#something something bad cannot die but he can bleed

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

thinking about bad and his skin but the way it looks like he’s bloomed

take my hand. follow me into headcanon land. imagine bad covered in flowers. inagine them bursting through the cracks, innumerous, so bright. white and blue. white lilies and chrysanthemums are used in funerals. blue forget me nots symbolize remembrance and devotion. imagine bad blooming. imagine flowers sprouting from the void-skin beneath his robes, eating away at his grief. imagine them watered with fresh blood for each new soul vulture heart he collects. imagine bad, cracking, grown through with roots like a crumbling hillside kept together only by the roots of tilting trees

[r0semaryt3a]

Loved your dating hc's!!! They all felt really convincing and in character 💕💕 How do you think the pt (preferably chrollo, uvo, phinks and feitan if thats too many) sleep next to u?? are they cuddlers, kickers, white noise users, midnight bathroom breakers, snorers or whatever else?

Ahhh glad to hear it!! I’ve only really wrote a lot about Chrollo so I was worried the others were OOC-

I’ve only really been thinking of writing for Chrollo, Feitan, Phinks, Shalnark, Machi and Paku but given as you asked for Uvo I’ll add another onto that list! (Small spoiler warning: I love the troupe, but they’re all messy sleepers and I won’t be convinced otherwise!)

Chrollo

He definitely has a night mask, incense and all that to help him doze off. Chrollo is a chronic suffer of predormitional insomnia: his mind runs a million a minute, man is NOT used to sleeping a healthy 8hrs.

You can guarantee if Chrollo falls asleep before you (a very rare event) you’ll find him stiff as a log. He falls asleep in whatever position he’s in and will stay there until he wakes up. Honestly, it’s a wonder he isn’t ridden with all sorts of issues (get him a chiropractor one day.)

On the other 364 days a year when he falls asleep after you, well aren’t you just the perfect little teddy bear! His arms are always wrapped around you tightly.

If you happen to be a light sleeper? You’ll definitely wake up in the middle of the night to his face buried into the crook of your neck; fingers tapping away at your abdomen as his breathing settles, the smell of lavender drowning out any other senses. So definitely a cuddler. (I will die on this hill)

Sometimes he might even pepper your neck with kisses if he notices you’re awake.

If you’re a heavier sleeper? You better get used to waking up in the morning under a vice like grip, a mat of black hair brushing against your cheek and -whether he’s awake or not- you’re not getting out of it

Big spooner, you could be twice the height of him and he’d still demand it.

Not much of a snorer, maybe the few light hitches here and there but overall he’s sound asleep.

Most nights when Chrollo can’t sleep, he’ll sit up with a book in one hand and his other arm wrapped around your sleeping form. Sometimes he’ll doze off and sometimes he’ll only be brought away from his book by your stirring.

On particularly bad nights, where his insomnia truly flairs up, you’ll have to listen to a plethora of podcasts or “soothing sounds” for him to actually sleep. And yes, you’ll have to listen to them. There’s something innately intimate about having you indulge him in his interests: makes it far easier to sleep.

Feitan

You cannot tell if this man is awake or asleep 9/10.

“You sleep. I watch.” Kind of deal, he has many things to preoccupy himself with: like watching you! (In a: ‘someone takes even one step in this general direction, you’ll have a lullaby of screaming to doze off to’ kind of way)

It’s not that he can’t sleep, it’s that he doesn’t want to. Feitan sees sleep as a waste of time, it bleeds days into days and he could be spending that time well, instead of sleeping.

Everytime he wakes up he mentally kicks himself for having made such a waste of time

That’s where you come in! Hope you’re willing to have a human sized cat latched onto you every single night! Big spoon, little spoon, doesn’t matter to him: you’ll wind up with him clinging onto you for dear life regardless.

Despite this fact however, you’ll never know the plethora of times he wakes up in the middle of the night, painstakingly, detaches himself from you and paces around the room feverishly. Muttering about who knows what, head flicking to every angle at even the minutest of sounds. Feitan doesn’t like not being alert: loathes it, so this is his way to regulate the nerves that rest often brings.

Feitan is a very light sleeper, any slight movement may set him off and cause him to completely switch back on (sleep maintenance insomnia hits him hard).

He doesn’t strike me as a snorer but definitely isn’t quiet, sounds like a Guinea pig sometimes. A total teeth chatterer. Seriously, you’ll wake up and hear a light ‘Tch Tch Tch’ from wherever the hell he’s grabbing onto you tonight.

Will not ever wake up in the same position he falls asleep in (not that you’ll ever know that fact, he’s always looking over you long before you’re awake.)

Trust me: you’ll know if Feitan has a bad dream. His claws (yes claws) will be digging into you, his hold on you tightening with a particularly sharp ‘hiss’ of his teeth.

Likelihood is: his sleeping patterns will leave more marks on you than any other activities ever will. But, don’t worry! It shows he cares (I think?).

Phinks

Kicker, oh he is a real kicker.

You’ll wind up waking up off the bed more times than you will on it.

On and off cuddler, there’s very few times that you’ll fall asleep cuddling but by god is it a wild guess as to whether you’ll wake up doing so.

Phinks will fall asleep with his back towards you, teetering off the edge of the bed. And, In the matter of minutes can have one leg half way across the bed, the other swung over the edge, left hand across his face, right on his chest, mouth slack and whole body at a 45* angle.

Other times, you’ll find a knee digging into your back as he’s (very awkwardly) cuddling you from behind.

Surprising the masses (not): he snores. Has a whole box of nose strips to stop this.

Despite all of these, interesting, idiosyncrasies. The few times you fall asleep cuddling: he’s an entirely different sleeper. It’s like he takes a page out of Chrollo’s book and doesn’t move an inch (aside from rolling, he’s a total roller).

The snoring won’t stop though.

Doesn’t need anything to help him sleep, his head hits the pillow and he’s out like a light. Real heavy sleeper as well, you could roll him off the bed with an almighty thud and he’d still be sound sleep. It’s actually fairly endearing.

Will sleep for 6 hours, wake up for 1, roll around for a bit, settle down and then sleep for another 2.

Best pray you’re a heavy sleeper: that’s all the advice I can give you.

Honestly? It’s like sleeping next to a bear, vaguely adorable as much as it has you fearing for you life (and place on the bed).

Uvogin

If Phinks is like sleeping next to a bear, Uvo is a bear hug.

You’ll find your place settled neatly against his chest, as if he’s one of those comically large backpacks (like Johnny’s from Hotel Transylvania). Don’t worry about anything, truly, you’ll be snug as a bug in a hug.

Surprisingly, not a snorer (when sober at least). Often needs noises to fall asleep to though. If there’s not calamity afoot then Uvo tends to get angsty; you may have to deal with the occasional outburst.

So, you often have loud games or shows blaring in the background as he rests his chin on your head. Uvo doesn’t fall asleep easily, meaning there’s very few times that you can turn the noise off before you head to sleep yourself. You best get used to sleeping to the volume of a rock concert! (with his constant screeching he blew his own ear drums)

Invest in earbuds of some kind, it��ll help the both of you.

The LOUDEST snorer when drunk. I mean LOUDEST. Cotton buds line your bathroom cupboards for whenever he drinks, you’ll have to pick out bits of cotton on particularly bad nights.

Absolute hoarder. Whether it be you, a pillow, the duvet, he’ll have it and he isn’t letting it go. It’s honestly quite comforting, his presence isn’t exactly small, so with this hoarding comes a sense of security.

