#so for the most part my brain is kind of a soup of voices and im just too busy irl to take the time and discern them
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
hungee-boy · 6 months ago
Text
living life normally then youre reminded DID exists then you wake up
5 notes · View notes
joelscruff · 1 year ago
Text
a kindness you can't afford (joel miller x f!reader) 18+
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
kofi | a/n this is a sequel to my fic 'to freeze or to thaw', it's mainly just a lot of filth cause that's all my brain can handle at the moment lmao. pls be sure to check the warnings before reading & i hope you enjoy 💕 also shoutout to the incredible @toxicanonymity whose joel/reader/tommy fics inspired me to get tommy involved here. would highly recommend her fics stuffing & sweet little mess for a similar vibe. summary: there are no limits to how or when joel plays with his special girl. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: dark!joel, ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, big unspecified age gap (reader is of legal age), unprotected p in v sex, creampies, free use, somnophilia, cockwarming, squirting, light pussy slapping, size kink (joel's dick is huge), tummy bulge, oral (m receiving), praise kink, dirty talk, pet names (use of 'little one'), finger sucking, exhibitionism, mentions of pregnancy (but no risk), lil bit of tommy x reader teasing 👀(if you don't like tommy x reader then you prob won't like this) word count: 4.1k
He's so kind.
You've never known kindness like this before; never known the soothing whispers and gentle praises, the calming touches, the satisfying taste of homemade soup on your tongue, the comfort of a roaring fire, made just for you. You've never known the warm embrace of a much older man, the strong arms and solid chest, greying hair and sharp scruff, soft belly and thick cock. You'd spent most of your life in a frightening QZ, the past few years in a cold and unforgiving forest, and now - the warm safety of a cabin.
Woken by the gentle caress of two fingers against your forehead, pushing your hair back gently, a kiss to your bare shoulder, the heat of his solid form behind you, and the press of his hot tip to your soft opening. He doesn't ask, but he doesn't need to.
He pushes inside and you hum sleepily, drifting in and out a little as he feeds you the rest of his cock in one slow movement. Your eyes flutter but you keep them closed, nuzzling against the fluff of your pillow as he pulls you in and presses his body to yours, the hair along his torso tickling the sensitive skin of your back as the throbbing tip of his cock kisses that special spot in your tummy. He's so big inside you, taking up so much space in your body that it's mind numbing.
"Go back to sleep," he murmurs, pulling more hair away from your face and trailing his fingers along your cheek soothingly. His big cock twitches inside you, but he doesn't move, stays still as he waits for you to drift back into unconsciousness.
And you do. But not for long.
You're woken what you're sure must only be a few moments later to the feeling of his cock throbbing within the furthest parts of you, pulsing thick spurts of cum deep inside your body as he holds you tight and groans raggedly in your ear. His fingers are suddenly working furiously against your clit, circling and rubbing and pressing and making you cry out sleepily into the dark cabin. With barely any awareness, you feel the hot coil in your lower belly snap - and you're gushing. You feel him tug his cock out of you at just the right moment, just as a steady stream of liquid makes it's way past your freshly fucked hole, and you squeal.
"Shhh, baby," he soothes, but you can hear the smile in his voice as he watches your juices stain the dark wooden floorboards, watches it drip down into the blankets and soak the cotton, "Shh, I know, I know."
You whimper and squeeze your fists together, releasing another stream of liquid as your eyes roll back. An unintelligible string of words slip past your lips, slurred and broken, almost like you're speaking another language. He pulls you in and hushes you again, presses a finger to your lips as you convulse beside him in the bed.
"That's enough now," he murmurs softly, kissing your cheek and still rubbing your clit, pushing for more, "That's enough, little one. Go back to sleep."
He says this to you as if you can even control your sounds, your movements, as if your pussy continuing to gush isn't a result of his own actions, but he already knows this. He enjoys it, likes watching you fight to regain proper consciousness again after you squirt, likes watching you try to stop it from happening. And god, does he love to make it happen.
"Can't, daddy," you mumble, voice thick with sleep and pleasure, brows furrowed as you open your eyes to look down and see where he's still circling, "Can't stop wh-when you rub it like that."
You feel him press a kiss to your ear, watch him pull his fingers back from your pussy and slap them down lightly, then again, then twice more in succession. Another small gush of liquid spurts from your hole after the fourth slap, and he chuckles.
"Sleep," he whispers, slowing his movements, "I'll stop now, promise."
So you do, and he does - not before slipping his wet fingers past your lips for you to gently suck as you drift. You vaguely hear him murmur Daddy's perfect girl before you're lost to the world again.
You dream of him, as you always do.
--
He learned very early on that you could squirt. It wasn't even something you were aware of yourself - how could you be? It's not like you'd had many sexual encounters before this, none of them ever worthwhile anyway, and you'd never had it happen to you on your own either. But it's somehow easy for Joel to make it happen, once he knows he can, so easy that now it's one of his favorite things to do when he plays with you.
The first time, you'd been more than surprised - and very confused. You'd been spread out naked between Joel's clothed legs, back against his chest while four of his thick fingers pumped deep inside of you, thumb tapping your clit. He'd crooked them, curved his fingertips in the slightest way - and suddenly there had been a gush of heat, a heavy stream of release. You'd thought you'd done something else, something that had your cheeks warming and embarrassment flooding through your body as you twitched and cried in his arms. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, it was an accident.
He'd hushed you softly, kissed your lips tenderly and explained to you what it actually was.
"You're such a good girl," he'd praised, carefully easing your head into his lap and threading his fingers through your hair, eyes peering down at where your legs lay open, pussy still dripping, "Such a good girl with the sweetest little pussy, baby. Squirtin' just for me, just for her daddy, huh?"
You'd closed your eyes and let him hold you, soothe you, relax you. I know, little one. Did such a good job. M'so prouda you. Then he'd unzipped his jeans and fed his heavy cock into your mouth, let you suck on his leaking tip quietly for a few moments before he came down your throat with a long sigh, still stroking your hair. After you'd swallowed every drop, opened your mouth wide and showed him your clean tongue, he'd bundled you up and disappeared from the tent to make you dinner, off to fulfill that never-ending kindness and care he'd promised from the beginning. It had only been about a week since that first night where he'd first come into your tent, and you were already settling into the role of his special girl and doing it quite happily.
He'd made you squirt again later that night, had you shaking in his arms and gushing around his cock and close to tears, not because you were afraid or in pain but because it just felt so good. A relief, a release, a moment of bliss, all because of him. Your pussy had pushed his cock out of you with the pressure of your release, and you'd fallen back against him, sleepy and sated.
"Daddy," you'd whined, overstimulated and exhausted as he'd slipped his dick back inside your dripping heat, "Daddy, m'gonna fall asleep."
"That's okay, baby," he'd whispered, fucking into you slow with no plans of stopping, cock bulging in your trembling belly, "You can go to sleep."
You'd woken again a little later, warm in his arms, globs of cum drooling from your opening. You'd whimpered softly, reached down and touched where you were leaking, and - without even really thinking about it - gathered what he'd left there and pushed it back inside yourself before drifting back to sleep, safe against his chest.
--
The cabin you reside in is only temporary, though you wish you could stay longer. The group came across it in the early hours of yesterday morning, and you've spent most of that time naked in one of its four beds, sleepy and content among the warm sheets. It's been so long since you felt the comfort of a real bed, a soft mattress and thick blankets, and from the moment you passed the threshold Joel was adamant that you spend as much time in it as possible.
He's so kind.
He's been planning something with the others, an upcoming raid, a plan of attack, but you don't pay much attention to those things. When it all goes down, Joel has assured you that you won't be anywhere near the carnage, still safe and warm in the cabin until his return.
"Need you safe, little one," he'd told you softly last night, fingers scratching soothingly across your bare back, "Can't have anythin' happenin' to you." He'd kissed you tenderly, whiskers tickling your lips and making you giggle. "You'll stay here with Tommy, he'll take care o' you."
"Tommy?" you'd asked curiously, unsure which member of the group he was referring to.
"My number two." He'd brushed his nose against yours, touching his index finger to your bottom lip and tugging gently, "Don't worry, baby. I trust him."
"Okay, Daddy."
You can hear his muffled voice now through the door of your room, though you can't make out what he's saying. He's addressing the group, going over plans, but you're sleepy and have been in and out of consciousness for most of the afternoon, lost in the comfort of your warm bed. It's only when you hear someone say the girl, that your ears prick up, brows furrowing as soon as you realize they're talking about you.
Only seconds later there's a light tap on your door and you sit up in bed, gathering the sheets around yourself as it opens. You peer wide eyed at one of the other men of the group, standing there with a hand on his hip and his head tilted charmingly to the side. He's very handsome, dark haired and mustached and from what you've seen, always pretty well put together. You think this one is Tommy, the number two, but you're still not entirely sure.
"Your daddy needs you, sweetheart," he says calmly, though his eyes tell a different story - he looks at you hungrily, like they all do, gaze going glassy and dark. "He asked me to help you get dressed."
"Oh," you whisper, nodding slowly, "Okay." Knowing it's what Joel wants, you let the sheets drop, and now the man you think is Tommy can see that you're completely naked on the bed, exposed and soft. It's nothing new or alarming - Joel has not been discreet when it comes to your relationship, and you're no stranger to the men taking peeks at you, peering inside your tent when Joel's not there, watching the rise and fall of your breasts as you pretend to be asleep.
You watch as this man's eyes fall to your pussy, and you can't explain why it throbs beneath his gaze.
"He just wants you in a dress," he murmurs, leaning down and assessing the few garments folded near the bed that make up your incredibly simple wardrobe; two dresses, two shirts, one pair of jeans. He picks the warmer dress, the blue one with long sleeves, which you greatly appreciate; the cabin may be warm, but it's still the middle of winter.
He approaches the bed with a smile, unfolding the dress.
"Arms up, sweetheart," he says softly, and you obey. You wait for him to help guide your arms and head through but he doesn't, instead opting to stand there for a moment just looking at you. His eyes are glued to your breasts, smile still curving his lips as he reaches out and very gently strokes the side of one with his knuckle. You shiver.
"You're so pretty, honey," he murmurs, trailing his finger up and down slowly, just shy of your nipple, "You know that?"
You nod slowly, eyes hooded and arms still extended, "I- I think so."
His thumb finds your nipple and rubs it gently, bringing it to life under his fingertips. "Your daddy's been takin' real good care of ya, hasn't he?" he asks quietly, circling the hardening nub, "In a lotta ways."
You nod again, aware of a slow trickle of warmth beginning to pool between your legs, and unsure whether what's happening right now is something Joel would want. "Y-yeah."
"Heard him fuckin' you to sleep last night," he breathes, and the words send another throb to your pussy, "He was all up in your guts, wasn't he?" His hand suddenly moves from your breast to your bare tummy, and he palms the soft skin there delicately, "Right here?" You nod again and he smiles.
"You make the prettiest little sounds when you're gettin' fucked like that, babygirl."
His praises send tingles up and down your spine like Joel's do, as well as a blooming warmth to your cheeks. "Thank you," you whisper, unsure what else to say to such a statement.
"You're welcome, sweetheart." As he says it, the fingers on your stomach trail downward a little bit to rest on your mound. He strokes the skin there gently, thumb dipping low to brush against your outer lips. "Soft little pussy," he murmurs, smiling kindly at you again, "You like havin' this all filled up, honey?"
You nod again, still unsure the point of his questioning, of his touches, but also not really wanting him to stop. A quiet whimper slips past your lips when you feel the tip of his thumb lightly brush past your clit and prod very gently against your hole. There's no way he doesn't feel the sudden wetness there, the slow drip of stickiness and the warmth of your arousal, as well the faint remnants of Joel's cum still leaking from where he'd fucked you a few hours ago - he hums quietly, unsurprised.
"Yeah, you like bein' full," he breathes, that dark glint returning to his gaze as his thumb just barely pushes inside, "Y'like bein' used."
It's not a question, but you nod anyway.
He suddenly removes his hand from your pussy and finally helps you with your dress, pulling it down over your arms and shoulders and helping you stand on wobbly legs. With another kind smile, he brings his hand up and gently brushes your cheek.
"So pretty, babygirl" he repeats quietly, "Like a little angel, ain't ya?" He suddenly presses his thumb gently against your mouth, lightly prodding for entrance, and without much thought you allow him to slip it inside; it tastes like your arousal. Eyes sleepy and pussy throbbing, you suck on his thumb obediently, as if it's just second nature to do so.
"Christ," he mutters, watching your lips as you suckle around his thick thumb, "Now that's a good girl."
"Tommy!" Joel's voice from the other room suddenly shouts, and the man who you now know for sure to be Tommy - the man who Joel is planning on leaving you with during the raid - quickly pulls his thumb from your wet mouth.
"Come on, sweetheart," he says, smiling crookedly, "Let's go see what your daddy wants."
--
There are five other men in Joel's group, from what you've gathered, including Tommy. Four of whom currently stand in a half circle in the front room of the cabin, arms crossed, boots tapping, attention directed at Joel who sits in a dusty armchair in the corner of the room. They all turn to look at you when the bedroom door opens, and watch with those familiar glazed expressions as Tommy brings you to their leader.
Joel's serious expression grows soft when he sees you, a small smile gracing his lined face. He peers at you, crooks his fingers. Without needing to be asked, Tommy carefully hoists you up into Joel's lap. His thumbs linger for a moment on your waist, a small stroke so quick you're not sure Joel notices - you're not sure you want him to - and then he's pulling away to stand beside the chair, asserting the role of number two.
It only takes a few seconds for you to realize that Joel's cock is out, hidden beneath the thick cotton of his jacket, out of sight. With no hesitation you wrap your arms around his neck and open your legs, laying your face against his shoulder and sighing contentedly when you feel his tip notch at your wet entrance. Not fully hard yet, he pushes inside carefully, subtly, and you ease yourself down just as quietly to sheathe him inside of you. You close your eyes and nuzzle into the warmth of his coat, already feeling the soft weight of him begin to stiffen.
You've done this before. Sometimes when he's overwhelmed, in over his head, needing to be grounded, he likes to have you sit on it. The first time it happened you weren't sure how to feel, self conscious with the other members of the group staring and knowing that you were full of him, soft whimpers escaping your mouth with every small movement or jostle. It's okay, little one, Joel had whispered, barely audible, you just focus on me.
Now, it's second nature. You can feel their eyes on your back and you know they can tell what's happening beneath Joel's coat. But now you find that you don't really care.
He starts talking then, continues whatever it was he was discussing before you left the bedroom. It becomes white noise almost immediately, your eyelashes fluttering as you bury your face further into his shoulder and focus on the feeling of his thick cock growing large inside of you. You love the way it stretches you, pushes, begins to prod up and against your cervix. It pulses and twitches within your walls and you squeeze down on him tighter, mewling a little without really meaning to.
At your noise you suddenly hear a soft chuckle from directly beside the armchair. You open your eyes halfway, looking up sleepily at Tommy who's still standing to your left. He smiles at you like he did before, a twinkle in his eye, and then winks. He obviously knows what's going on - standing so close, there's no way he didn't see you settle onto Joel's cock.
You peer back at him, blinking your eyes slowly and tightening your arms around Joel's neck. He tilts his head, and you suddenly let a smile turn up the corners of your lips. Look Tommy, you almost want to whisper, he's all up in my guts, like you said. You're not sure why you feel so unbothered under Tommy's gaze, why you don't yearn for him to look away like the others and for him to pretend it's not happening. There's a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can't explain, that you don't want to explain.
You stay settled like that on Joel's cock for about fifteen minutes, letting the deep voices of the men around you fade into the background. You close your eyes again but you can still feel Tommy's eyes on you, watching, assessing. Every now and then Joel carefully adjusts you, driving himself a little deeper each time, sending tiny bursts of pleasure throughout your body as your pussy leaks around the intrusion. If Tommy were to lift you up again you know there'd be a dark spot at the front of your dress, a trail of slick on Joel's coat.
One particular adjustment moves the edge of the lining of Joel's coat between your folds, coming to rub against your clit, and without any warning you feel yourself start to come. Your soft cry interrupts the voices of the group, a hush of silence suddenly blanketing the room as you tighten around Joel's cock and gush around him, shaking in his embrace. His arms come up to hold you close, rubbing your back soothingly.
You look up at Tommy again and find that his eyes are hooded as he watches you, lips parted and brow furrowed with what can only be arousal as he watches you fall apart on another man's cock.
"Christ," you hear one of the men murmur, and you feel heat flush your cheeks and ears, the self consciousness returning in full swing as you come down from your orgasm, burying your face in Joel's coat once again.
"Not a fuckin' word, Perry" Joel states, voice firm.
The conversation continues like nothing happened, and you try to let the sudden embarrassment you feel dissipate as much as possible despite still being impaled on Joel's length. You nuzzle against the warmth of his neck, sighing and trying to get your breathing back to normal. Your cunt continues to spasm around him in small twitches, aftershocks, soft whimpers still falling from your lips unconsciously. It doesn't take long for the sounds and sensations to set him off, and there's another lull in the discussion as Joel tenses underneath you and starts to come.
"Oh for fuck's sake," you hear the same voice from before mutter, but his commentary is suddenly lost beneath a soft groan from Joel as his cock twitches inside you. It pulses warmly, thick bursts of cum painting your insides. You gasp softly and squeeze your thighs against his, letting him fill you up in slow and steady spurts, claiming you. Daddy's special girl.
There's a moment of silence, a deep sigh from Joel, and you wait with the rest of the group for him to speak.
"You wanna say that again?" he finally says, voice gruffer this time but stern and serious, as if he didn't just come inside you in front of a room full of his men, "Huh, Perry? You wanna fuckin' say that again?"
Another beat of silence. Then-
"I'm just sayin'," the man named Perry grumbles somewhere behind you, "Aren't you worried you're gonna get her pregnant? I mean, Jesus Christ, Joel, we don't need another fuckin' mouth to feed."
The words send a shockwave through your body, eyes widening.
"And where the fuck do you get off tellin' me what I can and can't do?" Joel asks angrily. His body has gone stiff beneath you but you think you've gone equally as stiff against him, Perry's words suddenly circling over and over again throughout your mind.
Pregnant? Could you be pregnant?
"I don't know if y'all remember," Joel says coldly, "but back in my day there was a little thing called a fuckin' vasectomy. Need me to explain it?"
"Oh, fuck off, Miller."
You suddenly find yourself peering upwards again at Tommy, eyes still wide as Joel and Perry start to have a go at each other. He looks at you once, brows scrunching together when he sees the sudden look of shock in your expression, the confusion, the fear.
"We've all been thinkin' it," Perry is saying, voice slightly shaky in his anger, "It's a valid fuckin' concern."
"Well now it ain't a concern at all," Tommy suddenly jumps in, hands clenching into fists at his sides, "She ain't gettin' pregnant, he's shootin' blanks."
His protectiveness sends another confusing feeling of warmth to that pit in your stomach. Your heart is pounding as you continue to peer up at him, eyes still wide, and he shoots you a soft look of reassurance before turning his attention back to Joel.
"Don't know why you had to have her in the fuckin' first place," Perry spits, "She's just some fuckin' girl. And now we gotta stand around and watch you fuck her all the time? It's fuckin' sick."
Joel stands suddenly, almost like he's forgotten you're sitting in his lap, jostling you to the side as his cock slips out of you. You take a step backwards, finding yourself bumping into Tommy's solid form as Joel zips up his jeans and tilts his head from side to side, bones cracking loudly in the tense room. You can finally see this Perry now, a much younger man with dark hair, standing a few feet away. He's thin, almost gaunt looking.
Joel could kill him so easily if he wanted to.
But he doesn't. Instead, he reaches down and takes your hand, pulls you away from the group and back toward the cabin bedroom. He mutters something under his breath to Tommy in passing, something you can't make out, and as he ushers you inside the room you hear the heavy shuffling of boots as the men are lead back out into the snow.
--
He explains to you what a vasectomy is.
You breathe a sigh of relief.
Wrapped up in warm bedsheets again, you close your eyes and nuzzle against his chest, letting his large form crowd and comfort you, his arms firm around your waist. You can feel his cum starting to drip from you under your dress, making a mess of your thighs.
"I don't like the way he talked to you, daddy," you whisper like it's a secret, voice hushed and muffled against his coat, "I didn't like it at all."
He sighs, pulls you in closer and presses a kiss to the top of your head. "I'll take care of it, little one," he murmurs softly, a sense of finality in his quiet words, "Don't you worry your pretty little head."
He's so kind.
4K notes · View notes
takami-takami · 1 year ago
Text
Like Animals.
Tumblr media
kinktober day 4: sex pollen.
includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut
warnings— afab!reader. dubcon (sex pollen/heats, but both have been pining like idiots). breeding if you squint.
keigo's beloved crush sidekick gets hit with the unluckiest quirk possible. he quickly discovers his rut suppressants ain't shit.
Tumblr media
Through all the horrors and adverse life events Keigo has endured in this line of work— brutal near-assassinations, negotiations with international crime syndicates, purchasing sugar-free canned coffee with Splenda substitute by mistake before his morning shift— he has always been able to find a silver lining in the darkest of moments. 
Which makes it infinitely more concerning that for the first time in his life, he nearly whines through his teeth the words, "why me?" 
A palm drags once down his face, thumb and index finger pulling down his darkened eye bags. His hand collects the beads of sweat and stops to rest over his mouth. 
He supposes this must be his penance for taking a risk and trusting faulty intel. 
Keigo's informant told him the villain he and his darling sidekick were meeting would have a limited-ranged fire quirk, so the diligent hero stuffed ointment and cold packs in his pockets before leaving just in case. 
If he had known the villain was a plant heteromorph and possessed a heat-inducing mist quirk instead, and that the person he was hopelessly in love with had a bit of a crush on would be caught in the direct line of fire? 
He would have brought a paper bag to hyperventilate into instead. And some prayer beads. The god to which the prayer is delivered doesn't necessarily matter, he thinks. He'd simply pick one and drop to his knees in a bid for mercy.
"I'm taking you to a medic," Keigo puts his foot down for the fourth time this evening. 
"Fuck no," you groan from the couch, shifting to squeeze your thighs together. It offers not even a modicum of relief from the incessant throb. "Do you want my cause of death to be humiliation? Is that your plan, genius? 'S bad enough as it is that you're here." 
The subtext is unspoken, but clear to him through your adorable pout: I only trust you to see me like this.
It's unlucky that the man you've had the most innapropriate-for-work crush on for the better part of two years happened to be the one beside you that day. And it's just your sorry luck, you lament, that Keigo would also be the one to catch you, to fly you home cradled in his painfully capable arms, to refuse to leave your side and insist on making his favorite chicken soup for you in a desperate flail of support. 
He'd respect your decision and leave, should you ask him to. You know that. And yet the humbling truth gnaws at your pride: doing so wouldn't do much to save your image at this point. He’s already seen you like this, you grumble. The proverbial cat has long since escaped the bag, waltzing its way over to rub its purring body against Keigo’s leg to your abject horror.
If you close your eyes, you can attempt to trick your brain into thinking this affliction is a flu of some kind. 
Yes, this is just some common cold. You're wearing nothing but your work partner's shirt (your clothes were contaminated by the quirk's dust, Keigo explained, speaking in that strict work mode voice that makes you picture your mouth stuffed and drooling somewhere beneath his desk and between his spread legs). You pull the damned fabric down over your core as you try your hardest to not writhe in fits of pleasure underneath the blankets, rubbing your thighs together for any friction against your swollen clit.
All symptoms of an affliction of the flu, of course. 
You don't need to reach down and touch to know the slick would string those thighs together, should you attempt to pull them apart. 
