references to an iconic queer anime about disrupting cycles of abuse, the patriarchy, and victims of abuse and assault and then also add on the "and they're related and if you thought Uika's obsessiveness was bad you don't know the HALF of it"

Maybe I'm just way out there for making all of these connections between Ave Mujica and RGU, but this connection I made early on in the show definitely impacted how I felt about episode 11 and the Imprisoned XII MV. If you like toxic yuri, then you do you. This just isn't my cup of tea and I'll leave it at that.

[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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[reborrowed-archive]

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 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. He wouldn’t do it again.

“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 hot 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 put much effort into to keeping him there, though Hollow didn’t understand exactly why. He was just grateful that he'd been trusting enough to allow his escape.

He made shallow 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.

--

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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 }

[gravity-between-us]

Gravity Between Us

Chapter 16: Orbital Decay

Summary: Caleb and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. We were once childhood friends, our bond as natural as the stars in the sky. But now, everything has changed. What used to feel like a safe, familiar orbit between us now pulses with unspoken desire.

Our friendship is no longer enough to keep the tension at bay, and the distance between us feels unbearable. Secrets, lies, and unhealed wounds stand in our way. I don’t know if we can survive this new gravity pulling us together... but I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to try.

Pairing: Female! MC [Named] x Caleb

Spoilers: Spoilers for Caleb's Myth's, as well as memories. Read at your own risk for these. Lore spoilers.

WARNINGS:

Unlikely to be completely canon. The other love interests will not be likely to appear in this fic.

MC is named. MC is socially awkward. MC can be depressed at times.

Very? Slow Burn.

Very explicit smut (Chapter 12 onward): PiV/oral (male and female receiving)/anal sex. Fingering. First time. Pet names (angel, babe, baby, pip-squeak). Kinks: Praise, breeding, creampie, light dom/sub. Rough. Some consensual degradation talk (MC is into it). Probably many, many more that I am forgetting to name. If you see one that should be listed that isn't, feel free to let me know. (MC is a repressed deviant, and so is Caleb.)

Awkward blend of darker moments, angst, fluff, and humour.

Drinking. Questionable life decisions. MC spirals.

Protective Caleb. Both MC and Caleb are a little obsessive and overly protective of each other, which could be considered an unhealthy relationship.

We will revisit memory scenes, but they will be different from the memories in-game.

As proofread as I can get it, but not beta read, so probably some mistakes.

Limited plot - most focus is just on their relationship and interactions.

More warnings could be applied, but as a general rule of thumb, please read at your own risk and do not continue if you find the content triggering.

Caleb and I are locked in a standoff of wills—like two ancient stars caught in gravitational pull, each refusing to collapse first. We orbit around the same jagged truth, neither one of us willing to yield, both so convinced we can shoulder the fallout if it means sparing the other.

This isn’t a noble war. There are no medals waiting on the other side of this silence, no triumphant return. Only the slow erosion of trust. This is the kind of fight that eats you from the inside out.

“How did you get the DAA reports?” Caleb asks, voice taut as a wire strung too tight.

“Does it fucking matter?” It snaps between us like a breaking branch.

He steps forward again, the space between us closing like a fist. I can see the pulse at his neck now, fluttering too fast for someone trying to play it calm. The question he asked wasn’t for answers—it was a litmus test. A check to see how far I’ve strayed from the girl he once thought he could protect by caging.

I suppose this is where I break the illusion.

“Did you really think I’d stay that naïve little shadow, Caleb?” My voice is steady, but under it lies an ache I haven’t had time to name. “That soft-spoken child who trailed behind you, wide-eyed and waiting to be told what the world is?”

His gaze hardens, but I don’t stop.

“You locked me in an attic and called it protection. You told me to trust you and then left me with silence and shadows. I believed you because I wanted to, but that girl?” I shake my head. “She died when you did. I’ve had to carve the truth out of locked doors and half-told lies. I’ve had to unlearn how to be sweet so I could survive. I bled for answers. I earned them.”

His jaw tightens, his hands fisting at his sides. That flicker of guilt—the one he hides so carefully—it flashes behind his eyes like a glitch in a perfect simulation. I blow past him, out of the office that’s starting to feel too small, and into the kitchen. He follows me but makes no effort to stop me.

“You’ve gotta stop this reckless search, pip-squeak. This path only ends in destruction.”

