#so ill redirect them when they roll out

[makingyourfavindti]

thats a little less scary

[himbodruid]

I’ve finally finished the next Dragon!Sylus piece! I apologize if it isn’t very good, I’ve been writing it while struggling with a high fever and an aggressive illness that came on rather suddenly (literally overnight) 😅

Dragon Sylus x Reader/You

Companion piece to A Dragon in Rut

Edging | reader on top | switch Sylus

Intended for Mature readers ONLY. MINORS DNI

A Dragon in Love

He was hiding from you. After the night you shared with him, it irritated you to no end that he holed himself up in his chambers and refused to face you.

Things had been rather cordial shortly after, companionable. He would bury his face in your neck and inhale sharply with a pleased growl. But it was like regret slowly took over as the days passed, and suddenly you hadn’t seen him for over a week. Had he tired of you that quickly?

The decision to finally confront him came after a dream you had. From a sunset flight to rolling around in a field of flowers with Sylus, you awoke wanting and needy.

“That’s it,” you said to yourself as you threw back the covers. You picked yourself up off your pallet and stormed out into the main cavern.

Only to run headlong into a solid mass of muscle. All the bluster you worked up suddenly died when you looked up into the curious expression in Sylus’s eyes.

“Oh! Sylus, hello,” you stammered, unsure of yourself. Sylus held out his hand, and you saw a fruit you didn’t recognize clutched in his taloned fingers.

“I came to apologize,” he said simply while you took the fruit from him.

“If you’re gonna apologize for the night we shared, then don’t bother.” You’d be damned if he tainted the memory.

“I mostly wanted to apologize for treating you so roughly,” he murmured, his hand ghosting over your skin. You remembered bruises galore dotting your body after he was done with you, but you were long healed from the worst of them. You looked up at him, watching him as his eyes assessed your physical condition, tension bracketing his mouth. His touch was light as a feather, and it took all of your effort not to shiver.

Bold impulse had you leaning into him, your lips searching out his. He froze when you kissed him, still unaccustomed to such human actions. He relaxed into you a moment later, his hands wrapping around your hips and pulling you closer to him. He didn’t wear his usual protective leathers, instead opting for well-made cotton pants that were slung low on his hips. You couldn’t stop your own hands from exploring him.

His breath hitched as your hand brushed against the hemline of his pants. He brought a hand up to cradle the back of your head, tilting you back to have better access to your mouth. You opened to him when his tongue darted out and brushed your lip. At the invitation, a growl of approval rumbled deep in his chest and he plunged his tongue in to dance with yours. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped you and you threw an arm around his neck to pull him closer. You could feel the length of him growing hard, pressing against your abdomen as you brought your body flush with his.

Breaking from his embrace, you tugged him into your room and pushed him down into your still-warm pile of blankets. He looked up at you with that infuriatingly attractive half smile, mischief lighting up his eyes. You stood over him, your own gaze raking over his form. His tail flicked back and forth in anticipation, waiting for you to make your move.

You slowly stripped your clothes from your body while he watched every move with hunger in his crimson eyes. Finally done teasing him, you crawled atop Sylus and kissed him hard. He moaned into you as your hands trailed down his body, tugging at the hemline of the pants he wore. Pants that were soon eagerly discarded.

You trailed open-mouthed kisses down the length of his body, letting your nipples drag feather-light touches along his torso until his cock was slotted nicely between your breasts. With a heaving chest, he watched you as you redirected your mouth to his hip and bit down on his flesh. All the while putting the barest of pressure on his cock with your breasts. Your teeth were merely human, but the action still had the desired effect as he threw his head back and groaned. You remained latched onto him, biting and sucking at the skin, until you were certain there would be a mark left for some time- payback, maybe, for the marks he left all over your body.

“Kitten, you-“ he began, whatever he was about to say cut off as he released a harsh moan. You’d turned your attention to his cock, then, rolling your tongue along the underside of the head. You were enjoying the sounds he made while your mouth toyed with him. His breaths grew ragged as he watched you take his cock into your mouth over and over again. It didn’t take long until you could feel him straining for release.

Right on the cusp, you released him from the heat of your mouth, not allowing him to roll over the edge. He was reduced to a panting, squirming mess and you took pride that it was because of you.

Sylus’s brows drew down in foggy confusion as you didn’t move on him again for a couple of minutes- allowing his ardor to cool slightly before crawling over him again. His lips found yours, coaxing you to open to him once again before plunging his tongue into your mouth. His hands clenched the backs of your thighs as you rocked against him, your cunt slicking so sensually along his cock.

“You make it hard for me to maintain control,” he growled while you continued to tease him with your body. You smirked and responded by finding his pulse with your tongue, marking him there, too, like you did his hip. His breath hissed in and he let his head drop back again. You were enjoying the way he allowed you to tease him, unrushed and completely vulgar. The reactions his body had to yours was a marvel to you.

His growling nearly turned into a whimpering moan when you finally lifted your hips and slowly impaled yourself onto his cock. You had been so caught up in him the last time you’d had sex with him, that you didn’t realize how..large he was. Your gasps turned into moans as you sank down onto him fully, relaxing your body to accept not only his full length, but his girth as well.

You rode him with a slow, sensuous pace. Each plunge earned you a moan from him, his hips rising to meet your descent. His mouth found your breast, teeth scraping your nipple. Your hand filtered through the silky strands of his hair and you sighed his name into the cavern air.

“Sylus,” you whined, picking up the pace of your hips. “You feel so damn good.”

You sat up, taking him impossibly deep and delighting in the expressions crossing his face. His eyes clenched closed, trying to maintain what little control he had left. His hands gripped your thighs, claws digging into your flesh as he urged you on faster. His body jerked of its own volition as pleasure zipped through him.

You put your hands against his chest, using the positioning as leverage to increase the friction and speed. The sounds of your bodies colliding echoed lewdly through the cavern, your voices rising to join the cacophony of your love-making.

Suddenly, Sylus’s arms came up to wrap around you. In a swift motion, you were pinned beneath him and he was driving into you while the last threads of his control snapped.

“You fit me so well, Kitten,” he growled. “So tight for me and when you cl- ah!”

You clenched your walls on him, interrupting his train of thought. Sylus dropped his head to your shoulder, murmuring sweet nothings into your ear as you clung to him. With your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs around his waist, you moved your hips to meet his every thrust.

“Sylus,” you whimpered to him. “S-so close.”

His mouth slanted over yours, tangling his tongue with yours while his hips ground against your own. He was buried in you so deep, so impossibly deep and you found yourself unable to tell where you ended and he began.

He pulled his mouth from yours, only to utter words of encouragement. “Come with me, over the edge.”

It was as though his words sent a command to your body. Fluttering deep in your core soon swept out to the rest of your body. You threw your head back, arching into him and crying out his name. He pumped into you even as your walls quivered with the intensity of your release. One final thrust and his cock pulsed and twitched inside you, your body milking him for every last drop.

His pleasure joined yours so intensely that all he could do was whimper and moan while his hips remained joined to yours. It wasn’t quite to the same level as the rutting you experienced with him previously, but gods the pleasure felt like it would never end. It seemed to taper out, only for him to move ever so slightly and send you into a spiral all over again. Even after his own climax, he was still so hard inside you.

He murmured your name into your ear, pulling out but not removing himself from you entirely. That devilish smirk of his flashed in your vision before he thrust back in. Sensitive and overstimulated, all you could do was cling to him and cry out his name. You just knew it was payback for the teasing you punished him with earlier, but it felt so good.

“S-Sylus!” You all but screamed his name as another intense wave washed over you. Your body jerked of its own volition and your back arched off the pallet. Sylus collapsed atop you, his climax chasing after yours and flooding you with more hot ropes of cum.

He nuzzled into your neck with a soft chuckle, kissing you with such tenderness that you found it hard to remember that he wasn’t human. You welcomed his resting weight on you, enjoying the companionship you could only get through him. The sight of him resting his head on your chest sent a wave of an emotion through you that terrified you. Your hand brushed strands of hair from his face and his crimson eyes met yours. That lopsided smile would be the end of you.

“Why were you avoiding me?” Your tone was lighthearted, but you could see tension enter his gaze.

“I hurt you and wanted to distance myself from you to give you a chance to heal.”

“Bruises are inevitable when it comes to humans, but it hurt more that you just disappeared on me.”

He grasped your hand and laid a gentle kiss across your knuckles. “I’m sorry for that too. But you must understand- your scent mixed with mine was driving me mad. And if I’d let instinct take over, you’d be laid flat on your back for the last week with hardly a break. I needed to let the impulse pass before seeing you again.”

You blushed furiously at his admission. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” he chuckled. “I was coming to you to explain and apologize, but we got a little…distracted.” He rolled to the side, tucking you in against his chest. His hand traced lazy circles on your arm as you laid in companionable silence.

You could get used to this, being in the arms of your dragon.

[plasticferal]

girl PLEASE write something for facetime/phone sex with matt (he was looking a little too fine on that ipad in the last vid omg)

kiss me through the phone | matt sturniolo.

authors note: matt is looking fine as fuck lately, i'm going absolutely feral. short and sweet 2.8k words. not proof read! just brain goop.

warnings: 18+ content. fem!reader, masturbation, facetime, sweet talk, praise, explicit language. reader discretion is advised.

the vibrating sound of your phone rattling against your side table echoes in your room. you’ve been waiting for matt to call you all night, and with how sick he’s been lately, it’s the only way to actually see him.

you eagerly answer the facetime call, holding your phone up as you lay in bed, revealing the intricate lace bra and pyjama shorts you’re wearing.

matt answers the call, slouching tiredly at his desk, headphones on. his hair is messy. he’s shaved his facial hair into a faint goatee, and he looks perfect. even when he's unwell.

“i can’t believe you look that good and i can’t touch you” his eyes are wide as he speaks, smiling the second you're in his sight.

“i can’t believe we’re talking through a screen” you pout, rolling over in bed and hugging a pillow close to your cheek.

“you can blame nick” matt scoffs, making you chuckle lightly, watching as his eyes dart between his display screens quickly, then focusing solely on you.

“how is my pretty girl?” he asks, scooting closer in his desk chair, rubbing his hands together in that way he does when he speaks, and you get lost staring at his hands.

you’re too familiar with their touch to ignore the thoughts running through your mind. how much you miss them on your body, even if it’s only been a couple of days of not seeing him face to face.

"y/n?" he snaps you out of your trance.

"sorry, i'm good. i just miss you" you huff, rolling over once again with your phone tight in your grip.

you get positioned in an angle that pans down your body as you shift on the mattress, and you hear matt hum through the screen.

"i miss you more," his smile is so infectious.

you're giddy like it's the first time you're speaking to a crush, despite being in a secure relationship with him.

"you look so good right now, you know that?" he sounds so smug, somehow being able to be alluring through a device as he would in person.

"you do too. i like this look on you" you nod toward the screen, as if he's physically ahead of you.

matt rubs his jaw and bites his lip, the same way he would to make his brothers laugh, and you roll your eyes playfully. you know it's to entertain you, but somehow hit little bit genuinely has an affect on you.

you rub your thighs together, feeling a buzz in stomach as your mind shifts, and goosebumps rise on your skin. he just looks so good.

"does it turn you on?" he charms.

"you could do anything and it'd turn me on" you speak sweetly, a light lace of tiredness in your voice that you can drives him insane.

you can tell by the way he drags his hand down his face. suddenly his little joke hit too close to home.

"ugh, don't say that" he groans into his palm.

"why? does it turn you on?" you mimic him, in a luring tone.

"i've been pent up for like four days" he huffs, shifting in his seat.

"alright baby, i'm sorry" you chuckle, watching him suddenly become tense.

"don't be, it's not your fault you're gorgeous" he winks through the screen and you roll your eyes with a smile.

"alright romeo, are you feeling any better?" you ask pleasantly, trying to redirect the conversation, realizing you haven't even asked him how he is.

"my head still kinda hurts" he scrunches his face.

"my poor boy" you frown, genuinely.

you hate seeing him sick, but you know he handles it well. the boredom makes him more uncomfortable than the actual illness. proof being the hundreds of messages he's sent you, having full conversations with himself through text. his screen time would have been off the charts.

"distract me, tell me what you did today" he coos, a dopey grin on his face as he leans into his hand while looking at you.

"nothing exciting. i did some shopping, bought some new panties. you'd love them" you flash a warm smile, knowing your words are going to get his skin hot.

"not exciting? i'm gonna get hard just thinking about it" he blurts out, an abrupt confidence in him that he's had lingering lately. it's awfully attractive.

you watch his hand dip under his desk, where your view is cut off. you assume he's adjusting himself in his pants. you're trying to squeeze your lips together to hide a smirk.

"don't even show me, i'm going insane as it is" matt adjusts his headset, but it looks like he's doing it to make sure he can hear you better. it's like he can read your mind.

"you don't even wanna see the pair i have on now?" you begin to shift your camera closer to your body, slowly, teasingly down your torso.

"fuck" you hear matt sigh, and you lose sight of him as your phone faces down on your waist.

you slip a thumb under the band of your shorts, tugging them down and only flashing him the lace that hugs the crease of your leg. your dainty fingers caress the skin at your hip.

"i thought about you when i chose them"

he grabs your attention through his lack of response. instead, he stifles a cough, as if he's covering up another sound. it's a soft strain in his throat.

you narrow your eyes, snapping your phone back up to your face, the brightness taking you aback for a moment, and you need to readjust your vision. you're laying on your back, neck perked up on your fluffed pillows, but you lean closer to the screen to observe his actions.

matt's mouth is open ajar, and his right arm is tucked tight to his side, moving ever so slowly. you can't see the view past his ribcage, but you can string together what's happening.

“matty?"

"y-yeah baby," he asks, clearing his throat soon after.

you squint, trying to envision what your full view would be, where his hand is hiding, and the way he's in a state of stupor.

"are you touching yourself?” you bite your lip.

"’m sorry baby. just hearing you speak. your body” his voice is breathy and coarse, and he's staring at you on his screen like he's watching porn, viciously lost in his own thoughts.

“it’s been lonely in that room, huh?”

"mmph-you have no idea," he shakes his head, hesitantly picking up the pace of his strokes, making his voice shake.

you're rolling your hips at the thought of him jerking off, knowing he hasn't been able to satisfy his needs unless you're the one helping him through it. it brings you more pleasure than it should, how quickly he crumbles. even when you're miles apart.

"do you want me to stop?" he asks, and you can tell he's slowly palming himself, shamlessly all of a sudden as he does so.

you can't deny the ache that's been growing between your thighs since you've realized what he's doing. your legs arch up on the bed, and he can't see you, but you're spreading them open slightly.

“keep going" you order, sliding a hand into your own panties, and matt sharply exhales through his nose.

matt nods, leaning in his chair. he silently shows you gratitude by the look in his eyes. they soften, but are full of lust. the office chair dips with him, and the further he leans back, the more of him that's revealed.

taking time to let both of you get more into it as he strokes himself, turning the volume of his phone up to hear the breathy sounds you try to hold back. your fingers working between your thighs as you listen to his soft grunts and moans.

"are you imagining that's my hand, matt?" your voice lowers an octave, using your most seductive shift in mannerisms, voice, and stare to guide matt through.

"or my mouth?" and when those words escape your lips, he throws his head back with a moan.

"i wish i could fuck your pretty mouth so bad" his teeth are tight as he speaks, chest rising and falling heavily.

pushing his chair back so he can finally release his cock from his sweatpants, your heart skips at a beat at the sight of him with his hard dick in his grip, leaking tip and veins prominent in his big hand.

"you touching yourself, baby?" he asks, giving long, wrist twisting strokes to himself.

"mhm" you strain a hum, and pan your phone down so he gets a preview of you your hand under your shorts, caressing through your folds steadily.

you circle your clit that's already soaked, spreading your juices, and you're seeping through the fabric of your pants. you know you need to pull them off, becoming impatient by your own restriction. plus, how badly matt wants to see you.

"you have no idea how bad i wanna be in-between those thighs right now" the nearly desperate moan that spilled from his lips makes you clench around your own touch, whimpering as you rock into your palm.

trying to find the same sweet spot matt has always manages to find, you put your phone down by your side, so the camera view is on your ceiling momentarily.

“don’t stop talking, y/n" he pants, focusing the pump of his hand on his swollen head.

"you wanna see this pussy, baby?" you speak while he doesn't have a visual source for a second.

"who's pussy is it, y/n?" matt growls, and you can hear the wet sounds coming from his hand moving more savagely.

you quickly, ferociously strip from your undergarments, discarding them. you whip out a decorative pillow from under your back and rest it at the edge of your bed, using it as a phone stand so matt can have the perfect view, as if he were actually between your legs.

"yours. all yours" you swallow as you look at your screen again with heavy eyelids.

you watch as matt spits into his hand, making your core tighten.

“bet your fingers don’t feel the same as mine. do they, sweetheart?” he huffs, pace of his hand picking up when you moan in response.

you start groping your breasts with closed eyes, imagining it was his strong hand grasping at you.

“you’re a tease” you murmur, pinching your nipples hard with one hand and squeezing your legs together against the other.