Keigo knows that, too. But he doesn't say anything about it. 
You would be mortified if you were aware of the truth. 
That he knows everything.
Keigo knows exactly how you ache; like you're constantly on the precipice of an orgasm, perpetually ablaze from the heavy heat scorching your body from its surface to the boiling core. 
You try to suppress your glee as he spoon feeds you the broth, reminding yourself that this is just what good friends do for each other.
Friends coo praises at each other when they swallow, friends tilt each other's chins up with one finger and mutter things like that’s a good dove and you can take another as they watch their throat bob in tandem. 
Friends shiver from their wingtips down their spine when they pull the spoon back. They let their gaze linger for just a second on those lips that open wide, aching to touch with their own.
Ever the gentleman, Keigo stays lowered to his haunches and places one hand over your forehead to check for a fever, redirecting his focus toward taking inventory of your vitals. He doesn't wince when he hears your moan at the contact, even though the pitiful sound pings at his weak points. His avian instincts remind him he needs to protect you, please you, take care of you; to make it go away, to fix that feeling he knows better than anyone is aching like a bruise between your thighs. 
He doesn't allow his eyes to wander astray or trail their way downwards, especially when you're in such a vulnerable state; but his professional assessment is that if he could only wet his appetite, the flat of his tongue alone could— 
He shakes his head and blows a puff to cool the soup, raising another spoonful to your lips. 
"Here. Another. You need to keep your energy up," he reminds you, voice stern. It's nearly clinical and achieves the opposite of its desired effect.
Your heart rate picks up to thump at a steady, thrumming beat at the innocuous gesture of domesticity. 
How have you never noticed how capable of a mate Keigo would be…? He’s all musculature and sincerity, sharp ridges at his knuckles and soft curves at the small of his waist where he only trusts you to touch.
You huff an involuntary moan. 
He picks another god to praise that the couch you're laying on obscures his lower half. 
Today, Keigo discovers his suppressants are only designed to reduce the chance of a rut being triggered. It brings the possibility of it starting in the first place to a comfortable near-zero, allowing him to carry out the spring and fall seasons as if he were entirely quirkless.
But if that rut passes through the blockers' biochemistry in, say, the event Keigo's luck rears its ugly head, for example… It does fuck all to reduce the actual symptoms. 
More importantly than his own anguish, however, is this: his mate work partner got hurt because of him— hurt being a stretch, he'd know if he weren't overthinking so much, given the blissed out panting just two feet away from him; but you’re probably suffering and it's all his fault. It’s all because of an unlucky, once in a lifetime slip up from Keigo Takami himself, and he can't detangle himself from the guilt.
If drowning in the unexpected whirlpool that is his first rut in half a decade is his penance for the crime, then Keigo will hang his head and take it.
The huff he lets out is your last straw.
"I'm going to my room," you state, moving to leave like you left the stove on and are trying to avoid an upcoming house fire.
When his hand darts out to stop you, the touch against your shoulder sends shockwaves down your stomach.
He's touching you. He's taking such good care of you, feeding you, providing for you in his nest and now he's touching you?
It sends your hormones into overdrive. 
You'd do well to conceal it, if his heightened instincts couldn't smell your desperation. 
"I'm afraid it ain't that easy, dove," Keigo warns, eye contact averted. "I'd avoid doing that, if I were you." 
He schools his expression, but not before you catch a flash of something hungry. 
There's no chance in hell he's letting you out of his sight. Not like this. You're confined to the couch while he keeps an eye on you. Attempting to fix it yourself will only make the feeling unfathomably worse, something he tries to communicate to you with a look that only ends up making him look like a kicked puppy.
You squint right back when you process the implication of his words, eyes raking down his form in suspicion. 
"How do you know all this, anyway," you ask.
Keigo goes silent, hand concealing his mouth. 
Ah, it hits you. 
Bird things.
Your head falls back against one of the numerous pillows your partner propped up behind you.
"The couch is soft," you murmur, situating yourself against the cushions and throw blankets he so carefully arranged. You trail your fingertips along a silk pillow. Keigo slams his eyes shut.
"Please don't say it like that." 
"Why not?" Your lids droop, heat overtaking your better judgement. Tentatively, you play along the bounds. You allow your hands to run along the soft divots of the blanket covering your body, squeezing your chest and pinching the peaks. "It's like a little nest, isn't it?" 
His hand drags down his face before pinching his nose bridge, suppressing a whine. "Baby, please—" 
"You don't wanna join me?"
"You don't know what you're talking about. It's just the heat," Keigo tells himself more than you. "For the love of God, dove, stop talking—"
"But it hurts, Kei'." It’s a low blow, judging by the protective coo that escapes his lips. 
Fed up, he leans forward and swings his right leg over your hip, crawling atop you as if his body has a mind of its own, utterly bogged by desire and yanked like puppet strings.
With Keigo kneeling tall above you, the bodysuit of his hero costume hides absolutely nothing. The musculature is quite impressive, actually. Proof of his viability as a mate— all dominant and masculine and gorgeous.
And at this angle, you can see the most painful erection straining against his pants. 
"I need you, Kei'. I need— mmph!" 
A palm silences you; slapped down, hot, imposing, and heavy like a weight against your mouth. 
The authority of the action makes your cunt clench; and Keigo would die before he lets that feeling go to waste, so his hips drop down to grind once against it. 
Your eyes go wide, doughy and stunned, darting down in haste, following the trail of his thick bicep up toward the disciplinary scowl on his face. 
His nostrils flare with the heaving in his chest, eyes screwed shut with his last slivers of patience holding its grip on his psyche.
"One more word," he says, pulling his hand away. "One more word and I'm ripping this blanket off and fucking you raw." 
After a moment of silence, you speak.
"Please." 
Keigo is wordless when he unbuckles his belt and lets it— and his inhibitions— drop with a satisfying clink.
The reality of what you've gotten yourself into comes crashing down as it hits you how utterly fucked you are. The scaffolding of years of sexual tension comes crumbling down like bricks to rubble, a city of restraint reduced to pure, animalistic desire. 
Years of Keigo's eyes darting away when you nonchalantly change into your uniform in front of him, even though he never seemed bothered by any of his other peers doing the same; years of you both curling in on yourselves at the furthest edges of the bed you had to share, cramped close in those under-the-radar motels on stealth missions; years of the words "idiot, can I kiss you," held back by your lips as you watch Keigo moan when he sinks his teeth into his comfort restaurant's chicken teriyaki every stupid Friday night, sitting cross-legged and at home on the carpet of your apartment floor. 
Not a single word is exchanged as he pulls his cock free from its confines, nearly too thick for his fingers to meet when they wrap around it. He tosses the blanket to the side with haste, dragging your shirt (his shirt) up to your collar, exposing your chest when he lines his cock with your entrance. 
"Please, Kei'," you sniffle. "Hurts." 
"Oh, I know, baby... I know." His lips are pursed when he shushes you, tracing your cheek with his palm. "I'll make it go away."
When your lips meet, it's like static electricity; and it's entirely remorseless.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he groans against your mouth, dragging his length along your sticky thighs before plopping the thick of it atop your soaked cunt. 
"You're so wet for me," he reveres in awe, dragging the plump tip through your mess to get it slick enough to rub against your clit. 
Your rutting hips buck with impatience in an attempt to glide his length against your swollen pussy, but that only serves to fuel his desire; and those desperate little whines only feed into his insatiable need to fuck, to breed you until you're silent. 
Until you shut the fuck up. 
Those pathetic little sounds are music to his ears, a siren's song that used to play only in his most shameful fantasies; the ones that kept his fist tight around his cock the moment he returned home after missions, the sight of you panting and spitting blood after battle with a smile on your face still fresh in his memory. 
Keigo wants to hear you moan. 
But his rut needs to fuck you wordless with satisfaction. 
"Oh, fuck," he hitches, shifting his hips back and forth to the tune of the audible shlicks below. Unable to stay upright any longer, his chest falls flush into yours in a rut-afflicted haze, rutting against you like animals. 
When he slips his cock inside, it's with a kiss to muffle his voice.
And he wastes no time setting a punishing pace, aided nicely by the slickness that coats the sides of his cock. The legs of the couch surely must be scraping indents into the floorboards, judging by the creaks that mingle with the sounds of his belt buckle at every thrust. You'd notice if either of you were lucid enough to care. 
It's a brief consideration of a possibility of an afterthought, like a sheepish voice behind a roaring crowd. 
Pulling out, that is. 
Yeah, if he were a stronger man, he could probably will his hips to stall. There's a chance someone far stronger than him would hiss when he does it. His cock would weep in denial of that sweet, velvet entanglement, dripping out in the cold when he fists himself to completion mere inches away from what might as well be the center of his goddamn universe.
But when it comes to you, when it comes to his rut, Keigo is not a strong man.
He allows his cock to throb in the vice of your cunt, instead.
"God, baby," he moans into your neck, wings flapping once, twice with each thrust, shedding a few feathers before straightening out and grazing the ceiling behind his back. "Baby. Oh, baby. You're so tight. You're so— fuck!"
He's babbling, but so are you. Legs hooked across the small of his back, you bump your hips as best you can to aid in his efforts; and with your last shreds of lucidity, you decide for the both of you how things will end. 
With watery lashes, you open your eyes enough to blink away some tears and clear your vision just enough. Your gaze crawls up his legs that are still clothed to the thighs, peeking over the curvature of his ass and up his shuddering spine— all to mark onto your scarlet red prize.
When you entangle your fingers into the downy feathers at the base of his wings, it shoots straight to his cock and he spills.
With eyes wide open and a strangled choke at the back of his throat, Keigo's hips stutter when he empties himself. With every throb comes another rope from the tip, sticky and excessive from the rut, mixing with your wetness as you crash over the edge soon after.
When the ringing in your ears ceases and you finally come to, it's to the sight of your now probably-more-than-a-work-partner pulling out and staring between your legs as if under a trance, eyes glimmering.
"Kei', you okay?"
"Uh huh," he answers absentmindedly, utterly transfixed on the mess he made. 
It's strange, he thinks. Whatever urges his rut transcribed into cravings, every instinct that tugged at the avian etched in his DNA and called him to fill you pales in comparison to the satisfaction of having indulged himself at last.
His eyes flick back to meet yours.
"Does this mean I can kiss you at work now?" 
You snort. So that's where his mind goes in the end.
"It means a whole lot more than that," you say, rolling you both over so he lands square on his back.
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
thrashkink-coven · 6 months ago
Text
Understanding how your brain works to better utilize it in witchcraft, spirituality or occultism
I apologize if this post is really long lol
The biggest challenge I run in to when trying to explain my “mystical” experiences with my deities and spirits is in accurately portraying the “abstractness” of the interaction. We all have a special concoction of brain soup going on in our heads. While one brain may communicate with itself very auditorily, as in, in sounds and voices, other brains may be more predisposed to imagery. The goal of some forms of occultism is conditioning both the subconscious and conscious brain into adapting into different forms of “thought”, communication with oneself.
Think about it this way, some people have an inner monologue, that is an actual audible “voice” that speaks to them, narrates written text, etc. This inner voice may or may not be omnipresent, it may or may not resemble your voice. It may change.
Likewise some people don’t think in sounds at all, their brain is more visual and produces images, videos, movie like sequences that you may or may not be able to mentally interact with. If you have aphantasia, you will not be able to do this.
If you can identify and understand how your brain works, how the hardware and program you are operating on functions, you can understand how to better use it to communicate with deities or to preform other methods of magic.
So here are some easy ways to get an idea of how your brain works in regards to communicating thoughts and information. If some of these things don’t make a lick of sense to you, you’ll know that it isn’t your jive and you’ll probably have more difficulty learning magical practices that utilize that function.
For Visual Imagery we’re going to be using the letter A - Visual imagery describes thoughts that are communicated through visual senses. This means any kind of imagery, including simple colors and shapes.
For audible/ sound based thought we are going to be using the letter B- Audible thoughts describe ideas that are communicated through auditory senses. This includes music, narration, and sounds of any kind.
For texture/sensation based thought we are going to be using the letter C- Texture and sensation based thoughts are ideas that activate the “feeling” part of the brain. These can be both pleasant or uncomfortable.
For transcribed thought we are going to be using the letter D- Transcribed thoughts are ideas which are communicated through written text, literal letters and sentences, or symbols, as if you were watching a movie with subtitles.
For “invisible” thoughts we are going to be using the letter E- Invisible thoughts are ideas that are almost instantly understood through the subconscious. They do not take time to process and usually go unnoticed. These are usually common sense observations. The part of your brain that processes “person” when you see a person, and “dog” when you see a dog. These thoughts are your most prevalent and least observed.
For memory based thoughts we are going to be using the letter F- Memory based thoughts are ideas that are conjured using information from passed experiences, needing no new stimuli or information to be formed. These thoughts can also include experiences that occurred in dreams. Common sense repetitive norms influence these thoughts.
Keep track of your points.
1. You probably already know the apple thing.
Can you picture an apple? what color is it? can you rotate it? which way is it rotating? clockwise or counterclockwise? upside down? does it have a stem? does the stem have a leaf on it? Where is the apple?
If you can easily picture and manipulate the apple, you have the capacity to understand mental imagery. That does not necessarily mean your brain is predisposed to it, only that you have the hardware to process it. Not everyone has this hardware.
If your apple was spinning in a black room with no other objects or environment around it, you may be more dominant in another field of thought with visual imagery as a supportive addition. You get 1 point for A
If you pictured an apple you saw recently, you get one full point for F.
If your apple was already in a room, on a table, in front of your real world environment right now, or in some other environment that was not necessarily conjured through memory, your brain likely uses visual imagery as a predominant method of communication. You get 2 points for A.
If you were able to understand the concept of an apple and all of the manipulations, but didn’t necessarily “see” anything, you get one point for E.
2. As you’ve been reading this post, assuming that you are not reading aloud, have you been hearing a “voice” narrating the text?
Does that voice sound like your voice when you speak aloud? Do you take the time to pronounce every word as you read mentally? Do you pay attention to every letter individually, or do you look at the words as contained objects?
If you have an inner narrative voice that is activated by reading long passages of text, your brain is able to process visual imagery auditorily, especially when combined with will established symbols.
If that voice resembles your speaking voice, you are likely more dominant in another field of thought, using narration as a supportive sense. Your brain doesn’t naturally tend to generate sounds, it’s using the most easily commutable sound, your own voice, to deliver the information. This isn’t to say that you can’t conjure sounds, but rather that your brain doesn’t do so without “trying” to. You get a half point for B and a half points for D.
However if that voice does not usually resemble your own speaking voice, or changes often, your brain is likely more predisposed to communicating through sound senses. You get one full point for B and a half point for D.
If you have no inner narration or other sensory stimuli when reading this text, but still fully observe and understand the words, you get one full point for D.
If you have no inner narration when reading this text but imagine it’s contents like a slideshow or movie when given visual descriptions, you get one full point for A.
If you’ve observed the text with no other thoughts or ideas asides from what has been commanded of you by the quiz, you get one full point for E.
3. Oops I did it again…
“I played with your heart! Got lost in the game! Ooh baby baby!”
Okay, assuming you know the song “Oops I did it Again” by Brittany Spears, did you hear her voice singing the song when you read the passage? Did you hear your own voice singing it? Did you only read the text?
And if you did hear her voice, did you also hear the background instrumentals? Did you see Brittany in your head in her red jumpsuit? (assuming you watched the music video lol) If not in her red jump suit, did you at least get some kind of visual imagery of Brittany’s face?
If you heard Brittany’s voice singing with no background instrumental or other stimuli, you get one point for B.
If you heard your own voice singing the song with no other stimuli, you get a half point for B.
If you only read the passage, you get one point for D
If you heard Brittany’s voice and heard the background instrumentals, you get 2 points for B.
If you heard Brittany’s voice and heard the background instrumentals, and saw her to some capacity, although not dancing or moving, you get 2 points for B and an additional 1 point for A.
If you saw and heard all of that whilst seeing Brittany dancing in some way, as if you were actively watching a video, you get 2 points for B and an additional 2 points for A.
If you saw Brittany specifically in her red jumpsuit alongside the instrumentals and singing, as if you were watching the exact music video, or remembered some other portion of the music video, you get 2 points for B, 2 points for A, and an additional 1 point for F
and, if you immediately remembered the entire song of “oops I did it again” without any other stimuli, or without necessarily “hearing” anything, you get two full points for F.
Consider how your brain handles all of these rabid thoughts and quick communications to understand the contents of this post.
4. Imagine yourself sitting in your living room
Now imagine there’s an apple in your right hand and a cube of ice in your left hand. Sit for about 15 seconds. Now, mentally, stand from whatever surface you were sitting on, still holding the ice and apple, and lick the floor.
If you had difficulty imagining the living room, “feeling” the ice cube and apple, and maintaining those things while licking the floor, your brain is likely not dominant in texture based thoughts. Subtract a half point from C if you had any already.
If you could easily and vividly imagine the feeling of ice and an apple in your hands, but did not experience any discomfort, and had difficulty maintaining your living room or moving within that space, you only get one point for C.
If you could easily and vividly imagine the feeling of the ice and an apple in your hands, but did not experience any discomfort, and had an easy time maintaining your living room and moving within that space, you get one point for C and an additional one point for A.
If after 15 seconds you felt somewhat uncomfortable, vividly felt the ice melting in your hand, or felt disgusted by feeling the floor (carpet, tile, hard wood etc ) on your tongue, specifically at the thought of dust, dirt, or debris on your tongue, vividly feeling hair and lint get stuck to your tongue, you get 2 full points for C and an additional 2 points for A.
If you could easily imagine the space and do all of these things, but did not experience discomfort and/or saw yourself doing these things in the third person, you get one point for A.
If you could somewhat do these things but got tripped up or lost some of the immersion by thinking about things that aren’t actually in your living room, like imagining both the room and the apple at the same time, you get one full point for F.
5. If I were to hand you a page with 50 phone numbers on it, and told you to memorize all of the numbers in the list, would you…
1. Remember each phone number sequence individually to the best of your ability, starting from the first.
2. Remember the sounds of the numbers as you recited them aloud and recall the “song” or rap that you created with them
3. Recall the whole page of numbers like a photo and try to remember what was written on the entire page
4. Remember each number individually and remember how they sit in the sequence in relation to each other
5. Assign each number a color and then recall the number sequence by remembering how each color transitions into the next
6. Assign each number a letter (4 = F, 9= N), and create words or abbreviations to remember the full sequence of numbers.
7. You wouldn’t be able to remember them all.
If you chose option 1, you get a half point for F
If you chose option 2, you get one full point for B
If you chose option 3, you get one full point for A
If you chose option 4, you get one half point for F and an additional half point for D
If you chose option 5, you get 2 full points for A
If you chose option 6, you get one full point for D
If you chose option 7, you get 1 full point for F
6. Your goal is to think of absolutely nothing for the next 30 seconds. Close your eyes, and do not think about anything.
If after about 10 or so seconds, a song or tune started playing in the background of your mind, you get 2 points for B.
If after about 10 seconds, you had any conscious comment or thought, “how long has it been?” “am I doing this right?” “I wonder what…” “I hope that”… or you felt the need to mentally count to 30, you will subtract a half point from E if you had any already.
If after about 10 seconds, you visualized something against your will, anything at all, even though you were actively trying to think about nothing, you get 2 points for A.
If you started thinking about previous parts of this quiz that you have already completed, you get two points for F.
If you had inclinings of thoughts coming on but were able to quickly stifle them, you get one point for E.
If you were truly and honestly able to think about absolutely nothing for thirty whole seconds, you’re a winner baby, you get 2 full points for E.
7. You’re laying in bed procrastinating doing some task you really don’t want to do. But you eventually find your strength and finally decide to get out of bed. When motivating yourself, do you think:
1. “okay, I gotta get up now”
2. “come on, you gotta get up now”
3. “alright, we gotta get up now”
4. you do not have any inner dialogue about it, you simply know you have to get up and get up without consciously voicing it to yourself.
If you chose option 1, you do not lose or gain any points.
If you chose option 2, subtract 1 full point from E if you had any already.
If you chose option 3, subtract one half point from E if you had any already.
If you chose option 4, you get two points for E.
8. When you hear people speaking in real time, do you see their words transcribed in your head as if you were reading subtitles?
1. No, never
2. Sometimes but not always
3. Yes, all the time
If you chose option 1, remove a half point for D
If you chose option 2, you get one point for D
If you chose option 3, you get 2 points for D
9. Which best applies to you?
1. I remember things best when I write them down
2. I remember things best when I say them out loud repeatedly
3. I remember things best when I have some kind of visual reminder
4. I remember things best when I’m nervous about them
5. I don’t know how I remember things, I just do.
6. I remember things best when I’ve done them at least once before
If you chose option 1, you get one point for D
If you chose option 2, you get one point for B
If you chose option 3, you get one point for A
If you chose option 4, you get one point for C
If you chose option 5, you get one point for E
If you chose option 6, you get one point for F
10. You're waiting for something and you're bored, there's no one around you so you're not nervous to do whatever you want. How do you "stim", or occupy yourself?
I probably start singing a song to myself or repeating a funny phrase
I tap my fingers, feet, or teeth together. I do some kind of repetitive movement
I daydream or imagine scenarios in my head
I think about my day or something weird that happened recently
I'd have to have my phone or some kind of music to occupy me or I'd be upset
I'm able to wait for long periods of time without stimming or using distractions
If you chose option 1, you get 2 points for B
If you chose option 2, you get 2 points for C
If you chose option 3, you get 2 points for A
if you chose option 4, you get two points for F
If you chose option 5, subtract one point from E if you had any already
If you chose option 6, you get two points for E
Part 2: Interpreting your results
93 notes · View notes
lightan117 · 8 days ago
Text
I will wait, no matter how long - Part 1
Guys, I had to break up this massive chapter. It took me forever and tons of rewrites. 12k words just for part 1 alone. And I'm not even done yet! Please let me know how you guys like this! I worked really hard on this and to bring up more of Daisy's past.
Pairings: Lucanis/ (F)Mourn Watch Rook
Warnings: Some violence, drinking, ghosts, and mentions of abuse. There is also a lot of pining, fluff, and Lucanis/Rook being fools in love but can't express how they feel.
~oOo~
Daisy had never moved so quickly in her life. One second, she was in the pantry with Lucanis, and the next, she was almost taking Harding's door off its hinges. “I’ve fucked up.”
“I’m sorry?!” Lace’s head shot up as Daisy barged into her conservatory room, sending a ceramic pot teetering dangerously on a ledge. Her eyes went wide when the curse word fell from Daisy’s lips. “What in the Maker’s name—Start from the beginning!”
Daisy wheezed, trying to form a coherent thought, but her brain was still soup. Her whole life was about staying composed in tense situations—handling wayward spirits and working through magical problems with a steady hand. She was supposed to be calm. She was supposed to be rational. So why did it feel like she had just sprinted through a battlefield naked while screaming her deepest, most shameful secrets? She grabbed Lace by the shoulders. “I made a mistake.”
Lace stared at her. “Did you set something on fire?”
“No.”
“Did you accidentally invite a demon into the Lighthouse?”
“No!”
“…Did you finally tell Lucanis you like him, and it backfired spectacularly?”
Daisy made a strangled noise and smacked her hands over her burning face.
Lace howled.
“Oh, this is better than I hoped. Keep talking.”
Daisy flailed. “I didn’t mean to! I was just—Spite took over, right? So I talked to him, trying to keep things from getting worse—”
“Of course you did,” Lace muttered.