He’s surprisingly gentle as well, it doesn’t feel infantilising, more like you’re something from a heist that he doesn’t want to break.

Can fall asleep anywhere there’s noise. It’s a skill, you’ll find him contorted in a corner just so long as the TV’s humming in the background. Don’t think of moving him, you won’t.

Probably takes a good few trips to the loo during the night. Which, unfortunately for you, given your nightly position: leads to you being woken up every time he does.

Shalnark

Not a fan of cuddles, like at all. Shalnark is quite the squisher when you’re both up and about or even just lounging on the covers, but when it comes to sleeping? He’ll do it, sure, but he won’t be too thrilled most nights. There’s the odd time that he’ll be uncharacteristically for the idea, pulling you close and running off a mile a minute! He doesn’t tend to actually sleep those nights, more ramble on like you’re at some two person sleepover; the sentiment’s there nonetheless.

Despite this fact, he’s very specific with having at least something pressed up against his back -little spooner- and will get agitated if this requirement isn’t met.

Podcasts, lots of podcasts. Shalnark has about ten to twenty playlists that he’ll be sat scrolling through: trying to find the one he wants to sleep to. You’ll never be privy to these of course, he tends to keep a pair of headphones shoved in some drawer.

Oftentimes, before even attempting to sleep, he’ll be scrolling through some forum or busy doing: something. Though, for some reason you don’t remember any of his chronic scrolling…

Bathroom breaker, it’s nothing annoying but you’ll never not notice the shift in weight, as he swings his legs off the bed and heads to the bathroom. He’s always careful not to make too much noise, which winds up causing more in the process.

Has a small assortment of glasses of water that will accumulate through the week, all filled to different volumes. He swears he’ll drink them! He never does. It just ticks that little box of ‘just incase’ and he can’t sleep without it. Same with most other amenities.

Late sleeper, this man will never be up before you. That may be attributed to the fact he never falls asleep before you, but who’s to say!

Machi

The fact you don’t have single beds is both a gift to thank her for and a curse. Machi is a sleep tosser; she tosses a lot.

You tend to sleep on opposite ends of the bed. This is both in part to her overall distaste of sleeping together and the kicking. Oh boy, the kicking.

You know how the immune system can sometimes misinterpret things as threats, causing autoimmune reactions? That Machi when asleep. It’s like a subconscious instinct, a defence mechanism is you will; it’s certainly a good one! It’s just, not always needed. Especially not when you wake up at 4:34am after a particularly sharp jab at your side.

Though, some nights she’s stiff as a board! Not one movement or peep. As if death herself had stole Machi away.

She’s not a particularly picky sleeper, Machi can rest to almost anything. However, there is one thing that seems to expedite the process. Fire - whether the simple crackling singing off in the distance, or the chocking scent of smoke pervading the air. It seems to calm Machi, there’s no foreseeable reason for it. She just, likes fire.

L i g h t sleeper, you can’t count the amount of times she’s jolted awake, swearing she heard something. Windows, doors and anything else that might throw the room into disarray or stir up noise are a must close.

Sleep mutterer. It’s a rare occurrence, but Machi will sometimes have whole conversations with the air. You’re usually both asleep when these conversations take place (there was once that you overheard one to its completion. You’ll never tell her of course).

Pakunoda

Incense galore.

Seriously it’s everywhere.

Pakunoda needs some form of soft scent to lull her to sleep. This often comes in the form of floral scents, but can branch off into other soothing smells. Her particular favourites include cedar and amber.

You wouldn’t describe what you and Pakunoda do as cuddling, per se. She treats you more like a support pillow than anything else. Arms wrapped around you tightly and chin resting upon your head.

Neither of you will be able to move an inch throughout the night. Pakunoda has a very specific pre sleep schedule that she’ll run through every night (including final bathroom breaks, cleaning and small talk) and after that, it’s lights out. It doesn’t matter if you wake up and need something: she’s out cold. You might be able to escape, if you can pry yourself out. But just know: getting back in the same position will prove twice as difficult.

Not a snorer, hell, you can hardly hear her breathing most nights. If it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of her chest against your back, you’d question if she even was.

Up long before you are, usually has one half of the bed already made (haphazardly as not to disturb you.)

I had a lot of fun doing this one; might return to it for further Troupe members at a later date, so cheers for the ask Anon! (Little irrelevant thing I just want to mention for future reference: if any PT ask includes Hisoka or Illumi please specify as such.)

[luvvixu]

mind over matter pt. 3

synopsis: witness how your marriage was bound to fall apart with you on the front seat and your husband gojo had missed the show—now, he gotta figure out the story on his own.

content: arrange marriage au, angst, husband!gojo, mean!gojo, mention of blood, strong languages, some unsettling scenarios, emotional trauma, read at your own risk

a/n: yooooo, finally an update!! thanks for waiting everyone~ i actually took a small break because my friends and i had a beach outing and that was great!

previous / masterlist / next

you feel like you had the longest dream in your entire life the moment you slowly open your eyes and reveal the white plain ceiling with matching beeping sound coming out from the machine.

it takes a second or two to realize that you're in a hospital.

like a seemingly newborn, your half lidded eyes traveled across the room until it reached the sight of some peculiar white haired male with his face buried on your arm, sleeping uncomfortably while sitting on the cold hard chair.

you could feel your whole body ache when you tried to move some parts of your body to stop it from numbing when you noticed some kind of empty feeling—like something was missing.

it did not take you a while to realize that your stomach feels so empty right now, and you know it's not because you're hungry, but because you couldn't feel your baby anymore.

an anguish screech escapes from your mouth when you realize that the baby isn't part of your body anymore. tears stream like a waterfall as your body automatically sits up and hugs your lower body, specifically your stomach, because you cannot accept the fact that your baby has been taken away from you.

this immediately woken satoru up and started to console you. “hey, hey, y/n! i’m here. i'm here.” his voice was soft and comforting but there's a hint of shakiness due to your sudden outburst.

“satoru, my baby! i can't feel my baby! my baby is gone!” as an upcoming loving mother, it hurts you so bad that you'd rather die than to accept this.

the sound of the machine keeps on loudly pulsating, meaning that your heart rate is rising quickly and it's dangerous for you to get stressed since you just came out from the operation.

“y/n! the baby is fine. our baby is fine. they were being cured by the best doctors so don't worry.” pulling your body close to his, satoru caresses your hair and keeps on murmuring some comforting words to calm you down.

but it seems that his actions were no avail when he saw your lower stomach bleeding. feels like his own blood had disappeared, his pale face becomes more paler when your extreme sadness cry turns to extremely painful cry.

his body seemingly moves on its own and presses the button to call for help while still managing to calm you down.

“where's my baby? g-give me back my baby! satoru, do something!” it pains satoru to see you like this. a whole crying mess who cannot even digest the fact that her baby was in intensive care so they can become better.

suddenly, the door in your room opened, revealing the doctor and their nurse—shoko was there too. they immediately inject you with midazolam to calm you down and it works almost instantly. satoru watches your body go limp as your wound continues to bleed.

satoru and shoko were instructed to wait outside as they transfer you to another room to tend your wounds. after you were scouted to exit the scene, satoru fell on his knees and leaned his back on the wall.

god, what did you do to deserve this kind of thing?

letting out a soft sob, satoru prayed once again—something that he just learned yesterday. he prayed that all of your pain, burden, suffering, and all must disappear because satoru couldn't list any single reason why you must suffer like this.