"say it" he chokes out, continuing to fuck himself hard and fast, eyes flicking between a narrow stare and shutting tight with a halted breath.

"n-nothing is better than your touch"

you want to get a better view of him. you can see the entirety of him in his chair, but it's just not close enough. his sweats cover most of his hand movements, and you're mentally begging for him to pull them off.

"for someone who's whole life is behind the camera, your angles could be better, baby" you tease, breathless, and matt glares at you.

he yanks his pants to his ankles first. the sight of his shirt pulled up enough to show the tensing muscles of his abdomen and throbbing erection begging to be relieved. needier moans and whines coming from both of you before he finally fixes his camera angle.

he reaches forward to the screen, bringing it closer, and panning down more. your screen is engulfed by a close up of matt's face and lap. a perfect view.

"better?" he rushes his question. you nod, chuckling lightly.

you continue to roll your fingers across your vulva, spreading yourself open for him and tease your own hole with your fingertips. his whole arm is shaking from the quick rhythm he’s set, drowning himself in the fantasy he’s creating as he watches your expressions of bliss.

pushing into yourself while you watch him, matt almost releases right then and there.

the sight of him masturbating is something you're going to be replaying in your mind, and you already know he's going to make this a more common occurrence.

“i’ve been aching all week for this,” he speaks, voice singing through the speakers of your phone, trying not to sound too much like he's whining.

“you have no idea how hard it is to not get myself off when i think about you, y/n.” matt continues, and it makes you fuck deeper into yourself, arching your back.

you feel yourself growing a sickeningly sweet pain in your stomach, a sharp feeling that bubbles like champagne and brings you such a overwhelming sensation. you're a moaning mess. anyone hearing your vocal exchanges would think it's an act, almost sounding scripted.

“matt-” his full name is cut off in a stuttered gasp, pleasure washing over you wave after wave until all you could do was pant and grind against your palm.

"ngh, keep going. that's my girl," you're both desperate to keep hearing each other and melt completely into your own touch, using nothing but desire and the memory of him devouring you to push you over the limit.

you can hear his skin slapping with how forceful his strokes are, almost like he's putting himself through misery by going fast, then slow. playing with himself, giving his cock the same feeling you would by changing the momentum.

"wish that was my fucking hand. oh, fuck” he groans through gritt teeth, following right behind you as his release spills out onto his stomach.

"mm-matty," you shriek, grinding into your quilt cover and pushing into your fingers to feel like your climax hit it's peak, abs tightening and a sharp inhale flooding your entire body. your pleasure slowly subsides.

your mouth feels dry from gasping and you need to lick your lips straight away, to bring some relief. to regain your composure. you lean forward, grabbing your phone with your clean, shaky hand.

"god that was so fucking hot" matt grabs at the armrests, head tossed back, staring at the ceiling in a post-orgasm daze.

you giggle at the state he's in, watching his cock slap against his lower stomach, resting next to his happy trail that you'd give anything to lick clean. he gives himself a few more lazy stokes, overstimulated as he jolts to his own touch.

you wipe your sticky fingers on your shorts beside you, so you can hold your phone more comfortably.

"i can't wait to touch you again" you admire, snuggling back into your pillow and curling into yourself, bringing the screen to your face.

"better be soon, i don't know how much longer i can last without you" matt pulls himself to slide back under desk, hiding the explicit sight. you know he won't be putting pants back on anytime soon.

"come closer to the screen" you implore.

"why? you want a kiss?" he jokes, and you play along.

"i do actually. c'mhere" you wave him over as you hold your phone to your lips, probably not your most flattering angle but matt adores you in any state. from any angle. even when you're virtual.

"you seriously want me to kiss the screen?" he snorts, shaking his head at you while flashing his teeth.

"if you don't, i'll hang up" you shrug to yourself, earning a grumble from matt.

"you're ridiculous" he laughs.

"kiss me through the phone, baby" you both exchange a fatigued half-smile, as you know it's past his bedtime, so you initiate a parting line.

your eyes strain to see the screen as you pucker at the circle camera on the black mirrored surface, and matt is trying to be serious as he leans forward with a 'mwah' sound, smacking his lips onto his more advanced ipad setup.

the messy burgundy silk sheets in his background shot look so enticing, and you're sure he wants nothing more than to tangle himself between them.

"was that your way of telling me to say goodnight?" he raises an eyebrow, and you nod, trying to be stern in your sentence.

"it was, my love" you speak in a gentle tone.

as much as you want nothing more than to fall asleep to his voice, or his light snores, or even the sound of him playing videos. he needs to rest. and you know it'll be a good sleep after his much deserved orgasm.

"alright my angel, i'll let you go" his eyes are getting darker, and heavier with each word.

"goodnight, matty bear" you slip the nickname in, knowing he's too delirious to argue against it.

"goodnight, baby. dream about me." he smiles with his flushed cheeks, blowing you one last kiss through the screen before it turns black.

you're left alone with the vision of him, and your own arms to wrap around before you drift into a sleep where you will absolutely be dreaming about matthew.

end.

tag list: @luverboychris @recklessmatt @floofparker @teampurpleforlife @letstripsturniolo @imwetforyourmom @fake-sturniolos @recklessmatt @kentahoe

[auspicioustidings]

Closed

Teashop AU

Summary: You get sick, Price gets serious. Words: 2.2k TWs: death of a loved one

“Lieutenant I have a perimeter alarm, go have a look will you?”

Price only got a gruff sound of agreement as Ghost headed out. Owing to it being off the radar their base wasn’t on official records and didn’t have any sort of posted guards. If anything the building probably looked more like a mildly eccentric manor in the middle of the woods, so it wasn’t entirely outside the realms of possibility for folk to stumble upon it none the wiser.

It had only ever happened twice in the past 5 years since they had started using it and both happened within the last 2. Not really a coincidence given that’s around the time Faodail had opened. Not that any of them were complaining, they could redirect a few adventurous walkers away every so often if it meant they got to visit their favourite civilian in their favourite little teashop.

He needed to pay a visit soon. Had it really been two weeks since any of them had seen you? Work had just been so busy and none of them had made the time because they were exhausted. As far as he knew there hadn’t been any out of town visitors either. It must be calm and quiet for you without a bunch of rowdy military folk rampaging around. The thought made him smile. Maybe he should take you on a holiday to give you a full break. Since opening you had worked every day, even the day the shop was closed he knew you were busy getting deliveries, restocking and testing out new recipes.

“Captain!”

Oh Price did not like that tone on his Lieutenant at all. He snapped into work mode, loosening off his shoulders to be ready for a fight as he jogged to meet Simon half way, finding him just coming back into the base. Gaz and Soap came barreling around as well, both ready for whatever they were about to face. Ghost looked, well, like he had seen a ghost. 

“Report.”

“It’s George.”

“Dungeons and Dragons George?” Soap asked, relaxing ever so slightly.

George was a fixture at Faodail, bringing his group to play once a week. He came in a second time a week with his boyfriend as well (a relationship that had been built on months of very bad matchmaking attempts by you before Kyle had stepped in to help). Nice guy, totally harmless but for the obvious crush he had on you. His boyfriend was clearly fond of you and found it very cute. 

“The shop is closed.”

There was a moment of quiet while everyone tried to make sense of what they were being told.

“This isn’t usually the day it’s closed right? Maybe they just need to do maintenance” Gaz said, trying not to overreact to something so small. 

But then why had Dungeons and Dragons George tracked down the base to tell them if it was something so small? You had never shut the shop. It had been open when you had rolled your ankle and could barely walk, it had been open when a snowstorm had wiped out the power and you had to heat water over the fire and bundle everyone in blankets, it had been open when you had such a bad toothache that you were openly crying while making tea (it had been him and Soap there when it had happened and oh boy they had not handled it very well).

“It’s been closed for a week. He said last week they didn’t seem well, and then when he went in on Sunday the place was closed. Agnus brought the doctor around, she said they’ve gotten pneumonia while already fighting off the flu.”

Simon said it very carefully. He had to. He knew that while this was obviously causing him a great deal of worry, it was nothing compared to what Price was feeling. His Captain looked like his heart had stopped. The fury that came over him was sudden and frightening as he silently barged past and to the truck, yelling at George to go home. 

Simon gave the Sergeants a look and a shake of his head that said not to ask before they all went after him, climbing into the truck without a word. 

–

You could not remember ever being this ill. Everything hurt, you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t sleep for coughing and when you coughed it felt like your ribcage had caught fire. At the start you had kept working, masked up with gloves. Then on day 4 you had woken up and barely been able to move. 

By the time you had walked from your little cottage to the shop you could barely see straight. The sign was flipped to closed and you had staggered back to bed and not left for more than stumbling to the bathroom since. 

Agnus had walked right in, taken one look at you and called for the doctor. You didn’t fully remember the conversation with the doctor, only that she gave you medicine and strict instructions to contact her immediately if it got any worse. You wouldn’t say it had, but it hadn’t gotten better. At least Agnus was keeping you fed even though you really did not want to eat any of the soup she fed you twice a day. She didn’t stay long which you were thankful for, she shouldn’t really be in the room with you at all in case she got sick.

It was the only way you were judging time at the moment, so when you heard someone in the room you assumed it must be evening if she was here to make sure you ate your soup.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell us?”

You cracked an eye open to find John Price crouched by your bed, his rough hand gently pushing back the hair that had become stuck to your forehead and cheek. He seemed so sad. 

“Wrinkles” you croaked, meaning to say a full sentence around that but not managing as you brought your own hand to the furrow in his brow to try to smooth it out. It took such an effort.

“Yeah, wrinkles” he said, sounding somewhat choked himself. 

Even though you sort of hazily remembered telling him he’d get sick, it hadn’t stopped him from staying with you. He fed you, made sure you took your medicine, bundled you up in his arms. You thought you heard movement around the house, other people. There were voices in the doorway to your room sometimes, comforting ones, ones you recognised as yours. 

–

“You’re taking the piss darling.”

You rolled your eyes. Sure the tea probably tasted spicy as all hell with the amount of ginger in it, but it would do him wonders. Predictably, Price had got the flu. Nowhere near as bad as you had gotten, but despite some teasing from his team he seemed more than content to stay in your bed and be looked after even if he was mostly better by now.

It was strange not working for so long. Now that you were on the mend and rebuilding strength you thought you’d be desperate to get back to it, but honestly it was nice to have the break.

“I told you not to stay with me and you didn’t listen, so drink up.”

He rolled his eyes, took another sip and then put the cup down on the bedside table so he could throw his arm out at a frankly alarming speed and drag you down into bed by the waist. It wasn’t that Price wasn’t a touchy feely person as such, but since he had arrived when you were ill he had developed Johnny levels of affection, always as close as he could get to you.

“Not a superior officer on this planet that could order me to stay away from you,” he said, wrapping himself around you and burying his face into your chest.

You played with his hair, feeling such a burst of fondness for him in that moment. You suspected there was a reason he was being like this, but you didn’t want to force him to tell you so you tried the subtle approach.

“I’m sorry if I made you worry…”

His chuckle tickled your chest. Ok, so maybe you were very bad at trying to be subtle and it had very much come out sounding like you were desperate to know just why he was so worried. You never had been any good at hiding how you felt. 

“She’d have really liked you. Would have kicked your arse for not telling us you were sick right enough, but she’d have liked you.”

You could feel tears pushing at your eyes already. He had lost someone and it just broke your heart to think about. You knew in principal that his line of work meant he must have lost so many people, but the way he talked about this one seemed different.

“Her family moved in beside mine when I was 10 and I hated her. She always beat me in any game we played and was the loudest, brashest brat I had ever met.”

“So you fell in love with her” you said with a smile, hearing it in his voice. 

He sighed and moved his head so he could lay facing you, just looking into your eyes.

“Hard and fast. She laughed at me the first time I asked her out on a date and the whole thing was a disaster. It rained, the restaurant was overbooked and the cinema projector broke down. We wound up at a McDonalds” he said, the nostalgia clear on his expression.

“The plan was always for me to work my way to a desk job. I didn’t want to be in active duty forever, just long enough to make a difference before getting into something safer and starting a family.”

“What happened?”

“She got sick. It happened fast, started with the flu and just got worse. I didn’t make it home in time to say goodbye.”

“Oh John, you must miss her terribly” you whispered, knowing you were crying but not able to do much about it. 

He wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. 

“All the time. I didn’t have a reason to get that desk job. Didn’t really want to be home for long either, there wasn’t anything here for me.”

He thought that there was something here for him now. It had been in the back of his mind for a while now, the idea of a future beyond the job. Since he had lost his girlfriend all those years ago, he had just worked knowing as a fact that he’d die in service. But now that certainty was gone. Now he imagined growing old in a little cottage by a charming teahouse. He imagined getting you all to himself for some years before one by one the others would join. 

He hadn’t told anyone, but around a year ago he had started buying up the land surrounding yours, eventually connecting up to the base. He could admit to himself now that in his heart he knew he wanted to make more space for the family that had been built around you. 

“Take a holiday.”

“Hm?”

“Take a holiday with me. Let’s go somewhere warm for a few weeks and soak up the sun.”

You were taken aback by the suggestion. It sounded like a dream, but it was something more serious than stolen kisses and visits to your shop. You had never really thought for too long on what exactly this all was. You loved these people you had been lucky enough to meet. They didn’t seem to mind that you shared your affections between them so you had just let it develop. Did John want that to change?

“I can see your pretty little head working overtime luv. The others will want to take you places too, I know Alejandro just bought a vineyard near his hometown so I wouldn’t be surprised if he steals you away for a while. Should by rights be Soap getting to take you away first, but I outrank him so he’ll need to get over it.”

“I… the shop…”

“You were thinking about hiring help anyway.”

You were thinking about hiring help. You loved the shop and you wanted to work in it for the rest of your life, but it was hard going and you had the money now to afford to get help. Originally you had thought you’d probably find someone in the nearby town, but as if by magic (more likely by sneaky soldiers) you seemed to keep finding CVs from people with military backgrounds around the shop. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think Mr Sanderson sounded like he’d be a perfect fit for Faodail. 

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Ok.”

The kiss he gave you then was toe curling and if it hadn’t been for the fact he was still a little under the weather you did not think you would have been able to leave the bed, but you somewhat dizzily clambered to get out of his hold and tumbled onto the floor rambling about how he needed to finish his tea. 

His laugh followed you to the hallway and you were so flustered that when Johnny immediately caught you and pressed you into the wall to steal kisses of his own, you could do nothing but completely give in and relax into him. 

Maybe getting sick wasn’t the worst thing to happen.

[wanderinginksplot]

Sev + "I'm going to give you five seconds to take that back."

Sev x gn!reader (no use of 'y/n' and no pronouns). Flirty (ish).

Word Count: 2,400

Warnings: discussions of medical concerns, references to missions, stimulant misuse, grandstanding, ill-planned bets, semi-flirtatious wrestling.

---

It had all started when you tried to talk your most recent set of charges into being more healthy. 

Delta Squad had been a source of constant frustration for you since you were assigned to be their medic. Normally, commando squads weren’t overly concerned about having a medic on-board. However, Delta had a close call on a previous mission. One commando, Sev, had been in especially bad shape. 

Some time in a bacta tank had fixed the worst of their injuries, but there were certain limits they shouldn’t push if they wanted to avoid a repeat. Sev needed to be particularly careful, since he had suffered damage to his ribs and many of the organs within them - including his heart. 

Which was why you had been irretrievably furious when you found him downing a packet of stims. 

“Are you trying to die?” you had demanded. “Because I know you’re not stupid, and those are the only possible reasons you would be using stims with damage to your heart. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I have a mission to complete and I don’t have eight hours to sleep before we get there.”

Honestly, you could have expected that kind of answer, but the nonchalant tone Sev had used was what pushed you over the edge. 

“And when they wear off? You know, since you took them three hours before we even break atmosphere?” You had shaken your head, clenching your jaw so tightly that the muscles ached. “If you had bothered to talk to me, I would have advised you to sleep for that time, then take half a stim pack when we arrive.”

“I don’t need some vorpan baar'ur telling me what to do,” he had spat. “As long as I can do my job, the GAR doesn’t worry about the little things. Including my health or my life.”

You didn’t understand the Mando’a, obviously, but that didn’t stop you from rolling your eyes at the drama of his caustic words. 

“Apparently, having someone tell you what to do is exactly what you needI” you had countered. “Do you know what kind of shape you’ll be in after another dose of stims? Even I would be able to beat you in a wrestling match! Some use you’ll be to your brothers then.”

It was a bit too far, and you felt bad as silence fell in the small ship. You had worked with enough troopers to know that they prided themselves on loyalty to their brothers above all else. In your defense, though, you recognized the signs of someone who wouldn’t be talked out of their nihilism. By meeting him head-on using the parameters of life as he saw it, you had hoped to shake him out of his stubbornness. 

It was only bad luck that it hadn’t worked. Sev’s expression had darkened and you prepared yourself for a threat or a cutting insult, but Scorch had laughed, breaking the tension.

“Sounds like a good, old-fashioned bet,” he had said, chuckling in a way that could only be described as ‘gleeful’. 