“—And then Lucanis took control again, and he was all broody and apologetic and tragic-looking, and I was just trying to be supportive, but then—then things happened—”
Lace leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “What things?”
Daisy whimpered. “He—he cornered me, Lace.”
Lace nearly fell off her chair. “Excuse me?”
“Against the pantry wall! He—he put his hand next to my head and looked at me and—and his voice got all deep and serious, and I—I said stupid things—”
Lace grabbed her arm. “How stupid?”
Daisy sucked in a breath. “He said, ‘This isn’t a good idea.’ And I—I told him—” She gulped.
Lace shook her. “What did you say?”
“I told him… ‘Sometimes a bad idea is better.’”
Lace screamed.
Daisy screamed with her, shaking her by the shoulders in sheer secondhand horror. “No, no, no, it gets worse—” Daisy babbled. “He said I liked walking too close to the edge, and I said, ‘So do you,’ and then he said, ‘At least I know I’m doing it,’ and his voice dropped, and Lace, I thought—” She gasped for air. “I thought he was going to kiss me!”
Lace was already standing up. “Did he?!”
“NO!” Daisy wailed. “He just stared at me, like he was debating all of his life choices, and then he walked away!”
Lace clutched her head like she was in physical pain. “HE DID WHAT?!”
“I DON’T KNOW, OKAY?! I’VE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE; I PANICKED, HE PANICKED, WE PANICKED, AND NOW I’M DYING.” Daisy flopped onto the floor, groaning into her hands.
Lace exhaled sharply and rolled her sleeves up. “Alright, I’m getting my crossbow.”
“Lace, no!” Daisy latched onto her waist.
“Oh no, no, no. He pulled away?! After that kind of tension?! What, does he think he can walk off a near-kiss like it was a casual chat about the weather?! I’ll show him weather—”
Daisy clung harder. “It’s fine—”
“IT IS NOT FINE.”
“I JUST WANTED TO VENT, NOT INCITE A MURDER.”
Lace gritted her teeth, arms crossed. “Alright, fine. No murder. Yet.” She sat back down, hands still twitching. “But what’s the real problem, Daisy? Because I know that face, and that face says, ‘I’m spiraling into an existential crisis.’”
Daisy sniffed. “…What if I imagined everything? What if he doesn’t actually like me that way?”
Lace gawked at her. “Are you joking? Have you seen the way he looks at you?”
Daisy frowned. “But what about him and Neve?”
Lace groaned like she had been physically wounded. “Daisy. Please. You’re smarter than this.”
Daisy buried her face in her hands again. “I feel so stupid.”
Lace softened, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not stupid. You’re just… catastrophically in love for the first time and have no idea how to process it.”
Daisy whimpered.
Lace sighed, standing and offering her a hand. “Alright. Get up. We’re going for a walk.”
Daisy peeked through her fingers. “A walk?”
“Yes. Because if we don’t, I’m going to march straight to Lucanis and tell him to fix this before you combust.”
“…Fair.”
As they left, Tassh appeared at the top of the stairs. “Uh. What’s happening?”
Lace pointed. “Daisy’s in love and suffering.” Daisy's face grew red with every glare sent in Lace's direction.
Tassh nodded sagely. “Ah. Been there.”
“Want to join us?”
Tassh shrugged. “Why not? Watching Daisy have a meltdown sounds entertaining.”
Daisy groaned. “I hate both of you.”
Lace slung an arm around her. “No, you don’t.”
“…Fine.”
"We should go to the Hall of Valor. Isabella owes Rook a few drinks for helping out. Besides, the company isn't bad, and the Lords are fun to party with." Taash offered. It wasn't a bad idea, but...Daisy wasn't best friends with alcohol, and the few times she does have any, it's minimal moderation. Varric gave her some fruity Orleasian wine the last time, where one could hardly feel intoxicated until they stood up. Then, the feeling would slam them up against a brick wall.
"What's going on?" The group turned toward Neve, and Bellara approached them.
Before Lace could open her mouth Tassh jumped in, no stopping them. "Lace and Rook want to drink at the Hall with the Lords. Wanna join?"
"There are plenty of places in Minrathous, but is there something about the Hall that's more exciting, Taash?" Neve asked, and Bellara quickly jumped in with excitement over the idea.
"The Hall has free drinks and no venatori. What more could we ask for? We all deserve a drink." The three of them started to plan for the night, which was settled on that very evening, while Lace looked up at Daisy for some sign of discomfort. Lace had never seen Daisy take such a quiet stance before, and the far-off look behind her eyes was worrying.
"Daisy? I know how you are with drinking." Lace whispered, and Daisy shook her head, her ear cuffs jingling softly.
"It's fine Lace. I have you watching out for me, right?" Daisy's smile didn't reach her eyes. Lace nodded, speaking the word always before squeezing her arm while the three members of their party planned the night. "Besides, one drink won't hurt. It might kill any leftover embarrassment I have."  
No time like the present. Daisy barely had time to protest before Bellara, practically vibrating with excitement, grabbed her arm and dragged her from the Lighthouse. The energy was infectious, but Daisy could only manage a half-hearted chuckle as they stumbled forward together. Behind them, Lace hurried toward Emmrich’s quarters, knocking sharply before slipping inside to inform the necromancer of their plans. They wouldn't be gone long, just enough time for a needed reprieve from the constant weight of their reality. Meanwhile, Taash was already deep in conversation with Neve, pouring over the list of drinks with a mischievous glint in their eye. If all went according to plan—or horribly awry—they could always crash at their mother’s house should the need arise.
Daisy tried her best to keep up appearances, her usual mask in place. She smiled; she laughed at the right moments, but the effort was exhausting. She felt Lace’s perceptive gaze flicker toward her every now and then as if trying to decipher the emotions lurking beneath the surface. But Daisy was a master at misdirection, and Bellara, with her boundless enthusiasm, made for an excellent distraction. She seized every opportunity to steer the conversation toward Bellara’s latest experiments, her magical advancements, and all the questions Daisy had been meaning to ask but never quite remembered at the moment. Bellara, ever the
inquisitive person was happy to oblige, her voice animated as she shared her knowledge.
Daisy had spent much of her early life feeling like an outsider. Raised by two human women in a world where bloodlines mattered, her elven heritage had been a mystery—at one time, she was desperate to unravel. Now, she just wanted to know more about what she was missing. Learning the language had been a struggle; each word clawed from the depths of an identity she was only beginning to grasp. Even now, the scars of old prejudices lingered, reflected back at her every time she saw her...ruined pointed ears in the mirror. She had been judged for them, scorned by those who saw her as neither fully human nor entirely elven but something in between—something lesser. A half-breed. A mutt. A weed.
Meeting Bellara had been a turning point. The Dalish elf carried the weight of her people’s traditions with pride, and she had been more than willing to guide Daisy toward the answers she sought. When their paths eventually crossed with Davrin, a seasoned Gray Warden, Daisy had another mentor willing to help her navigate her tangled heritage. Davrin had taken her under his wing with an ease that had startled her, offering not just guidance but acceptance.
For the first time in her life, Daisy wasn’t an outsider looking in. The rag-tag group she had assembled—Taash, Davrin, Lucanis, Lace, Neve, Bellara, Emmrich—had become more than allies. They were her family. Not one she had stumbled upon in the shadows of Nevarra, not one she had been abandoned to by fate, but one she had built with her own hands. It hadn’t been written in the stars. It hadn’t been some grand destiny. It had simply happened. And she had never been more grateful.
When they arrived at the Lords, the night of celebration was in full force.
Laughter rippled through the warm night air, mingling with the scent of salt and spirits. Daisy sat with the others around a long wooden table, a half-empty mug in her hands. The glow of lanterns cast flickering shadows on their faces, and the sound of waves crashing against the distant shore provided a steady, rhythmic backdrop to their revelry.
Bellara and Lace were already deep into their drinks, each engaged in an unspoken contest of who could down more without slurring their words. Neve leaned back in her chair, eyes glinting with amusement as she sipped from a delicate glass, while Taash, already flushed from the alcohol, animatedly recounted a story of a battle in a jungle, arms waving dramatically. "You should've seen it," Taash boasted, their grin wide. "This thing was bigger than a druffalo, with scales like darksteel and teeth like daggers—"
"—And yet, here you are, still in one piece," Neve drawled, smirking over the rim of her glass.
"Obviously," Taash said, feigning offense. "What do you take me for? Some common soldier?"
Isabella snorted. "We take you for someone who embellishes their tales more with every drink. Take it from someone who embellishes often."
Lace laughed, slamming her mug down. "If she’s lying, at least it's entertaining!"
Daisy chuckled along with them, warmth blooming in her chest—not just from the alcohol but from the ease of the moment. It had been too long since they'd all had time like this, where battle and duty didn’t weigh down on their shoulders. Here, they could just exist in a pocket of laughter and camaraderie, away from the expectations that usually hung over them. But even as she smiled, something in the back of her mind buzzed with unease. She shifted in her seat, rolling her shoulders as if trying to shake off the sudden prickling under her skin. Daisy...a whisper of her name more than once caught her attention, shifting her eyes to look over her shoulder. She ignored it, mistaking her real name being mentioned instead of her normal Rook.
When she started to feel it, Daisy was perhaps two or three drinks in.
The night around her buzzed—too warm, too loud, too much. Even outside, the air felt thick, pressing in on her skin like a smothering embrace. Voices blended into a single, overwhelming hum, layered with laughter, cheers, and the occasional clink of mugs. Even the spirits of Adventure, those boisterous echoes of old stories and grand exploits, seemed to swell in volume, their ghostly voices bouncing off one another like a chorus inside her head. The heat crawled up Daisy’s neck, settling behind her cheeks. The alcohol left her limbs floating and buzzing at the same time, like she wasn’t fully anchored to the ground. Her fingers tightened around the half-full mug in her hands—whatever they had given her was more potent than she anticipated. The Lords around her continued their endless tales; their excitement was palpable, their pasts bleeding into the present as if time had unraveled for them. Isabella was chatting with Neve and Taash, their laughter cutting through the thick air like a blade. Bellara and Lace had disappeared and were likely off to get another drink.
And Daisy… Daisy was alone.
The thrill of it sent a tremor through her chest. And yet, so did the fear.
Every sip made it easier, loosening the iron grip she kept on herself. The last time she had drunk this much, it had been with Lace and Varric by a crackling campfire, the stars sprawling overhead like tiny, unjudging eyes. She had been reluctant then, hesitant in the way only someone raised to fear indulgence could be. But Varric had made sure she drank, nudging her toward a lovely Orlesian wine that had hit harder than she expected.
That night, the weight of years had spilled from her lips. The War of Banners. Her family. The orphans she had cared for as penance, as repayment. The chains she would wear until her last breath. Her memory loss. By morning, she had been dizzy and aching but lighter.
The ocean breeze brushed past her, but it wasn’t enough to cool the fire in her skin. "Having fun?" Daisy flinched. Neve leaned against the overlook beside her, drink in hand, sharp eyes watching.
Daisy willed herself to stay steady, gripping the railing as if it could anchor her to the moment. "Just… thinking," she managed, the words heavy on her tongue. "Needed to step… away. Got hot all of a sudden."
The ocean stretched before them, the salt air tangling in her hair. Beautiful, as always, but the thought of sand sticking to her boots was enough to sour the scene. "Everyone seems to be having a great time, though," Daisy added, voice slightly distant. "Glad we could do this. Gods, can you imagine if Davrin were here? I’d pay to see who could drink more—him or Taash."
Neve hummed. "My money’s on Taash. But Davrin did mention Wardens drink a lot. Could be close." Daisy nodded, grateful for the distraction. But Neve’s gaze lingered too long. "You do remember I’m a detective, right?" Neve said, her voice light but her meaning sharp. "It’s my job to notice what’s missing. Find the problem. Or—" She stepped closer. "understand why something happened." Daisy’s stomach twisted. "You wouldn’t happen to be thinking about a certain assassin who lives in our pantry now, are you?"
Her breath hitched. "I am not…" The denial came too quickly, her voice too tight. She refused to look Neve in the eye, afraid her expression would betray her.
Neve chuckled. "You know he likes you, right? More than likes you."
Daisy’s heart tripped over itself.
"I’m sorry?" Her tongue felt clumsy, too thick.
"For such a strong leader, you might be a bit blind when it comes to someone having feelings for you." The words were casual, but they slammed into Daisy with the force of a war hammer. "What could possibly be the problem between you and Lucanis that makes you look like the world just ended?" Daisy’s grip on her mug tightened.
"Lucanis and I… nothing is going on between us!" The words rushed out, too high-pitched, too defensive. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the sound of waves. "You and Lucanis are—I mean—the way you two flirt, I assumed…"
Neve raised an eyebrow, and Daisy felt herself unraveling by the second.
"He rejected me," Daisy admitted, cheeks burning. "I thought it was because he was with you. If I had known you were, I wouldn’t have…"
"Developed feelings?" Daisy made a strangled noise, her entire body thrumming with heat. Neve laughed, sipping her drink. "Sunshine, nothing is going on between us. Sure, he’s handsome, and the flirting is fun, but when he looks at you… it’s different." Daisy wanted to melt into the ground. Or vanish. Or throw herself into the sea. Neve’s voice softened. "Should I have stopped flirting when I noticed? Maybe. Maybe I was still bitter about your choice of city to save. But now… I understand. You did what you thought was right. And I have to deal with the aftermath."
Daisy opened her mouth, guilt rising in her throat, but Neve lifted a hand.
"Don’t," she said simply. "I don’t need an explanation. I just wanted you to know—there’s nothing between Lucanis and me. What we have is a shared love of our homes. We’re good friends. But you? You’re different. And if he rejected you… maybe he just got cold feet."
"Cold feet?" Daisy echoed, barely above a whisper.
Neve tilted her head, eyes sharp. "Have you ever been with someone, sunshine?"
Daisy’s breath hitched again. The room—the night—everything felt too close—the warmth of the alcohol, the weight of Neve’s gaze, the pounding in her chest. "Neve…" she pleaded. "Please stop looking at me like that. I think I’ve had too much to drink."
Neve smirked. "Go figure—the two people utterly smitten with each other, both too blind to see it, are both virgins." Daisy nearly choked on air. Neve leaned in, her grin wicked. "Adorable." Daisy groaned again, resting her face in her hands as Neve gave her head a soft pat. "Talk to the man and tell him how you feel since he can't tell you himself. Words are good. Actions can always come later."
"Thanks, Neve," Daisy muttered softly.
"Anytime, sunshine." She was gone, leaving Daisy alone. Without much thinking, Daisy downed the rest of her mug in one go. The burning made her quickly regret the small burst of courage, but she held it down. Daisy would talk to Lucanis once she was sober enough. Once she had the courage to confront him and tell him her honest feelings. That even if it took forever to admit his own, she would wait.
She felt it then.
Eyes.
Someone was watching her.
The sensation crawled over her skin like icy fingers, squeezing the breath from her lungs. Her stomach churned—not just from the alcohol, though the burn of it swayed her movements and made the world tilt dangerously.
Daisy…
She turned too fast, nearly stumbling. The tavern spun in a haze of dim lantern light and smoke, but none of it could blur what stood before her.
A spirit.
A ghost.
A person who should be nothing more than the rotting bones of a memory, yet here she was.
Watching.
Seething.
Daisy’s breath hitched. The spirit’s lips never moved, but the voice slithered into her ears, coiling around her brain, slurring through the alcohol clogging her thoughts.
Found you.
A sharp jolt of terror cut through her stupor, but her body lagged behind her mind. She lurched sideways, her shoulder hitting a table, glasses rattling. Someone cursed. Strapped to her back, her staff clipped a mug—amber liquid sloshed, drenching the table. Someone shoved her. Laughter? A shout?
The spirit moved.
Not walked—moved. Gliding, reaching, her presence stretching toward Daisy like something cold and wet curling around her throat.
She ran. Her pulse thundered. Footsteps stumbled beneath her, too sluggish, too clumsy. Behind her, the spirit turned, those hollow eyes locked onto her, a silent promise that made Daisy’s veins run to ice. She ran past Lords, who were drinking joyfully, not paying any attention to one lone person who seemed to be too many in their cups. Daisy's companions were nowhere close, and she wasn't sure if what she saw was real.
So she ran.
And she didn't stop.
~oOo~
Daisy staggered through the crossroads of the Rivan eluvains, her mind drowning in a haze of memories and shadows. The world spun around her, uneven beneath her feet, and she barely registered the rough scrape of stone and sand against her palms as she caught herself from falling. No, no, she could not have been here. The face she had seen—so familiar, yet impossibly distant—could not have been real. It couldn’t be. Faces like hers existed only in nightmares, in the twisted corridors of dreams she dared not walk, illusions that flickered and vanished like candlelight in a storm.
Her breath came in ragged gasps, the air too thick, pressing down on her chest like unseen hands. Her stomach twisted violently—not just from the alcohol burning in her veins, but from the knowing. A terrible, clawing knowing that something had shifted, something had changed. But what?
Sand clung to her skin, gritting beneath her nails as she dug her fingers into the ground, desperate for something solid. But even the earth betrayed her, shifting, slipping, reminding her of everything she could not hold onto. The hum of the Fade pulsed around her, seeping into her bones and pressing against her skull. She felt it in every pore, every breath, every panicked heartbeat. It was an itch she could never scratch, a voice just beyond the Veil, whispering things she couldn’t make out.
Her hands shook.
No.
Her hands weren’t hers.
Daisy let out a strangled gasp, reaching up instinctively to claw at her throat, her fingers searching for the cold bite of metal that wasn’t there. But she felt them—tight, constricting, chains digging into her skin, wrists bound, movements sluggish as she fought against invisible restraints. Her pulse roared in her ears, a frantic drumbeat of terror, the weight of something unseen dragging her back into a place she refused to return to.
She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there.
She tried to stand, but her legs refused to move, too tangled in past and present, in fear and liquor, in a reality that felt paper-thin. Her vision blurred, and for a moment—just a moment—she swore she saw her again. A glimpse of dark eyes watching, waiting.
A ghost. A memory.
A whisper. A shift in the air.
And then, they stood before her—spirits of Adventure and Madness.
"We need your help! They will die without aid!" The Spirit of Adventure seized her hand, its ethereal grasp cool yet urgent, pulling her toward the Rivan Coast gate. Daisy clawed for breath as her head swam, her senses oscillating between sharp clarity and thick, muddled fog. She barely registered that she had moved, had passed through the eluvain, and now stood upon the ruined fort they always appeared at. "This way!"
Daisy did not resist. She knew better than to fight fate when it called.
Possession was nothing new to her. She had long since mastered the art of housing spirits within her, allowing them to speak and feel without relinquishing complete control. She had safeguards and rules—she would not let rage consume her or let vengeful spirits take the reins. She had learned that lesson well. Daisy followed silently, gaining back control of her body once they were close enough. The spirits had explained that their friends were to meet them on the beach with refugees but were met with ill fate. Antaam pirates, if you could call them that, had sunken their ship and were going to take them to be slaves. Madness cackled and spoke of cracking of bones, splitting of skulls, and...familiar faces?
Daisy gave Madness a look before trying to slowly shake away more of the fog that continued to cloud her mind. Within a moment, they hid among the trees lining the coast. There, Daisy could see clearly that this would not be an easy fight. Twenty-five antaam pirates stood, weapons gleaming beneath the crimson kiss of the rising sun. Behind them, fifteen captives knelt in the sand—elf, human, and qunari alike. Some sat defiant, their gazes hard, while others bowed their heads in silent resignation. Madness and Adventure murmured silently about their plans of help, but Daisy was already deep within her plan.
Before stepping onto the sand, Daisy raised her hands, weaving an illusion with magic. The air thickened, the shadows stretching unnaturally around her. Her form elongated, her fingers turned into clawed, blackened talons, and her eyes glowed with spectral, inhuman light. The whispers of the Fade amplified, swirling around her like the wails of the damned. From the vantage of the antaam pirates, what approached them from the jungle was no mere human—it was a monster born from nightmares.
"Let them go! They belong to me!" Daisy used magic to throw her voice, making it errie and echo along the shore.
"Come on out! Fight us, demon!" The pirates stiffened, some gripping their weapons tighter, others shifting uncertainly. One took an involuntary step back. Fear flickered in their expressions, uncertainty gripping them in their hands. It wasn't enough.
"Where are you going?!" The Spirit of Adventure pressed urgently while the Spirit of Madness merely laughed, coaxing her forward.
"To kill the antaam pirates who hold those people captive. Don’t worries, I’ll... hick... be fine." Daisy slurred, shaking her head to clear the fuzziness, though it did little good.
Then, with a slow, deliberate step, Daisy let the illusion flicker and twist, just enough to keep them in suspense before stepping fully into the open.
The jungle gave way to golden sands, her bare feet sinking slightly with every step. The scent of salt and blood thickened the air, warning of the carnage to come. The antaam leader, a hulking qunari with a face carved by old battles, sneered. "You think a drunken human and her foul magic can stop us?"
Daisy did not answer. She stepped forward, slow, deliberate, the wind catching the edges of her dark cloak, making it billow like the wings of a shadowed specter. With measured calm, she drove her staff into the sand. The earth trembled. Shadows coiled around her feet, slithering outward like ink in water. From the depths, skeletal warriors clawed their way free, their hollow eyes burning with spectral fire.
The antaam hesitated. Then, with a bellow, they charged.
Fools.
The battle erupted in a symphony of steel and sorcery. Daisy wove between them, necrotic energy crackling from her fingertips. A pirate lunged—she sidestepped, whispering a curse that sent him crumbling, his own shadow snaking up to choke the life from his throat.
A skeletal warrior met another attacker, its spectral blade driving deep into quivering flesh. A pirate swung wildly at her—she raised her hand, impaling him through the jaw with a flick of dark magic. Yet even as she fought, she knew that she would be in trouble if they charged all at once.
She called to the dead, and they answered.
The fallen antaam rose, their lifeless eyes turning on their former comrades. Panic rippled through the remaining pirates as their own slain brothers turned against them. The antaam leader roared, hoisting his Warhammer high. Before he could bring it down, Daisy let out a terrible, inhuman wail. The Fade surged, swirling into a necrotic storm that crackled and burned, consuming all in its path. The captain screamed in terror and pain as slowly his skin started to decay, turning black and green, melting away. The remaining pirates broke, their courage shattered, and fled into the wilds.
As the storm dissipated, Daisy swayed on her feet. Her breath was ragged. With a mere wave of her hand, the captives' bonds unraveled. "You are free," she murmured. "Go before the tide claims the dead."
The last echoes of battle faded, and the dead returned to their slumber beneath the sand one by one. Daisy, too, felt herself unraveling. Her body ached as though she had run for miles. Her limbs trembled from exhaustion, and the world tilted dangerously.
"By all the Gods of the dead... Daisy, is that you?" She turned, her vision swimming. A qunari stood before her, his face familiar yet blurred by the drunken haze still clouding her senses. But his voice—that voice she would recognize anywhere.
"Ti'Lan? That... you?" she whispered, the last shreds of strength slipping through her fingers like sand. Darkness swallowed her. She never felt herself falling, never felt the impact of the ground.
But she was caught.
Strong arms lifted her, cradling her against a broad chest. A low chuckle rumbled through the night. "Easy, sister. I have you." As she drifted into unconsciousness, she barely registered his following words, though they carried the weight of a grin. "Oh, I can’t wait to tell the others how drunk you got."
~oOo~
Lucanis felt like such a fool.
After leaving the pantry, he strode toward the walkway beside the kitchen, trying to steady his breath. He only realized then how tightly he had been holding it in, how his chest ached from restraint. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face, but it did nothing to shake the burning fire beneath his skin.