“you should go back at least for now, gojo. i’ll handle things here while you freshen yourself up.” shoko suggested but satoru just shook his head, refusing to leave your side.

“don't be a fucking stubborn. you still have other things to do, don't forget that.” shoko hissed.

“but i need to be by her side. i need to be there to support her whatever i can.” satoru slowly let himself up and looked shoko straight in the eye.

“do you think she still needs you to be by her side? oh please, not after what you had done.” the doctor rolled her eyes as she toys with the unlit cigarette on her lips.

for some reason, satoru was having a deja vu, it was like they're in her clinic once again and they argue where you heard things that you shouldn't have. as much as satoru would like to shut her down, he's worried that you might hear him say nasty things that he didn't mean to say.

“shoko, please…i know you're mad at me and you wanted to be hostile towards me. i actually don't care if you hurt me or insult me, just not now. i need to stand by her side and i don't need you to tell me what to do.” satoru stood up and his gaze on shoko became hard.

the doctor just tsked and decided to drop the conversation for your sake. there's a whole silence in the atmosphere when satoru suddenly thinks about your little breakdown earlier. you're looking at your child and he is too. he really wants to go to the baby but he thinks it would be better if the two of you are together.

satoru was excited to see his baby, sure. but something inside stirs up something that he personally couldn't explain. was it because he remembers your conversation when he first knew of your pregnancy? that he found himself unable to answer your questions during that night?

but whatever the reasons are, satoru was ultimately willing to ignore it and just focus on becoming a better husband and now a new father towards his child with you.

the strongest sorcerer of his generation, the one and only satoru gojo, the pride of his clan, your husband on papers, your most hated person, your child's father—swore to himself that he will treat his son as his own flesh and blood, not as the heir that will dethrone him from being the pride.

and most of them all, he swore to himself that you will be treated way, way better than everyone, specifically and especially him. satoru will patch up the wounds that he had caused you.

but not all wounds can be treated by a mere bandaid.

an hour had passed and now you're once again in your room, but this time, you're more than calm as you finally understood the situation—thanks to shoko who patiently explains everything to you.

like right now, she's standing by the end of your bed while satoru was on his seat just like the first time you saw him in this hospital. shoko carefully and softly explained what was going on with you and gave you some sort of assurance.

“you suffered from placenta abruption which caused your placenta to detach from the inner walls of your uterus. it unables the baby to receive oxygen and nutrients with the placenta detached. that is why the doctors had no choice but to put you into a cesarean delivery so it can save both of your lives.”

“and about your baby, don't worry, they're in safe hands. currently in the neonatal intensive care unit where the baby is under process of developing it since it came out during your six months of pregnancy and is premature.” she continued.

then, shoko put a hand on your shoulder, slightly massaging it to give you some comfort. “worry not, y/n. we're not going to let anything hurt your baby. they're safe here and are guarded with blessings and restrictions so no other curses or unauthorized people could touch your child.”

all this time shoko speak, your head was hanging low and it seems like you're having a hard time digesting everything. but you still get what she meant by putting you under a cesarean because it's the only way to save you and your baby's life—which you're incredibly grateful for.

“c…can i see my baby?” your tone was quite hushed, probably because you hadn't really talked to anyone after what happened to you.

shoko gently shook her head and gave you an apologetic smile. “i am so sorry, y/n. but you need to rest first and we, the doctors, recommended you to not move too much since it can open up your cesarean stitches once again.”

to everyone’s relief, you nodded at her words, like you agreed to get better first before seeing your child.

“alright, i gotta excuse myself now. i have an appointment later this afternoon.” shoko gives you a smile before sending a knowing gaze at the man beside you, saying ‘you better not forget that you still have other things to do’ look.

“mhm. take care and thank you for helping me during all of this, shoko.” you replied tried to return the same smile but it only reached a have, you just wished she could feel your sincerity towards her.

“i don't accept thank you’s, yet. i can only accept it if i see you in a much better condition. so if you want me to say you're welcome, then get better.” her words make you giggle a little but you take that as a note.

giving you a one last smile and a secretive glare at your husband, she finally left the scene…and that leaves you two, you and your husband. silence engulfs the whole room, only the sound of your beeping monitor keeps on echoing and adds awkwardness to the atmosphere.

you take a small peak at satoru who's looking at an empty space somewhere, looking like he's in a deep thought. you're not sure if you want to talk to him or not, but taking the preceding events from earlier, you see no reason.

on the other hand, satoru was lost in his thoughts because he's trying to construct everything that he needed to say to you. he's kinda bad at impromptu when it comes to you and mostly forgot his points and other subtopics because he's being blinded by the emotions that keeps on distracting him.

satoru also noticed your small gazes towards him and it feels like you're not planning to talk to him first, so he finally initiated a conversation.

“do you feel any pain in your body?” he asked you.

however, it took you a while to answer because you're not sure if your following responses are gonna be normal, sarcastic, or not answering at all. but you choose the first one because the two other choices would most likely put you into stress and makes your healing process becomes slower.

“my tummy hurts but i'm fine…and i'm also hungry.” you replied, that's it.

satoru was glad that you're answering him…well. anyway, he smiled at you and carried on with the conversation. “if the pain gets worse or it causes you discomfort, you must tell me immediately. and about that hunger, we still need to wait at least eight hours for you to eat something heavy. but for now, you can only take liquids and…the doctor said you could eat oatmeal and eggs—maybe we should get that. the doctor also to avoid greasy food and it would take at least six weeks for you to recover, and then…what are the other things he said again?”

while satoru was busy yapping, you slowly think that he's speaking to himself more than he's speaking to you because of how concentrated he looked and it somehow brings some sort of warmth in your chest because he really tries himself to remember all of the things that the doctors had prescribed him for you.

“satoru…” you called out to him, but he's still busy talking about do’s and don'ts and keeps on going while you occasionally call his name.

“satoru.” he's still busy talking.

“...satoru?” yep, still talking.

his yappings are getting too long and you're running out of thin patience, so you hold into his arms and that makes him look at you and stop talking instantly. breathe in relief, you finally stopped him from his own shenanigans.

“i—i’m sorry, i talked too much.” satoru awkwardly chuckles to himself, but you just shrugged it off. “anyway, what is it?” he asked.

“satoru, i was wondering…how did i end up here? all i know is i was in my room, i feel my tummy hurts really bad and it got me so worried about my baby. then all of the sudden, there's blood seeping down on my legs then everything black out.” you said.

“well…” then satoru proceeds into another minutes of yapping about what happened based on what they had said to him back then. you'd understand that yuuji and megumi were planning to cheer you up by a surprise room visit when they smelled blood and that made them instantly realize that something was going on with you. so they called shoko and yaga to break into the room, and there they saw you lying in your own pool of blood.

nodding slowly, the question that was formed because of the preceding events were finally put into the end. “oh, so that's what happened. anyways, do you think yuuji and megumi could be here tomorrow? i wanted to thank them.”

“sure. i’ll come with them tomorrow. but now, let's get you some light foods so you can sleep tonight.” satoru stood up but he froze as his feet were not walking. you watch him turn back to you while you give him a confused look.

���will you be alright being alone for like…five minutes? i’m just gonna be quick and get you some food. i promise i’ll be back before you know it.” you just let him do what he wants and just continue watching him. satoru looked at you for a long seconds, rather seemingly so hesitant. but you told him you'll be fine and just do his thing, so satoru assured you once again that he'll be back then uses his teleportation.

now, you're alone (for a while) in this room. your thoughts wandered towards your baby who you knew is in the same building as yours. you really want to run towards that room where they are located but you forcefully shut yourself because it'll just make things worse. you're still in the process of healing and you want to be at your strongest when you're with your baby.

but something was still arguing inside your head. it's the desire to run towards your child and the desire to get better—

“y/n.”