Sev had scoffed and walked away without another word, but your luck ran out.

Delta Squad had gotten a call from General Jusik, alerting them that the leader of the Separatist-controlled planet had opted for a peace talk. As a gesture of good faith, the GAR was withdrawing the commando squads who had been set to invade.

“We’ve been redirected,” Boss announced when Jusik disconnected the call. The sergeant stepped out of the small cockpit where he had been navigating with Fixer. “We’re to touch down on a Republic-friendly planet in the next system and settle in. We’ll be backup if things go south, so stay ready to go. Get some sleep if you can.”

“Those of us who didn’t already take a packet of stims,” you had muttered when Sev went back to cleaning his blaster instead of heading for the bunks. 

Unfortunately, your sarcasm would prove to be your undoing. Scorch perked up at your quiet admonishment, visibly brightening. “Hey, didn’t you say you could beat Sev in hand-to-hand when he’s using stims?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, holding eye contact with Scorch, but trying to watch Sev in your peripheral vision.

“I’m going to give you five seconds to take that back,” Sev growled. When you looked over, you saw that he very much was not focusing on his blaster anymore. 

“I don’t think I will.” The way you lifted your chin was nothing short of antagonistic, but you were angry. Clarity of thought while angry had never been your forte. Despite that, you clocked the gray undertones in Sev’s face and the way his fingers were trembling slightly. “In fact, I think I could beat you now, whether or not you take another dose.” 

“You’re on,” Sev told you, a challenge thick in his tone. 

“Wait-” How you hadn’t seen this coming, you weren’t sure, but your stomach was sinking. “I didn’t mean I actually want to wrestle you. I’m just telling you, as a medical professional, that-”

“Hey, you already said you would,” Scorch reminded you. “Too late to go back on it now.”

“Knock it off, Six-Two. It isn’t too late for anything,” Fixer told him, turning around in the cockpit to face you all. Before you could thank him, he continued as he eyed you directly. “It’s actually a choice: wrestle Oh-Seven or admit that stims aren’t that bad.”

“They are that bad, though,” you insisted. 

“If you’re going to wrestle on my ship, do it in the cargo bay,” Boss said over his shoulder. “I don’t want to explain broken equipment to the GAR.”

“This isn’t enough of a challenge to break anything,” Sev decreed. He watched you as he set aside his blaster and stood. “Cargo bay. Five minutes.”

It was overdramatic to specify a time and place on such a small ship, but it still made the pit of your stomach tighten. You took care to offer him an unimpressed face and a simple nod. 

"This is gonna be fun!" Scorch said excitedly. 

You strongly disagreed, but that wasn’t going to help. It was far too late for that. So you stifled your misgivings and made your way to the back of the ship. 

Sev had stripped off his armor by the time you got there. That hadn’t been a concern, but you wondered if it should have been. There was nothing at all you could do against plastoid armor. However, much as you loathed to admit it even to yourself… you were almost as disadvantaged anyway. The sight of Sev’s muscles swelling and bulging under the tightness of his body glove was enough to make the ship feel like it was lurching through the galaxy. 

You were wearing comfortable clothes, having refused to change into your lightly armored medic’s gear until you were closer to your eventual destination. You were comfortable and didn’t have to strip off any clothing, but that was almost a pity. It was starting to feel distinctly warm aboard the small ship…

“Ready?” Sev asked. 

You nodded, resigned to being decimated by the fully-trained commando. He didn’t attack immediately, choosing to watch you instead. You circled warily, already closer than you liked. The cargo bay of the ship was reasonably big and, as promised, you weren’t going to break anything. That should keep Boss happy, but there still wasn’t a vast amount of space. 

So you and Sev circled around, watching each other. You were focused on his chest: all of the hand-to-hand training the GAR had offered told you that motion was typically forecasted in the torso, so that was the best place to watch if you wanted to avoid being surprised. 

When you occasionally snuck a glance at Sev, he was watching your face rather than your torso. At first, you wondered if you should be doing the same with him, but then you started to feel flustered rather than wary at the weight of his eyes. 

That was when he pounced. 

You managed to avoid the first lunge, but you weren’t expecting him to recover his balance as quickly as he did. In half a moment, Sev was upright once more and diving at you. 

A strong arm hooked around your waist and you were falling, cushioned from the ground by Sev’s body, but the impact still knocked the air from your lungs. Sev flipped you over and you made your move, rolling quickly out from under him before he had time to close the distance between you. 

You got to your feet - or, you started to. Sev’s hand closed around your ankle and pulled. It wasn’t enough to put you back on the floor, but it was enough to bring you heavily to your hands and knees. Since you were already in the proper position, you kicked out with your foot and felt a surge of victory when your heel connected. 

And then you were horrified, turning around as you gave a loud gasp. “Sev! Are you okay? I’m so sorry-”

There was a small smudge of dirt on his forehead from your boot, but Sev’s grin flashed bright. “I’m fine. Keep going.”

And then he grabbed both of your ankles, pulling hard enough that your knees went out from under you and you landed on your stomach with a soft, “Oof!”

Sudden heat at your back warned that Sev was getting ready to pin you, so you rolled again. He seemed to expect the movement then, dropping onto you in mid-turn from your side to your back. 

With a sudden, surging need to keep your freedom, you pulled back a fist. Your goal was Sev’s recently injured ribs, but you came to your senses before the blow came too close to landing. You were a medic, and every bit of training you had received covered how to prevent injuries, not cause them. 

Sev didn’t know that, however, and he winced sharply. He curled into himself in an effort to protect his ribs - a motion that only put more pressure on them. The flash of pain across his face would have made you stop even if you hadn’t already decided to do so. 

“Are you-?”

Before you could ask if he was hurt, he had reached down, snagged your wrists, and pressed them against the cold metal of the floor. You were pinned. 

You were on your back with a commando pressing you into the floor, but you both… stopped. Your breathing was heavy and - with more than a little surprise - you noticed that Sev’s was, too. Of course, his ribs probably still hurt and you would have to check him for a boot-borne head injury, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling anything other than pain.

You definitely were. 

The chilly bite of the floor at your back faded into the distance as you and Sev studied each other from closer than you had ever been. Sev always looked vaguely angry, but you had wondered if that was his natural expression. That seemed to be true: if you didn’t know him as well as you did, you would have taken his expression to be one of irritation and disdain. But there was softness in it, too. That was what left you feeling like you couldn’t get a full breath. 

“Well, Sev, I’d say you won,” Boss remarked dryly. 

The comment pulled you back into the moment and you realized that Boss, Fixer, and Scorch were all observing the scene. It felt vaguely ridiculous then, wondering what it would be like to kiss the man who currently had you pinned to the dirty floor. But as Sev released his grip and stood, you missed the warmth of him like it was something tangible.

To your surprise, though, Sev held a hand out to you in a silent offer to help you stand. You took it and he lifted you easily. The silence was thick. 

You cleared your throat. “Well, I guess I was wrong. One stim pack isn’t enough for me to win a wrestling match. I still think-”

“Save it,” Sev ordered and you froze. No matter what you thought had changed between you, it wasn’t enough to save you from his sharp tongue. But when he spoke again, Sev’s voice was far more gentle. “It was closer than I thought it would be. Another few minutes and I would have probably lost. I’ll lay off the stims.”

“Aww, no rematch?” Scorch complained. 

Fixer made a sharply derisive noise and left for the cockpit. “I’ll pilot us to the staging planet.”

“All of you, get some rest,” Boss ordered before he left as well. 

Scorch lingered a moment, glancing between you and Sev. You were still standing close together, the tension palpable between you. Unlike most of your interactions, that tension was not actively hostile. 

You were torn between wanting Scorch to leave so you and Sev could talk about what had just happened, and wanting him to stay so you didn’t have to. Slowly, like he was watching something interesting unfold before his eyes, Scorch turned and retreated to his bunk. Since the bunks were in the section just ahead of the cargo bay, Scorch was still in hearing range, but a sense of privacy settled thickly around you and Sev. 

When you finally gathered the courage to look over, Sev was watching you. Neither of you spoke, and your mind raced in an effort to find the right words. 

Your lips parted, though you didn’t have the slightest idea what you planned on saying. Fortunately, Sev spoke before you could say some muddled assortment of words that might mean nothing… or too much. 

“We should sleep while we can,” he told you. After a moment, he added with a wry grin, “Some medic told me I need actual rest, not just stim packs.”

It was more familiar ground, and you relaxed enough to jibe, “What disappointing news.”

“Yeah,” Sev agreed. “But the delivery made it a little better.”

You could only shake your head as you followed him to the bunks.

---

Author's Note - I love Sev wayyyyy too much! I have written more fics for him than for any other member of Delta Squad. That being said, I'm going to focus on Scorch and Boss next since I haven't done much for them. If you have any great ideas for either one that you'd like to throw my way, feel free to comment, ask, or message!

Thanks for reading! You can find other works on my masterlist. As of a few days ago, I discontinued my taglist. You can find just fics on my side-blog, @wanderinginksplot-writes. (As soon as I work through my drafts on this blog, all fics will be posted there first and cross-posted here later.)

[ameliathornromance]

The Manor House: A Vampire Romance: Chapter 1

“... It’s just as I thought.” The Lord said, absently. His hands were ice cold, pressed against the sides of your head, forcing you to look at him as he examined your now exposed wound. 

The musty air stung as the Lord tilted his own head to one side, eyebrow raised. You clenched your jaw, trying to redirect some of the pain.

“What is?” You asked as he relinquished his grip on you. Flexing your jaw, the Lord turned his attention to a steel tray on your bedside. 

On it, there was an array of matching medical tools, a scalpel, needle holders, surgical scissors, clamps, curettes, gauze, small brown bottles and jars of mysterious liquids and salves with unintelligible labels, yellowed with age. 

“The head is full of capillaries because of the brain and how the body needs to protect the brain.” The Lord answered, “because of that, when you hit your head and it bleeds, it looks like you’re losing a dangerous amount of blood. But you’re not.” He sighed. “You’re lucky that it was only a small cut you got.”

Rolling up his sleeves, he uncorked one of the brown bottles and poured some clear liquid on his hands. The putrid smell of chemicals consumed the air as the Lord cleaned his hands with it, up to his elbows. He gave a shake of his hands to dry off the liquid. 

As he picked up one of the small jars, a thought occurred to you. “Where’d you get all this stuff?” It’s not like any Lord would just have all this lying around his Manor. Some of the Doctors at your village were third or fourth born Lords, while others had a magikal background. 

Lord Baal didn’t seem like he was kind enough to be tending to the ill and diseased… unless it benefitted him in some way.  

“I’ve always had medical supplies.” He said, simply. “I was a sickly child. I needed surgery and care often. It just became easier to have all the relevant materials at the Manor since it’s so far away from any town that may have a Doctor.” 

His answer made you frown. 

Lord Baal unscrewed the cap, placed it on the steel tray delicately. Using his middle and index finger, he dug into the salve. The salve looked like it had been made from beeswax, matching the honey yellow of Bee hives. 

During the night at the Manor, as you fell in and out of your dreamless slumber, you found yourself disturbed. Not by any sound… because there wasn’t any. Normally, you can feel the presence of other people, or hear them bustling around as they worked or got ready for the day. 

But there was none of that in this Manor. The silence was muted, suffocating. Unnerving.

Surely if the Lord was often ill as a child, there would be others around to keep an eye on him? To make sure that his body doesn’t fall back into old habits?

Of course, it could just be that due to your dulled senses, you just hadn’t picked up on other people in the Manor. You had been confined to this room after all, and had only been there a day or two.

The sharp sting of the thick salve being pressed into your fresh wound made you hiss out your thoughts, “so, why are you tending to my wounds then?” 

The Lord’s hand flinched away from your wound. “Sorry?” His tone dipped, like you’d just asked him what colour his underwear was.

“You’re a Lord, aren’t you? Aren’t there servants or anyone who would attend me?” You asked. 

You watched the Lord’s expression, waiting for him to contradict you, or say something demeaning for daring to question him.

But the shocked expression didn’t change. “There… isn’t anyone else.” His tone was solemn. Isolated. “It’s just me here.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment. The Lord scoffed. “You should consider yourself lucky to be attended to personally by a Lord of the Manor. Not many peasants get this kind of treatment.” 

“Peasant?” You repeated, indignantly. “I’m not a peasant!”

“Well with how you looked on the river bank, any commoner would have thought otherwise.” And with that, the Lord pressed his salved fingers into your wound.

“Ow!” You yelped like a pathetic animal.

“Oh hush.” He said, dismissively. “Like I said, it’s not that bad.” Lord Baal snatched up a gauze from the tray and forced it onto your cut, using bandages to secure it.

“Since it’s not as bad as I initially thought, tomorrow we will go through what you will be doing in the Manor to repay me.” He repeated his cleaning process once again, drying his hands on a few gauze and throwing them on the tray. “And then, I will set you to work.” 

You placed your hand gingerly on the raised bandage, where the gauze was. The pressure helped to soothe the stinging.

Lord Baal opened the bedroom door. “Our little chat helped me decide on what you should do. So get some rest, you’re going to need it.” And with that, he shut the door behind him, taking the used medical materials with him.

“‘Little chat’ my ass.” You muttered, still holding your head.

A Lord, with no servants?

You thought that they revelled in that. Having people to work under them, slaving away at doing all the difficult tasks while they put their feet up. Had the best food in all of the land and watched while their ‘lowers’ suffered. 

… Perhaps that’s why he had such a strong reaction to it. A Lord should have people below him, it was almost like a status symbol.

Maybe that’s why he wanted you to work for him. So, he could feel that sense of undeserved superiority. Even if you did owe him a favour, massaging his ego was not what you had in mind. 

In any case, working for the Lord was better than seeing the Witch Hunter again.

You rolled over to face the other side of the room.

Tomorrow, the real work begins.

Read 4 Chapters ahead on my Patreon!

Masterlist

[lady0ctavia]

As We Ponder Belief

(2p!Prussia x Reader) - Chapter 9

Note: This story is based vaguely during the mid 1200s in Eastern Europe where the Teutonic Knights fought the Northern Crusades to try and convert the native pagan population to Christianity. As a result, this story will have heavy religious themes all throughout. It should also be noted that, while referencing real-life events and locations, I am not striving for full historical accuracy. This is for the sake of the story I am telling.

Once again, this series will have heavy religious themes throughout, including discussions of bible stories, doctrine, and scripture verses, as well as critical analysis of Christian doctrine and beliefs. So, if you don't like that, you will want to skip out on this.

~Gillen's POV~

"There we go"

Gillen finished taking the cast off of (y/n)'s leg. Almost eagerly, (y/n) wiggled her toes and smiled as she moved her whole foot around.

"Alright, now get up and move around. Tell me how it feels," Gillen asked.

(y/n) did so, slowly getting up from her bed. She stumbled a little, but only for a moment. Instinctively she reached for her crutches, only for Gillen to move them away, shaking his head. Receiving the message, she slowly began to walk around the room. Her smile stretched bigger around her face, and she seemed almost ecstatic, almost making Gillen give only the tiniest of grins. Her wound had even completely healed up by this point.

This was a common reaction he saw from patients when he took a cast off. That was one of the best parts of being a doctor. Yes, it was bitter work. Yes, it could lead to sleepless nights when he'd have to stay awake with a patient. But moments like this? Where someone could leave his care healed and healthy? Those moments were worth their weight in gold, and then some.

But it was at this moment where it once again dawned on him; she wasn't leaving. He internally groaned at this fact, as well as the memory of four weeks ago when Captain Nikolaus made the decision to let her stay at the fortress a while longer as an apprentice. His apprentice.

Why? He thought to himself. It is bad enough that she feels the need to argue with me about my faith. Why should I now have to suffer being her teacher? He sighed, running a hand through his long, silvery white hair as (y/n) appeared to frolic around the room. I suppose it is my cross to bear.

At this point, their conversations were nothing more than simple pleasantries when he'd treat her, as well as yes and no questions about her wellbeing. They'd drift into religious talk once every now and again, but the topic was often quickly redirected back to her treatments. How am I supposed to talk to and get along with someone whose beliefs don't fully align with mine?

"Thank you, Gillen."

(y/n)'s voice quickly ripped him out of his thoughts. She now stood before him, down at him from where he sat. He only gave a small shrug.

"It was nothing," He insisted.

"You call this, nothing?" She lifted her foot up and gestured to it. The bruising had all but disappeared from her (s/c) skin. "My ankle was broken, but you managed to fix it."

"Indeed I did. With no help from you and your relentless wandering," He idly commented while getting up, earning an eye-roll from (y/n) as he walked past her and toward the door.

"Make fun of me all you want, doesn't change the fact that I'm healed now," She paused and gave a breathy sigh. "Listen, Gillen, I know we don't always see eye to eye, but I truly am thankful for your work."

He stopped to turn and look at her. Her (e/c) appeared nervous, but she did give him a small smile. One that caused a tightness to form in his chest. A familiar feeling to the one he felt when asked to take on (y/n) as an apprentice in the infirmary. What is this? Surely this cannot be some illness? I seldom ever get sick.