Spite, ever-present, roiled with frustration in the back of his mind. Coward, the spirit snarled, its anger a reflection of his own. Lucanis ignored it. He had enough of his thoughts clawing at him.
Daisy deserved more.
More than an assassin tainted by a demon of Spite. More than a man whose hands had done far too much harm, whose past was stained with blood he could never wash away. Daisy, with her kindness, her patience, her warmth—she was light, and he was the shadow at her heels.
But Maker, he wanted to kiss her.
That moment had been perfect, painfully perfect. It was as if it was out of Bellara's serials that she was writing how her eyes met his, unwavering and filled with something unspoken but understood. The way she had answered him—not with fear, not with hesitation, but with certainty, with want. Every small inch she moved closer sent his heart into a frantic rhythm, a sound so loud in his ears he swore she must have heard it too. And then—
He froze.
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to close the space between them, to press his lips to hers, and finally let himself have this one thing. But the weight of it crushed him. If he kissed her, if he allowed himself even a sliver of what he longed for—what then? What happened when Spite reared its head at the wrong moment? What happened when the past he carried became a weight she had to bear? Spite had lost control and put one of his daggers against her throat. The fear that he could lose control could harm her...
He couldn’t do that to her.
So, instead of leaning in, instead of taking what he wanted, he pulled away. He left her standing there, looking at him with something he couldn’t bear to name. He told her he needed to clear his head and walked away. Like a fool. Like a man who did not know what to do with something precious when it was offered to him freely.
Gifts like her...
Lucanis braced himself against the wood railing, gripping it tight enough to make his knuckles ache. His hands curled into fists. He could still feel the warmth of her presence, the ghost of where their fingers had nearly brushed, the space between them so small he could have—should have—closed it.
Spite simmered, its presence crackling through his veins. She wanted you, it hissed, low and knowing. And you ran.
Lucanis closed his eyes. He knew.
And yet, despite the torment in his chest, despite the pull he could not fight, he still wasn’t sure if he had made the right choice. Because even now, as the cool fade air failed to steady him, all he wanted to do was turn around, find her, and finish what he couldn’t bring himself to start.
"Enough Spite. I don't want to hear more of it; I made a choice."
A foolish choice. Spite stood beside him, its presence a flickering distortion in the dim light, pressing close enough that Lucanis swore he could feel its breath—if the thing even breathed. Its sneer curled like a knife at the edges of his thoughts. She likes us. Wants us. And you let her go! Go. After. Her!
Lucanis winced as Spite’s voice crescendoed, each syllable pounding against his skull like hammer strikes. He pushed himself away from the railing, rolling his shoulders as if he could shake off the demon’s weight and the lingering regret clinging to his skin. He turned, forcing his feet to move, leading himself back into the kitchen, where the scent of smoldering embers and barrels of coffee beans greeted him.
The fire still burned low in the hearth, its golden light licking at the edges of the stone walls. The silence was thick, save for the occasional pop from the wood. The kitchen, once filled with the warmth of company, now felt empty. He had no hope that Daisy would still be here. That didn’t stop his pulse from leaping for a foolish second before the quiet confirmed what he already knew.
Disappointment gnawed at his ribs.
With a steady breath, he reached for the coffee grinder, pouring dark beans into the worn wooden bowl. The rhythmic scrape of the handle twisting against the coarse grounds gave his hands something to do, something to focus on other than Spite’s simmering irritation. The demon materialized fully before him, its form purple flickering with embers of its agitation. Anger was etched deep into its expression, its sharp features twisted in frustration. It muttered under its breath—dark, crackling words Lucanis refused to acknowledge. He kept his gaze downward, watching the rich, ground coffee collect in the vessel below.
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to Daisy. To the way she had looked at him, eyes searching, lips parted just so—an invitation, if only he had dared to take it. His fingers tightened around the mug as he poured steaming water over the grounds, watching the deep brown liquid swirl. A creak of the dining room doors pulled him from his trance. He blinked, realizing he had been staring into the fire, fingers curled around his cup like a lifeline.
"Seems like it's just you, me, and Emmrich tonight. The others have gone off with Rook for something." Lucanis turned as Davrin strode in, his usual easy manner in place, though his sharp gaze flicked over Lucanis with something keener. Assan followed at his side, the griffon letting out a short, expectant squawk. Lucanis absently ran a hand over its feathered head, earning a satisfied huff.
"They left?"
"Maybe an hour or so ago? I just ran into Emmrich, who told me." Davrin studied him. "Daisy didn’t tell you?"
Lucanis cleared his throat, forcing himself to keep his expression still, unreadable. "No, I haven’t seen her in a while. I thought she was researching with Emmrich." The lie slid out smoothly, easily—a believable one. Davrin didn’t buy it.
His brow furrowed, and Lucanis could feel the weight of scrutiny settling over him. "Look, Lucanis, I know we’re not on the best terms, but you sound off. Is everything alright? Is it Spite?" Lucanis exhaled slowly, fingers flexing around his cup. The warmth of the coffee did nothing to thaw the cold coiling beneath his ribs. Davrin crossed his arms, watching him closely, then tilted his head with a knowing smirk. "Ah. I see now. This isn’t just about Spite, is it?"
Lucanis stiffened slightly. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." He lifted his cup and took a slow sip, feigning disinterest.
"Right, sure. Because you always look like a kicked mabari when someone leaves without telling you." Lucanis shot him a glare over the rim of his mug. "Let me guess," Davrin continued, undeterred. "It’s Daisy, isn’t it? You’ve got that whole brooding, ‘I could have kissed her but didn’t’ look about you. I bet you—" His words trailed off as realization dawned on his face. "Oh. Oh, I was joking, but... that’s it, isn’t it?"
Lucanis sighed, running a hand through his hair before setting his coffee down with more force than necessary. "Meirda, drop it, Davrin." Spite was beside Davrin, making crude gestures, which Lucanis rolled his eyes at.
"Gods, I was just messing with you, but you actually—" Davrin let out a low whistle, shaking his head with amusement. "Lucanis, you really are a piece of work. You like Daisy, but instead of doing anything about it, you just… skulk around in dark corners and wallow in self-loathing?"
"I don’t skulk."
"Oh, you absolutely skulk. Or brood. It’s like your second nature." Lucanis shot him another glare, but Davrin just grinned. "Look, I get it," Davrin said, his tone shifting from teasing to something softer. "She’s different. She has this whole kind-hearted, ‘probably too good for an assassin with a demon in his head’ thing. But if you think pushing her away is going to make things easier, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought."
Lucanis clenched his jaw. "It’s not that simple."
"It never is," Davrin agreed, shrugging. "But here’s the thing—if she really didn’t care about you, she wouldn’t care about you as much as she does. She wouldn't look at you like she does. And don’t even try to pretend you don’t know what I mean." Lucanis didn’t respond, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. Davrin smirked.
"See? You do know. Not as blind as I thought."
Lucanis sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Even if that’s true, it doesn’t change anything." His voice turned hoarse, thick with something he couldn’t quite voice. "Daisy is… she’s light. She’s warmth, she’s kindness, even when she has every reason not to be. She looks at people and sees their worth, even when they don’t deserve it. He prays over the dead when they just tried to kill her." He let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face. "And me? I’ve got blood on my hands that’ll never wash away. I’m...tainted, Davrin. I’ve been tainted for so long that I don’t even remember what being whole is like. And Spite—" He let out a humorless chuckle. "You think Daisy deserves a man who’s possessed by a demon? Who can’t even trust his own mind?"
Davrin leaned against the table, arms crossed. "You know, for someone who thinks so highly of her, you don’t actually give her much credit." Lucanis frowned, glancing up. Spite turned back to Davrin, glaring at the warden. "If Daisy is as strong and kind and good as you say, then don’t you think she’s capable of making her own damn decisions? Don’t you think she already knows what you are and cares about you anyway?"
Lucanis opened his mouth, then closed it. His chest ached, and for a moment, all he could think about was how Daisy looked at him in the pantry. The way her breath had hitched, how her fingers had rested on his chest, the warmth of her hand through his clothes. He had wanted to kiss her. Had wanted it so badly it hurt. But instead, he had pulled away. Just like he always did.
Davrin sighed, shaking his head. "Look, all I’m saying is—stop being an idiot. If you want her, do something about it. If you think she deserves better, be better." Davrin watched him carefully, then shook his head with a laugh. "You’re hopeless. But hey, if you ever decide to stop being a coward about it, let me know. I’d love to see what happens when you actually act like a person instead of a brooding shadow."
Lucanis shot him one last glare before picking up his coffee again, but Davrin just chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder as he walked off.
"You so like her," he called over his shoulder. "Yell if you need any help, assassin."
Lucanis groaned. This was going to be a long night.
~oOo~
Daisy felt like the dead.
Truly, like the dead.
Her skull throbbed with the force of a Mourn Watch guard hammer, each pulse a fresh wave of agony that made her groan into the scratchy fabric beneath her. The taste in her mouth was an unholy mix of stale wine, sand, and regret—like she had been chewing on old parchment dipped in seawater. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, dry and sluggish as she smacked her lips, immediately regretting it when nausea twisted in her gut.
From what she could tell she was residing in, the tent around her was stifling, the canvas trapping the heat of the morning sun, making the air thick and heavy. A dull glow of daylight filtered through the fabric, far too bright for her pounding head. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a pathetic whimper, rolling onto her side, only to feel sand shift beneath her. That was the second worst thing—sand. Everywhere. Stuck to her skin, gritted between her fingers.
Oh, Maker. She remembered. She had passed out on the beach.
Her stomach twisted as fragments of memory drifted back—staggering through the Rivan eluvains, the flickering glow of the Fade pressing against her mind, voices she wasn’t sure were real. She had run. From what, she wasn’t entirely sure. A face? A shadow? The past? It was all muddled in the thick haze of alcohol and exhaustion. She reached up, her fingers grazing her throat instinctively. It was too hot, and for a brief, terrifying moment, she swore she could feel the weight of chains that were no longer there. They had been gone for years, but in her drunken haze, the memory clung to her like a phantom pain. She clenched her fists tighter as if grounding herself in the feeling of sand slipping through her fingers would somehow bring her back to reality.
Outside, the rhythmic crashing of waves only made things worse, a constant reminder of the poor choices that had led her to this exact moment of misery. A distant noise—footsteps crunching on the sand, the tent's flap shifting in the breeze—made her groan and bury her face deeper into the makeshift pillow.
If anyone tried speaking to her right now, she might actually die.
“Well, now, I see that you aren’t dead.” Daisy cracked an eye open; her vision blurred and wobbly, but she recognized that voice—steady, warm, and tinged with an affectionate tone. The face hovering above her was familiar in a way that loosened the knot in her chest, a balm to the ache in her head. “Come now, little sister, drink this.”
A cup was pressed to her lips, and Daisy drank greedily, the cool liquid easing the desert dryness of her throat. She tried to gulp more than Ti’Lan allowed, chasing the brief relief, but he pulled the cup back with a soft chuckle. “Ti’Lan?” she croaked, her voice a rasp. “Is that really you?”
“A home in life, a berth in death. A house of many mansions. How long has it been? A year?” He set the cup down beside her makeshift bed and lowered himself to the sand beside her, his long limbs folding comfortably as if he’d sat by her side a thousand times before. “Gods, where did you come from? I did not expect you to rescue me when I asked the spirits to get help.”
“Was…drinking…” Daisy muttered, the admission slurring slightly.
“Oh, I can see that from how you reek of it—not to mention you fighting pirates drunk!” Ti’Lan’s voice rose, exasperated, and Daisy winced at the spike of pain his volume sent through her head. Immediately feeling bad, he softened, his expression shifting to one of gentle concern. “Sorry.” He reached out, and his hand threaded through her tangled hair, untangling a few knots with the tender familiarity of someone who’d done this since she was small. His touch was grounding, soothing, a reminder of simpler days when their biggest worries were stolen sweet rolls or whose turn it was to help with the washing.
Daisy blinked slowly, trying to piece together the tangled mess of memory and dream. “You...you were really in trouble?”
“I was,” Ti’Lan confirmed, his hand never stilling in its comforting strokes. “But it seems the spirits saw fit to send me a bedraggled, sand-covered sister instead of a rag-tag group of Lords.” His lips curled in a grin, eyes dancing with amusement. “Not that I’m complaining. I’d take you over anyone any day.”
A tiny, fragile smile broke through Daisy’s hangover misery. “I’d fight pirates for you any day. Just…maybe not while drunk.”
He laughed softly, the sound rolling like the waves outside. “I’d prefer that. But you did well despite the state you were in. You have to teach me that one spell at the end with the captain later.” He reached over to dab a cool cloth at her temple, soothing the sweat and grit. “Besides, when I saw it was you, I knew you'd be ok. You always come through when it matters.”
Daisy groaned again, rubbing her temples. “What were you even doing as a captive?”
Ti’Lan let out a slow breath, his expression turning more serious. “Helping the Lords of Fortune. We were smuggling people out—those who escaped the Antaam.” He leaned back slightly, absently tracing patterns in the sand. “Our ship was caught.”
Daisy pried open one eye, attempting to focus. “So… you were captured for helping people?”
“Essentially,” he said with a slight shrug. “But that’s not the only thing.” His tone grew hesitant, and she could tell something weighed on him. “There’s a matter I need to discuss with you—about one of the captives. A little Qunari girl.”
Daisy squeezed her eyes shut as another wave of nausea rolled through her. “Can’t talk until the world stops spinning. But I promise to talk about her when I can...think clearly.”
Ti’Lan chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough. Rest up, little sister.” He reached out, ruffling her already messy hair with the same affectionate ease he always had. “I’ll check on you in a bit.”
She groaned in response, curling into the thin blankets, while he chuckled again and stood. As he slipped out of the tent, the scent of sea salt and cooling embers drifted in, mixing with the lingering haze of alcohol in her mind. Daisy exhaled slowly. Whatever he had to tell her could wait. For now, she just needed to survive her hangover. Daisy’s eyes fluttered closed, the tension in her body slowly unwinding under her brother’s gentle care. “I missed you,” she murmured, the confession slipping out like a secret.
“I missed you too,” Ti’Lan replied, his voice softening with an ache that mirrored her own. Feeling safe and loved, Daisy drifted back into the dark, the warmth of her brother’s presence anchoring her through the storm.
The next time Daisy woke from the darkness, the sky was painted in strokes of red and orange, the sun dipping low over the water. The salty breeze carried the mingling scents of roasting meat and the sand beneath her. Her head still ached, but the world wasn’t spinning nearly as much. She groaned, pushing herself upright, her fingers digging into the fabric of the tent for balance before she finally got to her feet.
Outside, the battle remnants had been cleaned up, and the remaining captives had formed a small camp. A few fires flickered against the twilight, and around the largest, Ti’Lan sat turning a spit, the savory scent of cooking meat wafting through the air. The soft murmurs of conversation filled the space, punctuated by occasional laughter—an attempt at normalcy after everything. Daisy’s gaze landed on Ti’Lan, who was calmly rotating the spit, his large frame steady and familiar. But what truly caught her attention was the tiny figure clinging to his legs. A little girl with silver hair and small, barely developed horns peeked out from behind him, her large eyes darting around curiously.
When Ti’Lan spotted Daisy, he grinned and waved her over. “About time you woke up. Hungry?”
"Starving." Daisy took a few steps forward, her legs still shaky but stronger than before. Her gaze dropped to the child, who pressed herself closer to Ti’Lan’s leg but continued to watch Daisy with quiet interest.
Daisy knelt, offering a gentle smile. "And who is this beautiful princess standing next to you?"
"This is Demihan, but everyone calls her Demi." Ti’Lan rested a large, protective hand on the girl's head, ruffling the soft strands of silver hair between her small, growing horns. “Demi, this is my little sister, Daisy. Can you say hi?”
Demi hesitated, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of Ti’Lan’s pants. After a long pause, she managed a small wave, her expression uncertain but curious.
“She’s still a little skittish,” Ti’Lan explained, watching the girl with something like affection—guarded but genuine.
Daisy chuckled. “That’s okay. The big teddy bear you’re holding onto was skittish, too. He used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms just so I could chase them away.”
Ti’Lan groaned, rolling his eyes. "Hey now, I remember you came to me a few times too."
“Yeah, the one time,” Daisy shot back playfully, winking at Demi. The little girl’s lips twitched, the first hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She slowly peeked out from behind Ti’Lan’s legs, her small horns catching the last light of the setting sun. Daisy took a moment to take her in properly—she could be no more than four, her horns still round and stubby, her gray skin peppered with freckles.
Daisy sat down on the sand, stretching her legs in front of her. “I’m guessing she’s the one you wanted to talk about?”
Ti’Lan exhaled, his expression shifting to something more serious. He glanced down at Demi, his hand resting lightly on her head. “Demi is... special.”
Daisy raised an eyebrow, looking between her brother and the little girl. “Special, how?”
Ti’Lan hesitated before answering, his expression unreadable, his fingers tightening briefly on Demi’s head. “She’s a mage.”
Daisy exhaled sharply through her nose. “Yes, and?”
“I need you to take her home with you.”
Daisy blinked, her exhaustion giving way to sharp irritation. She ran a hand down her face before fixing Ti’Lan with a look. “I can't take her with me, Ti'Lan.”
“What do you mean? Of course, you can,” he said, his voice edged with impatience. “You bring kids home all the time.”
Daisy scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Ti’Lan… when was the last time you were home?” Her tone shifted, more pointed now, a warning laced beneath her words. “I haven’t seen you in over a year.”
His jaw tensed, and for the first time, he looked uncomfortable. “I shared a few letters with Alilya and Ma, but… not for a while.”
Daisy let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Of course you haven’t.” She shook her head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Listen to me, I was sent away from the Mourn Watch. There was an uprising—a war called the War of Banners. I was… able to stop it, but it resulted in me being practically banished. I can’t go home until they allow me.”
Ti’Lan’s eyes widened. “What? That can’t be true.”
“Oh, it’s true,” Daisy said, her voice thick with sarcasm. “And you would know that if you ever bothered to check-in. But no, you’re off doing gods-know-what, and I’m the one left to pick up the pieces because that's what I do. I fix everything and continue to put back pieces that should remain broken, but I'm too stubborn to say no.”
Ti’Lan had the decency to look guilty, but Daisy didn’t stop. “And for your information, brother dear, for the past year, I’ve been helping Varric Tethras hunt down Solas—yes, that Solas—the one who just happens to be Fen’Harel, an ancient elven mage trying to bring the Veil down and return the world to the time of the ancient elves. And guess what? I interrupted his ritual! That little act of heroism unleashed two elven gods—Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain—from their prison, and now Solas is trapped in the Fade.” She threw up her hands. “And the best part?! Almost every time I sleep, I get to see his ugly, annoying face staring at me from the other side.”
Ti’Lan was staring at her like she had grown a second head. “Daisy…”
“Oh, I’m not done.” Daisy gestured around them wildly. “The spirits you called to help found me leaving an eluvian, which—by the way—is an ancient mirror that lets people travel through the Crossroads inside the Fade itself. My friends had to drag me away because of—well, let’s just say reasons—and I left because I’ve been remembering things from that time.” She let out a breath, rubbing her temples. Ti’Lan was silent, his brows furrowed in concern, but Daisy wasn’t in the mood for his judgment or shock. She was exhausted and aching, and now, somehow, he expected her to take in a kid when she barely had control of her own life.
She sighed, dropping her hands to her sides. “So tell me, dear brother, where exactly in that mess do you see room for me to take in a child?”
Demi pressed herself closer to Ti’Lan, watching Daisy with wide, nervous eyes. Daisy felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside—she needed Ti’Lan to understand that this wasn’t a simple request. Ti’Lan exhaled, running a hand over his horn. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” Daisy said dryly, “Shit.” She let herself fall back onto the sand, the fine grains sticking to her sweat-dampened skin. The world was still tilting slightly, but the cool breeze from the ocean helped settle her stomach. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before exhaling in a long, tired sigh. “I can send a letter home and see if someone could meet us at the Necropolis, but that’s as far as I’ve been allowed to go. The higher nobles still hate me, and I still hate them. I saved lives, and what do I get? A big fat ‘fuck you,’ as Iishka would say.”
Ti’Lan let out a quiet chuckle. “Gods, Iishka would curse them to the Void and back.”
“She probably already has,” Daisy muttered, rubbing her temples. Ti’Lan sat beside her, Demi still clinging to his leg as he absentmindedly ran a hand over her silver hair. The little girl watched Daisy carefully, trying to figure out if she was safe.
“Well, where are you staying?” he asked after a moment. “If it’s okay, I’d like to stay with Demi until we hear back. I promised her father I would look after her.”
Daisy cracked an eye open, glancing at the girl again. Demi’s tiny hands were curled into the fabric of Ti’Lan’s trousers, but her gaze had softened just a bit. “Everyone else gone?” Daisy asked.
“Yeah,” Ti’Lan confirmed, his expression darkening. “I promised I would watch over her and give her training once she was old enough. She’s sensitive, Daisy—really sensitive. She can sense spirits before even I can.”
Daisy lifted a brow. “That’s impressive.” She waved a hand vaguely. “And everyone else? Where did they go?”
Ti’Lan exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. “No idea. We were supposed to dock at Kont-aar, but I’m not even sure where we are now.”
Daisy sighed, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “Well, good thing I’m here then. I can escort everyone somewhere safe. My friend Isabela will be able to get them where they need to go.” She looked to Ti’Lan then. “After that, I can take you to the Lighthouse. That’s where my friends and I have been staying. It’s the safest place for us while we figure out how to stop the gods.”
Ti’Lan’s brows lifted slightly. “Gods… gods are real, then.”
Daisy let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, you have no idea. And they’re ugly.”
Ti’Lan snorted, handing her a piece of roasted meat. “Ugly, huh?”
“Elgar’nan looks like he was carved from rage and bad decisions, and Ghilan’nain? She’s a nightmare with too many tentacles and not enough mercy.” Daisy took a bite of the meat, sighing at the taste. “And those are just the two I know of."
Ti’Lan shook his head, staring into the fire. “Shit.”
Daisy’s nerves buzzed beneath her skin, an uneasy restlessness that refused to fade. From what she could gather, it had been a full day—maybe two—since she had left the Lords. Time had slipped through her fingers like sand, and though she had no way of knowing what was happening back at the Lighthouse, she prayed that nothing catastrophic had erupted in her absence. She ran through the plan again in her head, trying to find some comfort in its structure. If all went well, getting everyone through the eluvian would take half a day, and then she could make the return trip to the Lighthouse before nightfall. Ti’Lan and Demi would bunk with her until she received a letter back from her mothers. They would be safe there—at least, safer than wandering unfamiliar lands with nowhere to go.
The rest of the night was spent huddled close to the fire, laughter breaking through the heavy weight of exhaustion. Daisy and Ti’Lan took turns sharing stories, weaving images of mischief, daring escapes, and childhood memories. Demi hung onto every word, her silver eyes wide, her small hands clenched in excitement. When Daisy exaggerated a tale about Ti’Lan getting stuck in a tree while trying to impress a girl, the little girl let out a breathless giggle, covering her mouth as if she wasn’t supposed to laugh.
The warmth of family, of shared history, settled something deep in Daisy’s bones. By the time sleep came, Demi was nestled between them, her tiny frame curled close to Daisy’s side, her fingers tangled in Daisy’s shirt as if afraid she might disappear by morning. Daisy lay awake for a while, listening to the rhythmic sound of Ti’Lan’s breathing, the soft crackle of dying embers, and the distant hush of the waves against the shore. She shut her eyes, willing herself to rest, knowing that tomorrow would come too quickly.