The word destruction cracks against the air between us. Damn it all, why does he have to sound so hot when he’s mad? That voice. It’s gravel and gunmetal, like he’s been screaming into space and came back with the stars still caught in his throat.

“I’ll never stop,” I declare, slicing the air with my hand. “I will walk through decades of darkness if that’s what it takes. I will unravel every lie, every secret, every carefully buried truth. I don’t care if it takes one lifetime or five—I will find the answers.”

His face twists, all sharp lines and flared frustration, and then he shouts, “Do you always have to be so fucking stubborn?!”

Yes. Obviously.

I let him have the moment of self-righteous fury, his helpless hands raking through that gorgeous mess of hair, because I’m benevolent like that.

… Also because my brain has devolved into some kind of hormonal swamp.

Every angry twitch of his jaw just drags me deeper into the quicksand. I’m furious—blindingly, righteously, violently angry—but my body’s over here filing for lust-induced treason.

He looks like a storm I want to crash headfirst into, fists clenched, morals shredded, dignity very optional. The worst part is? He’s so mad he’s beautiful—wild, untethered, eyes burning like twin stars about to go supernova, and it’s ruining my life.

Caleb rakes both hands through his hair like he wants to tear it out, pacing back and forth. “Why are you doing this!?”

I march up to him, and he stiffens. I can see in the tight set of his shoulders and the bracing tension in his jaw that he’s ready for a slap, a shove, or maybe a punch to the gut. He deserves it, but I flick him right on the forehead instead.

He blinks, stunned.

“I love you,” I admit softly. “That’s why. You big dummy.”

For a beat, he just stares at me, thunderstruck, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and desire, and then the air snaps taut between us.

The kiss is anything but gentle—it’s a collision of fury and longing, wild and raw, like we’ve both been set alight and only each other can douse the flames. Our mouths crash together with a hunger that startles even me, teeth clicking in the frenzy, lips parting with no patience or poise.

His hands snap to my hips like magnets, dragging me up against him with a force that borders on desperate. One of mine fists in his shirt, the other tangles in his hair, yanking hard enough to draw a feral groan from deep in his chest.

He bites my bottom lip, and I gasp against his mouth. Yes. That’s it. That’s the flavour of the storm I’ve been tasting since the second he opened his mouth to argue. His anger bleeds into mine and fuses with this overwhelming need, this ache that makes my bones feel like molten metal.

We kiss like we’re trying to punish each other with love. Like if we press hard enough, bite deep enough, pull close enough, we can stitch the damage shut between our ribs. His hand slides up my back, catching the nape of my neck, dragging me deeper, closer, as though any space between us is an insult to gravity itself.

Caleb tastes like frustration and fear and every goddamn reason I can’t walk away from him. Somewhere in the middle of lip-biting and breath-stealing, I realize I am absolutely, hopelessly ruined for this man.

Even when I want to strangle him.

Especially then.

His hands roam my body with a ferocity that makes my knees weak, gripping and grasping at every curve. I'm panting into his mouth, my hips grinding against his in a rhythm that's all instinct and no finesse.

He spins me around, hands rough on my hips as he presses me against the kitchen counter. His lips are on my neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing the sting. 

"You drive me fucking crazy," he snarls against my pulse point. "I can't think straight when I'm around you.”

I moan, arching into him, desperate for more contact. "The feeling is mutual," I manage to pant out.

His hands are everywhere, sliding under my shirt, cupping my breasts through the thin lace of my bra.

"I'm going to make you scream my name until you forget every reason you were ever mad at me."

I moan as he pinches my nipples roughly, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my clit. "Then stop talking and fuck me already.”

I reach back, fumbling with his belt, my fingers clumsy with urgency. Caleb helps me, shoving his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his hard, throbbing cock. He rips my shirt over my head and tosses it aside before removing my bra.

"Is this what you want?" he demands, each word rasps out like a match dragged across stone desperate to catch fire. "You want me to fuck you, right here in the kitchen?"

"Yes," I hiss, beyond caring.

His hand sliding down my stomach to the waistband of my leggings. With one swift yank, he tears them down my legs along with my panties, and I kick them off to the side. He kicks my feet apart, and I feel utterly exposed, my ass in the air, my dripping cunt on display for him. The vulnerability only heightens my arousal. I'm so wet I can feel it trickling down my thighs.