“shit!”

something—no, someone was suddenly in the room. it was satoru who's pouting at you like a puppy who got lost. his sudden appearance makes the beeping machine beside you go wild as you curse out profanity because you're that shocked.

thankfully, your heart beat becomes normal again and nothing bad happens. but you'll be sure to send out a death glare to your husband who's still pouting.

“what the actual fuck, satoru?! do you want me to die of a heart attack?!” you glared at him, still your hand is at your chest.

“i'm sorry about that. but i cannot bring myself to leave you like that even for a minute.” he said.

“i told you i'll be fine. you don't need to guard me 24/7 anyway, so go and grab or do whatever you want.”

“no!” satoru whined…and that surprises you, because this might be the first time you saw him whine like a child, especially without any involvement of alcohol or sugar to activate this kind of his system. this was just a new sight to you.

“then how are you going to get some food?”

“i’ll just have them deliver it here.”

“seriously? you're going to order and deliver oatmeal and eggs?” your eyes were wide at his crazy idea. like yeah seriously, for an oatmeal and eggs? he could literally get it from a convenience store.

“what? i'm gonna order some food for myself too, you know.” he pouts, again.

“okay, you order your food online. and we'll get mine at a convenience store.”

“what? no! i told you i don't want to leave you alone.”

“then i’ll come with you. we'll go and buy my food together if you're really that worried about leaving me alone.” you said sarcastically.

“what the hell is that suggestion? absolutely not!” satoru gasps. he's so dramatic.

“well then, i’ll just starve!” you huff at him before turning your head away from him.

“i—wait, i'm sorry. i really can't force myself to be away from you. i'm just scared that when i'm gone even for just a minute, s-something might happen again and i’m not there to help you out instantly.” the sad look on his face is back, similar to what he looked like when he confronted you in the hallway.

after hearing his explanation, you turned back to him and said, “there are things that come unexpectedly. you cannot also force yourself to stick with just in case an emergency would occur, you'd be there. for all that i know, you still have other things to do, like you have your priorities.”

“but you're my priority,” he said seriously. well that caught you off guard.

“whatever, just go and get me some food.” you brush it off.

“...”

“...ok.”

the night ended with satoru eating his ordered food happily while you were still glaring at the man because he really stick to his words and ordered your food online instead of just running to a convenience store or buying the hospital once. although, it makes you wonder, how is there a plain, plain! oatmeal and a boiled egg that has been selling online?

well, whatever it is, at least your hunger has lessened and your relationship with satoru has gotten…at least a little better.

[part 4 is up tomorrow! and you know the drill, for those who would like to be added to the taglist , just comment — ©luvvixu2024]

taglists: @mistymuii @kalopsia-flaneur @sherryuki-callmeyuki @aish777 @tttttttf @username23345 @slyhersophia @netyxms @rirk-ke @lvstru @roscptalsaa @labelt-san @shinruo @yaninnaacu @testrella @sad-darksoul @kurookinnie @mountvesuvu @chwesuh-imnida @cole-silas @elernity @buttermilktea11 @berenevenstarzetaestelar @maddie-jayne @yozora7154 @kawaiivillainess98 @jiupark @forourpoets @aishies-stuff @numblytemporary @souyasplushie @hotsauce247 @catarinemirandax @aerithsthingss @h1gh4ru @ssetsuka @jskodn @khoiyyu @the2ndl @veryverysadauthor @vebbiewuzhere @kouyoumarryme @dreamyescapesfromreality @local-mr-frog @haesify @openthenyoor01 @blkmystery @slowlyshycomputer @babybarbs12 @thickemadame @bleppt @leavem3al0n3 @arminloverlol @roscpctals99 @megumisthirdog @shirabane @skepticalleo @sheismaryy @tragicgirl444

a/n: istg guys i'm trying my hardest to get y'all tagged but some really did not appear when i @ your blogs huhu. but don't worry, that won't stop me from tagging y'all, so i am just going to manually mentioned you on every chapter update ;)

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type AU.

Soap is the long forgotten god of death.

Ghost is his first follower in a very long time.

part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7

————

At first, Soap had been seen as kind and benevolent. The one to end someone’s suffering and help them along to the afterlife. However, as more wars began to break out, his perception changed into that of a bloodthirsty warmonger. The type that you sacrifice the blood of innocents to for luck in your upcoming battles.

Soap had simply ignored the brutish offerings. But then they spread. Like a plague, soon everyone was murdering their chosen victims in his temples in the hopes that it would bring them even more fortune.

Realizing that his presence was just causing more and more to die, he let himself fade away. He was reduced to nothing more than a comforting feeling people felt before they died. Over time, the so-called offerings stopped. Scared of what would happen should he return, he continued to fade.

A god is only as strong as their followers believe them to be. With no followers, no offerings, they are nothing. While mortal weaponry may hurt a god, may even get them to bleed, it cannot kill them. A god can only truly die when they are no longer remembered.

Soap is waiting for the day that he is truly forgotten and can pass on when he gets a feeling. One he has not had in an age. Though his worshippers have abandoned him, his temples and statues remained, though now significantly worse for wear. And someone just provided an offering of a single slice of bread on one of his statues.

A meager offering, sure, but it’s enough to get his attention. He has almost no power nor any energy left, but he sees a soldier sitting next to the statue as he ate his meal.

Meanwhile, Ghost hadn’t the faintest clue what god he just gave an offering to, but he felt a little better afterwards and so just hoped they weren’t evil. He took note of the statue’s appearance and when his troop was encamped near a town, he snuck away to a local library to see if there were any books he could find about it.

He was not apart of the army willingly, but he owed them a life debt and they had decided that it would only be repaid upon his death. Just a glorified prisoner, he was kept at the general’s side as his favorite weapon. Sneaking away was difficult, but definitely doable. The few times he was caught, he made enough of a disturbance that it was easier for everyone involved to let him do his thing.

They did not need to worry about him running away. If he was able, he’d have run the second he was given the chance. However, he was stuck. As long as he owed a debt, he could not leave.

The statue, at the very least, gave him something to do.

He was intrigued. He did not recognize the features at all, and his research confirmed that it was not a well known deity. It takes a long time of asking the right people and finding the right books to uncover the story of the forgotten god.

Having read everything — from loving poems about the being helping sickly children find comfort in their last moments to angry anecdotes about desperate townspeople sacrificing themselves in the hope that the god would show them mercy — he decides to give the god the benefit of the doubt.

He figures the world is shitty enough, why not find some good that had been tucked away? Ghost himself was seen more as a weapon than a person and couldn’t help but sympathize. He was never one for gods or worship, more likely to curse the heavens than ever sacrifice something of his, but he almost felt bad for the being. So, the next day, from one bloodthirsty monster to another, he gives the forgotten god more offerings.

It’s still not much, just an apple and a ring the general wouldn’t notice missing, but he sets them there anyways. He damn near jumps out of his fucking skin when the feeling of an accepted offering floods through him. He stares at what would have originally been the face of the statue, but nothing happens. The trees behind him continue to sing their song in the faint breeze, with the sounds of a lively woods never fading.