~oOo~
The morning was a blur of movement, tension, and unspoken emotion.
The camp stirred before the sun had fully risen, the air thick with the scent of smoldering ashes and damp sea breeze. People moved with a quiet urgency, rolling up bedrolls, securing packs, and dismantling makeshift shelters. The weight of departure pressed down on them, heavy but necessary.
Daisy moved through the motions, checking supplies and ensuring no one was left behind, all while keeping a careful eye on Demi and Ti’Lan. The little girl clung to her brother sleepily, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists, her freckled face scrunching as she tried to shake off the last remnants of sleep. Daisy exhaled slowly. Today would be long, but if everything went according to plan, it would at least be the first step toward something better for all of them.
The journey back was slow but steady, and as the hours passed, Daisy felt the remnants of her hangover gradually loosen their grip on her. The sluggishness remained, clinging to her limbs like a heavy fog, but at least the pounding in her skull had dulled to a manageable throb. The spirits of Madness and Adventure lingered close, their presence a steady, guiding hum. They whispered warnings when needed, alerting her to any dangers that lurked ahead.
Thankfully, only one threat stood in their way. A wandering group of antaam had blocked their path, but they barely posed a challenge. Daisy and Ti’Lan made short work of them, their movements fluid and practiced, a silent rhythm between siblings who had fought side by side before. By the time they reached the eluvian, Daisy felt the first stirrings of relief settle in her chest. Handing Demi over to Ti’Lan, she stepped forward first, placing a cautious hand against the cool, glass-like surface of the mirror—the magic within thrummed beneath her touch, sending a ripple through the Veil as she passed through. The world bent and twisted around her, and then—silence. The Crossroads stretched before her, an eerie and endless expanse of pathways and ancient structures. She scanned the area; her muscles were tensed, her senses sharp, but nothing stirred.
Satisfied, she turned back, watching as her brother hesitantly stepped through with Demi clutched in his arms. His face morphed from suspicion to awe, his golden eyes widening as he took in the surreal landscape. "By the gods…" he whispered.
Daisy smirked. "Worth the trip, huh?"
He huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve been traveling through this?”
“Among other things,” she said, guiding them forward toward the Hall of Valor eluvian. The short walk was enough to allow Ti’Lan to gather himself, though his grip on Demi remained firm as if he feared she might slip through his fingers in this strange realm. What Daisy didn’t expect was Isabella storming at her when she approached the main area. The pirate queen did a double take once she saw her, an uncharacteristic look of concern shadowing her usually mischievous expression. Isabella’s sharp eyes locked onto her, scanning her from head to toe.
“Where the hell have you been?” Isabella’s voice was edged with worry, but her posture remained guarded. “Your friends have been looking for you everywhere. You ran out of the Hall like you saw a damn ghost, and then—nothing. No word. Nothing.”
Daisy parted her lips, struggling to find the right words, but Ti’Lan spoke before she could. “She ran because of me.” His voice was steady, carrying the weight of quiet authority. “She found out I was in danger and didn’t hesitate. She had no time to waste.” Daisy swallowed, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. That wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close enough. Close enough to shield her from the real answer—the one she couldn’t bring herself to say. That she had run not just because of her brother’s plight but because of the face she had seen. A face from a long-dead memory, one that shattered her resolve and sent her fleeing like a coward.
She had felt the weight of chains that no longer existed, their phantom grip tightening around her throat, dragging her back into the abyss she had spent years clawing her way out of. How could she explain that?
She couldn’t.
Instead, she exhaled, forcing a wry smirk onto her lips. “You know me, Isabella. Always running headfirst into trouble.”
The pirate queen didn’t look entirely convinced, but she let it go with a shake of her head. “You’re a damn headache, you know that?”
Daisy grinned. “Wouldn’t want to be anything less.”
Thankfully, Isabella had other priorities. When she learned of the refugees, she immediately offered her help, her usual roguish charm slipping back into place as she took command of the situation.
With a plan in place, Daisy let herself breathe. Just for a moment. Because soon enough, she would have to face everything she had been running from. As Isabella took charge, she wasted no time in assessing the newcomers. Her sharp gaze flicked over Ti’Lan, appraising him with obvious interest. A slow, knowing smirk curled her lips as she sauntered closer, placing a hand on her hip.
“Well, well,” she drawled, her voice dripping with amusement. “Daisy, you didn’t tell me you had such a charming company. You keeping him all to yourself?”
Daisy groaned, already regretting every choice that led to this moment. “Isabella, don’t—”
“Oh, hush, sweetheart. I’m just being friendly.” She turned her full attention to Ti’Lan, her smirk widening. “So, tell me, tall, dark, and handsome, do you happen to have a taste for pirate queens?”
Ti’Lan blinked, momentarily taken aback, before chuckling. “I appreciate the compliment, but I’m very married.”
Daisy nearly choked on her own relief as Isabella feigned a wounded gasp, placing a hand over her heart. “Oh, tragic! Another good one taken.” She sighed dramatically, but the twinkle in her eye showed she wasn’t truly disappointed. “Tell me, does your wife happen to be the jealous type?”
Ti’Lan smirked. “Extremely.”
“Shame.” Isabella winked before stepping back, clearly enjoying herself. “Well, if she ever decides to throw you overboard, do let me know.”
Daisy rubbed her temples, her annoyance peaking. “Are you done?”
Isabella grinned. “For now.” She gave Ti’Lan a final, exaggerated once-over before turning back to business.
Ti’Lan simply shook his head, amused but unfazed. “Is she always like this?” he asked, glancing at Daisy.
“You have no idea.” Daisy crossed her arms, eyeing Ti’Lan with open suspicion. “But before we leave—married? Since when?”
Ti’Lan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “For a little while now.”
Daisy gawked at him. “A little while? You’ve been gone for over a year! When exactly were you planning on telling your favorite sister?”
"You are certainly not my favorite." He shrugged, clearly enjoying her reaction. “I figured I’d tell you when I saw you.”
Daisy threw her hands up. “Unbelievable! Do I at least know this person?”
Ti’Lan’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smirk. “You might.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s all you’re getting for now,” he teased.
Daisy groaned in frustration. “Oh, you are horrible.”
Isabela, still within earshot, let out a low whistle. “Mystery spouses? How intriguing. Now I have to know who was lucky enough to tie this one down.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Ti’Lan, but he only chuckled.
Daisy jabbed a finger at him. “We will be talking about this later.”
Ti’Lan grinned. “Looking forward to it.”
The journey back to the Lighthouse was eerily quiet, the hum of the Fade surrounding Daisy and Ti’Lan as the boat carried them through the shifting mists. The air crackled with magic, the reflection of distant, shattered eluvians flickering in the distance like dying stars. Demi clung to Ti’Lan’s cloak, her small hands gripping tightly as she peeked over his shoulder, wide-eyed at the strange, weightless movement of the boat. Daisy, still drained from the remnants of her hangover, pressed a hand to her forehead and exhaled slowly, trying to center herself. As they neared the Lighthouse’s dock, the familiar sight of its ruined stone archway wrapped in roots was a relief. Daisy stepped out first, her boots crunching on the gravel path leading to the main courtyard. Daisy helped Demi out of the boat first, holding her tightly while trying to keep her distracted until Ti'Lan stood beside her.
Just ahead, movement caught her eye. Two figures—Lucanis and Emmrich—emerged from the opposite dock, deep in conversation. Daisy’s heart leaped at the sight of Lucanis, a mix of relief and something deeper settling in her chest. She took a step forward, calling out, “Lucanis! Emmrich!” She handed Demi off to Ti'Lan.
She barely had a moment to breathe before he was suddenly there. One second, he was across the courtyard, and the next—Lucanis, or perhaps Spite, had closed the distance in the blink of an eye. His arms wrapped around her with a force that nearly knocked the air from her lungs, holding her tight—as if afraid she might vanish if he let go. The sheer intensity of it stunned her, and for a moment, all she could do was grip his coat, grounding herself in his warmth.
“Are you alright?” Lucanis’s voice was rough and urgent, with the faintest tremor beneath it. His breath was warm against her temple, and his grip was unrelenting.
Daisy blinked up at him, her hands instinctively coming up to cup his face, thumbs brushing over the sharp lines of his jaw. His skin was cool to the touch, his warm brown eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite place—relief, concern, and something raw beneath it all. “I’m fine,” she murmured, searching his face. “Are you? Has something happened to Treviso? Is everyone ok?” For a moment, he just stared at her as if committing her to memory, as if he hadn’t been sure he’d see her again. Then, finally, he exhaled, his shoulders loosening just a fraction, but he didn’t let go.
Lucanis gripped Daisy so tightly that it almost hurt, his arms like iron bands around her as if he were afraid she might slip through his fingers. His breathing was uneven, and she could feel the tremor in his body as he held onto her.
“Daisy,” he rasped, his voice raw with something she couldn’t quite name—fear, relief, anger, all tangled together. “Where the hell have you been?” Lucanis’s grip was firm, tense, his fingers pressing just a little too hard into Daisy’s arms as he held her. He was breathing steadily, but there was something controlled about it, too measured—like he was forcing himself to stay composed. His dark brown eyes flickered over her, sharp and assessing, taking in every detail—her disheveled state, the exhaustion lining her face, the way she swayed just slightly from the remnants of her hangover. “You vanished,” he said, his voice low and taut. “No word. No sign. Just—gone.”
Daisy met his gaze, trying not to flinch under the weight of it. She could feel the tension in his grip, the effort it took for him to keep his touch from bruising. Lucanis was always careful, always in control—but right now, that control felt like it was on the verge of snapping. “I had to,” she said, barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t—”
Lucanis’s fingers twitched against her arms before he exhaled sharply through his nose. “You ran,” he muttered like he was trying to make sense of it. “You never run.”
Daisy swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. Not knowing if there was anything she could say that would make a difference. Then Lucanis’s gaze flickered past her, his body going still as he finally took note of Ti’Lan standing at her side. His grip on Daisy loosened slightly, but the tension in his frame only deepened. “Who,” Lucanis said slowly, his voice like a blade sliding from its sheath, “is that?”
Daisy barely had time to open her mouth before Ti’Lan, ever the opportunist, clapped a hand on her shoulder and grinned. “Me? Oh, I’m Daisy’s husband.”
Daisy choked. “Ti’Lan—what the fuck?!”
Lucanis went completely still. His eyes darkened, a flicker of purple flashed before it disappeared, his expression unreadable—but there was something almost lethal in how his jaw tightened. His fingers flexed at his sides like he was resisting the urge to reach for a weapon. Ti’Lan, the absolute menace that he was, just grinned wider. “What? No ‘dear husband’ for your beloved spouse?”
Daisy smacked his arm hard. “I swear to every god listening, I will drown you in the ocean.”
Ti’Lan finally laughed, holding up his one free hand in mock surrender. “Alright, alright—she’s my sister.” He winked at Lucanis. “Though if you saw the look on your face just now—priceless.”
Lucanis exhaled slowly through his nose. “Charmed,” he said flatly.
Daisy groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Lucanis just crossed his arms, glancing between them. “So this is your brother?”
Ti’Lan extended a hand. “Ti’Lan. A pleasure.”
Lucanis eyed the offered hand, then, after a moment, shook it briefly before releasing it. His gaze flickered back to Daisy, unreadable. “We’re going to talk later.”
Daisy sighed. “Yeah. I figured.” Before Daisy could recover from the absolute humiliation of Ti’Lan’s little joke, another voice cut through the tension.
“By the spirits. Ti’Lan Ingellvar.” Daisy turned to see Emmrich standing behind them, arms crossed, his sharp gaze assessing. His usual stern expression softened only slightly, though his tone carried something bordering on approval.
Ti’Lan straightened, his posture shifting instinctively into something more formal. “Professor Emmrich. It’s been some time.”
Emmrich gave a slow nod. “It has. Last I heard, you were working with Professor Klous. I take it that didn’t go as planned?”
Ti’Lan exhaled through his nose. “That would be putting it lightly.” He hesitated, then inclined his head. “It’s good to see you again. I didn’t expect to find you among Daisy’s allies. I thought Mourn Watchers never leave Nevarra?”
Emmrich arched a brow. “Some of us do travel. And I didn’t expect one of my more promising students to turn up needing rescue. Life is full of surprises.”
Daisy, at this point, was entirely done. She had reached her limit between Lucanis, Ti’Lan’s nonsense, and now Emmrich sizing up her brother like a disappointed father figure. With a dramatic sigh, she shifted Demi in her arms and turned on her heel. “I swear to every spirit listening before I deal with any of this—any of you—I am having a bath.” She pointed a firm finger at Ti’Lan, Lucanis, and Emmrich. “You can all stand here and analyze each other to death, but I smell like a damn sewer of Minrathous, and I refuse to do anything else until that changes.”
Ti’Lan merely nodded. “Understood.”
Lucanis gave the slightest twitch of his lips but said nothing.
Emmrich, however, smirked faintly. “Still as dramatic as ever, I see.”
Daisy didn’t bother looking back. “And still dealing with too many men talking at once.” With that, she strode off toward the Lighthouse, Demi tucked securely against her chest, leaving them behind to their quiet assessments and unspoken judgments.
20 notes · View notes
eunchancorner · 4 months ago
Text
Revenged and Rescued (Part 2)
Help I can't stop
-
“Henry, you awake?”
He blinked his eyes open slowly, his brain feeling like soup in his head as he responded to the familiar voice.
“Mhm… ‘s that you, Charles…?”
“Yeah, it’s me. How’re you doing?” the pilot asked, sitting beside Henry’s cot.
Henry took a deep breath, feeling how weirdly… flawless it was. No, something was wrong. He shouldn’t be breathing this smoothly after how badly he’d gotten hurt.
“S-something’s wrong. I’m- I’m breathing wrong, Charles, why am I breathing wrong?” he began to panic, trying to sit up and placing a hand on his chest, but was met with the feeling of cold, smooth metal.
“Oh, yeah, uh… they found a lot more internal damage than we thought. Your lungs weren’t gonna last much longer, so they gave you an artificial respiratory system. It supplies oxygen to your bloodstream as long as you’re breathing, like normal lungs, but it’s not as delicate, so it’ll work as long as your brain keeps you breathing. Plus, it sorta surrounds your heart, like a second ribcage, which is good, because a lot of your ribs were broken, too… It’s a lot to take in, I know but… you’re ok now. And you have this cool new chest cavity so that they have direct maintenance access to it. It’s even got a glass panel so they can make sure your heartbeat’s normal, isn’t that cool? It’s also got sensors and stuff, connected to your nerves so that you can still feel stuff, I think to make sure that you can tell if it’s being damaged? Either that or to keep you from going nuts because you can’t feel your chest. Once you’re less… out of it, they’re gonna make sure they’re working properly. After that, you should be good to go!”
As Henry relaxed at the explanation, he felt his thoughts return to that soup-like state, induced by the medicine used to keep the rest of him numb from the pain he should’ve been in. It was a lot to adjust to, but he’d had to deal with worse, in all honesty. And listening to Charles ramble on about it helped him feel a little less alone.
“Once they’ve got it all tested out and cleared you to get up and out, I wanna show you around the base. I still want you to meet some of my squad, I think they’ll like you! Well… mostly. The Bukowski twins will, at least! But then again, they’re pretty friendly anyway. But, then again, so is Mac… We might have to keep Phlex away from you for a while, he’s kind of a wildcard when it comes to… well, people in general. Oh, and Quentin’s gonna seem mean at first, don’t worry about it, he’s a cranky old man. Heh, then again, I’m saying that on Galeforce’s base. Either way, even if they don’t like you at first, I think they’ll learn to! After all, you’re pretty likable. You’re smart, you’re motivated, and you’re a good listener! After all, you’re listening to me right now! The whole Toppat thing might dampen stuff a little, but hey, you also, y’know, killed most of the Toppats, so there’s that. According to the twins, you’re kind of a legend, too, so, I’ll have to hear that story. Anyway,” the pilot finally finished as he stood, “I’ll stop talking your ear off and let you rest some. You’ll need it, y’know, if you’re gonna meet my squad.”
“Actually, can you… stay a little longer..? It’s nicer not being lonely…” Henry admitted against his better judgment. He chalked it up to the pain medicine making everything so much easier to say, since he couldn’t really think much about holding it back.
Charles smiled a bit as he sat back down, resting an arm on the guard rail of Henry’s cot.
“Sure, I’ll stay, but I’m gonna keep talking, so are you sure you don’t want me to go?” he asked playfully, leaning on the rail.
“You say that like it’s a downside…” Henry responded simply, smiling back at him.
13 notes · View notes
yanderu-deredere · 2 years ago
Note
Your ocs with a sick darling maybe? I’m sick right now and want them to comfort me please
a/n: why is this literally me every single day? hopefully you feel better soon and here's some helpful (and maybe not so helpful) yanderes to perhaps be of service to you
Tumblr media
warning: please don't take this as an instruction guide to how to take care of a sick person
Tumblr media
eun-jeong yoo ★ profile
literally acts like this is why he went to medical school, like this is the sole purpose of his degree and nothing else
unfortunately paranoid tho? like he's checking your temp constantly and if that shit isn't getting better, he'll be like actually i think you have a brain parasite or something, puppy, like idk your symptoms really match--
babies you SO much
doesn't let you get up at all, will get everything for you, will bring food to you, makes you all the good comfort food of korea, etc etc
probably the most likely to get you all better the fastest
You sniffled, pulling the blanket farther up so you were warm and covered.
It made Eun-jeong's heart melt, to be honest. You looked so cozy but also so helpless at the same time. It was like staring at a puppy! Especially with your hair all messy and your big sweet eyes so innocent and watery.
He removed one of his leather gloves to press his palm against your forehead. You were definitely still significantly warm and, from the way your nose was running, it didn't seem like you were going to get better any time soon.
"Okay, puppy, can you sit up for me and take some medicine?" He reached over to get the little cup of flu suppressant with his ungloved hand before he tried to pass it over to you.
When you pouted, he felt his melty heart get pierced. Softly, he placed a kiss on your warm temple "Come on, pretty, just this and then you can chase it with your favourite drink. See? I brought it over?"
When you continued to pout, he just chuckled and helped you up. He'd make you feel better, no matter what.
Tumblr media
gawain dubhán byrne ★ profile
paranoid fuck pt. 2
except he doesn't have a medical degree so like you sneeze and he immediately thinks it's brain cancer
all of his worries are sooo far from the truth that it's not even funny (but also its so so funny)
also babies you but not to the point of forcing you to stay in bed or not letting you do things you want
like if you wanna sit on the couch and watch movies instead of huddling in bed, he'll let you
but he'll also be there lmao he's attached to your hip
"What do you want to watch, darling?" He grabbed the remote for you so he could flick the expensive flat screen on. "Anything you want, I promise."
You just sniffled, your voice hoarse as you shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around you "We can watch Pride and Prejudice. I know it's your favourite."
"My sweet, I want to watch something you want to watch." Gawain frowned though it was hard to at the sight of you.
You're sitting huddled on the couch, looking like a bulky little potato or maybe a stubby burrito. It was precious and part of him wanted to keep you sick forever.
"Might just fall asleep." You leaned your head against his shoulder and his heart fluttered "Just wanna watch sm'th you wanna watch."
"Okay, darling, that's good too." Gawain pressed one last kiss on the top of your head before pointing the remote at the flat screen to start Netflix
Tumblr media
fujio watanabe ★ profile
can barely take care of himself let alone you
then again, he made sure his little brother survived to adulthood, right? he can take care of a sick darling
wrong.
he's definitely there just for muscle. you can't move around so you can ask him to do things for you
you have to be specific tho forreal becos you'll ask him to get you soup and he'll get you all the soup, all the kinds he can find
same goes for medicine, cough drops, etc etc
keeps calling his little brother for advice lol like you can just hear him in the background, panicking
"What do you mean thermometer? Can't I just put my hand on her forehead and know?" Fujio grumbled into the phone, his hand on his own forehead as he stared at you curled up on the couch.
He could hear the static sigh of his brother on the other end of the line "If her fever gets to a certain point, you have to take her to the emergency room."
It was like someone dumped cold water over him. Emergency? It was just a cold wasn't it? Why'd you need to go to the emergency room?
"Okay, okay." It was like someone lit a fire under him. "Just stay on the line."
He rushed around, phone held in between his shoulder and his ear. He hurried to get his keys, a jacket, his wallet-- Before he left to go out the door, Fujio leaned over to you, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.
"I'll be back, baby, don't worry. I'll take care of this."
Tumblr media
ryuunosuke yamamoto ★ profile
he knows first aid? but that's about it lmao
you know that saying that's like idiots can't get colds? mans has the strongest immune system in the world
part of him is actually kind of fascinated by your cold like what, your nose is blocked? what does that mean? and your body is warm? why is your body so warm? huh?
literally has only two people he can call that he trusts and one of them doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about (fujio) and the other can't be bothered (fujio's brother)
definitely depends on you to tell him what to do
"Here, I made you miso soup. It's the only soup I know how to make." He pulled the coffee table closer to the sofa with his free hand before he placed the bowl of hot soup in front of you.
You muttered a very crackly thank you before reaching over. He stood there, watching your every move like a hawk, his fingers playing with each other in anxiety.
Because of your bad throat, instead of saying anything, you just gave Ryuu an enthusiastic thumbs up. Or, as enthusiastic as you could looking like you were half dead.
His entire body relaxed and he plopped down next to you, making sure his large body didn't jostle you too much. He then wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
"Don't do that! You could get sick!" You growled at him, voice throaty.
Ryuu just laughed, pressing another kiss against the same exact place "Babe, I don't get sick ever, don't worry."
Tumblr media
ayaka yamato ★ profile
would not touch you with a ten foot pole
like sorry, she loves you with all of her heart and all but like what if she gets sick? no way!
does hire the best doctors in the world to take care of you
gets really angry at you for no reason becos why the hell did you get sick, now she can't be around you!
despite the fact that she can't be around you, she definitely hovers close to your room
demands that you stay at her place also lol
"Hi hi, baby, how are you?" Ayaka smiled at nothing in particular, her glamorous nails tapping against the coffee table in front of her, her glitzy phone held against her ear.
All you could do was really groan and, from the sound of rustling sheets, she could tell that you had shifted positions.
She could almost cry. She wanted so badly to be able cuddle you close, to hold you and comfort you, maybe even run her fingers through your hair. But you were sick and there was no way in hell you were going to pass that bug to her.
"Baby, I asked you a question." She said instead, her grip on her phone tightening.
"I'm fine, my love, my throat just hurts a lot." You finally responded after a minute of silence. Probably because you were in so much pain, Ayaka thought bitterly.
She nodded despite the fact that you couldn't see her "Okay, okay, I'll leave you to rest. Text me if I can get anything for you, okay?"
You grumbled out an affirmative and she forced herself to hang up after exchanging 'I love you's. Ayaka didn't sit there doing nothing for long though.
Immediately, she stood up so she could pace before dialing another number. Her face contorted and, if anybody could see the anger that was radiating off of her, they probably would've scampered in the opposite direction.
"What the hell am I paying you for! You're supposed to be making my darling feel better! Goddamnit, go back in there and do something or I'll have my guards fillet you, you useless piece of shit!"
54 notes · View notes
baldy-wan-kenobi · 11 months ago
Text
Okay people, here we go:
Baldy's Book Club
Episode 1: "Into the Storm"
By Taylor Anderson, Book 1 of the Destroyermen series.
Okay, so, on the recommendation of my most esteemed mutual @frogblast-the-ventcore , I have been coerced to read the Destroyermen series, and post my thoughts about them as I do.