He grips my hips bruisingly tight and rubs the thick head of his cock through my slick folds, teasing my entrance. I try to push back onto him but he holds me still, chuckling darkly. His fingers find my clit, rubbing firm circles that make my legs tremble and quake.

"You want it rough, baby?" His voice stumbles over the edge of restraint, a low thunder as he yanks on my hair, making me whimper. "I'll give it to you rough."

His fingers plunge into my soaked cunt without warning, pumping hard and fast. I cry out, my inner walls clenching around the welcome intrusion. He finger-fucks me mercilessly, his thumb rubbing tight circles on my swollen bud. Each touch winds the spring inside me tighter, a slow crescendo climbing toward a note I’m longing to reach. 

Just as I'm about to come, he withdraws, leaving me empty and aching, and I whine in protest. He shoves two fingers into my mouth, making me taste my own arousal. 

"Suck," he commands, and I obey, hollowing my cheeks and swirling my tongue. 

He groans, pressing his rigid cock against my ass. I reach back to stroke him, loving how hard and thick he feels in my hand. I twist my wrist on the upstroke, squeezing just how he likes.

"Just like that," he grunts, thrusting his hips and fucking my fist.

I'm so turned on it borders on painful. I need him to fuck me more than I need my next breath. His hands are on my throat like a prayer, and I don’t know if he’s worshipping or warning me. I don’t care. I’ll take both.

Caleb slaps my pussy, and I yelp, juices gushing out to coat his fingers. Grabbing my hips, he notches the swollen head of his cock at my entrance. With one brutal thrust, he slams into me, burying himself to the hilt. I scream wantonly, my pussy convulsing around the sudden intrusion. He's so big, stretching me deliciously.

"Fuck yes, so tight," he grunts, pulling out and slamming back in, setting a punishing pace.

We move like enemies pretending to be lovers, or maybe it’s the other way around. Anger coils in my belly, but it melts into want so easily it makes my head spin. I hate him for it. I love him for it. I don’t even know the difference anymore.

His fingers dig into my hips as he pounds into me, the filthy slap of skin on skin echoing in the kitchen. His strokes are hard and deep, each one shoving me forward on the counter. My nipples drag across the cold countertop, making me whine. Caleb’s hand comes down on my ass in a stinging slap, and I mewl, clenching hard around him.

"Fuck, do that again," I pant.

He obliges, spanking me again and then soothing the sting away with a careful caress. His hand snakes around to rub my clit, and I nearly combust. Every thrust is a taunt. Every kiss, a cruel reminder of the way he knows me. My body opens for him like it’s desperate to be conquered, but my mind is screaming. Still, I take him. Over and over. Like surrendering to the enemy wearing your lover’s skin.

I can feel my orgasm building. Pleasure blooms, not like a flower, but like wildfire licking its way through every nerve. He bites down on my shoulder, and I cry out, the pleasure-pain that climbs like a scream swallowed too long and begs to break free.

My nails scrabble against the countertop as he rails into me, hitting that place buried so deep it feels like touching the centre of a supernova—rapture expanding so violently it blinds.

“Fuckin' cum for me,” he commands, possessive, edged with promise and demand, sin given breath. “Now, Inara. Fall apart for me.”

His command sends me flying over the precipice. My orgasm crests ruthlessly until I am nothing but pulse and ache, torn open at the seam. I come undone in his hands like I was made to be ruined by them, like this is the truth my body’s always known. I convulse around him, inner muscles rippling along his thickness.

“Good girl,” he praises.

Caleb fucks me through it, his strokes growing erratic as his release approaches. He slams into me one last time, spilling himself deep inside me with a groan that sounds like my name strangled in velvet, hips jerking, body trembling with the force of it.

His fingers dig into my skin, bruising, claiming, like he can anchor himself in me while the rest of him burns. There’s reverence in the way he says my name—wrecked, breathless, worshipful. As if he’s thanking me for destroying him. As if he’d let me do it again.

And I would. Stars help me, I would.

We collapse against the counter, both panting harshly. My legs feel like jelly, and if it weren't for Caleb's strong arms around me, I'm sure I would slide to the floor. For a long moment, we just stay like that, him softening inside me, our sweat-slicked bodies heaving together. The anger has burned away, leaving behind a sated lassitude.

So… angry sex with Caleb is pretty damn phenomenal. I should piss him off more often. Noted.