There is no outside sound, no out of place movement, no indication that he hadn’t just imagined the feeling. A leaf falling from one of the branches and landing on the pedestal, where the offerings were now gone, snapped him out of his staring contest. He muttered out a gruff thanks and sat down to eat, ignoring the feeling of being watched.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You: Worst Nightmare

Summary: Jensen's worst nightmare is about to come true...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 1,600ish

Warnings: language, heavy mentions of injury/blood/car accident

A/N: The agnst is strong...

________

Shouting woke you up. Very loud, very upset shouting. You blinked, slowly turning your head and finding the world was upside down. There was something to your left, something bent and the smell of metal and blood in the air made your nose twinge.

Then you remembered you were in the car. Driving on the highway to the brewery to grab some pizza and a few beers to bring home for dinner. You turned and touched the metal panel, the front of the car or part of the roof was your guess, now smack dab in the center console and cutting you off from the other side.

“Jay,” you croaked out. The shouting stopped and you squeezed your eyes shut. “Jensen. I’m okay.”

“Y/N,” he said as you remembered him shoving a hand in front of your chest. 

“Please tell me you’re in one piece,” you whispered.

“Yeah, I-I think so. Y-You?”

“I think so too,” you said, putting a hand on the roof below you, the windshield caved in, passenger door looking like a crumbled piece of paper. “Jay, I’m stuck in here.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think it’s just bumps and bruises,” you said. “Can you move?”

“No,” he said quietly, not saying another word.

“Are you hurt?” He didn’t respond and you hit the panel between you. “Hey! Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay.”

“Dammit, tell me the truth.”

“My arm is cut up some but I’m okay. I can’t…fuck I can’t get out either.” He slapped the metal piece between you and you shushed him. “Y/N-“

“Relax honey. Sh, relax. I’m right here. I’m gonna be okay and you’re gonna…be okay…it’s going to be just fine. Just…just do your breathing that Ray showed you when you get anxious okay? It’ll…be okay,” you said, pressing your hand against your bleeding leg. “Shit.”

“You sound hurt,” he breathed out. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m uh, bleeding from my thigh. It’s not gushing so it couldn’t have been anything too bad, right?” you tried to joke, Jensen slamming against the panel again. “It’s not that deep. Also I’m pretty sure I have pizza in my hair.”

“What?” 

“Yeah. I hope you like the smell of marinara cause that’s gonna take forever to wash out,” you said, trying to leverage yourself against the roof of the car. “Now’s as good a time as any to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?” he asked quietly. “Are you-”

“Led Zeppelin sucks and I cannot believe you have so many of their original records. Don’t even get me started on your infatuation with fucking country music. I hate country music and I think it’s time I put my foot down and ban it from the house. What do you say?” you said, squeezing your palm hard over your leg.

He let out a quiet huff of air that was akin to a dry laugh. 

“I say you’re trying to distract me which either means you’re seriously fucked up over there and not telling me or you’re trying to keep me from having a panic attack by falsely insulting my music. So-”

“Hey, I do not like country as much as you and those are facts.”

“I know you don’t yet you listen to it for me,” he said, realizing for the first time it was still playing on the radio. “Imagine if you had to die listening to music you hated.”

“I’d live out of pure spite,” you said, Jensen chuckling a little. “I promise it’s the later. Trust me. If it were bad, I’d be asking you all sorts of shit about Dee so we can shit talk your music choices in the afterlife.”

He laughed for a split second, grunting loudly and making your heart race. “Yeah, you’re okay. Or not actively dying at least.”

“Not doing that. On the negative, everything hurts but positive side, I smell like pizza and beer, two of your favorite things.”

“Always got those silver linings,” he said as you heard sirens in the distance. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“You know how I said my arm was cut up?” he said, swallowing thickly. The pit in your stomach dropped, eyes closing.

“How bad is it?” you whispered.

“Bad enough I wrapped my belt around my arm to stop the bleeding.”

“Be honest. Please,” you said, wishing you could do something, anything. The silence was deafening, his labored inhale the only indication that he was still awake. “How bad?”

“There’s a piece of metal sticking out of my forearm. Pretty sure it sliced through the veins in there judging by the amount of blood.” You fought back tears, taking a shaky breath. “I’m really cold and tired. But I’m gonna stay awake-”

“Write me a song. Write me a fucking country song right now,” you said, forcing your eyes open. “What’s the melody?”

“Uh, what?” he asked. “Y/N, I’m-”

“I know what you’re saying and you can stay up until dawn even when you’re exhausted when you’re working on music so you write me a damn song right now and stay the fuck awake,” you croaked out. 

“Well I need a banjo in there because I know that’s your favorite,” he teased, car doors slamming nearby. 

“You’re a dickhead,” you said, Jensen chuckling. “Alright, banjo. What else?”

“Violin and a cello somehow. You fucking love the sound of-” 

“Him first!” you shouted when you saw some boots in front of you, quickly watching them jog to his side of the car.

“Oh shit,” one of the responders said and with that, your heart truly sank, unsure if it would ever come back up.

They’d gotten Jensen out of the car first and carted off by the time you had a makeshift bandage around your thigh. Something felt off with your leg and several hours and a surgery later, your foot was in a cast. But when you woke up in post-op, Jensen wasn’t there, a nurse telling you he was still in the operation room.

So now all you could do was sit in a room in the ICU, staring out the glass door, praying you saw Jensen. It felt like the longest twenty three minutes of your life.

You shot straight up in bed when you saw a sleepy looking Jensen getting stopped in a bed outside your door.

“Whoa. I want to stay in the hot girl’s room,” he murmured, winking lazily at you. Yeah, he was definitely hopped up on something, his right arm wrapped and wrapped and wrapped in a thick mass of bandages. 

“Let’s leave her alone,” said the nurse behind the bed, pushing him forward again, making him shout. She froze, Jensen staring in your room, shaking his head out.

“That’s my wife. I want to be with her.” The nurse sighed, Jensen’s face falling. “Please,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“You can see her in a minute, I promise,” she said, pushing him along. You waited exactly four minutes before slamming the nurse button over and over, one entering your room, giving you an annoyed glare.

“You should be sleeping,” she said. “You need to rest.”

“My husband is on the other side of this wall and last time I saw him he was bleeding out so I think a five minute field trip is more than fair-”

“He’s asleep like you should be.” You stared her down, the nurse eventually relenting. “Just stay there.” She left and returned after three minutes, shoving an ipad in your hand. “We used these during the pandemic. You can facetime him for a few minutes but then you both need sleep.”

She tapped a number and a split second later, Jensen’s beat up face appeared on screen.

“Well if ain’t the hot girl calling me from her bed,” he teased, the nurse rolling her eyes and leaving. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah. How are you?” you asked. He held up his injured arm and sighed. “You’re alive and that’s what matters.”

“I’m going to need physical therapy again. Months to recover and rebuild the muscle in my forearm. I already know it. You too with that foot of yours.” He rested his head against his pillow. “What about that cut on your leg?”

“Just gotta lay off it for a bit. It’s the same leg as my broken foot so that’ll be easy.” You both just stared at each other for a moment, a mess of bruises and small cuts littering your skin. “We’ll get through this.”

“I know.” He glanced down, closing his eyes. “I didn’t realize I was bleeding so bad until you made me calm down by insulting one of the best bands in history. You saved my neck.”

“That only happened because you put your arm in front of me. It could have been so much worse and-”

“Silly girl,” he murmured, slowly forcing his eyelids open, a softness to them you weren’t expecting. “I’ll always protect you. If you get a little less hurt because I did then that’s a win for me.”