So, for part 1, here we go. I'm going to assume those of you reading have read the book, cause if you haven't, you should be going to buy it, right now. I mean it.
First and foremost, this book was written by a ww2 nerd, for ww2 nerds, and by god does it show. Taylor Anderson is a professor of history, and it shines through in every part of the book. From the technical details of the USS Walker, to the shortcomings of the Mk. 14 torpedo, to the attitudes, lives, and habits (both good and bad) of a 1942 Asiatic fleet destroyerman. Speaking of which, call me Dean Kamen, cause that's a perfect segway to talk about
The Characters
To begin with, do not expect a normal person's assessment of these characters. Expect a Normal™ person's view of them.
First: Captain Matthew Reddy. Oh my lord this man. He's an absolute mess, knows it, and yet cannot let that show, because, well he's stranded in an alternate universe with humanoid lemurs and sapient velociraptors. In my head, he's got total divorced dad energy going on, 30-something going on 50 because of stress, greying at the temples but still hot in a DILF kind of way, not overly muscular, and with one hell of a voice. (I'll admit the audio book colored my perception, but it's a fantastic audio book so I don't care.)
Next, Chack-Sab-At, the biggest and most baddass guyfailure to ever live. "Oh, I'm a pacifist" then the very second that an enemy without moral repercussions comes along he's all "I love violence and killing and murder and death and injuring people and blood and biting and cutting and-" like, seriously, dude says he's a pacifist before turning around and becoming Furry Doomguy.
Next, Dennis Silva, he-who-was-told-not-to-fuck-the-monkey-cats-but-did-it-anyway. Moving on,
There's literally more I love about the characters than I want to sit here and type out, so I'm going to cut it short, but Oh My God these characters are A+.
Next, I just want to touch on something these books made me feel. A lot of times, as an USAmerican with an actual brain, I can get bogged down in the fucked-up shit my country has done and feel like I can't celebrate what makes the US cool without making it sound like I'm excusing all the bad stuff, but this book kinda made me stop for a minute and go "man, the US is kinda fucking rad, when you think about it." Because, you know what? It is. Yeah, we've done fucked up shit, but we've also done some pretty awesome stuff. For every My Lai Massacre, there's a moon landing. For every Trail of Tears, there's a Berlin Airlift. Sometimes, it's okay to take a moment and just go "Fuck yeah, guys. Were pretty cool." Because this book really makes you feel that, at least it did to me, but I'll get off my red, white and blue high horse and keep going.
Alright, now we come to the part that I need to get out...
THE BRITISH EAST INDIA COMPANY
Literally everywhere in my life, I am haunted and stalked by the specter of a long-dead megacorporation. In every piece of media, in every topic I research, no matter what, they're there. As the Frogman quoted from me in a meme a while back "I'm being haunted by the ghost of English imperialism". What the fuck? Anyway, if you wanna chat about the book, please do, because I am at terminal levels of Fandom.
Anyway, if you want to read along for the next Baldy's Book Club, we'll be reading Crusade, the next book in the Destroyermen series.
(P.S. Frogman, I know this review isn't very good, but my brain is soup rn so this is whatchu get.
8 notes · View notes
crowtrobotx · 1 year ago
Note
your most recent fic destroyed me and now i HAVE to ask— how do you think the chrysalis story/maybe just lottie in general would turn out if she was raised by kris? if something happened to karl but maybe they’re still stuck in the village. obv don’t spoil anything you don’t want to but that little thought experiment killed me.
OHHHH MY GOD Jackal you really do ask the best questions. I had to think about this for a while! It’s funny bc Karl & Lottie are such a package deal in my head and I’m just like… Do Not separate them. Like so much of her personality is just wrapped up in being his horrible little clone and constant shadow that cutting her out of that picture seems almost impossible.
HOWEVER. I can think of several scenarios where they might end up apart (minus him straight up dying bc that isn't fun!!! I say as if what I'm about to talk about is any better lmao.) Like, minor spoiler but this won't happen (obviously) because Reasons - I imagine Karl would want to pay off the Duke to whisk Kris out of the Village before Lottie is born (whether it's because they realize their WHOOPSIE or it's coincidental.) And maybe it happens and Kris of course doesn't hear from him for ~7 years and she forgets a lot of the finer details of his face and his voice doesn't come so easily to mind anymore. And then he does escape and he does get his freedom ending and he finds her and whatever you do, do not think about Karl seeing Lottie for the first time after never knowing her especially in the scenario where he didn't realize she existed oh my god oh mY GOD--
Anyway. To your actual question: I would like to think most of Lottie's gremlin nature is just inherent. It's in the damn HeisenDNA. Like, no matter her circumstances she's always going to be a weird little girl who's a little too into the concept of cybernetic enhancements and bugs and rats. And Kris, being a former weird little girl herself, would definitely support her - but given that particularly the mechanics/engineering part are NOT in her area of expertise, I think she'd have to rely way more on teachers or outside sources to help that part of her blossom. She'd be the mom at the science fair nodding along enthusiastically like she knows what the hell anyone is saying while internally her brain is turning into soup. Would that effect Lottie negatively? I don't really think so, but it might make her less attached because she'd have to seek... enrichment further away from home lol. There’s also the issue of Lottie’s lil magnet powers. Kris would not know what to do with that/how to relate at all obviously. I think that’d cause a whole host of problems - not necessarily resentment on Lottie’s part bc she’d still think it was Neat but I also can’t help but think they’d be more chaotic or out of control after a point. I think it would fuck her up a little bit being the odd one out with no one to relate to and it might make her a bit mad at the world. :( I definitely am inclined to believe Kris would have a metric shitton of anxiety about keeping her away from folks who'd want to study her like a lab rat or worse use her for their goals, and as the child of an extremely obsessive compulsive parent I can tell you that it does rub off and can make you extremely paranoid. Like, Lottie's probably got her own little conspiracy board by age 5 in this scenario lol. Kris only knows protecc, attacc, and panic attacc.
Also, I’m truly trying to avoid saying “she’d be a bit kinder/more thoughtful” bc it feels like gender stereotyping but also Karl is Karl and the bar is on the floor lmao. Kris isn't nice but she does more or less recognize when people deserve kindness. I don't think she'd be better or worse off, overall. But she'd be different, as any of us would. I think what you'd end up with is a more subdued but still slightly feral little mischief maker who is more cognizant of other people's needs and wants but possibly less... funny and over the top in her pursuits as a result lol. I'll let you decide if that's a good or bad thing. Anyway. I'm now thinking too hard about that first scenario I described because you planted the seed lol. Hmmm.
7 notes · View notes
nnnyxie · 2 years ago
Note
*comes barreling in like a madman, decked out in a tuxedo, with a bouquet of your fave flowers/plants + your fave candies/snack pack in hand, askew and windswept* Okay so I may or mayn't have struggled a teensy bit with this one – I can't believe I struggled with writing for our Mikester! I feel he's a little ooc 🥺 forewarnin' apologies for it too . Aaa but I definitely made an effort ^^;
Nonetheless, I hope you like it~ ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ 
*offers the bouquet + nomz, platonic nose smooches, then proceeds to drape myself dramatically across a nearby red-velvet chaise lounge* Oh, do tell me how it is, Ceej. I may find that I'll alter slash edit it in the near future if it's not up to my ridiculously substantial code. [/lh] 
mikey 🍊
Mikey, who feels his heart break along with April's voice as she briefs them on the whole ... you situation.
Mikey, who flashes you a kind smile - shaky, but genuine and disarming - when he catches a glimpse of you when April returns. Your face, your sweet, gentle face, is downcast, your doe eyes dull ... it's not amiss: you've been through the ringer.
–but you still make direct eye contact with him for more than half a second, and that's all it takes to reel Mikey in, hook, line, and sinker. 
As far as he and his ninpo is concerned, you're theirs now and there's nothin' nobody except you can do about it. it's rippling somethin' fierce and - as the designated greatest mystic warrior - who was he to disagree with it?
Mikey, who lives by the principle: Food brings people together, and at the realization of a homeless, hungry child, is rushing into the kitchen to work his ✨razzmatazz✨ in only the way he can.
Mikey, who is a bit more than a little frazzle-brained as he's flitting to and fro in the lair's kitchen, his anxious mutterings-aloud at unique odds with his graceful movements. The kitchen is his domain. He loves cooking. Food is art. Art is his métier. Food brings people together. 
These are all main subtitles running loops in his mind. Everyone knew better than to disrupt Mikey when he was in the zone, and right now, he was surfing his waves of expertise. He may not have known much about the situation thus far, just what April supplied them with plus everyone else's speculations, but that was enough for now.
Mikey, who hisses and snarls at his fiend of a blueberry poptart-coded brother and feels no remorse when he nearly breaks his only non-mystic weapon wooden spoon over the back of his dumb-dumb head! 
The only worry he feels from that encounter is for his spoon! His favorite spoon, might he add!! Doctor Delicate Touch is a hair's width from making an explosive appearance until Raph towers over them like a looming storm cloud and he's alerting them of your presence–
Oh. You were coming.
–and he's shoving Leo out the way with his elbows (he makes sure to really dig his joint into the softer parts of Leo's ribs), balancing your tray of food in his careful grasp as he makes his way to the living area. There's a little bounce to his step to rid himself of his nerves, and he can't help but to feel that he's walking straight into a path of fate that would alter the course of his life forever. How right he was.
Mikey, who is the most outwardly exuberant when you agree to staying with the Hamato Clan–– albeit the way you hesitated was not missed with any of them, Mikey was the one who took it to heart. Not in a bad way! It's just that he's the most emotionally in-tune, and there's nothing more he wants to do than to let you know that no matter what: you're safe here.
And that's exactly what he does. One warm meal at a time.
Mikey, whose voice is so soft and voice is so warm, nearly as warm as the soup you were now devouring, as he gently inquires if you'd like any more? There's much more left and you can have as much as you want! Absolutely anything you want. Just let him know and it's as good as yours!
Mikey, who audibly tears up (this makes sense right??) when you nudge past any reluctance you may have had to tell him that the food was good. Is immediately makin' mad moves to get you more. Has to be actively calmed down by Leo and Raph when you literally behold him like this–
Tumblr media
(LMAOAOOAOOO he's just an excited lil puppy dw :'] )
Mikey, who plays a crucial role in the climacteric of integrating you in the Hamato Clan's lives, both intrinsically and governmentally. (Adoption processes were actual hell, ohmigosh–)
Mikey, who adores you wholeheartedly. Takes to calling you the sweetest platonic affectionate endearments!! His little sunshine and food-related nicknames are his go-to and all-time favorites! You're his little baking / cooking buddy, and coming together to make delicious meals for the family is one of y'all's favorite bonding activities! :D
However, if you're not so much a whizz in the kitchen, he'll just give a small chuckle, pat your head, and promote you to hand him ingredients and keep him company! ^^ No way are you being left out if you don't want it, honey. Really interesting conversations have come to be during those little moments. You wouldn't trade them for the world.
Mikey, who fixes your school lunches every day without fail, all the way from your first day (with them) up until you graduate. The cutest decorative bentos with the most heart-clenchingly wholesome notes are enough to keep you going for the whole day.
Mikey, who's the first one you think to go to when you need to rant. He listens. He listens to every and any thing you have to say, and these little sessions can range from you guys sitting up together in the kitchen while he bakes cookies [he's making sure to maintain steady bouts of eye contact and reacts accordingly to your words to assure you he's listening :') need me a Mikey fr] or you guys will be curled up together in a blanket fort fit for royalty as you pour your heart out to him. Because that's just the kinda person Uncle Mikey is – someone you can tell any and everything to. Because you know he'll understand.
If you start getting emotional, he lets you :') even encourages it!! Remember when I said he was a big help in getting you to open up and heal from your traumas and wounds? That still stands. It always will. He's the one that teaches you that it's okay to cry, all while fetching you a band-aid (metaphorical or literal) and gently pecking your forehead, pulling you close.
Once the tears hit, he's gazing at you with the saddest eyes and smile – and if you're okay with it, he pulls you close in many a comforting hug, all of which usually end in cuddles (for as long as you'll allow). If not, he gives you a fluffy pillow to hold in place of a hug and uses his ninpo to create pretty little soft images to end this emotionally-taxing endeavor on a magical note. You deserve that much.
"Oh, my little cub. You're so strong. So, so strong. So brave. I love you so so so-o-o much, you know that, right? I've got you, baby, it's okay. Shh, sh-shh ... there we are. I'm not going anywhere. Uncle Mikey's not going anywhere ... Awh, precious sunshine of mine."
Mikey, who is always giving and giving all he's got until he's run dry. Even then, he's still trying to give light to all the candles around him – being the "happy" one in the family, he often feels he has that role to fulfill, all of which can be extremely taxing! :( Mikey's kind, compassionate, and emotionally adept. We know this.
But old habits die hard.
So when he's pulling away from the scene - as inconspicuous as he can, waving off any concerns with a smile and thinly-veiled excuse - he doesn't expect your tiny feet to patter after him. He doesn't expect the way you gaze into his eyes, making him look at you. He certainly doesn't expect your arms to loop around him to pull him into a hug,
and he doesn't stop the globs of tears from free falling down his face as he grips you back almost desperately, squeezing your frame and sniffling into your shoulder. You were so amazing.
Mikey, who screeches indignantly at your lighthearted joking and light teasing quips for when you're in a playful mood, and probably chases you with his infamous wooden spoon waving in the air. Or his kusari-fundo. He never uses them on you, goodness no. Those are just for show! ... No. What he utilizes is much more dire than any mystical weapon, any nigh-indestructible biodegradable utensil.
. . . Mikey, who revels in your squealing laughter as he lands one of many tickle attacks on you, his own laughter ringing like silver bells to match yours in a euphonious melody.
Mikey, who teaches you the notorious Puppy Dog Eyes™ and employs you to gang up on the rest of the fam, no shame whatsoever. You both are a deadly duo in your own right!
Mikey, who loves you through and through and is so so supportive of you!! Nothing will ever change that.
He's fairly protective of you, most definitely, but he doesn't coddle you to the point of being overbearing. Being the youngest, he knows how suffocating it feels, so when you get a little older and to "that age", he's your number one advocate for freedom and letting you go do fun, dumb teenager things!!
This tends to put him at odds with Raph, even April sometimes, but he stands his ground and counters with what they did at their age! You're a perfectly capable and strong and smart individual! Compared to them, you're an absolute angel. So yeah. He's your biggest supporter in all things dumb teenage fun! >:D (so long as it's relatively safe and legal and moral y'all know the dealllll)
Mikey, who is the most verbal in terms of affection and familial love for you and is not afraid to show it! I like to imagine that through him, you delve deeper into healthy communication and most likely develop a pair of eyes that sees the world in a different way. A brighter way. It's not rose-lensed – in the way that it shields you from the harsher truths, but rather picks out the little things that make it beautiful. The little things that make it worthwhile.
Mikey, who regards you with love and compassion and fondness and respect. Mikey, who's the pillow you land on when the obstacles of life are getting to you strike and strike. Mikey, who's vivaciousness and zest for life and artistry is like your vitamin; he makes your days shine brighter.
Your sense of childish wonder and innocence is endlessly rooted in orange hues and the smell of tangerines, spices, and cookie dough. Those orange-tinted lenses you break out when the inevitable cruelty of life is getting to be on that verge of too much– and suddenly ... everything's okay again. 🧡
Mikey, who's that shining light that broke through the winding tendrils of darkness that you resided in for a long while, and still does when they try to snake back in. He saved you. They all did.
So for them, and for you ... you'll live. How could you not?
"I love you, cookie!"
。°˖ ʚ🍪ɞ ꒦꒷⩩
:: Ceej. Ceeeeeej. *tugs on the end of your shirt* It's nearly 4AM. I feel like this wasn't written well enough. I might have a re-do in stock, but lemme know what you think, yeah? please enjoyy what you cannnn ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ੈ♡‧₊˚ *nose smooch, then promptly passes out*
this made me tear up a little ngl… i love mikey sm<3
i just had to post this for my readers and others to see<3
dumpster baby >>>
26 notes · View notes
chalterdh22 · 1 year ago
Text
Chapter 31: How Did You Get That Wound?
I woke up and quietly turned over to see the other two still sleeping.  Good, I thought.  I went over to Grogu first, and he was starting to stir a little bit.  I hope he wakes up soon so he can finish fixing Din up.  Then I can find out what all happened!  I started making some soup for them.  Usually that will wake the kid up, hearing me in the kitchen.  He knows I’m making food.
I wasn’t the quietest either, but I did want Din to continue to get some rest.  As the soup was heating, I walked over and took another look at the leg.  What made this kind of wound, I thought.  I’ve never seen anything like it!  I touched his exposed skin around the wound since it cut right through his flight suit.  The cut looked clean, but like he said, super deep.  It stopped bleeding for the most part though.
“Gaaah.”  I whipped my head around and saw Grogu jump from his cot to Din’s bed. 
“Whoa there, little guy.  Are you sure you have enough strength to heal right now?  Do you need to eat something first?  I’m not sure how this all works.”  He closed his eyes, put a small hand on Din’s shin and stood very still.  I soon felt a relief upon me, like an open sore being exposed to air for the first time and it felt refreshingly good. 
Not taking my eyes off his leg, the gash slowly disappeared!  “Maker…”  I whispered.  I have never seen anything like this. 
I heard Din start to moan, but not in a horrible way, and he started to move a bit.  Grogu stopped and fell backward.  He was out again.  I lifted him and put him back in his cot.  I smelt something burning.  Shoot, the soup!  Running over to the kitchen, I turned the stove off and removed the pot.  Ugh, ruined, blackened soup.
“What’s that smell?” a small, gruff voice asked.  I smiled and went back to him and knelt at the head of the bed. 
“It’s nothing, just some burnt soup.  Don’t worry, I won’t make you eat it!”  I joked with a smile.  “How are you feeling?”
“Better.”  He slowly sat up and looked at his leg.  He started to touch where the injury was and nothing, just stained blood.  “Did the kid do this?”
“Yes, it was amazing!  I’ve never seen anything like that!  Why didn’t you tell me he could heal?”
“Because it’s dangerous if people know about that.”
“I wouldn’t have said anything!”  I said defensively.
“I know that now.  Thank you for helping me out.”
“You’re welcome.”  I scooted towards the edge of the bed to look at his leg again.  Nothing there still.  Remarkable, I thought.  I lightly touched his leg again.  “Does it still hurt?”
“No, not at all.”
“Wow.  It’s just, just amazing!”  He swung his legs down to the floor, sitting up straight now.  “Ok, so now that you’re literally upright and all, what happened?  I couldn’t figure out what kind of weapon could make a mark like this.  It almost looks like an electric whip or something.”
He shook his head slightly.  “No weapon did this.”
“Ok, then what did?”  He stood up fast and walked to the refresher.  I continued to sit on his bed.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”  Oh, this has got to be good.  Should I try spying in his brain now?  No, that’s not cool.  He’ll tell me when he’s good and ready.
“Ok, but there’s nothing better than hearing war stories.  I loooooove war stories.  Especially when it’s about Mandalorians that I care about very deeply.”  It went quiet for a few seconds, like he was thinking about it.  The water started running and I could tell he was in the shower.  I went to grab clean clothes for him that he had stashed under his bed.  I’ll try to mend the ripped flight suit later after I wash it, I thought.
“I put your clean clothes outside the door!”  I yelled loudly.  “I’ll be outside!”  No reply, but I didn’t expect one, I guess.  I went out onto the front porch and sat down.
A few minutes later I heard the water turn off and the door creak open, probably to grab his clothes.  I sat there patiently, letting him have privacy.  He then walked out in his clean flight suit and NO HELMET???!!!
I stood up immediately and looked around like someone was watching him.  “Din, what are you doing?”
He gave me a huge hug which I returned.  We just stood there for a few moments holding each other.  Finally, he sat down in his chair and brought me to sit on his lap.  “We really need to get another seat for out here.”  I pointed out.  He smiled.  He still looked tired.  This was the first time I saw him clearly in daylight, so I got to see his features more closely.  He couldn’t stop looking at me and me him.  It was almost contagious. 
“Please tell me what hurt you.”  I begged.  Still keeping a smile on his face, he shook his head no.  “Why not?”  I barked back, which only made him laugh.  “I think I like you better with the helmet on.”  I teased.  He raised an eyebrow at me.
“Really?”
“No, not really.”  We just sat there in silence for a few seconds, his hand around my waist and his other hand on my lap.  I leaned in on his shoulder.  “If I guess, will you tell me?”
I could feel him chuckle slightly.  “Yes, but you’ll never guess right, so don’t bother.”  Wow, rude!
I sat up and gave him the stink eye.  “Don’t make me wander around in your head right now!”  I threatened.
Wide eyed, he stiffened up.  “Don’t you dare!”
“I wouldn’t do that, honest…. At least not on purpose!”  He seemed to relax when I said that.  “But I’m super intrigued, just so you know.”
“I know,” he said moving a clump of hair away from my face.  He leaned in and kissed me.  Dang, this felt good.  We just sank into the kiss and let it happen.  Finally coming up for air, my head two inches from his.
“You know, I could just ask the kid what happened.  He’ll tell me.  He tells me everything!”  Din shifted backwards.  He hadn’t thought of that one.  He sighed and looked away.  “Do you want to go put your helmet back on when you tell me this.”
“No.  I’ll tell you.”  I sat up straight, waiting to hear this miraculous bounty hunter story, one of legends.  “A jellyflyer attacked me.”
A what???
7 notes · View notes
pbandjesse · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
So I did not feel better today. I felt worse actually. But I was convinced I just needed to suck it up. I would convince myself that I was actually fine and was faking it. Which is stupid but I kept convincing myself and then would cough so hard I would start crying.
When I woke up I was not happy. James left while I was still getting ready because they wanted to beat the rain. I think if they stayed a little longer they would have convinced me to stay home. But instead I got myself together best I could and went down to the car.
It was raining and cold. But it was warm in the car.
Driving to camp was a little rough only because I kept coughing up stuff. And was feeling really gross and bad.
When I got to camp I immediately went up to stockade to find the mushroom from the other day. And it was just turning black and so I plucked it and was very pleased.
I got back to the office and would answer some emails and get some things sorted. I continued to work on my pine needles sewing. It's going better. I want to start a new one soon so I can try to start the middle in a better way. But I think I'm getting the hang of it.
I was confused when no one came in at 9. And then not 930. Closer to 10 Alexi and Elizabeth came in, with Sarah following not long after. I was sort of deteriorating at this point. My cough was becoming more frequent and painful.
I tried to have conversations but I was so hard to be heard. And I could only do so much. We have two Native American feildtrips next week so I would do what I could to get things set up. But it will be a little bit of a mad rush on Monday morning.
I would struggle through until right before noon. But by then I was coughing and had to put my head down on the table to catch my breath. I had tried going up to the arts building and coughing my lungs out, thinking I could dislodge all the gunk in my lungs. But it just made me feel dizzy.
Before I left I thought about going to target. But I just wanted to go home.
The drive back was good. I had talked to Elizabeth about a nerd rapper I had forgotten about and so I got to relisten to some of my highschool music and that was very fun. Made for a good drive home. Even with the rain.
I got back here before 1230. And was happy to be back.
But I also felt stupid. Like I was being dramatic. I wasn't even coughing! I was obviously fine and had been lying. And then I would breath weird and started coughing so hard I thought I was going to throw up. It was pretty horrible.
But because I am stupid I would be fine for a while. And started vacuuming and adding water to the fish tanks and cleaning the kitty litter. And would be fine! I'm obviously all better! But then would cough so hard I would cry. I hate this so much.