"You're welcome," Is all Gillen could say in response before continuing. "If you would be so willing, now that you are well I would like to begin your lessons post haste."

(y/n) nodded and followed behind him as he made his way down the hall and towards the infirmary. As they walked, he couldn't help but notice how short (y/n) was. It was endearing. As well as the wide-eyed expression she had whenever she'd go somewhere new within the fortress. As Gillen took a moment to think about and observe his new student, he felt the tightness in his chest worsen. This is just anxiety. He figured. I've never had a pupil, before. This is uncharted territory for me. That's all this is.

After he reassured himself, the two of them finally made it to the infirmary. Opening the door he let them in. To him, this was nothing more than his place of work, but to (y/n)? She began to slowly wander around the room, appearing almost fascinated by it all.

(Think of the interior of the infirmary looking like this, save you add some beds, an operating table, a big cabinet, etc).

"It's beautiful," She admired the architecture of the room. Beds lined the walls, two of which had men lying there quietly. At the end of the room was a large cabinet which (y/n) pointed to. "What's in there?"

"That," Gillen began to speak as we walked across the room toward where she stood. "Is where I keep many of my tools and bandages. And over there," He pointed to the side whereon the wall was fixed many shelves, all of which were packed with different jars of herbs. "Is my apothecary. I am going to start you here preparing herbal remedies. However, first things first. I would like for you to clean some bedsheets I have sitting in a laundry basket over by the door. I've soaked them in cold water to make the stains easier to remove, but they need to be scrubbed." He used his head to gesture to the basket, lightly jerking it to the side.

(y/n) looked to the door and, upon seeing the basket, nodded to Gillen. "Alright, sounds good."

As she walked away, Gillen noticed how the light shined on her (h/l), (h/c) hair, idly commenting to himself that it looked lovely. It was then that his brother emerged from the hallway and entered the infirmary.

"Well well well, what have we here? Seems to me like Miss (l/n) is feeling all better!" Gilbert smirked with his arms folded over his chest, his tone showing genuine joy.

(y/n) only laughed as she picked up the basket. "Gilbert, I told you. Just call me (y/n)!"

Gilbert only laughed in response. Holding the door open for her, Gilbert allowed (y/n) to head down the hall to go outside to begin washing the sheets. Again, Gillen felt a tightness in his chest. Gilbert turned to his brother.

"You going outside with her?" He asked.

"She should be fine outside on her own. Especially now that she's healed."

"Fair," Gilbert admitted as he entered the room. He glanced around and observed the two men asleep in their beds. "So, are you busy right now?"

"Not particularly," Gillen shook his head. "Theodore and Gavin are sleeping off the medicine I gave them. They shouldn't be waking up until just a little after noon. Their wounds are healing up nicely."

"Good, because I want to duel," Gilbert gripped the handle of his sword, currently sheathed at his hip. "It's been far too long since the two of us sparred. What say you, Gillen?"

Gillen stopped to think, before giving his brother a rare smirk. "Sounds fine by me."

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Methinks the man is starting to feel something... Please let me know what you thought of this chapter in the comments!

[paperanddice]

Void dragons drift through the empty spaces between worlds, circling stars from a distance and stopping by celestial bodies that attract their interest. They are majestic and terrifying creatures, appearing as the night sky with bright stars for eyes and additional glittering star-like forms along their bodies. Their horns vary slightly, but often appear similar to a halo ring, though the center seems to ripple slightly as the dragon's powers warp gravity within that ring. Even more terrifying is their slightly unhinged nature. Having seen the void at the edge of existence, they are deeply knowledgeable, but that knowledge came with a price. The devouring nothingness of the edge of reality flows out of the older dragons, affecting the minds of other beings and driving them to fear or violence out of their control. Their hoards are hidden on asteroids or moons deep in space, and dragons older than young can always open up a small rift directly to their hoard, to stock it or collect items they wish to show off or potentially even trade for far greater knowledge. If the dragon reaches out to find something is no longer present however, this causes a deep snap, and they will stop at nothing to find the one who did so, even if it takes centuries of flight through space.

In the Dragon Empire, void dragons dwell in the Overworld and have explored the far reaches of that realm. It's very rare for them to descend down to the world, but they will go searching for new treasure and knowledge, and this can bring them into clashes with the people below. A dragon may come down to visit a wizard it met during its last visit, only to enter a rage when it discovers an entire city where its friend's tower was, unaware that an entire Age has passed and that wizard is long dead. They also have the standard dragon features of escalator and flight.

Inspired by the Tome of Beasts 1. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

Pathfinder 2e

Void Dragon Spellcasters Void dragon spellcasters tend to cast the following spells.

Young Void Dragon Occult Prepared Spells DC 29, attack +21; 5th invoke spirits, shadow blast, wave of despair; 4th nightmare, outcast’s curse, vision of death; 3rd hypercognition, hypnotize, veil of privacy; 2nd blur, laughing fit, paranoia, stupify; 1st grim tendrils, ill omen, mindlink, phantom pain; Cantrips (5th) daze, know the way, telekinetic hand, void warp

Adult Void Dragn Occult Prepared Spells DC 36, attack +28; as young void dragon, plus 7th interplanar teleport, retrocognition; 6th mislead, repulsion, scrying; Cantrips (7th) daze, know the way, telekinetic hand, void warp

Ancient Void Dragon Occult Prepared Spells DC 42, attack +34; as adult void dragon, plus 9th foresight, unfathomable song; 8th disappearance, pinpoint; 7th duplicate foe; Cantrips (9th) daze, know the way, telekinetic hand, void warp

Young Void Dragon Creature 11 Rare, Large, Dragon, Occult Perception +19; greater darkvision, scent (imprecise) 60 feet Languages Aklo, Common, Diabolic, Draconic, Empyrian Skills Arcana +19, Athletics +22, Diplomacy +21, Intimidation +21, Occultism +19, Stealth +17, Space Lore +21 Str +5, Dex +0, Con +5, Int +2, Wis +0, Cha +4 No Breath The dragon doesn't breath, and is immune to any effects that require breathing (such as an inhaled poison) AC 30; Fort +24, Ref +17, Will +19; +2 status to all saves vs. occult HP 200; Immunities cold, paralyzed, sleep Void Twist [reaction] (occult); Trigger The dragon is the target of a ranged Strike or a ranged spell attack roll; Requirements The dragon is aware of the attack and is not off-guard against it; Effect The dragon creates a small rift in space between it and the missile and attempts to redirect it. The dragon gains a +2 circumstance bonus to AC against the triggering attack. If this would cause the attack to miss, the dragon can choose a creature within 30 feet of it to be the new target of the attack. The attacker rerolls the attack against the new target. Speed 40 feet, fly 120 feet Melee jaws +22 (cold, magical, reach 10 feet), Damage 2d10+9 piercing plus 1d8 cold Melee claw +22 (agile, magical), Damage 2d8+9 slashing Melee tail +20 (magical, reach 15 feet), Damage 2d10+9 bludgeoning Melee wing +20 (agile, cold, magical, reach 10 feet), Damage 1d10+9 slashing plus 1d8 cold Chill of the Void (occult) Cold damage dealt by the dragon ignores up to 5 points of cold resistance. Breath Weapon [2 actions] The dragon breathes in one of two ways. The dragon can't use Breath Weapon again for 1d4 rounds. • Gravity (occult) The dragon exhales a region of powerful localized gravity in a 30-foot cone. That area remains until the dragon recharges its Breath Weapon. Each creature in that area is encumbered, and when a creature enters the area or starts its turn within the area, it must succeed at a DC 30 Fortitude save or become immobilized until the start of its next turn. • Stellar Flare (fire, occult, void) The dragon exhales star fire in a 30-foot cone that deals 6d6 fire and 6d6 void damage (DC 30 basic Reflex save) Draconic Frenzy [2 actions] The dragon makes two claw Strikes and one wing Strike in any order. Draconic Momentum The dragon recharges their Breath Weapon whenever they score a critical hit with a Strike.

Adult Void Dragon Creature 15 Rare, Huge, Dragon, Occult Perception +25; greater darkvision, scent (imprecise) 60 feet Languages Aklo, Common, Diabolic, Draconic, Empyrian Skills Arcana +26, Athletics +30, Diplomacy +28, Intimidation +28, Occultism +26, Stealth +25, Space Lore +28 Str +7, Dex +0, Con +7, Int +3, Wis +1, Cha +5 No Breath The dragon doesn't breath, and is immune to any effects that require breathing (such as an inhaled poison) AC 36; Fort +28, Ref +23, Will +25; +2 status to all saves vs. occult HP 280; Immunities cold, paralyzed, sleep Aura of Madness (aura, emotion, fear, mental) 90 feet. A creature that first enters the area must attempt a DC 30 Will save. The creature is temporarily immune to the dragon's Aura of Madness for 1 minute. Critical Success The creature is unaffected. Success The creature is frightened 1 Failure The creature is frightened 2 Critical Failure The creature is confused for 1 minute. Void Twist [reaction] (occult); Trigger The dragon is the target of a ranged Strike or a ranged spell attack roll; Requirements The dragon is aware of the attack and is not off-guard against it; Effect The dragon creates a small rift in space between it and the missile and attempts to redirect it. The dragon gains a +2 circumstance bonus to AC against the triggering attack. If this would cause the attack to miss, the dragon can choose a creature within 30 feet of it to be the new target of the attack. The attacker rerolls the attack against the new target. Speed 40 feet, fly 180 feet Melee jaws +28 (cold, magical, reach 15 feet), Damage 3d10+13 piercing plus 1d8 cold Melee claw +28 (agile, magical, reach 10 feet), Damage 3d8+13 slashing Melee tail +26 (magical, reach 20 feet), Damage 3d10+13 bludgeoning Melee wing +26 (agile, cold, magical, reach 15 feet), Damage 2d10+9 slashing plus 1d8 cold Occult Innate Spells DC 36 ; 4th translocate (at will); Breath Weapon [2 actions] The dragon breathes in one of two ways. The dragon can't use Breath Weapon again for 1d4 rounds. • Gravity (occult) The dragon exhales a region of powerful localized gravity in a 60-foot cone. That area remains until the dragon recharges its Breath Weapon. Each creature in that area is encumbered, and when a creature enters the area or starts its turn within the area, it must succeed at a DC 38 Fortitude save or become immobilized until the start of its next turn. • Stellar Flare (fire, occult, void) The dragon exhales star fire in a 30-foot cone that deals 8d6 fire and 8d6 void damage (DC 38 basic Reflex save) Chill of the Void (occult) Cold damage dealt by the dragon ignores up to 8 points of cold resistance. Draconic Frenzy [2 actions] The dragon makes two claw Strikes and one wing Strike in any order. Draconic Momentum The dragon recharges their Breath Weapon whenever they score a critical hit with a Strike. Void Cache [1 action] (manipulate, occult, teleport) Frequency once per round; Effect The dragon can magically reach into their treasure hoard and retrieve one item of up to 3 bulk, or can place one item of up to 3 bulk into its hoard.

Ancient Void Dragon Creature 20 Rare, Gargantuan, Dragon, Occult Perception +32; greater darkvision, scent (imprecise) 60 feet Languages Aklo, Common, Diabolic, Draconic, Empyrian Skills Arcana +34, Athletics +39, Diplomacy +36, Intimidation +36, Occultism +34, Stealth +30, Space Lore +36 Str +9, Dex +0, Con +9, Int +4, Wis +2, Cha +6 No Breath The dragon doesn't breath, and is immune to any effects that require breathing (such as an inhaled poison) AC 44; Fort +37, Ref +30, Will +32; +2 status to all saves vs. occult HP 380; Immunities cold, paralyzed, sleep Aura of Madness (aura, emotion, fear, mental) 90 feet. A creature that first enters the area must attempt a DC 40 Will save. The creature is temporarily immune to the dragon's Aura of Madness for 1 minute. Critical Success The creature is unaffected. Success The creature is frightened 1 Failure The creature is frightened 2 Critical Failure The creature is confused for 1 minute. Collapsing Star (cold, mental, occult, teleportation) When the dragon dies, their body explodes in a 100-foot aura of celestial destruction. All creatures and objects in range take 6d10 bludgeoning damage (DC 43 basic Reflex save), 6d10 cold damage (DC 43 basic Fortitude save), and 6d10 mental damage (DC 43 basic Will save). A creature that fails two or more of these saves is also affected by an interplanar teleport spell, sending them to a random plane. If they are sent to theplane they currently occupy, they appear 5d100 miles away in a random direction. Void Twist [reaction] (occult); Trigger The dragon is the target of a ranged Strike or a ranged spell attack roll; Requirements The dragon is aware of the attack and is not off-guard against it; Effect The dragon creates a small rift in space between it and the missile and attempts to redirect it. The dragon gains a +2 circumstance bonus to AC against the triggering attack. If this would cause the attack to miss, the dragon can choose a creature within 30 feet of it to be the new target of the attack. The attacker rerolls the attack against the new target. Speed 50 feet, fly 200 feet Melee jaws +37 (cold, magical, reach 20 feet), Damage 3410+17 piercing plus 1d8 cold Melee claw +37 (agile, magical, reach 15 feet), Damage 4d8+17 slashing Melee tail +35 (magical, reach 25 feet), Damage 4d10+17 bludgeoning Melee wing +35 (agile, cold, magical, reach 20 feet), Damage 3d10+17 slashing plus 1d8 cold Occult Innate Spells DC 40 ; 4th translocate (at will); Breath Weapon [2 actions] The dragon breathes in one of two ways. The dragon can't use Breath Weapon again for 1d4 rounds. • Gravity (occult) The dragon exhales a region of powerful localized gravity in a 90-foot cone. That area remains until the dragon recharges its Breath Weapon. Each creature in that area is encumbered, and when a creature enters the area or starts its turn within the area, it must succeed at a DC 43 Fortitude save or become immobilized until the start of its next turn. • Stellar Flare (fire, occult, void) The dragon exhales star fire in a 90-foot cone that deals 10d6 fire and 10d6 void damage (DC 43 basic Reflex save) Chill of the Void (occult) Cold damage dealt by the dragon ignores up to 10 points of cold resistance. Draconic Frenzy [2 actions] The dragon makes two claw Strikes and one wing Strike in any order. Draconic Momentum The dragon recharges their Breath Weapon whenever they score a critical hit with a Strike. Void Cache [1 action] (manipulate, occult, teleport); Frequency once per round; Effect The dragon can magically reach into their treasure hoard and retrieve one item of up to 6 bulk, or can place one item of up to 6 bulk into its hoard.

13th Age

Medium Void Dragon 5th level caster [dragon] Initiative: +7 Vulnerability: Thunder Void Jaws +10 vs. AC – 15 damage. Natural Even Hit: 5 cold damage. C: Gravitic Flux +10 vs. PD (1d4 nearby enemies) – 5 damage and the target is stuck (save ends). Natural 16+: The target is stuck and takes 5 ongoing damage (save ends both). Limited Use: 2/battle, as a quick action (1/turn) when the escalation die is even. When the dragon uses this attack for the second time, all enemies still affected by the first use automatically save. C: Stellar Flare Breath +10 vs. PD (1d4 nearby enemies) – 8 fire damage. Natural Even Hit: The target regains half hit points from healing when it uses a recovery (save ends). Limited Use: 1d3 times per battle, never two turns in a row. Chill of the Void: The dragon’s natural attack rolls are treated as 5 points higher for the purpose of overcoming cold resistance. Void Twist: 1/round, as an interrupt action, the dragon can gain a +2 bonus to AC against a single ranged attack. If the attack misses, the dragon can redirect the attack against a nearby enemy; the attacker rerolls the attack against that target, but deals minimum damage on a hit and no damage on a miss. AC 21 PD 20 MD 17 HP 62

Large Void Dragon Large 8th level caster [dragon] Initiative: +11 Vulnerability: Thunder Void Jaws +13 vs. AC – 50 damage. Natural Even Hit: 15 cold damage. Natural Odd Hit or Miss: The dragon can make a void wings attack as a free action. [Special Trigger] Void Wings +13 vs. PD (2 attacks, each against a different enemy) – 15 cold damage. C: Gravitic Flux +13 vs. PD (1d4 nearby enemies) – 15 damage and the target is stuck (save ends). Natural 14+: The target is stuck and takes 15 ongoing damage (save ends both). Natural 18+: The target is hampered, stuck, and takes 15 ongoing damage (save ends all three). Limited Use: 2/battle, as a quick action (1/round) when the escalation die is even. When the dragon uses this attack for the second time, all enemies still affected by the first use automatically save. C: Stellar Flame Breath +13 vs. PD (1d4 nearby enemies) – 35 fire damage. Natural Even Hit: The target regains half hit points from healing when it uses a recovery (save ends). Natural 18 or 20: The save becomes a hard save (16+). Miss: 15 fire damage. Limited Use: 1d3 times per battle, never two turns in a row. Chill of the Void: The dragon’s natural attack rolls are treated as 5 points higher for the purpose of overcoming cold resistance. Void Slip: 1/battle, as a move action, the dragon can teleport to any location in the battle. Void Twist: 1/round, as an interrupt action, the dragon can gain a +2 bonus to AC against a single ranged attack. If the attack misses, the dragon can redirect the attack against a nearby enemy; the attacker rerolls the attack against that target, but deals minimum damage on a hit and no damage on a miss. AC 24 PD 23 MD 20 HP 250

Huge Void Dragon Huge 12th level caster [dragon] Initiative: +16 Void Jaws +17 vs. AC – 120 damage. Natural Even Hit: 70 cold damage. Natural Odd Hit or Miss: The dragon can make a void wings attack as a free action. [Special Trigger] C: Void Wings +17 vs. PD (2 attacks, each against a different nearby enemy) – 50 cold damage. C: Gravitic Flux +17 vs. PD (1d4 nearby enemies) – 40 damage and the target is stuck (save ends). Natural 14+: The target is stuck and takes 40 ongoing damage (save ends both). Natural 18+: The target is hampered, stuck, and takes 40 ongoing damage (save ends all three). Limited Use: 3/battle, as a quick action (1/round) when the escalation die is even. When the dragon uses this attack for the second or third time, all enemies still affected by a previous use automatically save. C: Stellar Flame Breath +17 vs. PD (1d4 nearby or far away enemies) – 120 fire damage. Natural Even Hit: The target regains half hit points from healing when it uses a recovery (hard save ends, 16+). Natural 18 or 20: The target loses a recovery. Miss: 60 fire damage. Limited Use: 1d3 times per battle, never two turns in a row. Chill of the Void: The dragon’s natural attack rolls are treated as 5 points higher for the purpose of overcoming cold resistance. Void Slip: 3/battle, as a move action, the dragon can teleport to any location in the battle. Void Twist: 1/round, as an interrupt action, the dragon can gain a +2 bonus to AC against a single ranged attack. If the attack misses, the dragon can redirect the attack against a nearby enemy; the attacker rerolls the attack against that target, but deals minimum damage on a hit and no damage on a miss. AC 28 PD 27 MD 24 HP 950

[dutifullyshamelessearthquake]

16 sick!Chongyun + caretaker!Shenhe. Shenhe helping her nephew after some spicy food hurts his stomach

Prompt: "Bad Food"

Thank you for the request, and sorry for getting around to it so late! I'm slowly making my way through my list of requests. This was fun! I've never written for Chongyun before, and he also isn't a character I ever considered writing for, so this was definitely something new!