"Fuck, that was intense," he finally says, pulling out of me with a slick sound that makes me shiver.

I let out a breathless little laugh. "Yeah, no kidding."

Caleb turns me around in his arms and kisses me, this one soft and sweet. He cups my face gently, his thumb stroking over my cheekbone. "You okay?"

"Mmmhmm," I hum contentedly, basking in the afterglow. "More than okay."

"Good." He drops another light kiss on my lips before stepping back. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Caleb guides me to the bathroom, one arm securely around my waist. I'm still a bit unsteady on my feet. He sits me down on the closed toilet lid and dampens a washcloth with warm water. Tenderly, he wipes the sweat from my brow and the sticky remnants of our lovemaking from between my thighs. His touch is soft, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the passionate roughness from minutes ago.

Once I'm clean, he scoops me up and carries me to the bedroom. He lays me down on the bed and pulls the covers over us as he spoons behind me, strong arms encircling my waist. I snuggle back into his warmth with a happy sigh. We’re wrapped around each other like tangled constellations, our bodies still humming with the aftershocks of everything we poured into one another. “Did you mean it?” he asks, his voice low and unsure, threaded with the kind of hesitation he rarely lets slip.

“Mmm?” I mumble, barely awake. “Meant what?”

He hesitates, then presses a kiss into my hair, brushing it gently back from my face. “Never mind, pip-squeak. Sleep.”

I feel him nuzzle his face into the top of my head, exhaling like the weight of the world has been set down. The anger that lit us up earlier is gone now, melted into this tender, quiet kind of peace.

A sleepy giggle bubbles up in my chest, and I try to bite it down, but it escapes anyway, small and breathy.

He tilts his head, his voice drowsy but amused. “What’s so funny?”

I shift, turning over to face him, bones heavy with exhaustion but heart impossibly light. The room is cloaked in the kind of darkness that makes the world feel soft and slow, but I can still see the shimmer of his eyes, like frost catching a beam of moonlight, like secrets he’s still not sure how to say out loud.

I reach up and sweep his hair back, fingertips brushing over his temple. Then I press my forehead to his, our noses nearly touching.

“I meant it,” I whisper, barely louder than the rustle of the sheets. “I love you, Caleb.”

He goes still. Then inhales, sharp and shivery, like the air suddenly weighs more than it should. His chest lifts beneath mine, and when he exhales, it comes with the softest, broken little breath. I feel the tremble in his shoulders. The warm brush of moisture against my cheek. He’s crying.

Caleb is crying.

I blink, confused. “Hey—hey, what’s up?” I whisper, lifting my head to look at him, brushing my fingers under his jaw. “Did I say something wrong? You don’t have to say it back if you’re not ready—”

He lets out a low, breathy laugh, rough around the edges. “You’re such an idiot,” he murmurs, dragging me in like the world might end if I pull away for even a second.

He holds me like I’m the last safe place he’s ever known, one hand at the back of my head, cradling me close. “I love you too,” he says against my skin, voice thick but steady now. “I always have.”

The first thing I feel is fingers slowly brushing through my hair, like they’re trying not to wake me but failing on purpose.

“Pip-squeak,” Caleb whispers, close enough for his breath to stir the baby hairs on my forehead. “Time to get up.”

I groan and roll away from the sound of his voice, dragging the blanket higher over my head. “No. Go away.” I swat in his general direction like a lazy cat and promptly burrow deeper, wedging my face beneath the pillow like an ostrich in denial.

He laughs, an honest, belly-deep laugh that shakes the bed as he sits down beside me. “Come on, you drama queen,” he teases, tugging at the pillow with a gentle jiggle. “It’s not even that early.”

“It’s war crimes early,” I mumble into the sheets, curling tighter. “Five more minutes. Just five, I swear.”

“What if I told you… I have coffee in my hand right now?”

A pause. My resolve wavers. I peek one eye open, suspicious.

“There’s bacon in the oven, too,” he adds, lips twitching.

I lift my head an inch. “Did you just say… meat candy?”

“Mhm.” He nods, proud of himself. “Thick-cut. Maple glazed.”

“You should’ve led with that,” I grumble, yawning so hard it makes my eyes water. 

I stretch, spine cracking, then reach out with grabby hands for the coffee mug he’s holding like it’s the Holy Grail. He hands it over without a word, watching me sip like a dragon hoarding warmth.

“Better?” he asks.