The worse and most annoying part is that I feel find behind the voice and the cough. I'm not nauseous. My chest is a little sore but my body doesn't ache. So it's like my brain can't accept that I'm sick.
But I am trying. So I called out of my weekend plans. I'm really sad to miss my last BAS workshop on sunday. And I rescheduled my private lesson. And I'm not going to the market. I won't say I'm not sad. But I'm going to try really hard to actually rest and get well.
I would try to sleep but it didn't happen. I mostly watched videos. I made a few tiktoks because I was a little bored. I worked on my knitting some. I tried to sleep again but my water cup fell over in the bed and got me and the bed all wet. My world was obviously falling apart.
I moved to the couch to cuddle up there. I had taken some time to reorganize the mantle in the living room and change the layout a little. And I felt really good about that. I also pulled out some blankets from storage to put an extra on the couch and finally remember to put one in the car. Very productive.
James would come home and I was happy to see them. They would get to work making tortilla soup. I was coughing a lot and was kind of miserable but I was happy to have my husband home and safe.
There would be some waiting for the soup to be done but that was okay. Sweetp was crying at the door and we figured out that he's crying and talking to the car upstairs! I hope they are having a nice conversation.
The soup was really good. Very happy with the recipe I chose and James made it so nice. Love my husband. They would hang out with me on the couch. And Sweetp and me had a nice cuddle. I watched to many tiktoks. It was nice.
I took a bath while James made got chocolate. It burned my tongue a little but it was fine. I am pretending it fixed my chest pain. But it probably didn't do much.
I just finished painting my toes. And I'm going to go brush my teeth now. And get ready to sleep.
Tomorrow I will rest. And maybe draw or something small. I just want to feel better.
Goodnight everyone. Please cover your coughs.
2 notes · View notes
shingansoul · 2 years ago
Text
That's How It Is (Trigun fic)
Sumary:
2023 Vashwood Week day 3, prompt: Scars
"I don't want to do this anymore."
This line has been rattling around in my brain for like 3 months so when I saw this for day 3's prompt i jumped on the chance.
@vashwoodweek
To read on AO3, follow the link below. To read here, continue past the read more!
“I don’t want to do this anymore…”
His voice had barely been above a whisper, but the only other sounds out here in the desert night was the wind around them whipping up loose sand out beyond the rocky outcropping they had made camp at for the night and the fire crackling beside them a small distance away at their little camp’s center. And yet, it felt like it had to be said quietly, a confession like any other sin meant only for the priest and God to hear.
Wolfwood paused from his actions, having been digging through Vash’s bag to dredge out some kind of canned food they had picked up at the previous town to heat over their meager fire. He waited, to make sure he didn't miss anything else from his companion but he was met with silence and a growing sense of unease in the air, his hackles would have raised if his body was truer to his name. He slowly turned to look over at the blonde, sitting on the ground not even a yard away with his legs pulled up to his chest and his face buried up to his nose in his crossed arms atop his knees. Today hadn’t been a bad one honestly, nobody had come to claim Vash’s bounty, nor in the town they had left that morning were they recognized. They were in a walking stretch, Angelina III giving out the week prior but it wasn't horrible or unfamiliar territory. They had not sustained any major losses or reminders at all that day, it had been nice almost frankly.
Yet with how small Vash looked curled up beside him, Wolfwood felt at a loss for proper words. He looked fucking miserable, to be honest. Not quite sad just… everything about him looked and felt run down. Part of Wolfwood thought it was about damn time he let himself feel as ragged as watching how he lived felt, but in this moment actually seeing it unguarded for once felt…off, wrong. Wolfwood plastered on a good naturedly smirk and offered a weak chuckle, trying to glaze over the moment, afraid something delicate would break if he didn't tread lightly here.
“Hey now, my cooking isn't so bad and we’ll be in a town again in no more than a couple days if we keep up a good pace.” 
He tried to keep his tone flippant and light, like he was distracted not as if his attention and body weren't both wired up now keeping attention to any actions or words the other had. In response, Vash merely shook his head, his arms hiding a grimace on his lips as he grit his teeth. Wolfwood waited a few beats before returning to root through the bag, looking to get his original target to at least give off the impression he wasn't stalling and really was casually setting up dinner. He squinted to read the label on the can once he’d drudged it out from the bag, tilting his head a bit to better catch the fire light. 
“Now let’s see…oh now this is a score, you found tortilla soup back there? See, that’s pretty nice right?” He was talking out his ass, he knew it was obvious. But talking felt better than the silence, it put a distance between what he didn’t know how to address and moving through the evening to tomorrow. Hell, maybe they just wouldn't talk about it, wouldn't that be easy and nice? Wolfwood was a coward, he knew that. When it came to things he couldn't use his hands or the punisher for he was at a loss, too carved sharp from the life he’d lived so long having lost most of the real gentleness he had in exchange for a pretty good cover act he usually reserved for women and children to get information and the odd favor.
He set up their little hanging cooking put on its sticks above the fire and dumped the can of soup into it. Stoking the fire a little, he moved to sit not quite next to Vash, but maybe a foot to his right and kept his eyes on their dinner instead for lack of better focus. Now with both his task and his companion, he was caught in a place of quietly waiting. And so he did. It could have been moments or minutes, but Vash had taken the quiet as some kind of invitation and had simply let himself slump to the side up against Wolfwood's shoulder and upper arm. His legs were still drawn in but he turned his foot to be planted so the priest didn't take his entire weight, but it was still more than he was expecting and he reflexively gave out an “oof!”.
Vash kept his gaze downwards, but his position no longer supporting his arms he made to hug himself, his face more visible as proximity didn't allow him to truly hide behind his high collar. Wolfwood, unable to avoid him now, finally looked over at his charge proper for the first time since his small voiced confession. He was quick to notice normally pale lips now looked red and rough, like they’d been bitten through or gnawed on. Wolfwood sighed, scooching closer to Vash so their hips grazed each other, making the lean for the blonde a bit less dramatic and uncomfortable. Vash let himself be adjusted, resettling higher up on Wolfwood's shoulder proper pressing his cheek against the other man, his hair now tickling at Wolfwood's neck but not enough for him to do anything about it.
“Nick?”
“Hm?”
A pause.
“What do you do when…when it hurts for so long that you just stop feeling it anymore?”
Wolfwood’s brows furrowed at the question, unsure how to approach. “Are your scars acting up again?”
Vash hummed noncommittally, “Kind of.” He sounded unsure of his own answer, and Wolfwood could feel him working his jaw back and forth against his shoulder.
“Needle Noggin?”
“I think… I realized how much it hurt, and how long I've been hurting and…,” he paused, taking a deep breath as he turned his head to press his temple into the harder edge of his shoulder. “God, Nicholas, I'm so old and it never stops. It’s just the same thing every day and I keep moving forward but it doesn't matter, does it? I’ve walked every step of this entire planet at least once and yet I still keep walking, the only other constant is-...Does he hurt like this? Do you humans hurt like this? Is it like dying stars for you all, more painful but much faster until you just die?”
Wolfwood felt utterly gutted, like he’d been cut open and everything he had was spilling out instead of one of the most earnest admissions he had ever gotten from his companion. His voice had sounded so damn tired, not in a way anyone like Wolfwood could understand he didn't think. No, he was reminded how much the man beside him wasn't a man but a being, a creature much older than anyone else on this planet aside from the one who completed his matching set. And oh how this creature had suffered, open arms and warm smile rejected endlessly and punished. Had it always been like that, had there been no time truly that humans had returned Vash’s love? No, Wolfwood supposed not, human nature wouldn't change just because of a new planet just like that, no maybe because they were it was like a return to the primal selfishness that humanity had within them. To act otherwise was an active choice, and who would do so in favor of survival even at the cost of others?
Wolfwood reached around Vash and twisted until he could get both his arms securely around the blonde. With his grip sure, he tugged until he had pulled him over into his lap and, once sitting there with long legs awkwardly tucking up to trap Wolfwood's arm around his charge, he pressed Vash against his chest. 
“Wolfwood?”
“Hush. Just sit here.”
He did not. “Ever since we started traveling together, I imagined it would be you who finally killed me.”
“Needle Noggin,” he warned.
“Would you? Kill me?”
“Vash!”
“Please? When everything is said and done, would you do that for me?”
Wolfwood screwed his eyes tightly shut, hugging the man in his arms probably far too tight for any comfort but he was never told to stop. “NO! I WON’T! I DON’T WANT TO!”
Vash smiled, a hollow gesture that made Wolfwood feel nauseous.
“Is that how it is…”
“It is! That is how it fuckin’ is, because we’re gonna live through the end of this and then im dragging your ass to December with me even if its kicking and screaming. And when we’re there, you’re not leaving anywhere without me to make sure you don't get your stupid ass killed just like it has been! This is how it is now!” His voice was grit through teeth in a harsh snarl, he could feel his lips peeled back and something guttural threatening to tear through his throat. He exhaled heavily through his nose, trying to keep it at bay before pressing onwards.
“You’re gonna love those kids, and they’re gonna climb all over you and beat you up until you cry. Miss Melanie is going to constantly scold you and you’re gonna duck your head and give her that stupid smile every time and then you’re gonna help us take care of all of the little brats we end up with and when it's over every day we-we’ll…we’ll just….we’ll do it again the next day, and the day after that.”
Wolfwood was losing steam; he had never believed he’d get far enough really do all that, he never believed either of them would survive this stupid mission, but he couldn't listen to this being who radiated hope and love for humanity just…beg him so softly to be killed just so he could finally rest. He wouldn't take any part in a mercy killing, he was the punisher and that was the killing he would do. And Vash….Vash had been punished for living more than enough. And so he firmly painted this picture of a future he didn't ever think could be real, willing one of them to believe in it as he spoke and not caring much which of them it was. He told him about the kids he could recall being there when he left, all the stupid chore they’d both be sent to do every day, how shit the beds were in the room they’d inevitably share to keep as much space for the kids available, he told him what December was like, he just kept talking until he ran out of things he could put into words. 
He resisted the urge to pant, feeling out of breath from his nonstop rambling about a life he had never hoped for before this very moment. As he sat there, clinging and breathing and just feeling, he idly thought how the soup he’d put on the fire was certainly burned. They’d still eat it anyways, of course. Lost in his scattered thoughts, he almost missed the oh so small voice in his lap, but he was quick to whip around to look down at blonde spikes and imagine what startling blue eyes looked like.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
He felt a nod against his chest.
“That’s how it is now…” It felt less like a response for Wolfwood so much as feeling words in his mouth, but whether giving in as a defeat or genuine belief and acceptance, Wolfwood didn't care. He would cling to it as fiercely as he clung to their owner in his arms right now. 
Yes, Wolfwood was a coward.
He was painfully human.
And oh how selfish he was.
To cling to the very person he was to lead into death, to refuse him release even in the inevitability of both their horrible painful miserable ends. Playing roles in a story neither wanted to tell, they had no real choices before them did they? But even still, Wolfwood wouldn't let Vash just give up and leave him. He didn't allow it in Augusta, and he wouldn't now either, and to say it was for simply his orders and contract and not the memory of surprisingly soft hair against his skin and a too light body in his grip? 
Well that would make Wolfwood a liar too wouldn't it?
5 notes · View notes
flowersforbucky · 1 month ago
Text
okay i have been soooo behind on my to be read fics lately and i'm so sorry 😭 i'm so glad to finally read this. it was incredibly beautiful and unique. i really enjoy your portrayal of how bucky would be in the earliest days of his recovery. i feel like i see so many fics (and don't get me wrong, those fics are great too) where he's portrayed as bucky with hints to his trauma here and there, but very rarely do i see a portrayal like this, where he's still very much in the mindset of soldat with hints of bucky sprinkled in.
more under the cut!
"There's absolutely no way that he's staying here. Have you completely lost your mind? What if he suddenly snaps or loses control and goes completely berserk, hm? What if one night those sleeper triggers buried in his brain suddenly activate and he systematically takes us out one by one in our sleep?" Tony added emphatically, his hands gesturing wildly in the air as he attempted to visualize the gruesome scenarios playing out in his mind.
i actually love tony as a character so much lol i feel like you wrote his dialogue spot on
"Come inside with me, I'll take care of you." You offered quietly, your voice gentle and reassuring as you extended your hand towards him. Your body language remained open and non-threatening, shoulders relaxed and posture deliberately casual to help put him at ease and to show him you felt no fear.
i love how reader is gentle but still direct with him because i think that's what he would need in this case. he's so used to being told what to do, i can imagine that it's more natural for him to obey a command, but the gentleness she possesses is what he deserves after never being shown that with any handler.
His shower routine was notably brief, years of conditioning taught him to minimize the time spent on his personal care. Upon finishing, he emerged from behind the curtain and efficiently dried himself with the provided towel.
i love how much thought you put into what his habits would be post winter soldier. i have no doubt that you're right - i'm sure he got very little time, if any, for self care. it would definitely take him a lot of time to realize that it's okay to take longer showers and take extra time with caring for yourself.
"How about...I could make some soup real quick? Tomato and grilled cheese might be a safe option for you. Shouldn't upset your stomach too much if you haven’t been eating a lot, and it will warm you up if you're still feeling cold."
tomato soup and grilled cheese is always a good choice <3
Gradually, the rigid tension that had defined his existence began to melt away, and he started allowing more intimate gestures of care. He let you gently brush his unruly hair into place, carefully wash his face with warm water, or trim his growing stubble for him.
ahhhh the kind of care he deserves. these are the kind of things that make me think bucky's love language would be acts of service 💕
"Мне не нравится делиться вашим вниманием. [I don't like sharing your attention]," he muttered with an undertone of possession, his lips curling into a slight frown as he gradually leaned closer to you. His silken hair delicately tickled your face as he slowly lowered himself, the tips of your noses barely grazing against each other in an intimate gesture. His lips parted ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of anticipation before he dipped his head down, warm lips pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your jawline.
AHHHH the possessiveness!!! god!!! please!!! maybe i am a tiny tiny bit fucked in the head but the thought of him being possessive over me in any state makes me so 🫠🤭🙃
The soldier was absolutely transfixed at the sight of your breasts, eyeing the soft mounds and peaked nipples as they hardened in the cool air, growing increasingly sensitive and rosy with your mounting arousal. It was like he was completely mesmerized by the sight before him, the fucking Winter Soldier, the most dangerous assassin in history, stopped dead in his tracks at the mere sight of your bare breasts.
maybe i am just delulu but i really do believe my tits could have that effect on him so thank you so much for putting my delusion into perfect words and indulging me <3
"Моя сейчас. [Mine now]," he muttered softly, his warm breath ghosting across your skin as his lips hovered mere millimeters from your own.
YES I AM YOURS YOU CAN SAY THAT AGAIN!!!
ugh you never fail to amaze me with the love and care that you put into this character.
Sugar Plums. | W.S
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
summary: The soldier has an attachment to you.
Tumblr media
warnings: Suggestive 18+ MDNI & Fluff | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Brief mentions of PTSD | Brief talk of HYDRA | Heavy petting | Love biting/hickeys
a/n: This came to me randomly but thought it was cute and somewhat spicy. I added some fluff to balance it all out and tried to keep the sexy scenes sweet too. I see so many fics of him being super aggressive in bed and those are great, but for me I think he'd be a little more like this. Takes place after the events of CA:TWS. Contains roughly translated Russian, native speakers can correct me if anything was translated wrong. Ty. ;; wc: 5.5k
Tumblr media
It was so awkward.
Everyone sat frozen in place, their eyes locked on the imposing figure of the Winter Soldier as he towered behind you, his piercing blue eyes methodically scanning the room and studying each occupant with an intensity that made them shift uncomfortably in their seats.
"Absolutely not!" Tony was the first to break the suffocating silence, his voice sharp and decisive as he beat Steve to speaking by a mere second. There was absolutely no way he would even consider allowing the fist of HYDRA to take up residence in his tower, treating him like he was nothing more than some lost stray that needed sheltering. "He's not staying here, no way in hell - this isn't a halfway house for reformed assassins."
"Tony, come on. HYDRA is gone, their control over him is broken," you reasoned desperately, your voice taking on a pleading tone as you gestured toward the silent figure behind you, "He's been surviving on his own for weeks, barely getting by. Just look at him...he's exhausted, malnourished, and clearly needs somewhere safe to stay and recover."
"Uh, how about no?" Tony fired back, staring at you like you had grown a second head...or like you had a towering sleeper soldier looming behind you.
Tony wasn't your favorite person in the world, but he was usually somewhat reasonable.
"There's absolutely no way that he's staying here. Have you completely lost your mind? What if he suddenly snaps or loses control and goes completely berserk, hm? What if one night those sleeper triggers buried in his brain suddenly activate and he systematically takes us out one by one in our sleep?" Tony added emphatically, his hands gesturing wildly in the air as he attempted to visualize the gruesome scenarios playing out in his mind.
"Your state-of-the-art security cameras can't give us a heads up before that happens?" You asked with dry sarcasm, your tone deliberately flat and unimpressed, clearly making a joke while you tried to find some kind of middle ground that would get the agitated, self-proclaimed playboy to calm down and think rationally.
"No chance in hell, sweet cheeks," he folded his arms and glared at you with sternness that etched across his features. "Too dangerous."
"He's staying, whether you like it or not," you replied in the same unwavering tone, standing your ground with resolute conviction. "He's hurt, weak, completely vulnerable. There's absolutely nothing he could possibly do in this state. He needs somewhere warm and safe to stay, especially since he's been struggling to survive out on the streets for weeks now. Besides, winter is coming fast and there’s no way he won’t get hypothermia or something." You added with concern, knowing full well that while the soldier hadn't been entirely helpless during his ordeal, he certainly hadn't managed to secure any kind of stable shelter.
His temporary refuges consisted only of cold spaces beneath bridges, dark corners tucked away in forgotten alleys, or the remains of abandoned buildings - not a single place where he could truly let his guard down or feel protected from the harsh elements. With winter's rapid approach and already light dustings of snow, the temperatures would only get more brutal as the nights went on.
You continued to argue with Tony, Steve butting in every so often, luckily siding with you, desperate to have his old friend somewhere safe. It was a long, frustrating argument that lasted much longer than need be.
Tumblr media
Earlier that day, while you had been making your way down the frost-covered street of New York's downtown district, his eyes had caught sight of your familiar form. Something deep within him told him to follow you, a magnetic pull that he couldn't explain. He obeyed the instinct, trailing silently behind you all the way back to the tower. When you finally became aware of his presence, he was thoroughly drenched from the steadily falling snow, his cheeks and nose having turned a bright, rosy color from the biting cold as he tried to suppress his constant shivering.
The moment you made your sudden turn to approach him, he visibly startled, immediately taking a defensive step backward as his mind raced through all the possible scenarios and potential threats. His eyes darted across your face with obvious wariness as you fully turned to face him, his entire body subtly shifting its weight from foot to foot, muscles tensed and ready to bolt away.
"It's okay...you look cold..." You spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper, trying not to startle him as you took in his disheveled appearance. The soldier, the one whose face had practically been plastered across every news channel, the same one Steve had spoken about with such raw emotion in his voice.
You remembered how Steve had mourned his best friend, utterly confused and devastated about why he had saved from the river, while Bucky fell to what should have been his death. Steve held onto that grief, that guilt, like a lifeline. He held onto it so desperately, clinging to the faintest hope that a sliver of Bucky was still somewhere deep inside the persona of the Winter Soldier.
Looking at him now, you couldn't see any trace of the man from Steve's stories - the soldier's eyes were too wild and wide, filled with fear and confusion.
But despite everything you'd heard, despite the destruction you'd witnessed on the news, despite the intense warnings from everyone in the tower, there was something about his presence that didn't trigger your fight or flight response.
He didn't make you feel unsafe.
He looked absolutely beat down, exhausted to his very core, his shoulders slumped in a way that made you wonder when he'd last had a moment's rest. You weren't even sure he could take you down if he tried in this state, though you knew his reputation suggested otherwise. He was shaking from the cold air as it blew in a stinging breeze, his metal arm gleaming dully in what little light remained, while the incoming winter storm brought with it a thick haze and countless tiny pinpricks of needle-like snowflakes that seemed to cut through the air.
"Come inside with me, I'll take care of you." You offered quietly, your voice gentle and reassuring as you extended your hand towards him. Your body language remained open and non-threatening, shoulders relaxed and posture deliberately casual to help put him at ease and to show him you felt no fear.
After a few silent moments where his piercing blue eyes studied you through the thick haze, he finally shifted his weight forward and took a step in your direction.
Tumblr media
The water in the shower had set a steady steam in the bathroom, the mirror had fogged and the tiles sweat below your bare feet.
You could hear the gentle splashing of water against the bathtub as he cleaned himself. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm caught your attention, hopefully that thing was waterproof, but it must be, right?
After setting out a fresh towel and clean clothes for his use, you quietly excused yourself to provide him with privacy. The state of his current attire was awful, every piece was thoroughly saturated and carried an unmistakable stench that made you wrinkle your nose. The clothes were in such poor condition that you couldn't help but wonder if they had been scavenged from someone who no longer needed them.
You wouldn’t put it past the soldier to steal from a cadaver.
His shower routine was notably brief, years of conditioning taught him to minimize the time spent on his personal care. Upon finishing, he emerged from behind the curtain and efficiently dried himself with the provided towel. His gaze fell upon the fresh clothes you had thoughtfully placed by the sink, while his previous garments had been discreetly removed.
The soldier hesitated momentarily before donning the clean outfit. It wasn’t anything fancy, a pair of grey sweatpants emblazoned with the Avenger's logo along the side and a simple yet comfortable black tank top. When he finally emerged from the bathroom to face you, his body language betrayed his uncertainty as he stood there, not sure what to do now. Comfort was completely foreign to him, and care was a dream away.
"Tony finally gave in," you replied softly, your voice sounded in the quiet stillness of the bedroom. "He said you could stay here with us."
He remained motionless, his expression blank and unreadable as he stood there, offering neither response nor the slightest hint of acknowledgement to your words. You weren’t sure what to expect but that seemed pretty in character for him at the moment.
"You'll be staying in my quarters since no one else is comfortable having you in their space just yet...but don't worry too much about that," you reassured gently, though you could tell from his demeanor that others' opinions held little weight in his mind. "They'll come around after some time, I'm sure of it."
His gaze fixed upon you then, his brow creasing ever so slightly with an unspoken question as he began to move. Each step was deliberate and measured as he crossed the room, closing the distance between you until he stood directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the water droplets from his freshly washed hair beading at the ends and falling onto the fabric of your top, leaving dark spots where they landed.
"Everything's going to be fine," you said with gentle reassurance, trying to ease the tension in the air. "Why don't we head to the kitchen and get you something to eat? You must be hungry." You offered, hoping to bring some normalcy to the situation.
The soldier shadowed your every movement, following closely behind like a faithful companion who refused to stray from their master's side.
Upon entering the expansive kitchen, you immediately made your way to the industrial-sized refrigerator, searching through its contents for something suitable to offer him. The kitchen was perpetually stocked to the brim with an array of foods, snacks, and ingredients, practically anything one could imagine or desire. It was like having a private, fully-stocked grocery store.
Though with a the ravenous super soldier with enhanced metabolism, the mighty Asgardian god whose appetite matched his status, and Banner's surprisingly hulk-ish consumption…the team still depleted their food with an efficiency that would put a pack of famished wolves to shame.
"Hm...what should you have...do you want anything specific?" You turned over your shoulder to address him, but he maintained his characteristic silence. Unmoving, and completely stoic, like a statue carved from marble.