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

When Chongyun woke up in the dead of night, tangled in his sheets and sweating bullets, he knew he messed up. His guts felt like they were knotted up in an angry ball of cramps.

Groaning into his pillow, Chongyun rolled over in bed, digging his fist into his stomach. He waited for the cramp to pass with bated breaths, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Finally the knot in his stomach seemed to ease up with an unhappy gurgle that he felt beneath his hands. Of course this was the consequences of his own actions.

He knew that his stomach had trouble tolerating any form of spicy food. Even something as mild as a bit of black pepper sprinkled over a dish, left him feeling uncomfortable within an hour of eating. So why on earth did he let his pride get to him that day?

It started when he stopped by Xiangling's family restaurant with Xingqui, shortly after they had finished their classes. The original plan had been to grab a juice or ice tea, lunch wasn't even on the agenda. But Xiangling had come bounding out, restaurant menu in hand.

"I've finally perfected my new recipe enough for dad to put it on the menu!" She had exclaimed without even greeting them first, slamming the menu down on the table. "You guys have to try it!"

How was Chongyun supposed to tell her no, he didn't like spicy food?

Another cramp had Chongyun curling into a fetal position with a weak groan. The pain was so intense it left him feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Putting an arm beneath him on the bed, he stiffly got up, cradling his bloated stomach with one hand. He had to try and take something for the pain. There was no way he'd get another wink of sleep that night, and he most certainly wouldn't be going to class the next day. Chongyun knew the routine for eating something he shouldn't. He wouldn't get much reprieve from the pain that night, and the majority of the next day he would probably spend sitting on the toilet. He was regretting his earlier actions so much.

With staggering steps, Chongyun trudged down the dark hallway of his apartment to the bathroom. He flipped the light switch with sweaty fingers, flinching back when the sudden light nearly blinded him. Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, Chongyun walked over to the medicine cabinet, pulling it open with a shaky hand. He grimaced when his stomach seemed to contract beneath his arm, grabbing the edge of the sink to keep himself upright. The pain had him seeing spots for a moment, before it tapered off again. His stomach let out a low, gurgling growl that Chongyun swore seemed to echo around the small bathroom.

His face grew a few shades paler, Chongyun redirected his attention to the medicine cabinet, bleary eyes searching for anything that might settle his stomach. The entire time, it felt like there was a blunt blade lodged in his abdomen.

With his mind preoccupied by the pain roiling in his gut, Chongyun didn't hear the footsteps on the tiled floor. He gasped, startled, when a hand suddenly touched his shoulder in a gentle manner. Chongyun staggered back, practically hugging his stomach. He looked up, squinting at the person standing in the bathroom with him

Oh right.

In his pain-fuelled haze, Chongyun had completely forgotten that his auntie Shenhe was staying over at his apartment that week. He must've woken her up with his racket — in all fairness, he was used to living alone.

"You are ill." Shenhe stated the obvious softly, her voice seemingly void of any emotion. She reached over, raising Chongyun's chin with one hand, while pressing the palm of the other to his forehead.

"I'm fine, Auntie, really." Chongyun panted softly, leaning his head into the cool comfort of her hand. "I'm not sick, I just have a really bad stomach ache." Hopefully she would leave it at that.

Shenhe stared at him a moment longer, the expression in her pale eyes unchanging, before she retracted her hand. Then she spoke again in her soft tone of voice. "Stomach aches are not supposed to be normal, you could very well be ill."

Chongyun tried to chuckle at her statement, but his face contracted in pain instead. He groaned softly, leaning forward and tightly wrapping both arms around his stomach. Shenhe's hands gently came to rest on his shoulders, and she guided him a few steps over to sit down on the edge of the bathtub.

"I just ate something I shouldn't have." Chongyun tried to explain through gritted teeth. "Xiangling's recipe had… way too many juyen chillies in it."

Shenhe was quiet for a moment. Chongyun wasn't sure if she heard what he has said, but her next words proved that she did.

"Very well, if that is the case. You should be more cautious of eating spicy food if your stomach has trouble handling it."

Chongyun almost laughed. "I try, Auntie, I do. It's not exactly intentional."

Shenhe hummed softly in response. "Shall I make you a cup of medical tea to help with the pain?"

"Auntie Shenhe, it's-" Chongyun looked over his shoulder at the clock on the bathroom wall. "-it's one in the morning. I'm fine, you can go back to bed." He closed his eyes for a moment when his vision swam. He felt nauseous.

Shenhe looked at him quizzically for a moment. "Why would I return to bed when you are clearly unwell?"

"I'll just take some painkillers, and go back to bed myself, really."

Shenhe seemed to consider this option. Chongyun was unable to read her expression as she gazed at him. Then, expression still unchanging, she shook her head.

"Medicinal tea will be better for settling your stomach than pills. It won't take any time for me to prepare."

She didn't exactly leave Chongyun with any time to respond, turning around and silently leaving the bathroom. Chongyun watched her disappear with an exasperated expression, before he chuckled softly, leaning his head over against the tiled wall. His Auntie Shenhe may seem emotionless and cold to others, but it was clear she cared, in her own unique way.

[definitelynotshouting]

Ahhh!!! Im so so happy you liked my analysis 😭😭. I love your writing sm <3.

I am not the same sun anon as before. If the first one is still here ill change it, and for now ill just hover uncertainly lol. Anyway! Here's some more!

-☀️

"The words slice right through the air between them, cleaving a massive chasm where the bedspread ripples and arcs. Scar freezes mid-speech, mouth hanging open in a way that could be comical in any other situation. There was a time when Grian would have been unbearably smug about that— it’s not every day you render silver-tongued Scar speechless. Now, all he can summon is a low, rolling trepidation; a gut-clenching thundercloud on the horizon, steel-grey and devouring the sky."

- There have been too many firsts lately. There was a time where this would have brought grian satisfaction, but all he feels is dread. Now every time scar reacts, or someone else reacts, it is WRONG. Another anon already beautifully talked about how none of the characters are acting like themselves, so i wont go into any detail there other than to paraphrase their point here. Before, if scar reacted like this it would mean grian did something RIGHT, now it's only another tally onto his list of wrongs.

-☀️

"It takes all of Grian's strength not to descend like a carrion bird on top of that spark of alarm, rile it up into a dread so great it would collapse Scar entirely beneath its gravity. For a moment, the idea rolls over his tongue, flits around the gilded, constricting cage of his mind; something to pick apart and chew. Something he can sink his teeth into."

- This thought is so tangible. I just adore how visceral this description is. It feels heavy and dangerous and predatory. Grian can imagine exactly what he couls do to his friends and he is so scared of himself for it.

-☀️

"It sinks into the marrow of Grian’s bones, lingering and dark, a gentle tug for truth. This isn’t some act— Scar emanates earnestness, the fathomless depths of his concern, in a wave that threatens to bowl Grian over beneath its crest. He's struck with the flashbang image of Scar kneeling in waist-high water, arms spread and voice slinking around Grian's ankles, curving over the hilt of a bloody diamond sword. He knows this siren song, in all its honeyed glory— and Scar knows it, too. The familiarity hovers just within reach, urging him to clutch at its iridescent hook."

- AH!!!! My mans can NOT understand that people care about him and are willing to put themselves on the line for him!!

- It feels like he's SO close to giving in here, to let scar KNOW him (and to admit that he cares instead of killing scar in that pond). The help is there, so long as he is willing to reach out and grab it... but then:

"Xisuma’s hesitant voice, however, buoys him back above deep water. “Grian, you aren’t… actually dying right now, are you?”

Grian grasps the distraction with both hands, letting it pull him away from danger. "

- ah yes, the age-old method: redirecting the conversation and avoiding your problems 😎. I love how the drowning metaphor kind of gets subverted here? As in, usually the surface is where you need to be, and the bottom of the ocean is what is dragging you down. This IS what's happening from Grian's pov- Xisuma is "buoy[ing]" him back to the surface so that he doesnt have to face scar- but it's not actually helping him. The surface isn't where he needs to be. The surface is devoid of substance, it is empty air, and grian has already depraved himself of enough. Does that make sense???? I am insane

-☀️

Enjoy!! :D

RATTLES AROUND IN MY CAGE. ANON YOU SPOIL ME HOLY SHIT, IM LOSING MY MIND!!!!! This is so amazing and just is really reassuring too because i was SO worried about the quality of this chapter djsbdkwndjejsj MAN,,,,,, going to stare off into the sunset for a while this is so sweet and kind tysm king i hope you are having an excellent day

[brokenpaladin]

10, 20, and 38! (I rolled a dice so I have no idea which ones these are 👀)

And A for the creator ask!

Oh boy, a fun selection!! This'll be long, hopefully I can put a read more here via mobile. Also, I'm gonna answer the creator one first,

A) Why are you excited about this character?

*drags over a chair* WELL I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED. Though I guess an easier question would be what am I not excited about over Talis. I love him!! He's my boy!! He'll second-guess himself into the ground over something as simple as small talk, and he'll commit physical violence to protect a frightened stranger. He's convinced he's a terrible, foreboding presence and he gives off the biggest kicked puppy energy ever

He's seven feet tall and tries to stand as small as he can. He knits and mends to calm himself. If he stares at the sky too long he'll cry. He'll swear on his life to help someone get somewhere safely and he fully means it. He can't spend more than a few weeks traveling with someone before he's convinced he needs to leave for their own safety.

He once became a crux-point person in the change of power in an entire city, was nearly executed in another's place, and I'm not sure he realizes it. He befriended an injured owlbear. He's functionally homeless. He's absurdly powerful for a random forest stray living outside a town in the middle of nowhere, and he still will hire himself out as a day laborer in exchange for a meal

More seriously, he's become a very near and dear representation of an archetype I've always felt drawn to but never really sat down to extrapolate or write with abandon-- the self-sacrificing hero. The one who will put himself in danger to protect others. And specifically, the toll that takes, time and again, throwing yourself between another and cruelty you can't stop. The way it warps your thoughts and your view of yourself

And hopefully also how you learn to redirect that protective instinct into a healthy direction, how to grow and heal and value yourself again >:T But we're working on that bit

10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

I mean, tbh, everything haunts him-- he lets nothing go :') But the lie he tells most frequently, and actively, is probably about his own state or well-being. The simple regular ones, "I'm fine" and "it's nothing", the ones you tell to keep going. He doesn't think much of it, actually. He's sturdy and has survived worse, so to fuss over a bout of fear or a single wound feels painfully pointless

20. If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Oof….. um, that would be a tricky one for our paladin lad. For you see, he's aromantic! He's never really felt a draw towards any particularly romantic relationship? But he's always been an affectionate, friendly lad, even as a kid, so growing up it was a little tricky to navigate-- he and his mom had many a long talk about how it felt weird when people made a big deal about holding hands, or how sometimes the way someone insinuated around him spending time with a friend felt uncomfortable. But she listened to his anxious talking over it, and helped him figure out that while he was fond of folk, he didn't feel drawn to them in a coupling sort of way-- just general affection or physical attraction, though he always got embarrassed to bring that up (I mean he was an absolute goob as a kid)

Now though, you're mostly just going to get a momentarily puzzled look and a shrug. He's not so talkative, these days

38. What memory do they revisit the most often?

Consciously, none. Or, he tries not to think on anything that has been, but he finds his memories of living in Neverwinter intruding most frequently when he's awake. For good or for ill, that was his safest and best home when he returned to the surface. He'll push those memories away as often as he can, because he doesn't think he has any right to miss his home there. He left voluntarily, after all. They would have kept him and looked after him forever, if he let them…

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And Eat It, Too: Chapter Twelve: Webbed

In which final plans are made for the Unknowing, Jon and Tim begin to heal over a silly meme, and Jon makes the choice to step into the Dark...

>>> NOW ON AO3!

Jon's fear of spiderwebs and control is true and valid and we should say it.

(Masterpost including playlist)

*

CHAPTER TWELVE

Elias must have some ability to tell the future, because he is not there when Jon wakes up and immediately rolls over to hit him.

The sheets are cool. Elias fled early, then.

And Jon feels…

Amazing.

(Sick.)

Energized.

(Nauseated.)

Rested and healed (and ashamed and violated) and so damn good that he has to wonder (victimized) if Elias was right, and he did have to be shown what he wanted.

That thought causes surging panic, and Jon embraces it long enough to snap out of that terrible thought spiral.

He didn’t want this. He certainly had not asked to benefit from it.

Jon clenches his hands into fists. Can’t push the shame aside (felt so good, by the end), but he can redirect all of this to the person at fault.

At least, he can try.

Jon storms down to the kitchen.

The place smells great. Elias is there, fully dressed, an apron protecting his clothes, as he cooks at the stove.

He is humming.

It’s kind of a bouncy tune, if weirdly old; it sounds like something Jon might hear on a historical pub night, all metaphor and bawdy behavior in Merrie Olde England.

The Bird in the Bush, the Eye informs him, and Jon does not care. “How dare you,” he snaps.

“Well. Not even a warm-up, today?” says Elias, quite cheerfully. “I do hope you’re not trying to pretend you didn’t sleep well.” He gives Jon a heated look over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded and dark. “I know that you did.”

Guilt wages war with a body at rest, with a mind feeling eerily sated. “That’s what you meant by helping me?”

“Yes.” Elias looks innocent. “Helping you to embrace your gift? To feed your patron? To be fed in turn, and wake refreshed, healed, energized, and ready to face whatever terrors you may encounter today? Oh, goodness, you’re right, Jon, I should have left you to suffer.” He smiles and returns to the stove.

Humming.

Why, it’s a song all about seduction and sex, heavily coded, because of course it is, and now Jon knows and has no appetite whatsoever.

(Michael would not have…) “You should have warned me. You should have asked me.”

“Would you have agreed if I did?” says Elias easily, evidently unflappable on this fine and awful morning.

“Of course not!”

“Well, there you are, then,” says Elias as though Jon has made his point for him, then looks at him again. “You cannot, of course, cast your patron’s gaze upon the Stranger like that in real life. Not yet, anyway. It would be nice, though, wouldn’t it?”

Jon clenches his jaw shut.

Yes, it would.

It’s part of the reason he’s so angry.

He woke knowing he could not do that, simply look them all to death, no matter what happened with Mustermann, and for good or ill, he dearly wants that power.

Wanting power is a new and dangerous need. Jon does not like where it could take him.

“Was it really so bad?” Elias says, sounding serious for the first time. “I have shown you what you need to do, what you must do, to fight these nightmares properly and empower yourself at the same time. You would not have believed me. You would not have listened. Yet here you are—you have color in your cheeks. You actually look like you’ve slept, which is a thing you rarely manage to achieve. You have energy. And, I daresay, absolutely nothing hurts.”

Jon can’t argue with any of that. “That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is, Jon?”