I nod, eyes still half-lidded.

He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Good, and don’t even think about fallin' back asleep. Next time, it’s the ice.”

I freeze—no pun intended—and peek up at him with genuine horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“You know I would,” he smirks as he ruffles my hair. 

By the time I shuffle into the kitchen, hair still damp from the shower and Caleb’s oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder, the smell hits me like a freight train of glory.

Pancakes stacked like golden monuments. Bacon so crisp it could shatter. Fluffy scrambled eggs, homemade whipped cream that looks like it belongs on the cover of a dessert magazine, and a scatter of strawberries and blueberries like some culinary artist painted the table. There’s even a tiny dish of butter cut into aesthetically pleasing little curls, because of course there is. 

Colonel Caleb, secret breakfast god.

I nearly moan on sight. “You made all this?” I ask, like someone who’s just walked into a dream and doesn’t trust it.

He shrugs. “I have a feeling someone is hungry this morning.”

I sit. No—collapse. And then proceed to eat like I’ve just escaped prison. Syrup drowns my pancakes. Whipped cream piles like snowy peaks. It’s a chaotic, sugar-drenched masterpiece. Carbs and saccharine joy. The only fuel I acknowledge.

I’m mid-bite with an unholy stack of pancake, berry, and whipped cream crammed into my mouth when Caleb sets down his coffee and leans back with the casualness of a man about to ruin me emotionally.

“You’re a little freak, aren’t you?”

I pause. Slowly turn my head. Cheeks ballooned out like a hamster storing winter supplies.

He lifts his mug like he’s toasting me. “Seriously, Inara. I never would’ve pegged you for a nymphomaniac. But wow. Wow.”

The sound I make is somewhere between a snort and a dying walrus. I try to swallow, cough, slap my chest, and then—because I am nothing if not classy—spray a little whipped cream across the counter.

“You wait until my mouth is full to hit me with that?!” I wheeze, waving my fork at him while my eyes water from laughing.

He grins like the smug bastard he is, sipping his coffee with zero remorse. “I figured it was safer. You can’t murder me with pancakes in your mouth.”

“Debatable,” I gasp, dabbing my chin like I’m suddenly fancy. “I could learn.”

“And that, right there,” he says, pointing at me, “is the freak energy I’m talkin' about.”

I flip him off, still chewing. He just smiles wider and steals a berry from my plate like he owns the world.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m the freak? That’s rich coming from you.”

He raises an eyebrow, sipping his coffee like a man entirely confident in his moral superiority. “Pretty sure the evidence speaks for itself, pip-squeak.”

I set my fork down slowly, deliberately, and clear my throat with all the theatrical gravitas of a stage performer about to monologue. Then I drop my voice an octave, throw in just the right amount of gravel, and adopt his stupid cocky smirk.

“Do you want me to fill this tight little pussy up with my cum? Beg me for it, Inara,” I echo in a breathy growl, mock-widening my eyes. “Beg me to fill you until you’re dripping.”

Caleb freezes and promptly chokes on his coffee.

He bends forward, coughing violently, smacking a hand against the counter while sputtering, “I—what the hell—I do not say that!”

I grin, undeterred. “You absolutely do. With feeling.”I lean against the counter, swirling the last bite of syrup-drenched pancake through a cloud of whipped cream. I clear my throat and moan theatrically, “I could eat this sweet pussy all day.”

His jaw drops. “That is not what I sound like!”

I raise an eyebrow, enjoying this far too much. “You take my cock so well.”

“Inara!” he groans, dragging both hands over his face. “You’re—this is slander.”

“Verbatim,” I sing-song. “Want me to keep going?”

“I’ll die before I let you quote me mid-pancake again.” He glares at me, but it’s ruined by the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I shrug, shovelling another bite into my mouth. “Then maybe don’t call me a freak while I’m chewing.”

He lets out a long, suffering sigh and mutters, “Unbelievable,” under his breath, though he’s still smiling as he walks past and plants a kiss on the top of my head.

“Admit it,” I say, grinning around a mouthful. “You’re just mad because it was hot.”

He doesn’t deny it. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You love me. You told me so, remember?”

He groans and drops his head onto the counter beside me, face buried in his arms. 

Victory tastes like syrup and smug satisfaction.

Chapter Masterlist

A03 - Note: Not all chapters are available there yet because I haven't had the time to copy them all over.

[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.”