"Нет [No]," came his quiet response, the Russian word rolling off his tongue deeply. He remained perfectly still, observing with careful attention as you continued your search through the refrigerator's contents, trying to determine what would be most appropriate for him to eat. Your mind was working quickly, knowing you wanted to avoid anything too time-consuming to prepare. You wanted to get some food into him sooner rather than later.
"How about...I could make some soup real quick? Tomato and grilled cheese might be a safe option for you. Shouldn't upset your stomach too much if you haven’t been eating a lot, and it will warm you up if you're still feeling cold." You turned back toward him once more, studying his features carefully for any hint of reaction or preference to your suggestion, any subtle change in his expression.
But, he didn't provide even the slightest indication of his feelings.
You decided on tomato soup and a grilled cheese anyway, you figured it was best and immediately set to work in the kitchen.
Although you typically prided yourself on preparing meals completely from scratch, this particular circumstance called for something different. You assembled the sandwich, buttering the bread before placing it in a heated pan to get a golden-brown crust while keeping a watchful eye on the pot of soup simmering beside it, occasionally stirring for even heating.
Once everything reached the perfect temperature and consistency, you transferred the meal onto clean dishes, relieved it didn’t take too long. You presented him with the steaming bowl of soup and perfectly grilled sandwich, watching as the soldier deliberately took his place at the counter, his eyes fixed intently on the rising steam from the bowl before him.
You watched him, noting how his entire body remained unnaturally rigid and motionless, as though every muscle was locked in place and braced for something. His lips bore a slight sheen of moisture, like he had licked them at some point when you weren't watching. Yet despite his obvious hunger, he hadn't made even the slightest attempt to reach for the food. His eyes held intense longing and hesitation, briefly meeting yours before quickly darting away, as if making eye contact was somehow forbidden.
"What's wrong?" You asked with growing concern etched across your features, "You're hungry aren't you? I can tell you haven't eaten in a while. Especially not anything warm, at least. I know it can be hard out there, all by yourself…"
His response came in the form of an almost imperceptible nod, his gaze remaining firmly fixed on the bowl and sandwich before him, as though they were the most important and most dangerous objects in the room.
"So why aren't you eating? The food's getting cold, it won’t be as good if it cools too much."
"Я не могу совершить действие без приказа. [I cannot perform an action without an order]," the soldier responded in barely more than a whisper, his voice carrying the weight of years of conditioning.
You stood there, completely lost in the language barrier between you. Your limited knowledge of Russian extended only to the most basic words - 'да' and 'нет' - leaving you clueless by his response and worried about the implications of his behavior.
You didn't want to wake Natasha, even though she would certainly understand what he was saying in Russian, but disturbing her sleep for something as simple as a quick translation seemed unnecessary and might put her in a bad mood. Instead, an idea popped into your head that would avoid an angry widow. You reached for your phone and placed it on the smooth counter surface, navigating to a translator app before looking up at him again. "Can you repeat that?"
The soldier's eyes flickered briefly to the phone screen, taking in the sight of the translation app with what seemed like recognition, before his gaze deliberately returned to the untouched food laid out before him. "I cannot perform an action without an order," he stated in perfect, albeit mechanical English this time.
You blinked in surprise, thoroughly caught off guard by the sudden switch to English when he had been persistently speaking Russian up until this point. "Okay...well...eat then, you can eat freely here, you don't need an order to do that." You slowly tucked your phone away into your pocket as his right hand gradually lifted from where it had been resting in his lap, reaching out to pick up the sandwich.
You weren't sure what you were expecting, but he wolfed down his food within a minute, that sandwich was gone within maybe three bites. The soup swallowed just as fast.
God, he was starving, and the realization made your heart ache.
"Better?" You asked gently, to which he only nodded, swallowing the last of the food in his mouth.
Tumblr media
This became routine, the soldier stuck by your side like a duckling imprinting on its mother.
He followed you diligently around every corner of the tower, his protective instincts activated as he positioned himself like an ever-vigilant guardian. His eyes constantly scanned the surroundings, noting how others would cast uncertain and sometimes suspicious glances in his direction.
These looks made him increasingly self-conscious and anxious, as though he were some exotic creature put on display at a zoo for others to gawk at. But in your presence, he seemed a bit more at ease. He genuinely liked being around you.
Gradually, the rigid tension that had defined his existence began to melt away, and he started allowing more intimate gestures of care. He let you gently brush his unruly hair into place, carefully wash his face with warm water, or trim his growing stubble for him.
He accepted these tender ministrations without the slightest resistance or complaint, though a nagging worry lingered in your mind that his compliance stemmed from years of conditioning to submit to others' wishes. Each time you worried about that, you’d see a genuine warmth and contentment in his gaze rather than submission, showing you that he truly found comfort and pleasure in your gentle touch.
It was evening, the room reflected the warm glow of festive holiday lights emanating from a miniature Christmas tree nestled in the corner. The soldier found himself transfixed by the small decorated tree, his eyes lingering on each twinkling light as their vibrant colors danced and shimmered. The sterile, monotonous walls he had grown accustomed to during his confinement were nothing compared to the colorful lights. The gentle play of red, green, and gold seemed to awaken something long dormant within him, he almost wanted to plant himself in front of the tree and just stare at it.
Tony may have allowed his stay, but that didn’t mean there weren’t restrictions. He was stern about where and when the soldier could go anywhere with you, and he demanded that he not leave your room afterhours. It wasn’t hard to follow, the solider showed reluctance to leave your room at all, having been so accustomed to being kept in one room. You didn’t push him, but you felt bad for him because he was missing how the tower had been decorated for the holidays. So, you got a smaller tree for the bedroom to provide some kind of festive look for him to take in.
You emerged from the bathroom, wisps of steam following in your wake, your damp hair leaving little droplets on your shoulders as you continued to towel it dry with scrunches. He remained motionless on the edge of your bed, his attention immediately shifting as he turned and blinked up at your approaching figure.
His icy eyes traced a deliberate path across your form, which was barely concealed beneath the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the hem teasingly brushing against your mid-thigh with each movement. "I am beat," you sighed heavily, your voice carrying the weight of the day's festivities. The marathon of holiday activities had clearly taken its toll, leaving you thoroughly drained. The tower often held an array of things to do because Tony loved to show off what he could afford, and it wasn’t like anyone else would object.
He observed with rapt attention as you made your way onto the bed and settled back against the pillows, releasing a deep exhale that seemed to melt away the day's tension. His unwavering gaze remained fixed on the rhythmic, hypnotic motion of your chest rising and falling with each breath.
You felt the bed shift beneath you as he moved, his weight causing the mattress to dip and creak softly. He crawled over to where you lay, his arms positioning themselves on either side of your body, caging you in. Your eyes fluttered open to find him hovering directly above you, his presence overwhelming in its proximity. This was something new…he had always maintained somewhat of a distance before, never daring to position himself so intimately over top of you.
"Я скомпрометирован. [I'm compromised]," the soldier spoke in a hushed tone, his voice carrying that distinctive gravelly pitch that made you feel tingly. The tension between you had become damned near impossible to ignore. What had started as a subtle pull had grown into an overwhelming force of attraction that seemed to draw you both together like magnets.
Still, you forced yourself to hold back, maintaining that last thread of restraint. You had no way of knowing the depth of his emotional capacity, if he was even capable of genuine feelings, or wanted to experience them at all after everything he endured.
"Soldat...?" The whispered word escaped your lips as you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his muscles tensed as he remained suspended above you, perfectly still. "You know I don't understand-"
"I am compromised," he repeated, switching to English this time. His voice had dropped even lower, carrying an edge of frustration that vibrated through the minimal space between your bodies.
"Comprom..." You sat up slowly on your elbows and shook your head in confusion, your brow furrowed as you tried to process his words. That’s what you’d say about a machine or computer, not a man. "What are you talking about?" Your eyes wandered downward, suddenly drawn to an unmistakable tent in his fitted briefs that became obvious from your new viewing angle, causing you to freeze in place as your breath caught in your throat.
So, he could feel things.
"Oh..." You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you as you remained frozen in place, your cheeks growing warm. "I think I understand now...you're feeling a bit pent up, aren't you?"
His metal arm whirred softly, the sophisticated machinery humming as he moved to adjust his hand placement. "Да. [Yes]," he responded in a low voice, his gleaming titanium fingertips delicately ghosted across the bare skin of your thigh, just barely grazing beneath the hem of your thin sleep shirt. Goosebumps erupted along your body in response to the contact, the cool metal sudden against your flushed skin.
"Мне не нравится делиться вашим вниманием. [I don't like sharing your attention]," he muttered with an undertone of possession, his lips curling into a slight frown as he gradually leaned closer to you. His silken hair delicately tickled your face as he slowly lowered himself, the tips of your noses barely grazing against each other in an intimate gesture. His lips parted ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of anticipation before he dipped his head down, warm lips pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your jawline.
You swallowed reflexively, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his warm, steady breath caress your sensitive skin, sending a visible shudder of growing excitement through your body.
He continued his gentle exploration, encouraged by your acceptance and the absence of any resistance. He pressed a trail of soft, purposeful kisses along the curve of your jaw, each one more intimate than the last, before gradually working his way down to your neck. His lips carefully followed the rhythmic flutter of your pulse beneath your skin, his tongue peeking out shyly to touch against you.
"Ah-" You voiced softly, feeling him settle on a particularly sensitive spot, right against the delicate side of your neck. It was nestled perfectly between the graceful junction where your neck connected to your collarbone, the skin there warm and inviting, holding a faint trace of blood flow from the intricate network of smaller veins positioned just beneath the surface.
He kissed many times with increasing intensity, clearly finding this spot ideal for his attentions. The soft, tentative pecks gradually became more passionate, open-mouthed kisses as each one was placed. His tongue began gently pressing against your skin with each lingering kiss, the pressure slowly growing in need. You felt your cheeks flush with warmth when he finally latched on, your eyes widening in surprise as the soldier's strong arms held you a little tighter.
Soldat began to suckle a mark, his ministrations gentle and teasing at first, but quickly growing in force and intensity as his skilled tongue swirled expertly around the trapped skin between his lips and teeth. The sensation drew a breathy moan from deep within you, making your entire body feel as though it were engulfed in flames of desire. Though you were completely helpless beneath the assassin, you had absolutely no intention or desire to push him away.
This felt too damned good.
Without thinking, your leg came up and hooked around his hips, drawing him closer until your bodies were flush against each other. The heat between you grew and you felt his painful erection trapped in his briefs, straining against the fabric as his arousal was staining them. Soldat exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening possessively, but he did not let go.
His suckling grew increasingly intense, the sensitive skin tingling and starting to sting and burn with each passing moment. Still, he didn't release the bruised skin just yet.
Instead, he just bit down harder, ensuring the mark he left would last for days. You moaned loudly, your fingers gently tangling in his thick hair as your pleasured sounds encouraged his attention. He became more attentive when your little sounds of pleasure turned into sharp, quiet hisses - clearly indicating that the sensation had crossed from pleasure into discomfort, silently telling him to ease off.
When he did finally relent, he pulled back to admire his handiwork, looking down at the deep purple mark blooming on your neck. His breath came in heavy pants through his parted lips as he stayed quiet, watching intently as you struggled to catch your own breath too. The sight of you beneath him, disheveled and vulnerable, with flushed skin and labored breathing, was enough to draw him right back in.
He dipped back down with renewed hunger, his metal hand slowly threading through your hair before gently fisting it at the base of your skull, though his careful control ensured it wasn’t painful, just firm. He tugged just enough to guide your movement, encouraging you to expose more of your neck to his hungry gaze.
"E-easy..." You whispered, a note of anxious anticipation in your voice. You wanted more, god you wanted more, but his sudden change of behavior was a bit surprising for you.
"Понял. [Understood]," he whispered against your skin, pressing a soft kiss of reassurance to your jaw before returning his attention to your neck. Those soft kisses began again, trailing along your skin, but his restraint didn't last long as he quickly sought a new canvas for another mark. He latched onto a spot just a little bit higher on your neck, alternating between sucking and carefully controlled bites to gradually darken and bruise the sensitive flesh.
You felt bite after delicious bite, hickey after possessive hickey.
He marked the tender flesh of your neck in several deep, purple marks that bloomed like violent flowers across your skin...each one throbbing with a sweet ache when he pulled away. His tongue always swirled over the mark with care to soothe the sting of it, making you arch into his touch as you fell into a complete daze.
"S-Soldat," you muttered breathlessly, cheeks flushed crimson and eyelids heavy with desire. Your pupils matched his own - completely blown with hunger and desperate need. Those bermuda swirls meeting yours as he continued a torturously slow trail of hot kisses down your chest, nipping your collarbone with just enough pressure to make you gasp before following the gentle dip of your sternum.
He paused deliberately, pulling up so he could lift the thin sleep shirt over you and expose more of your bare chest to his hungry gaze, giving him better access for his heated kisses and teasing nips. Once your top was discarded somewhere on the floor, his hands gently but firmly held your sides, trailing up with reverent touches until settling against your ribcage. His larger hands completely encompassed your torso, making you feel small but protected.
The soldier was absolutely transfixed at the sight of your breasts, eyeing the soft mounds and peaked nipples as they hardened in the cool air, growing increasingly sensitive and rosy with your mounting arousal. It was like he was completely mesmerized by the sight before him, the fucking Winter Soldier, the most dangerous assassin in history, stopped dead in his tracks at the mere sight of your bare breasts.
You felt in charge now.
"What is it? Do you like them?" you purred softly to the soldier, your body swaying in a deliberately teasing motion that made them gently move. His eyes remained fixed, drinking in the sight before him as his lips parted ever so slightly. Slowly, his head tilted down again, surrendering to the moment. He let his face nestle against your chest, his lips trailing a constellation of unhurried kisses across your skin.
He began to nip and suckle the tender skin of your breasts, his mouth working to create deep, purple love bites on that delicate flesh. The bruising blossomed easily beneath his ministrations, almost like they were eager to show themselves.
His lips would find a promising spot, then he would begin lapping at the skin with gentle strokes of his tongue until he felt you squirming. The soldier took the sensitized flesh carefully between his teeth, rolling the captured skin while his talented muscle swirled and sucked.
Your chest displayed his passionate handiwork when he finally drew back to admire his creation. The plum-colored bruises created an intimate pattern across your skin, their rich hues made even more striking by the soft glow of the holiday lights that danced through the room, highlighting each carefully placed love bite until they seemed to shimmer like twilight stars against your flesh.
"Soldat...I think you covered enough surface area," you breathed, feeling overwhelmed by the intense throbbing that radiated from each mark he'd left. The sensation pulsed in waves across your skin, making it difficult to focus. Your neck was thoroughly covered in the passionate marks, and now your chest bore an equally impressive collection.
The soldier gazed down at you with intensely, his eyes taking in each little sugar plum bruise that decorated your skin like a masterpiece. Though they were scattered without any deliberate pattern, the overall effect clearly pleased him. You lay there looking thoroughly affected by his attention, hair mussed and breathing uneven, cheeks beautifully darkened with a dust of blush, just from his careful application of bites alone. The sight of you in such a state, marked so thoroughly, brought deep set satisfaction in his gut.
"Моя сейчас. [Mine now]," he muttered softly, his warm breath ghosting across your skin as his lips hovered mere millimeters from your own. The almost-kiss was delicate, just the faintest brush of contact that sent electricity dancing through your nerves. He almost seemed nervous to close that final distance, his confidence faltering despite the passionate trail of marks he had already left scattered across your skin.
He drew back slightly, seemingly snapping out of a trance, and you could see the vulnerability written plainly across his features as that nervousness flickered in his eyes. Shifting his weight, he settled back onto the bed, his right hand finding your knee and tracing gentle, soothing circles there with his thumb. The tender gesture matched his hushed voice as he spoke, "Я не хочу идти дальше. [I don't want to go any further]," the words carrying both certainty and a hint of apology.
Your brow furrowed deeply as you struggled to understand what he was trying to stay, the confusion evident in the slight crease between your eyebrows and the questioning tilt of your head. You really needed to study Russian. "Do you not want to continue?" you asked slowly and carefully, focusing more on interpreting the subtle nuances in his tone rather than trying to parse the exact words he was using.
His facial expression held hesitance and uncertainty, the slight downturn of his lips and the way his eyes wouldn't quite meet yours telling you what you needed to know. Body language was his primary mode of genuine communication, and you had become very good at reading these silent signals he unconsciously broadcast.
"It's okay, we can stop," you replied with a reassuring tone, making sure to keep your voice soft to help dissipate any lingering tension he might be feeling. "Let's just lay here, okay? We can cuddle without any kind of pressure to do anything else, if you want." You offered with a warm smile, wanting him to feel that his comfort and boundaries were completely respected and that there was no expectation or obligation to continue.
This was a lot of good progress with him, you typically just cuddled or he kept to his side of the bed but he had shown you a lot of sweet affection tonight, and you loved it, it meant he was growing more confident in himself and your relationship. The evidence of his passionate yet tender attention remained visible in the form of gentle, plum-colored marks that decorated your neck and chest as you lay beside him, watching as his silent form trembled slightly beneath the heavy warmth of the thick blankets that enveloped you both.
You opened your arms, offering him a warmer space, and he quickly scooted forward, tucking himself against you. Prone to being cold, he liked being under many layers of blankets, so you made sure to provide plenty for him to not only feel warm but secure. Plus...having you to hold him always helped.
Without the worry of being a soldier, he could rest easy like this.
Tumblr media
Thanks for reading. -em 🌿
Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.
5K notes · View notes
beatsboy · 6 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
8.7.24 / day 45 of romanticizing my life until i love myself again
and the lunar calendar was true.
today was an active day, a day of transformation. i had therapy, and i talked to my best friend about my complicated soup of feelings regarding tb, which helped me come to terms with them. the lunar calendar was right, i would not be misinterpreted today, today i would be understood.
it was the best time for a little ‘me time’ a serious artist defends their creative time, after all and even though i procrastinated for hours in between going to the sample sale with af/therapy and music time, i did get my fucking ass in the chair and i created. more than created, i completed. (i mean, i’ve sent to friends for notes, so we’ll see if it’s truly done, but it’s currently in the 24 hour grace period of finally feedback) so, again, the moon was right, and today was meant for finishing things i previously started, like this song: boypop
there were obstacles today, surely. they didn’t have the bag i wanted at the sale, so i’m coming back to see if i can switch tomorrow. my phone died right as i was paying at h mart, i came back with cash and the register couldn’t accept it finally, they took me at a different register, and i got my ice cream, through patience after walking from my home to h mart twice
and then, i finished this fucking song, which is truly the most real, me, thing i’ve ever made it feels like a reverberation of my body, especially as so many of the sounds are edited from my own voice, body, or backyard it just feels so alive it’s the kind of song i feel like i could reach out and touch, so many textures and layers and i feel like the small production changes i made in these final sessions elevated everything i’d already done to just, breathe more life into it
maybe this is why trans people like making music so much, since we don’t as often have kids, or at least have the experience of birthing one, we revel in the feeling of birthing a beating, bleeding creature from our bodies, our beautiful and coveted machines, instruments borne of the blood and bone and skin of other creatures, into the world, something unrecognizable to its parts, because what you have made is something entirely new and different
38 drafts later, maybe more
Tumblr media
 the lyrics:
boy pop (don’t stop) boy pop (don’t stop) boy pop (don’t stop)
when he grabs that mic he grabs it like a cock body parts in the bag he’ll show you how he rocks
pop rocket pussy poppin harder than your last breakdown bitch it’s giving mental illness cus what’s coming out of my brain is too sick
i came from planet pop where they are allergic to basic shit i make my beats underground if you don’t get it then maybe this aint’ your shit
i’m an alien superstar ran into your planet when i crashed my car i woke up i met them i crashed again, i fell again x2
i said now boypop that pussy don’t stop i said now boypop he’s harder than a glock i said now boy don’t stop (boy don’t stop) x3
they say a boy without a pussy’s like an angel with no wings have you ever made a fucking creature sing
i got pipes i know how to pipe and later tonight i swear im gonna make this right
and no i’m not scared of it i’ve been waiting for this i’m a maniac heart attack when you kissed my lips
and ill tell them what i should have told them from the fucking start this is life this is art presenting my bleeding heart
1 note · View note
spiders-notagain · 4 months ago
Text
Okay I'm back, I've pondered this (simmering in my mental soup for months) and I've come away with some additions. I particularly really like the idea that vulcan structured their society around dealing with autism, so that many of the characteristics for a human with autism don't appear in vulcans. With the flip side being human neurotypical behaviors are considered disabling in their society.
So here's a list. Also I think you made a mistake with your first line. It makes more sense as Vulcan Neurotypicalism is just Human Autism.
vulcans only doing things the most efficient/ideal way possible and getting confused if you arent doing it that way; will point out to you the "correct" way to do it because they think thats helping
vulcans having no need to talk to others (esp strangers) unless you have a specific reason
vulcans get overstimulated but youll never tell because they hide it like they do whenever they're in pain
vulcans also conceal that they get meltdowns, more obvious as kids
build their cities to minimize sensory overstimulation; exception are places that cater to non-vulcans like Vulcana Regar which has a noisy and chaotic nightlife
stimming but focusing their stims into meditative like behaviors like zen sand gardens, hair care or hand care
rigidly sticking to schedules
society is structured around a strict degree of predictability so that the only surprising events are unforseen; deal with their panic over unforseen events + change the way they do any of their emotions
follow vulcan rules easily enough because they make sense but sometimes struggle with the rules of other societies
dont really have a "makeup culture" cuz thats illogical but do makeup for art
a little less weird about gender/gender roles
Every kind of social interaction has formal rules (slight exception to close family relationships because they often create their own rules)
Hyper empathy? Well they have literal empathy, does that count
Its impolite to read emotion into someones words and actions especially because even if it does exist, theyre probably trying to control the emotion
End up being seen as pretentious in part because they correct people when they're wrong about things and they interpret that as trying to start an argument
someone on reddit said this which I think is relevant:
I would assume they're sort of like Japanese craftsmen. Whether they’re building something or just sharpening tools, every single movement is done deliberately, thoughtfully, carefully, and with purpose. I would suspect that most low level jobs would be automated, but the Vulcans doing the rest would take them very seriously. Like, yes, my job is to maintain the shuttlecraft in this bay, and I will assure that every single one is in perfect order, checking engine readings and fluid levels at least twice per day.
and this from a fic I really like:
"You don't have a lot of the cognitive biases and shortcuts that most species develop alongside sapience," Deanna said, keeping her voice neutral. Most people would consider that a benefit, but most people weren't aware that those biases came out of underlying heuristics that allowed the brain to conserve processing energy. Being without them was a double-edged sword. Xhenat nodded. "Yes, and as a result we have to be taught to do things that come naturally to other species. We are bad at letting go of the details, worse at learning to ignore the unimportant parts of our environment. We have only exacerbated the situation with millennia of selective breeding with an eye toward developing our telepathy and focus and pattern recognition. As a result, we come into the world quite raw, and are only able to exist with comfort by being taught how to deal with the sensations and emotions and thoughts that otherwise overwhelm us."
After peer review ive decided that Vulcan Autism is just Human Neurotypicalism
“Poor Sosonn… his family just doesn’t know what to do with him :| He keeps making aggressive eye contact, doesn’t understand body mirroring when he plays, choosing to instead disrupt the activities of others; never developed an independent organization system… and most worrying… the poor boy never expressed any desire in a special interest”
“How illogical. How does he expect to find his niche in society that way. Why can he not be like T'puk? She has already made her interest know in trains and will make a fine addition to the public transportation sector one day.”
“He doesn’t even stim.”
634 notes · View notes