That the monster was the better option, Jon thinks, and doesn’t know how he feels about that revelation, so he jukes left instead. “Why did you kiss me?”

Elias smiles like a pleased panther.  “If you honestly don’t know why, Jonathan, I really don’t know how to clarify further. Though I must add… you hardly seemed to mind.”

Jon’s face is hot.

He hadn’t been fighting at the end, had he? That was true.

But was it right?

His anger is feeding on itself, fizzling, sending up black and dying smoke. Jon storms back upstairs, trying to ignore how easy the movement is right now, how limber he feels.

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about this. If there’s even a right way to feel.

Elias continues to hum.

#

Jon refuses to talk to Elias again until they’re at the office and actively planning.

There is still no sign of Basira and Melanie, and it is taking every ounce of control Jon has not to take that information straight from Daisy’s head.

That’s not who he wants to be. He will fight it.

Daisy and Martin have figured out the perfect placement for each plastic explosive.

“It’s going to take at least an hour,” says Daisy, frowning at all the red x’s. “And that’s assuming it’s all… open. We don’t know everything that’s been done. These struts could be walled off. The Stranger could have posted guards. Anything could get in the way.”

“I propose suicide vests for all,” says Tim, and he’s being all gallows humor again, he isn’t serious, but he still gets shouted down in a chorus for a truly bad idea.

Especially because now, Jon is thinking about it.

“No,” Jon is told, and they simply move on.

Daisy takes some time to show them all how to use a knife. She has a gun; there are no more to distribute.

Jon thinks a club might be more effective. “Bashing parts loose. They’re not as well-put together as you think.”

“For you,” Elias says, almost gently. “I am afraid that for everyone else, swinging a stick will not do.”

Jon feels chided. And angry.

And out of his depth.

“We really have to wait until it’s started?” says Tim, who really did not enjoy Jon’s summary of the previous Unknowing attempt. “What’s going to prevent them from making us forget who we are, once it has?”

And Elias gestures to Jon as if revealing him at the dramatic crux of a play.

Tim is… not encouraged.

Daisy studied Jon. “Monsters fighting monsters. All right.”

“Jon is not a monster,” snaps Martin.

No one adds to that. Jon cannot meet his eyes.

“I have people watching the museum day and night,” says Elias, and Jon is still a little gobsmacked at how smoothly he inserted himself into their plans and became the leader. “We will know when it starts. I suggest we remain on high alert.”

It’s frightening, how Elias just… did it. They’d literally been trying to figure out how to kill him (or at least have him arrested) as recently as last month.

But that was easy while Elias sat in his ivory tower, only descending to the mortal plane to dole out punishment and horror.

When Elias is here, he subsumes conversation, somehow establishes himself as knowledgeable and helpful and trustworthy in a few damned sentences, and Jon is weirdly frightened and gratified to watch it happen.

Frightened because Elias knows what to say on a level that implies intimacy down to the soul.

Gratified because maybe Jon isn’t pathetic as he feared for being steamrolled. Even Daisy submits in the face of him.

Everything really had changed when Michael let Jon go. It was more than just the Distortion coming on to him. What it was, he didn’t know. 

He wonders if Annabelle does.

Her stories as a concept suddenly lure him, the idea that he could know so many new things if he could get her to talk.

I have a problem, thinks Jon, only half joking to himself.

And then the plan is done, positions are assigned, and there is nothing left to do.

“Daisy,” starts Jon, soft. “About Basira—”

“Fuck off, Sims,” says Daisy, and stalks away, not even waiting around to enjoy the blasted expression she left on his face.

Martin looks sympathetic, but goes without a word.

Elias gives him a pointed look he’s at a loss to interpret, and leaves.

Tim doesn’t, yet. “Hey, boss,” he says.

Contemplating his fucked up hands, Jon takes a moment to look up, blinking. “Hm? What?”

“I found you in a meme.” Pause. “You know what a meme is, right?” says the man who personally dragged Jon through hundreds of them when they were still friends.

“Yes, I know what a meme is,” says Jon tartly, and Tim offers his phone.

It’s a simple graph—two perpendicular lines, forming four cardinal points. Starting at the top and moving clockwise, it reads, “Covered in Blood (Victim)”; “Pathetic (Wet Cat)”; “Covered in Blood (Murderer)”; and “Pathetic (Kicked Puppy)”.

Jon stares.

“See,” says Tim. “You’re all of them at once.”

And it is so stupid, and so pointless, and utterly insulting and completely absurd and obviously not literal (except it sort of is), and Jon finds himself starting to laugh.

The miracle happens then: Tim laughs with him.

It’s not long; this is no scripted resolution, issues solved and forgotten in 50 minutes, but it is real, and for once, they’re both trying, and that makes the five or six awkwardly shared chuckles into something priceless.

“I think I see your point,” says Jon, his smile feeling completely foreign.

“Right,” says Tim. “When we have our office Christmas party—which we’ll all be alive to attend, and happy, and married to rich, gorgeous, bisexual rock stars—I’m giving out t-shirts with this, but it’s your face in the middle.”

And Jon risks it all, trying to be a little funny: “Meow.”

They stare at each other for a moment.

Then they laugh again. It’s not longer, but it is… better.

“I will pay you actual money never to do that again,” says Tim, wisely standing to leave before things can go downhill, before resentment and old wounds can find their way free.

“No need. Believe me, that was a one-off,” says Jon, and is surprised to find he is crying. He wipes a tear. Stares at it.

Tim balances on a precipice, just for a moment. This was good; but they’re not good yet, so he doesn’t say anything, angry or sad.

Tim leaves Jon to his frailty.

Jon stares at his fingers, his scarred and uneven hands.

He thinks about a company Christmas party when all this is done, with everyone alive, except Sasha, who won’t be, because he wasn’t a good enough Archivist in time.

Wonders if Michael could join him in such an event. Wishes it could. Tries to imagine it in one of Tim’s t-shirts, and nearly loses it - laughing or crying, he doesn’t know.

And then, Jon feels the tug—not an assault on his will, but an invitation—to go to his office alone.

Of course the Mother is acting when he’s been reminded how much he has to lose.

Oddly, Jon thinks as he hunches his way through the archives to his gloomy space—to the room where Elias beat Leitner to death with a pipe, where Prentiss’ worms almost killed them all when Jon broke through the wall, where a hidden compartment gave him Gertrude’s laptop and all the hope in the world—he’s glad.

If he keeps his friends all where they should be—front and center, of most importance—his own life seems less fraught, and he feels less likely to do the stupid thing and screw it all up.

Even thoughts of Elias don’t ruffle his feathers right now.

He waves at Martin, nods at Tim, and closes his office door behind him.

#

There is a new phone sitting on his desk.

Because of course there is.

Is Elias watching? Have they done something so he can’t see in here? No, that would bring him at a run.

Honestly, as possessive as Elias has been all morning—a million little touches, persistent personal space intrusions, even through the silent treatment—Jon is amazed the rest of the place doesn’t know there’s something going on.

But Elias was careful. No one saw.

Jon has to admit he’s grateful for that.

“Suppose I’m lucky he thinks the archive is so secure,” Jon says as he walks around the desk, not yet touching the small black device. “Or he’d be in here now, or making me be up there with him.”

No answer, but he knows they heard.

There are spiders everywhere, visible or not.

Jon takes a breath. This is one of those decision-gate moments. An act that changes it all. A crossroad, faced alone.

There is no foreign urge to pick up the phone.

They’re not going to make him.

This is all his choice.

“I suppose you think I just need to know,” says Jon, staring at the unbranded device. “That I’m doing this because of the Eye, and my own curiosity, but you’d be wrong.” He considers. “No. You know why I’m doing it.” He takes a deep breath. “Thank you for not threatening my friends.”

He picks up the phone. It’s a very thin thing, unnervingly expensive, and a video call starts the second he touches it.

Annabelle appears, taking up the screen. “If we’d done that, you would just dig in, no matter where you found yourself. That isn’t an ideal outcome.”

“Not really, no.” And because he has to know, “How are you keeping Elias busy?”

“He’s got a meeting with some donors to cover the damage to the library until insurance comes through,” Annabelle says, brightly. “Unfortunately for him, they’ve all got some very awkward questions.”

Jon frowns. “About the fire?”

“About you.”

He blinks. “What? Why?”

“It’s not a good time to tell you that,” says Annabelle, “but soon. After you’ve gotten back.”

Cold fills his spine. “From the Dark?”

“Yes, Jonathan Sims,” says Annabelle. “And I do know that unanswered question will eat at you like an itch you can’t scratch, so I give you my word you’ll get the answer. But I also promise that knowing it now would distract you—and you can’t afford distractions.”

“Into the Dark and Back Again, an Archivist’s Story,” blurts Jon without thinking. “No, I mean, ignore that—”

But Annabelle laughs. It sounds genuine.

“I’m not that starved for affection,” Jon mutters. “You don’t have to laugh.”

“Oh, you are that, Jonathan Sims,” says Annabelle with a frightening smile, “but I laughed because that was cute. I like you. I hope you succeed.”

He stares at her.

“In your drawer—the one with the ashes—you’re going to find Salesa’s gift.”

Jon stiffens. “I didn’t pay for it.”

“He knows. It’s all right. Now, that’s the easy part, I’m afraid. The next component is one you’re not going to like,” she says so lightly, so cheerily, that Jon knows it’s going to be very, very bad.

“I’m not becoming a spider person,” he says quickly.

“Nor would we want you to—you really don’t have the temperament,” she says, sort of gently. “Besides—if you did belong to the Mother, you could not retrieve the book.”

His heart is pounding. She’s putting it off. He is definitely going to hate it.

“There’s really only one way to guide you through the Forever Blind,” she says, but before she moves on, before she’s even finished that sentence, he knows and rockets toward a full-blown panic.

“No,” he interrupts her.

She just smiles at him.

And waits.

His heart tastes funny. Is that a thing? “I said no. You can’t put web on me.”

Smiles, silence. Fondness, assuming she could feel it, but her Oh, you are that, Jonathan Sins has rankled him to believing (or suspecting) that she is trying to use the fact that he is, indeed, lonely.

Rankled. It’s a good word. “If you actually think I’d believe for one moment that becoming some kind of marionette—”

Annabelle shakes her head.

“What?” Says Jon. “What does that mean?”

“What would you say if I reminded you that you must be in control of your own mind and body for this?”

“I’d say then what was the point of offering to… string me up like sausage?”

“We didn’t actually offer that,” she says with such good humor that if she weren’t right, Jon might have said something he’d regret.

Instead, he goes still.

He knows. Just like the Spider knew he would.

The guide through the dark has to be her web—one of the few factors utterly unaffected by light or dark or depth or height or any other horror.

“No,” he says again.

“We would not wrap you,” she says. “You wouldn’t be able to move like that.”

She thinks this is funny.

He’s shaking his head.

“The idea would be a few strands, just lightly connected,” says Annabelle. “We both know you wouldn’t handle anything else very well. The downside is that if this goes wrong, those threads will snap, and you’ll be trapped in the Dark forever.”

“It’s a horrible idea,” says Jon, because that much is true, because he can’t think of another way, because the idea of willingly doing this makes his gorge rise and his body feel like it’s trying to disappear into itself like a dwarf star.

“So is the end of the world, wouldn’t you say?” says Annabelle.

He’s trying so hard. “Wh… where would the w… the w…”

“The webs?” she says, gently.

He swallows. She waits until he can finish his question. “Yes, all right, the webs. Where would you put them?”

“Your left hand, since you can feel it there, and your right forearm. They’ll be very lightly connected. Fragile, Jon. It’s a shame you won’t accept anything more secure—but then, it’s not surprising. You’ve never been in the Dark, and you don’t know what it can do.”

“I know very well what the Dark can do,” he says.

“No, you don’t,” says Annabelle. “It’s not just being unable to see. It’s far worse. It’s a blindness that goes all the way through you, cuts everything off. The Beholding cannot see you in that place.”

He wants to make a joke that maybe he could get some damn sleep for once, but it dies on his lips.

Cut off from the Beholding. What would he have given, two months ago, for that?

Now, it… now, he wonders if that will kill him. “Are there actually monsters in there?”

“Oh, yes. The Still and Lightless Beast, Those Who Come From Shadow, the Dread Pools…”

Jon had never heard of those last two. “What are those?”

“Fear of the dark, made manifest.”

She said the webs were fragile. “Can they break the webs?”

“Yes. If you draw attention to yourself.”

So if he completely ignores the things that scare him more than the other things that scare him, the second might not rip out the first and leave him stranded.

This sounded like a plum idea. But he’s doing it. He wants Michael back. “How do I find the book without help from the Eye?”

“You’ll be moving as Jonathan Sims—who you are, with your mind, your will, your memory. That—combined with being the Archivist—will allow you not to lose yourself.”

“That’s why you keep using my name,” he says, triumphant in deduction.

She smiles fondly again. “We’ll help you find the book. We made sure to… keep track of it before your boss threw it in.”

He stares at her. “You were already planning that I’d go get it.”

“Correct, Jonathan Sims.”

“So why can’t I just follow your web to the book? Why do I have to be… entangled?”

“Because the web to the book is… not accessible to you,” says Annabelle in a way that makes Jon’s mind spin with inter-dimensional designs. “You won’t lose yourself in there, Jonathan Sims; but you won’t escape without help. Once you get the book, Mister Pitch will definitely notice and cut that web.”

“And if… all the webs are severed?”

“You could find your way out on your own,” says Annabelle, “but you’d have to gouge out your own eyes. Wouldn’t advise it.”

He shudders.

He’d lose the Beholding, too, if he did that, and he shudders with the realization.

It’s a stunning thing to know. An escape.

He can’t do it. Maybe he could have, a few months ago, but now? Even when this is all over, he knows, he just… can’t. Won’t? (Does it matter?) “Right. That’s not happening..”

“That reminds me,” says Annabelle, as if all of this wasn’t fully scripted. “Look in your drawer again.”

He does. A jar of ashes, some small white elephant gifts he’s never used—

A long, narrow piece of black silk.

Jon turns the phone around, showing her (which is probably unnecessary). “And this?”

“What do you think it is?”

He shakes. Knows. “Silk. Your silk. Your… you… you made that silk.” He gasps. “It’s a blindfold.”

“Extra protection for you. Your eyes, Jonathan Sims, are very important, and I promise you that Mister Pitch will feel them open, even if you can’t see. You’ll draw him right to you—unless we do a little misdirection.”

He nearly throws the phone. Rises instead, paces back and forth, snarling at it. “So let me get this straight.”

“By all means.” She’s smiling.

“You want me to go into the Dark—where I will be utterly vulnerable, helpless. To do it connected by choice to your webs, which you promise with sugar on top will not control me. And to do it wrapped in a blindfold made from silk from your own body, which could do any damn thing to me, infect me, put webs in my brain, I have no idea—and what? Am I supposed to thank you for this?”

“I’d prefer if you’d finish it, then go on to save the world,” says Annabelle.

“I need a minute.” He sits back down, elbows on desk, head in hands.

She’s silent.

He’s silent.

Is Michael worth all this?

His heart answers before his brain can: yes.

It’s more than that, though. Without Michael’s doors, everyone but him will die.

He has no reason to doubt Annabelle’s word on that. She wouldn’t lie about something like this, because he’d never trust her again. He knows.

He also knows he’s going to do it, and that nearly sends him into a panic attack.

A knock at the door.

“Come in, Martin,” Jon says to the desk, and Martin peeks around the door.

“How’d you know it was me? You know what—never mind. I brought you some tea.”

It’s an apology for Daisy, who won’t give her own. Jon sighs. “Thank you, Martin. Just put it here.”

The phone screen, he notices, has gone completely black—but the little green light says it’s still  broadcasting.

Of course.

Martin puts the cup down, then shifts from foot to foot, wrings his hand, and swells a little as if preparing himself to do something completely unpleasant, but he has to, and it’s for the good of all, and—

Jon realizes it’s fake.

He blinks up at him, frozen in the act of reaching for his tea.

Not all of it is fake. Martin is a kind, good person, by choice; but this act, these smiles and shrugs and awkward stammerings… were a device.

A tool.

A very effective tool, making you forget how large he was, or that you were doing a thing you didn’t really want to do but he somehow nudged you into it, or that you liked Martin after all, even if you started out not liking him.

Jon finds he isn’t upset at it. He sort of admires it; he can’t get anyone to do anything. “You, uh,” he says, peering. “You’re not some sort of spider-person, are you?”

Martin has the exact expression he would if Jon had whipped out a milkshake and dumped it on his head. “What?”

Why the hell did I say that out loud? “Sorry, no, I, that isn’t…”

“Because I brought you tea?” says Martin, who (thankfully) seems to be finding this funny instead of offensive.

Jon has no way out. “I… look, I’ve just been thinking about Annabelle Cane lately, and there were webs in Elias’s house, and—”

“You were in Elias’ house?” Martin blurts.

Jon can’t hear Annabelle laughing, but he is completely sure that she is. “I think I need to start this conversation over.”