Your bottom lip wobbled, Jensen shushing you. “Don’t say things like that, Jay.”

“Says the girl who stopped me from having a full on panic attack during arguably my worst nightmare. We protect each other, that’s how it works.” You smiled, Jensen returning it. “I’m taking you to a country music festival when we’re up for it in honor of saving me.”

“I want a divorce.” 

He laughed so loud you heard it echo down the hall. He’d be okay again. You both would.

Eventually.

_________

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Just Aether and Omega talking about love. Kinda. Look I'm bad at summaries.

"I need to be put down."

"Good morning to you too, Aether," Omega rumbles, handing him a cup of coffee while sipping his. There is a slight pause while the younger quint takes a long gulp, before Omega tilts his head toward him with a questionning quirk of eyebrow.

"May I ask why exactly do you need to be put down ?"

There's a smile in his voice to which Aether answers with a groan trailing in what sounds suspisciously like a whine.

"Don't make fun of me."

Omega shrugs, endeared.

"No promises."

Despite his eyeroll, Aether seems to need to vent, because he drops on the stool next to Omega's, eyes on the numerous pictures stuck on the fridge.

"Dew is going to kill me, is what's going on. I was just minding my own business, waking up with the appropriate amount of gracelessness you can expect from someone who's waking up, and he was there, looking so- perfect in the morning light and- urgh. Massaging Swiss' shoulder because it flared up again. Swiss wasn't even awake yet and Dew still knew that he was hurting- I need to be put down, I'm telling you, I cannot take more of this."

The second Aether stops to take a deep breath, looking terribly flustered while raking his hands through his mohawk, Omega can't help but laugh.

"So what i'm hearing, is that you're so in love with your fire ghoul you want to die ?"

Aether sighs in defeat, nodding. Omega's heart could burst with fondess.

"I can relate."

Aether blinks at him. He looks younger that way - fresh off his bed, sheets still imprinted on his cheek.

"Can you ?"

Omega sighs and smiles, cuping Aether's face.

"Yes. Always. When you come to me like this. When Alpha slips in my bed in the middle of the night trying not to wake me. When Mist forces me to take a break. When Earth brings me flowers. When Chain braids Lake's hair the way he likes it. When I can hear Sunshine and Dew bicker in the halls. When Swiss admits he's not okay. When Phantom barges in to show us something they're excited about. When Cirrus makes matching bracelts for everyone. When Cowbell shows up. When I can feel the pack, alive and well, going about their day."

For a moment, Aether is clearly looking for the right words, teary-eyed, before deflating with a sigh that catches in his throat.

"You can't do this to me you ancestor, not when i'm already in a sappy mood !"

Omega's fully grinning now, and it's oh so easy to tug Aether in his arms, or to let him tuck his face in the older quint's neck like he used to do as a newly summoned ghoul.

"Sh, sh, there you are pup," Omega mumbles in Aether's hair, "there you are lover boy."

They have all the time in the world after all, so they stay like this as sunlight slowly fills the kitchen, until Alpha walks in, and, running his hands through both ghoul's hair, huffs.

"Bad time to inform you that River flooded the chapel ?"

Omega groans, thumping his forehead against Aether's, horns knocking together.

"I take it all back."

Aether chuckles, unimpressed.

"Sure you do, bleeding heart."

[happyhauntt]

and i am coming home to you — nikolai lantsov.

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: there are some things that cannot be saved. nikolai swears she won't be one of them.

─── pairing: nikolai lantsov & anya kamenev (original character.)

─── warnings: serious angst, pre-established relationship, descriptions of injuries, blood and torture, oc was held as a prisoner of war, allusions to ravka's war with shu han, suicidal thoughts if you squint. trauma. fluff & romance but in an angsty way. nikolai is so in love and so am i.

─── word count: 2.5k.

     There’s a soft, dusky twilight bleeding in through the window. The last few seconds before the sun goes down, and the shadows stretch like yearning fingers out of all the cracks and crevices.

     Anya used to love the sunset. Used to lay in her bedroll beneath the trees and wait for the world to go quiet. All the colour would bleed away until the blue and black and stars were the only witnesses left.

     She loved the sunset until one day, the darkness came and never left. It settled over her like a second skin, and that once-familiar comfort became something she feared she’d never shake off. She feared she would die there, in the dark.

     Once or twice, she even wished for it.

      The dark comes calling again, now. It no longer feels like an old friend. The light fades from the window, cloaking the cabin in a strange half-dark. The waves crashing against the sides of the ship are a dull roar in the back of her mind. An unwelcome accompaniment to the rest of her terrible thoughts. Her head aches. Her skin burns.

     He saved her, but what was left of her to save? What is left of her now but a ghost, a corpse, a pile of skin and bones and blood that can do nothing else but scream and scream and scream?

     That's what it feels like. Her body. Her heart. Little more than a carcass left to rot, picked over by crows.

     She would love him if she could. A fierceness rests between her lungs, the single spark of life left within her after they stripped her of the rest. This, she'd cradled close, clutched between gnarled, bloody fingers. This is his. This, they couldn't tear from her if they tried.

     And they had tried.

     The bed rocks beneath her. After so long trapped in a dingy cell, the mattress should feel like the height of luxury, stuffed with goose feathers and lined with linen, but it all feels like stone. She tastes blood in her mouth, and she doesn’t know if it’s her own. The silk sheets ghost over her flesh, feeling sharp as razor blades.

     Anya never learned to love her cage, but she doesn’t trust freedom, either. Not yet.

     It's not that he's the reason she lived. He isn't her reason to keep breathing. Anya Kamenev is her father's daughter, and has endured untold horrors, and if there is one certainty in the world, it is that she is not weak. She survived for herself, for her parents, for her country. She wanted to be home again. The trees blossoming in the summertime, fresh ripe fruit on her tongue, winter air that smells like snow.

     She wouldn't die like this. Not at their hands. Anya would go quietly in her bed at a ripe old age, surrounded by people who loved her. Or she'd go to her knees on a battlefield, still screaming as the bullets rip her wide open, and with her last breath, she'd take them down too.

     Not like this. Not in a dark laboratory, or a torture chamber. Not at their hands. Anya is stubborn. She'd bleed green if someone told her she was wrong. She'd make it true.

     But he loves her. He loves her, and that is everything. He’d appeared before her like a vision sent by the Saints, like something holy in a place she knows no god would ever touch. Like a miracle. On the bad days, his love is blossom trees and fresh fruit and winter air combined. He has held her hand through darkness, guided her through battle, and even when he left for his apprenticeship, he'd kissed her like it was a promise.

     They'd taken everything else. Broken her bones and slashed her skin. Wrought her apart to scratch at her soul. She'll bear the scars for the rest of her life, long after the wounds are healed. Her body will never be the same. Her mind may never recover.

     But this wasn't hers to give up. This is his. Loving him had been a candle in the darkness. A reminder that she was human still. A reminder that even in the blackest night, dawn will come again.

     But now, lying alone in his bed in a dim cabin, Anya grows restless. The mind is a strange thing, and something about this safety feels foreign to her. There are voices in the walls. The shadows have eyes. The ship lurches in the waves and she swears there is a hand right there, reaching out—

     She's on her feet before she realises what she's doing. She never was a girl built to run — her instinct has always been to stay, to fight — but this is different, and blood doesn’t always feel like blood when you touch it.