“I’m not a ghost either, in case you forgot,” Martin ribs, then goes right for the jugular. “What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing in Elias’ house?”

“Trying not to die,” snaps Jon.

“With… the guy who’s killed two people.”

Jon groans into his hands. “Do-over. Please.”

“Jon, are…” And here is the real Martin. Jon feels it, like a shade lifting to reveal the sun. “Are you all right? Are you safe? Because I have room. I told you before, but I mean it. Elias isn’t safe to be around.”

No stammering. Neither hemming, nor hawing. Just Martin—gentle, thoughtful.

Good.

Jon peeks over his fingertips.

Martin is serious; he’s not shifting his weight, and there is a hardness just there, beneath his soft features.

As if he’s ready to do something on Jon’s behalf.

“I don’t deserve you,” says Jon.

Martin blinks at him. Reddens. And stammers, but this feels a little less planned. “You… what?”

“Sorry,” says Jon. “I mean… as a friend. I think you’re the only one who hasn’t… just abandoned me, or… cursed me out, or… wished me ‘best of luck,’ and then run off into the sunset.”

It comes out more bitter than he planned, and far more sad.

Saying it made it real.

Jon sighs, leans, covers his face.

“Can I say something?”

He didn’t know if he wanted Martin to stay or go. “Of course, Martin. Say whatever you need,” Jon says to his desk, which hears all his confessions these days.

“I’m worried about the whole… monster-thing.”

Becoming monstrous, Jon thinks. “You think I’m not worried?”

“Not enough. You’re acting like it’s a person. You have for a while, now. And it eats people, Jon. It fools them, and tricks them, and they… they die alone, and scared, and you’re not… remembering that, somehow.”

Oh. “I, uh,” Jon says.

“You call it a name and everything—and I listened to that tape, the one where it stabbed you—and you told me it was a bread knife accident? We’re coming back to that someday. But that monster didn’t care that you used its name. It just said, ‘That is a real name,” as if that means… anything!”

Hearing Martin try to mimic Michael’s weird voice is too much, and Jon bursts into laughter.

Martin looks offended. “Jon, I’m serious!”

“No, no, so am I, I just… I thought you were talking about me. Being a monster.”

Martin’s mouth works. “Well, hanging out with that thing can’t be doing you any good! I mean, now you’re staying with Elias!”

“I haven’t been ’hanging out with it.’ After it rescued me, Elias trapped it and threw it away.”

Martin stares. “He… he what?”

“Trapped it. In the Dark. Alone. That’s where it is now. I don’t even know if it can be saved.”

“Well… good, then. That’s good, Jon. No, no, look at me: that’s a good thing.”

Jon goes very still. “Should I be trapped, too, then? Locked up and thrown away, somewhere guaranteed to hurt me forever, if I can’t just die?”

Martin stares at him as though Jon has asked him to murder someone’s grandmother. “Jon, it’s not the same.”

“I’m beginning to wonder. About a lot. About choices, and… how few we really have. And…” He swallows. “Balance.”

“Jon—”

“Gazelles aren’t too happy about the situation, either, but at least they don’t create the damned lions.”

Martin stares at him.

“We made them, Martin. The Fears. We make them, every day. Do you understand? It makes no difference how many we lock up and throw into the dark places! Our fears create them. Did you think that was the only Distortion? Did you think the Fears just happen to have a huge concentration in England, and the rest of the world is left alone?”

“I… I don’t…”

“We made them. Maybe it’s only fair that we feed them, too,” mutters Jon. “And we’ll re-make them every time we destroy any part of them, because we can’t stop being afraid.”

Jon didn’t know he was thinking all of this until it came out of his mouth.

He… hates it.

That must show on his face, because what he sees on Martin’s face is a terrible combination of things. Shock, anger, more shock—and then pity.

“This is really getting to you, isn’t it?” Martin says, softly. “I’ll bet staying with Elias isn’t making it any better.”

“No. It definitely is not. He’s sold out to these things. To his thing. I’m… I’m at least… trying to… stay who I am.”

And now, because everything is terrible, Jon is crying again. Silent about it, at least, but the tears won’t stop. He hides his face.

After a moment, Martin speaks again. “Oi, Jon.”

Jon swallows a couple of times. “What?”

“Tell me a weird fact that you like.”

“There’s a cloud named Hector,” Jon says without hesitation, because this is a thing he’s always liked, because this is a thing he’s always felt was incredibly human. “It’s a recurring thunderstorm, basically, that forms every afternoon in the Tiwi Islands, northern Australia. From September all the way through March. It’s so reliable that World War Two pilots were able to use it to navigate by.” He wipes his face.

He finally looks up.

Martin is wearing an expression that pierces Jon to the heart.

It’s deeply affectionate; it’s also deeply sad.

It is a goodbye.

He knows it’s the end of… something. Some book, just closed.

“See?” says Martin. “I knew you were still you. You’re not a monster, Jon. No matter what… powers, or whatever, are happening to you. You’re still you. And I trust you, Jonathan Sims.”

Jon inhales. Stares at him.

Martin taps the mug. “It’s getting cold.”

“I…” Jon is undone. “I… right. Thank you.”

“Tim asked me out,” Martin suddenly says out of nowhere.

“Good… for him?” says Jon on pure reflex.

His response apparently confirms whatever Martin was thinking. Martin nods. “I’m always going to be your friend, Jon. You can’t get rid of me. Even if you go paranoid again and start stalking me to the grocery store.”

“That was one time,” Jon says.

Martin laughs again; it’s soft. It’s sad. But it’s oddly… lighter. “See you soon, Jonathan Sims. We’re going to go blow up some actual monsters.”

And he’s gone.

What just happened? Jon thinks.

“That was very well timed, I think,” says Annabelle, whom Jon had forgotten completely.

“Oh, damn,” he mutters.

“Relax. And no, lest you ask—Martin isn’t one of ours. Though you’re correct —he could’ve been. Right temperament.”

Well, that was unnerving. “Anything else?”

“Before you leave? Not really. I think you understand what comes next as much as you can without experiencing it.”

“You think I’ve made up my mind?” Jon bluffs, because he has.

“Have you?” she says, because she already knows.

“I hate everyone,” says Jon.

“No, you don’t,” says Annabelle. “If you did, we wouldn’t be talking, and everyone around you would be in very, very bad places.”

That… was ominous. “O…oh?” says Jon. “H… how would… what do you…”

“When you’re ready,” says Annabelle, “Stand and hold out your arms. We’ll connect webbing; you get a final say about all of it. When that’s done, pick up the sphere. Put on the blindfold—no cheating; this will hide you from Mister Pitch. Throw the sphere down. Then just… walk forward.”

“Walking blind unto destruction,” Jon mutters.

“Isn’t that just all of life, though?” says Annabelle.

She wasn’t wrong.

“Elias is busy?”

“Will be for another few hours. There were some… unscheduled visits,” says Annabelle with such diabolical glee that Jon almost throws the phone.

“Will it take me that much time to do this?”

“The honest answer? Far longer. The domains of the Dread Powers don’t obey the human concept of time—you know that. Keep your eyes hidden. We’ll lead you to the book. Wait for those gentle tugs. Fight, and they’ll snap. Simple, right?”

“Only completely against every instinct I have,” Jon says.

“Naturally,” says Annabelle, and the phone goes dark.

Without being told, Jon stands.

He stiffens.

Spiders have come out of the walls.

Just where the fuck they’d been hiding, he has no idea—it’s like they popped out of the plaster, just boom, there, and they’re all coming toward him.

He’s breathing hard before they even reach his shoes. Arms out. Shaking. Swallowing a lot to keep from shrieking, or stomping, or anything else insane.

Spiders climb his legs, spiders he cannot feel, but oh, he can see them.

He shakes as they crawl soundlessly along his outstretched arms, and there is a tiny, strange, tickling moment as they begin to spin their thread.

He’s not being mummified. These spiders (strange colors, too big, we don’t have these in England) dot the web to his left hands and fingers, his right wrist and forearm, all of it loose and sticky and almost not there at all, and then they simply climb back down him and go away.

He has them in the center of his left palm, on the back of his left hand, all around his right wrist, just inside his shirt sleeve.

It feels awful because he barely feels it at all.

The webs stretch out into… nothing. Jon can’t see where they go.

One final spider comes down from the ceiling, lowering itself.

It is large; it is aware. Intelligence gleams in its horrid black eyes, and Jon hyperventilates as it lands on his left shoulder and crawls to his hand.

There, it sticks a different strand to his left pinky. This one is different, slightly thicker, as if a reminder of what Hopworth has done, or maybe a reminder that the Fears will never let him go, or—

The big spider eyes him as if to say, Don’t panic already, Sims, and climbs back up the ceiling, where it just… disappears.

Knowing they’re all here (have been, for who knows how long) makes him want to torch the place, but he has to focus.

He checks his hands. Flexes, clenches, swings them.

The webs stay attached—but he can feel the little tugs on his skin where the stickiness has been tested.

He’s going to have to be very, very careful.

He picks up the blindfold.

It seems darker than night, darker than pitch, a gateway to a galaxy far beyond where there are no stars.

Stars make him think of Michael.

He’s doing this.

Jon puts on the blindfold, amazed in spite of himself at how soft it is against his face. He tangles his hair a little as he ties it, but it doesn’t matter.

He finds the sphere by touch, takes a deep breath, raises it over his head, and throws it down as hard as he can.

It barely makes a sound.

A tiny tug on his right hand—forward.

Jon takes a deep and final lighted breath, and he obeys.

(part thirteen)

[iwishiwasawhiteguyin1985]

I absolutely think this would be a thing.

And Dick would absolutely starting with Tim try and redirect Bruces moods towards himself bc hes the oldest hes gotta take care of kid siblings.

Bc Dick has always been Bruces emotional regulation.

And yes, it wouldnt really start until Tim bc Dick was so pissed with Bruce when jaybin was a thing he wouldnt have been around often unless Bruce was REALLY bad to the point even over in Blüd criminals were talking about how off the little bird had been and how batman didnt seem to care and was business as usual

But after Jays death??? He wouldn’t let another kid go through that. Like yeah he initially tells Tim to basically go knock himself out have fun being Robin but a few days later he wraps up whatever case he’d been working in and everything Tim had said to him hits him and hes like noPE WAIT GOTTA GO CHECK ON THE KIDDO

He already failed one kid he wasn’t gonna fail another.

And like its only been a fee days and Tim is already used to being ignored by adults bc FUCK the Drakes.

Dick checks on him and yells at bruce and then, the cycle well and truly begins. Bc you Jason would tell Dick if bruce had been really bad, but it took a lot for Jason to say an adult was angry enough it bothered him. He was from crime alley he grew up on the streets he knew what angry adults were like.

But Tim??? He was neglected but never had he been in the care of such an emotionally volatile person. It took much less for Tim to say ‘hey B seems really upset today is this normal????’ And like he just wanted to know how to fix it how to please him how to be Robin for him and dick is just like….. whelp ill be there on my day off Timbo don’t worry abt it leave him be.

And thats just…. How things roll. Then eventually Dick winds up back in Gotham bc Blüd is pretty much completely gone after that explosion and it isn’t safe for people to be there anymore so he’s back at the manor and and just slips back into his Robin days of being Bruces emotional support orphan and keeping B occupied and training Tim.

Then Jay back and Damian is brought to them and oh, Dick sees so much of himself in that angry hurt confused little boy.

Bruce and Jason constantly fight and Dick constantly shoves his way between them, forcing them apart and mediating. Eventually convinces Jay to please leave dealing with Bruce to him because ‘Little wing let me help you now in sorry i didn’t enough before’ and Jay genuinely doesn’t know what to do with a Dick Grayson who looks so broken and defeated. So Dick texts him when family dinner is gonna be on dinner days Bruce either isn’t there or is in a good mood. And things get a bit better on the Jayson side of things.

But Bruce ignores Damian. Barely ever acknowledges his existence. Dick watches as Damian struggles. Damian isn’t good at communicating his needs and rarely speaks at all but when he does it is stiff and so formal and that distinctly brit-ish english accent most english as a second language speakers from literally anywhere but Canada or the US speaks and its so formal and grammatically correct- as if out of a textbook.. Dick realizes all this one night as he hears Damian muttering to himself, crying in his room, Arabic and mandarin rolling off his tongue smoothly and- Dick only catches a few of the Arabic words here and there but by god.

The amount of *emotion* in that boys voice. Dick knows a little bit of Arabic. He picked it up when Talia and Bruce had dated all those years ago. He slowly approaches Damian and pulls him close, and just says *’I’ve got you, habibi, you are safe now. You are okay. I will protect you’* in stilted Arabic and its awkward on his lips after so many years of disuse and that basically sums up all of his skill with the language he has anymore but Damian *breaks*. And he realizes,

It’s not that Damian doesn’t have things he wants to say. He isn’t just being stubborn and giving the silent treatment. He just quite literally *does not know the words behind his feelings about everything happening right now in his life*.

And well, doesn’t that just strike Dick as so hauntingly familiar because his own english was similarly shaky and tenuous at best when taken in by bruce at a similar age because he grew up speaking a mix of Yiddish and Russian and Spanish and Romani and oh, his newest brothers anger is because he cant communicate. he is lashing out because he is frustrated and doesn’t know how to express what he really feels in a tangible way anyone at the manor really understands. Like a baby who cannot yet speak he is acting out and confused because he does not understand. All he gets is keywords and the cold callous emotions of Batman’s face, and disdain on Bruces. He starts learning more Arabic again both on his own and with Damians help and in return Dick helps Damian learn more english and helps him where Bruce leaves him to flounder. Bruce who is damn well nearly fluent in Arabic doesn’t think to maybe speak his son’s first language with him bc why would he? Damian spoke english to him when they first met so clearly he must speak it plenty fine.

Tims parents die and bruce gives him a pat on the shoulder and doesn’t say another word. Dick is there when Tim gets angry and screams and punches and yells. Bruce tries to start yelling at Tim when he walks in on him just punching nightwing and screaming at him one time, and Dick immediately whips around and yells at bruce that ‘my brother is angry and grieving isnt it better he feels safe letting it out with me instead of taking it to the streets like you did with me?!’ And bruce just grunts and walks away.

Even after watching his mother die Bruce still ignores Damian and Dick is there to hold him and comfort him because ‘oh, habibi it is okay i know how this feels it will get better i promise i love you you are safe.’ He knows how it feels to watch helplessly as his mother falls to her death after all.

He keeps Damian close and yells at Bruce a few weeks later when he gets angry at Damian because while on patrol he stumbled and missed nearly fell when dick had taken a second too long for Damian’s comfort to shoot off his grappling hook and ‘Robin you cant let yourself be emotional like that on patrol!’ And Dick just absolutely lays into bruce.

Dick keeps himself firmly lodged between Bruces moods and his boys. He calls them his brothers. But those are *his* boys. And then Bruce is gone in the time stream and everyone’s hurting from it and Tim hunts him down, when he finds evidence that hes alive, because being Batman is killing Dick.

Never mind that Dick had pushed him away he knew it wasn’t really personal and yeah it bothered him that Damian got to be Robin to Dicks batman but its *fine* he is used to going it alone thank-you. Even though it coming from Dick of all people really hurt. But after he calms from the anger he understands it, Damian is just a kid. And Tim spent most of his time with the Titans anyways. But he hates seeing Dick destroy himself this way so he gets Bruce back.

After all of that, and when the dust finally settles Bruce starts actually trying. And dick is bitter and jaded but takes it all with a smile as Bruce takes his boys. He doesn’t totally leave, he stays close enough. But it isn’t the same.

And oh, his boys were desperate for their father to love them so Dick allows it. Tentatively, and with a watchful eye, but he lets it happen.

Because thats what Bruce needs too and as long as the boys are no longer being hurt by him? Once it seems that Bruce is genuinely changing? Well. Dick will always sacrifice his emotional needs for the rest of them. Because he will always do whatever it takes to regulate Bruce, and protect his boys. Even if it breaks him.

you know that thing that’s like. your mom controls the mood in whole house, so like when she’s mad, it’s a bad day for everyone?

do you think the batkids have that with bruce?

i’m usually the biggest champion of “let bruce be a good and thereby emotionally heathy dad” but speaking semi-realistically:

do you think that bruce, out of the cowl, is so emotionally volatile that he creates the vibe for the whole house?

do you think tim would text jason and be like “not a good day don’t come by” just to spare himself and everyone else from bruce blowing up on someone

do you think damian breathes a sigh of relief whenever he wakes up and bruce is in a good mood because it means he can relax

and that bruce still doesn’t notice that on his worst days, everyone either avoids him or does whatever he asks, no questions, just because they don’t want to tempt his wrath

i just wonder if bruce sets the tone for the day, no matter what. and i wonder if, like me, they all grew up knowing that a bad day for bruce was a bad day for them too?

[renee00124]

*I'm Back and so is the Military and Cops Gang / Organize Stalking Program*

It has been a while since I visited the gym closest to my home. I actually decided to take a break while focusing on my online store and pulling together Book VII. Also at one time, the officially mobilized "Organized Community Stalking" became so ridiculous that I decided to eliminate myself from the hostile environment motivated for entrapment and redirect my focus on other things I enjoy.