     Her knee buckles beneath her the moment she puts weight on it. A strangled shriek escapes her lips as pain streaks through her like lightning. The cabin door slams open, and Nikolai appears. His tailored-red hair glows in the candlelight, a halo of bronze. His face is still different, crooked nose and freckles and green eyes, but he will never be unfamiliar to her.

     He crosses the room in two strides and falls to his knees beside Anya. His teal overcoat has been abandoned, and what remains is a loose white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, still speckled with her blood. Her stomach twists at the sight of it as his hands find her shoulders. Something solid, finally; her guiding light once more.

     The chill that had stolen over her body vanishes where he touches her, and Anya leans into him heavily, her face pressed into the warmth of his shoulder. An agonising moan rises up within her, but she holds her breath. She bites her tongue so hard it bleeds.

     "You shouldn't be up, love." His voice is still the same soothing cadence in her ear. One hand brushes through ragged, tangled girls. It seems someone tried to brush her hair while she was unconscious; bathed the worst of the blood away, changed her into fresh clothes, but the scent of iron still lingers on her skin. His fingers catch in a knot, but the sharp spike of pain on her scalp goes unnoticed. The rest of her is screaming too loudly.

     "I cannot be in that bed any longer." Anya shakes her head, once, and breathes in the salt-and-cedar scent of him. Hands outstretched, clawing blindly, she grasps him tightly and swears she'll never let go again. "I cannot be here."

     How long had the Shu held her? How many days have passed since they killed the last member of her unit, since his cries grew too quiet and she'd been left alone with her worst nightmares? Had anyone notified her parents? What will they say, when they learn the truth? When they discover their worst fear has come to pass, and their darling daughter was tortured for being Grisha?

     "You cannot be anywhere else, Nastya," says Nikolai. He sounds like aching. His lips brush against her temple as he speaks, voice soft as silk. His hands are gentle, too, as he scoops her up from the floor and settles her back onto the bed. She holds herself stiffly, choking back another scream as her knee jostles and jerks.

     He winces as if every choked-off cry is a blade through his heart. He murmurs sweet apologies as he readjusts the pillows and perches on the bed beside her, close enough to touch, wary of disturbing her leg any further. His hands linger on hers. The tips of his fingers trace light patterns over the inside of her wrist.

     For a moment, nothing has changed.

     "Do you need anything, Captain?" The voice in the doorway is a little startling, and for a second Anya is back in that cell. She stiffens as the woman watches them both, a soft frown toying at her mouth. Golden eyes shine with pity.

     Nikolai rolls his lips together for a moment. "Perhaps some water, please, Tamar." The woman nods, and tugs the door closed behind her as she departs, leaving the pair wrapped in stony silence.

     Nikolai's eyes trail over Anya, searching, inspecting her injuries as if committing every scar to memory. He cannot count how many times he has done this since he found her. Sitting on the bed just like this, close enough to feel the warmth of her, counting each breath as if they might be her last. His eyes harden at the bruises on her throat, the gash across her cheek. Sweeping lower, his gaze settles on her knee again. He swallows roughly. Darkness sweeps over him like a burial shroud.

     The skin of Anya's leg is mottled, black and yellow and purple, a medley of half-healed bruises intermingled with fresh ones. They hurt her. They broke her. And for the first time since he left Ravka, anticipating a bright and shining future filled with adventure, Nikolai is drowning in regret.

     "Tolya did his best, but he's not a healer." His throat feels tight, like there's smoke in his lungs. Her skin is littered with newly-pink scars and stitched-up wounds. Her leg is the worst of it. Nikolai doesn't recall seeing injuries like this, even in the army. "We'll get you healers when we dock. The best healers. They'll be able to help with the rest of it. They'll be able to—"

     "Fix me?" Anya sounds hollow. His eyes snap to hers, and he finds someone staring back at him, but it isn't Anya. It isn't the girl he fell in love with. Somewhere within, she might be hiding, but here and now, he's faced with a ghost. "I lost count of how many times they broke it. Sometimes they'd drag a healer in to mend the bone, and then... snap. Other times they'd just leave it. There are some things that can't be fixed if you break them enough."

     A rough shake of his head. His heart sits like lead in his chest. "We'll fix it. You'll be good as new in no time, Nastya, I promise you."

Silence falls over them for a moment, filled with nothing but crashing waves and crackling candles. His fingers keep drawing circles over her wrist, and her pulse flutters gently beneath his touch. Her hands remain in her lap, pale and thin.

     "How long was I gone?"

     He doesn't need to ask what she means by that. His heart squeezes. "Six weeks, we think. They reported you missing-in-action when your unit didn't reach the checkpoint."

     Nausea rises like a tidal wave in Anya’s throat. Six weeks? Every horrible moment had felt like an eternity, and yet she never believed, never could have guessed it had been that long.

     "Sturmhond came to find me. Why?"

     An old fury lashes through him, one that had only settled when he laid eyes on her, half-dead in that dingy cell. Fingers curl into trembling fists as that anger rises again, unbidden, but not at her. Never at her. His jaw ticks at the memory. "Command thought attempting a rescue would be too... risky." He spits the word through gritted teeth. The Saints only know what he’ll do the moment he gets his hands on the First Army General responsible for that decision. "They couldn't prove you were in Shu Han, and crossing the border to rescue you would have risked an international incident."

     A necessary sacrifice. Collateral damage. A most unfortunate loss. That's what the bulletin had read, when he finally received it. Sturmhond kept up-to-date on Ravka, its military engagements, its economy. When he'd docked in Os Kervo eleven days ago and sent the twins out for supplies and information, the last thing he expected to hear was that a scouting group had gone missing near the Shu Han border.

     His last correspondence with Anya had mentioned that she was being deployed there, that she'd been tasked with leading a reconnaissance mission with the aim of finding new ways around the Fold. It had only taken a little digging to discover the names of the personnel who'd gone missing.

     He sees Lieutenant Colonel Anya Kamenev: MISSING IN ACTION every time he closes his eyes. It might be seared onto his brain forever.

     Anya’s eyes fall closed. Her jaw is tight. With pain or anger, he cannot tell. It was a sound tactical decision, she thinks. She cannot blame them for that. She might even have made the same call.

     But her leg screams at her. Nikolai's hand squeezes her own. Your country abandoned you. The words ring through her mind like a death knell.

     "You disagreed with their decision?"

     That familiar crooked grin slips over his face. He almost looks like a boy again, and not the man who loves her, made world-weary by the things he’s seen. They could be home again. It almost makes her cry. "Ravka was concerned about tensions with Shu Han. Nikolai Lantsov was unable to risk an international incident. Sturmhond had no such concerns."

     A ghost of a smile. His heart twinges at the sight of it. "Your letters never mentioned why you chose the name Sturmhond."

     "I'll tell you some other time, darling. It's quite the tale." He leans and kisses her forehead, lingering a few long moments just to breathe her in, feel the warmth of her skin beneath his lips.

     She'd been so pale when he found her. So cold. He thought he'd been too late. Every moment of the past eleven days had been agony as they docked in Shu Han and scouted out any scrap of intel they could find about Ravkan prisoners of war.

     "We'll dock soon. I sent word ahead to the generals, to let them know you've been liberated. I'll take you home."

     Home. A long journey around the Fold, most likely through Fjerdan territory, and then a trek up to Balakirev, and yet— A whimper escapes, almost too quiet to hear. Home. She thought she'd never see it again.

     "They'll want to question me, though." The thought of interviews, of recounting every detail of her torture, of having to admit that she's Grisha, that they killed the rest of her unit but spared her for experimentation, it all makes her sick.