It has been 2 weeks since my return. This for those involved in this program, since I am not at home, leaves me open to PsyWar and Stasi Zersetzung tactics which are designed to be bizarre in hope the target will report what is happening and sound crazy.

This program is brilliantly orchestrated.

First Day Back

The first order of business was/is to have knucklehead's follow me around town using the App provided who pull up next to me, using cars all of them have altered with tinted windows, pitch black and so dark you cannot see them. They pull up and park next to you with engine running. A few times, amused I have knocked forcing them to roll down the window or when they see me approaching quickly drive off.

Day 2, Black Cops held up in the men's locker room, sending Black men out to make deragatory comments as they pass hoping for a negative reaction.

Day 3, the same USAF Captain I have seen before as an orchestrator, while I sat in the hot tub began taping me with his phone indiscretely focused on me. With AI I can only image how he will use the images to back up the narrative they tell the community that I am a tramp.

Day 4, the same group of recruited "Citizen Volunteers" were notified I am back. They want me to react negatively, desperate for community discrediting that if I did would confirm the mental illness tag. My license plate has my website link on it.

Day 5, while eating out, one followed me into the buffet restaurant. After I placed my receipt in the holder on the table. He removed it and sat at the table I had reserved. When came back with my food, I walked over picked up the receipt holder and moved to another table. He was expecting a silly argument when there were plenty of vacant tables around. It was funny and I started laughing. He got up and left.

Day 6, leaving the gym, I was given dirty looks by staff who are typically kind to me while looking at her phone. My first thought was, okay, this is possibly why the Air Force Captain took pictures of me. Effortlessly, AI can create dirty images of a target then using the App broadcast the images to keep the community motivated.

Who's to blame? It is not the community.

Why bother reacting when you know the motive and the drill after 18 years. The community are used as puppets who become part of mind control experimentation in an official program where no one is exempt!

Using exposure, to save lives is far more important than their foolishness!

[kisakunt]

chifuyu’s always had soft hands. that’s how you can tell he’s the one prodding at your knees when you wake up, pushing them apart with nimble fingers and a tenderness your other two boyfriends just don’t have. you feel the softness of his lips on your thigh after, sense the eucalyptus ‘burts bee’s’ chapstick only he wears against your skin.

you can tell kazutora is the one groping at your tits under the thin fabric of your camisole by the way he rolls your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. he pays attention to the bud, fingerprints finding a fascination with it they always do. you find yourself more conscious now as his digits knead the flesh of your breasts, redirecting one of his hands to lift up at the silk of your top, exposing your ribs to the crisp air of your shared room, nipples hardening against the temperature.

you wonder about the absence of your last lover when matsuno licks a long strip up your heat, tongue flattening in between your folds. baji isn’t one to typically miss out on the fun, and you’re almost awake enough to ask out for him before you feel something on your mouth, silencing you before you could even start.

and, of course, it’s your brute of a man; you recognize the weight of his cock against your lips, tip spreading them apart tediously. the head of it is fat, sticky and wet and you wonder how long they fucked around with each other before they decided to wake you up so whorishly.

you consider the urge to be defiant, but when chifuyu’s mouth closes around your clit, sucking at it, yours opens in sync with a whine that’s quickly gargled by the girth of baji.

“there she is,” your eyes flutter open and meet the amber of keisuke’s, leaning over his own frame to smirk down at you over the heavy sight of his balls. “morning, angel.” your attempt at a response bubbles with saliva, quick to pool around the veins of his shaft as he steadily inches himself further down your throat.

kazutora’s tongue trails under your right breast, reminding you of his presence as he pinches down on your skin with his nails. “slack your jaw, baby, you know how he gets.” and when you do, when you remember to widen your mouth in the cute little way your boyfriends coo over, kazu scratches over the skin he’d pinched like a praise.

“atta girl.” baji sounds proud in the laugh that rumbles in his throat, which mixes in with a groan shortly when his head hits the back of your throat drawing a gag from you.

and, as if you could’ve forgotten about him, chifuyu reminds you of his presence by lapping at your cunt, tongue flicking against your clit boyishly and coy as he grips onto the plush of your thighs. and it’s all so much when his tongue delves into your walls tears immediately prick at your eyes, washing away all signs of sleep from them.

you’ve found it’s always easier to draw an orgasm from you when you’re in this languid state of mind, body calm against the sheets you’d recently washed and senses overwhelmed with the three boys that latch themselves onto you like an illness. so, it’s no surprise when your high trickles up on you, tingling at your skin and shaking your legs. and you’re really crying when baji starts fucking himself into your throat, thick of his cock much too much for you right now, like this, but he gives it anyway and you do nothing but take.

you breathe in through your nose— which you regret after you sputter out a gag against the base of keisuke’s cock— when chifuyu lifts himself from between your thighs with a toothy grin, trailing sloppy kisses in a line up your stomach before he latches onto the nipple kazutora isn’t preoccupied with.

you feel his lashes flutter against your skin and it’s calming in contrast to the buck of baji’s hips above you, fucking your head down into the pillow, keeping your body against the mattress.

“look at you,” all of your boyfriends have a lot of tells to them, and with the way baji grits out his words you know he’s about to cum. “crying all pretty for me, like my cock’s too much or somethin’.” your nose tickles at the contact against his balls, heavy and violating and full against your skin, and then he’s cumming down your throat; lazily fucking the full spurts evenly throughout your mouth.

saliva rings around his cock almost as nice as the slick from your pussy would when he pulls himself from your mouth, moving on his thighs in a way that might almost seem awkward before flopping down next to you with a laugh. and you don’t even have to look to know who latches themselves onto your mouth, kazutora’s eager tongue mapping out all the places baji’s cock had stuck to, drinking up the last of his cum off your lips hot and heavy.

“i think,” he starts, ignoring the way chifuyu’s hands come up behind him, massaging at his hips as he keeps a hearty grip on your chin. “i should get to fuck you first, since baji got a blow and chifuyu came on the sheets like a damn virgin. yeah, don’t think i didn’t see that you freak.”

they’re bickering now, voices elevated and emotional as they throw pitiful insults at each other, hands still wandering and needy, and you melt back into the mattress, reaching up blindly for any of them with the same urgency the three hold for you.

brutally unedited, yet again another drabble format, pet shop trio owns my pussy btw like yeah. anyway baji purists kys.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Because Of You Pt. 1

Summary: Rue is perfectly happy in her life with Y/N. As perfectly happy as Rue Bennett is gonna get. Just a week before their ten year high school reunion things change, Rue spirals and then she relapses.

Trigger warning: this is a mature/dark series including drug use, mentions of mental illness, overdose, domestic disputes, the works. These are very real and serious issues that people face and I am not glorifying them in anyway. If you or anyone you know is struggling please reach out to a professional for help.💜

Prologue

Rue is the love of Y/N’s life. Not a pit stop along the way or a means to pass time until something better comes along. Rue is the sun, around which she revolves. Rue is everything to Y/N and it’s still not enough.

Y/N untangles herself from her girlfriend. She didn’t sleep, instead she spent the entire night making sure Rue was breathing.

“Don’t go.” Rue murmurs, her eyes still closed as she turns to face Y/N.

“Gotta pee.” Y/N chuckles, pressing a kiss to her girlfriend’s forehead.

“Come back ok?”

“Ok,” Y/N nods.

The brunette is sound asleep when Y/N returns, her arms tossed over the pillow, snoring.

Y/N stands there for a moment, just watching. Thinking. She doesn’t come back. Rue won’t notice and she needs to clear her head.

Y/N makes her way down to the kitchen. Their coffee pot gurgles to life. She runs on caffeine, that’s her vice. The only thing she’s addicted to.

It’s still early, before eight. Doctor Sandford’s office won’t be open yet. But Y/N leaves a message, just get it off her chest. She listens through the beep and the automated greeting advising to call 911 in the event of an emergency.

“Hi.” Y/N breathes. “It’s Y/N. I know you’re not in the office but…” she feels her throat get tight. “I really need you. Something happened. Please call me.” She hangs up, chest aching.

There is no one to talk to. No relief from the panic and sheer desperation to return to yesterday morning. Y/N would’ve stayed home. She would’ve been there.

Dropping her head into her hands, tears begin to roll. Can she really do this again? Can she watch Rue fight through another battle with addiction? Through a detox where she screams like she’s being raked over hot coals; begging and pleading for it to stop.

“You’re gonna tell everyone aren’t you?” Rue accuses. Her hair is a mess of curls, eyes still puffy with sleep. She looks about as good as she feels.

But to Y/N she is beautiful. Perfect and broken and hers. “Just Dr. Sandford. I wasn’t gonna tell anybody else.”

So it’s a secret then, Y/N is good at keeping secrets.

“Because you don’t care anymore?” Rue suggests.

“I’m not here to make it worse.” Y/N sighs, “I’m here to love you, that’s all.”

“You’re pissed.” Rue slumps into the chair across from Y/N.

“I’m-“

“If you say disappointed, I’m taking a bath with the toaster tonight.” Rue rests her head in her hands.

Y/N redirects the conversation, sailing away from the storm rather than into it. “I’m sorry I’ve been busy. I’ll see what I can do about my schedule.”

“That sounds like enabling.” The hands come away. Resting, palms down, on the table.

“It sounds like becoming aware that I’ve neglected your needs.”

“Did you really just become aware of that?”

“I didn’t know it was this bad, Rue.” Y/N says in defeat. Yes, she knew things weren’t great. Yes, she knew that the pair of them weren’t as happy as usual. But it’s just a rough patch, not forever. Normal couples have rough patches. “I thought you would tell me.”

“How could I tell you?” Rue looks away from her. “How could I when you’re so happy, you’re getting everything you want.”

“You’re what I want. You happy and healthy and safe.” Y/N knows her words are falling on deaf ears.

“You only want me when I am those things.” There are stipulations to Y/N’s love. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I tried to fight it, but I can’t. I guess that makes you better than me, huh?”

“Listen to yourself! My god, Rue. What are you even saying?” Y/N slams her fists down on the table. “It’s not a competition.”

“Isn’t it?” Rue plays into Y/N’s frustration. Pressing on it like a bruise in the hopes that she will finally leave and reaffirm what Rue knows to be true. That she doesn’t deserve Y/N. That she should be alone. “You win, Y/N. You win.”

Y/N points a finger at her girlfriend, “stop. We don’t talk to each other like this.” Anymore. “We don’t purposely trigger each other.” Anymore. “I’m sorry I yelled, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m exhausted and took it out on you.”

“I deserved it. It’s my fault you didn’t sleep.” Rue knows they can defuse this, carefully like a bomb, if they try. She will at least try.

“It’s not your fault.” Y/N shakes her head.

“I did the one thing you asked me not to,” Rue gives her a guilty grin.

“I should’ve been here for you.”

“I shouldn’t need you so much.”

“You’re allowed to need me…I need you.” That’s why it cuts like a knife, twisting in her gut.

“If I could be a different person, I promise you I would. Somebody who deserves you, somebody who doesn’t keep you up all night worried about whether or not they’re gonna kill themself.”

“I don’t want you to be a different person.“ Y/N reminds her. “You’re my person. You’re the best person.”

“Can I come closer now?” Rue asks, itching to so badly.

“Bring it in.” Y/N smiles despite herself. Loving Rue is easy. Loving her in a healthy way, the way with rules, the way the therapist is always trying to teach them isn’t.

Rue steps into her arms easily. This feels better.

Y/N strokes the back of Rue’s hair, smoothing it down over her shoulders.

Rue turns her face into Y/N’s neck. Breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo. “Don’t give up on me just yet.”

“I’m never, ever, ever giving up on you.” Y/N whispers.

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart.” Y/N pulls back slightly, kissing Rue soft and slow on the lips. Their noses nuzzle and then back in for one more kiss. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” Rue smiles.

“Are you gonna do it again?” An accident is an accident. Everyone slips up from time to time and Y/N doesn’t expect Rue to be perfect. Just honest.

“No,” Rue doesn’t know if that’s true or not. But it’s the best answer she has.

Y/N sighs, leaning farther into her. “I’m proud of you.”

Proud. Guilt bubbles in Rue’s chest. She’s nothing to be proud of. Just a junkie who never stays clean. It just feels so fucking good to get out of her own head for a little while.

Y/N slides her fingers along Rue’s hips, making her intentions clear. She wants to be close to her in every way she can.

Rue snorts, “I fucking love you.”

“You wanna go to the moon, baby?” Y/N pushes Rue’s shirt over her head. “I’ll take you to the moon.”

It’s a different kind of high.

———————————————————————

Y/N pounds on the cast iron screen of Fez’s door. He might still be sleeping, it’s the middle of the day, but she really doesn’t care.

Finally the door opens. “What the hell, Y/N?”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Y/N fumes, flying through the entryway and into the cluttered living room.

“Hey, hey!” He grabs her wrist. “Stop acting crazy. What’s wrong?”

“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, you were her plug.” Y/N tears her hand away.

“Her-“ Fez’s brows pull together. “What are you talking about?”

“The cocaine, Fez.”

His face falls. “Rue’s on coke?”

“Stop fucking around. You gave it to her.”

“I haven’t seen Rue for months, she’s stuck too far up your ass.”

“You really-“ Y/N takes a step back, realizing that he doesn’t know a thing. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Again he stops her. “She’s been clean for six years.”

Seven in April, but that doesn’t count anymore.

“You can’t tell anybody.” Y/N whispers, wiping the back of her hand over her face, smearing wet, angry, tears over her cheeks. “I’m sorry…I just thought-“

“I care about her too.” Fez raises a shoulder. “I wouldn’t do that again, not to Rue. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Y/N nods. She knows him, he’s not lying. “I have to go.”

“I don’t think you should drive right now.”

“Why?”

“You’re shaking, Y/N.”

She’s running on adrenaline, on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Crying on Fez’s couch and drinking booze is what the old Y/N would do.

The alcohol would burn away the uncertainty, the betrayal and the pain. In that way she understands Rue’s weakness for drugs very well. But she can’t do that anymore. She’s different now.

“I can give you a ride.”

“Um no, thank you though. Remember no one can know about this. Especially Rue.” It was their secret and Y/N already sold her out.

“I got you. Just be careful. And if you need something, call next time.” He adds. Fez isn’t into drugs anymore. Not hard ones anyway. Just cigarettes and pot. They’ll kill you slow.

“Is there-“ Y/N breaks off, peeking around his shoulder down the hallway. “Is someone here.”

He shifts between feet. “I told you ten years ago I ain’t waiting for you no more.”

Y/N smiles. She loves Fez, he deserves this, “nice tits?”

Fez cracks a grin, “get out.” Y/N was his first. Back in sophomore year before all the bullshit. Before she used him to get back at Rue for Jules. She was always good to him.

Y/N let him know exactly what was up and never lied about it. ‘Make me forget about her.’ She’d demand, tearing off her own clothes to climb into his bed. He’s still got a soft spot for her. Still got a lot of love for her, just different now.

———————————————————————-

Rue is staring.

Y/N forces a smile around her mouthful of food. They’re at Rue’s Mom’s for dinner. Gia is there, home from her college dorm room for the weekend.

Gia is also staring, like she’s waiting for an answer.

Leslie arches a brow at Y/N.

“I am,” Y/N shakes her head to clear it. “I’m so sorry. Can you repeat that?”

“Everything alright, space cadet?” Rue puts a hand on Y/N’s thigh beneath the table.

“Everything’s fine,” she pecks a kiss to Rue’s cheek.

“I asked about your new job.” Leslie repeats, “how are you liking it?”

“It’s great, really great. I keep trying to convince Rue to come work with me.” Y/N bumps her girlfriend’s shoulder playfully.

“You should do it.” Gia tells her sister. “You’d probably be really good.”

“I don’t wanna steal your thunder.” Rue brushes a bit of hair from Y/N’s temple. She’s being very affectionate.

“It might be nice for you to spend more time together. I know Rue has been lonely.”

“Mom,” Rue shakes her head.

“I gotta practice better work, life, balance. The hours really got away from me.” Y/N apologies.

Leslie can tell something is off, but she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t need to, her eyes say it all.

“I want to focus on other things.” Y/N goes on. “A wedding. Making you some grand babies from a test tube.”

Rue chokes on her sip of water. They’d talked about it…a lot. It was something they both want. But not now. Especially not now.

Y/N rubs a hand over her back, hoping to help Rue catch her breath.

When Rue finally settles she laughs at her own coughing fit and excuses herself to the restroom.

Y/N and Gia go back and forth for a while. Talking about her classes at university and Y/N’s new job.

Time passes. Too much time and Leslie offers to see what’s keeping her daughter.

“No,” Y/N protests. “I’ll go. You finish dinner.”

“I really don’t mind,” the older woman smiles.

Rue returns to the table as if she hasn’t been gone for fifteenth minutes.

“Thought you fell in,” Gia teases.

“Sorry.” No explanation.

Y/N tries to catch Rue’s eyes, but she’s purposefully avoiding them. Y/N sets her fork aside. She isn’t hungry anymore.

Part 2