     Nikolai shakes his head. His eyes are steel. "If they want to try, they'll have to go through me. Now sleep, love. Rest. I'll be right here."

     When sleep comes for her, finally, it does not come with those long, yearning fingers. Anya fears she will never love a sunset again, nor wish for the blissful peace of the night. But Nikolai lies down beside her, wraps her up in warm, solid arms, his chest beneath her head. She hears him breathing in her ear, a slow and steady rhythm, though she knows he isn’t sleeping.

     He’ll stay awake the whole night, to keep her demons at bay.

[thatstheproblemwithnapkinman]

disclaimer, i cannot write movies, this is just how i want the batman 2 to go

ok

we get a batman fight, dark and gritty but not as much as the batman 1, which then bleeds into some bruce wayne philanthropist stuff, not massively brucie wayne but it's creeping in there and we see that bruce is trying to help rebuild gotham but better ( we see this throughout the movie btw, just little snippets)

and then we see it from a distance, no people, but whisperings about something

anyway, in this endeavour to make gotham better haly's circus comes to gotham and we get shots of bruce in the audience and then the graysons die and we get more shots of the audience including one lingering on a little toddler with black floppy hair and blue eyes

batman appears and comforts dick and that's the last of that

then we cut to bruce trying to do some stuff at WE and he goes out onto a balcony or a rooftop to take a phone call or something (maybe as batman from jim gordon) and then he gets attacked by the assassin, and we don't really see the assassin in full, just a black mass with some gold flashes, and idk how but the assassin gets interrupted and jumps off the roof and bruce is still alive

so he's trying to figure out who or what that was and is looking at it on the bat computer (maybe he got some of it's clothing or something he can track) and gets a ping so goes to investigate and on the way he bumps into this little 9 year old who's on the rooftop of some building (hmmmm i wonder who it is)

it's dick, he's trying to track down the man who killed his parents (you knew this) and bruce is like "nO don't do that it's dangerous" and dick is like "but someone needs to"

anyway bruce takes dick back to the orphanage or wherever he is and has lost the trail for the assassin

this happens multiple times (montage time bois) and we see bruce finding dick on patrol, on rooftops and in dangerous situations and basically his dad senses are tingling and he decides to foster dick, so goes and picks him up and takes him to the manor

note: dick does not know that bruce is batman

anyway, bruce catches dick. trying to sneak out one night and the conversation goes like:

bruce: whatchadoin? dick: finding the man who killed my parents, people like that shouldn't be in the world" bruce: you want to kill him dick: justice bruce: murder isn't justice, it's revenge

he takes dick back to bed and goes out to finally track down the assassin BUT during this he get's a call from alfred going "bruce, dick is missing" so bruce is freaking out bc he's had this child for less than a day and he's lost him until a ransom comes up telling bruce wayne to go to x location

so he does and he himself gets kidnapped but he escapes once he's wher he should be, he suits up (bc he managed to get the suit there, either under his stupid coat or something i'm not good at this)

he finds his way to this arena where dick is being held but he's not tied up or anything, he's just kind of stood there, and there's the assassin, stood there, looking at him through golden goggles (how else would you describe it)

and surrounding them on a higher level are loads of people in black dresses and suits and white masks that resemble barn owls

it's the motherfuckin' court of owls

and bruce is like "i saved bruce wayne, i'm here to take the boy back home" and the person near dick is like "how about we let the boy choose, back to bruce wayne, where you will be paraded around as his community service project, or with us, where we can train you to get justice for your parents deaths, to take his life like he took you parents lives, and also that dude in the weird owl costume is your undead great-great-grandfather" and dick is stood there trying to choose and bruce says "murder isn't justice, it's revenge" and dick has his little lightbulb "omg bruce wayne is batman" moment, flashback to batman being the only person to comfort him at the circus, and he chooses bruce (obviously)

bruce fights the court and wins (badly injured tho) and they go home

we get a short shot of the court still existing like the gray son of gotham will be ours" and then we go to wayne manor, a few weeks later

dick is swinging from a chandelier and bruce calls for him to get down, he does and runs over to bruce and alfred in the sitting room and he's like "can i see it yet?" and bruce takes him to the batcave, dick bounces around before coming back to bruce

and bruce is like "we will find the man who killed your parents and make sure he is put away for life" and dick is like "we?" and bruce is like "yes"

dick takes the oath, which ends with the bruce calling him robin,

credits roll

[johnwickb1tsch]

Vino Veritas - Part VII

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. NSFW. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. 😆 chapter map.

VII. Everything’s On Fire And It’s Perfectly Fine

You cannot exactly claim the next few weeks go well for you. 

You do a lot of cliché sunset beach walking, heavy sighing, and general wallowing in self pity.

You’re simply miserable, without him, and the feeling does not fade with time. 

Usually you are pretty content with your stupid little existence. Yet now, you feel like something is genuinely missing that you need. There’s a Frank-shaped hole in your heart–and you are bleeding out. 

It’s so bad that your regulars notice the change in your demeanor, when they come in to browse. They ask what’s wrong, and all you can do is shrug and make a lame excuse. It’s just not professional, to tell your customers that you're dying inside.

Anytime you try to coax yourself into just moving on, trying someone else, anything else…the thought dies a bitter death on a sword sharpened to a killing edge on the memory of that hilariously acerbic, utterly singular, wonderful grouch of a man. He hated everything, but for what felt like just a fleeting moment…he’d liked you. It certainly doesn’t help either, that he’s the only man you’ve ever felt comfortable enough with to really connect with on a carnal level. There was no putting on a show for Frank. No possibility of lying to him. He saw through everything, and that man just had your number in a way that you fear you’ll never encounter again. 

You’d be a liar, if you said you didn’t consider driving up to J.D. Power with that boombox. You even looked it up on Google maps. One hour, forty-five minutes, up the coast, if traffic was good. Of course in L.A. traffic was never good.

You would have braved it anyway.

Except, it turns out you are a total coward, and you know that if he rejected you, you really would want to die.

Then, you start to think you’re actually losing your mind, when you keep thinking you see him around. On the beach, a stranger in the distance is his very doppelganger. Then in town, you think you see him around a corner. By the time you rush down the block to look, he’s gone. 

You try to exorcize him by sketching his face from memory instead, at your tablet on the easel by the window that faces the ocean, up in your live-in studio above the store. It soothes you and agitates you all at once. You wonder what he thought, when he realized you slipped your possum shirt in his bag, in the airport when he wasn’t looking.

On a slow day due to rain, you decide to retreat back upstairs to your nest. The gray skies match your mood, and it won’t be the first time you’ve curled up and let the day go by, watching the relentlessly breaking waves.

Of course, just as you get settled in with a soft blanket, you hear the bell above the door downstairs chime. Usually the promise of a new customer fills you with a thrill of excitement, even after all these years, but today…you half regret not turning the OPEN sign in the window.

You check yourself briefly in the mirror, deem yourself half-passable, which is as good as it gets these days. Your hair is wild, and your eyes are sad. At least your clothes are clean, your time-worn ruffled sundress and oversized cardigan against the chill coming off the waves. You make your way down the stairs–and you almost eat shit on a cluster of colorful rocks left right in the middle of the runner. You catch yourself with a few choice words, gripping the bannister white-knuckled.

How the fuck did those get there?

Then you realize they’re similar to the ones you sell in your shop–but not exact.

You examine them, realizing that the one closest to your foot has a word engraved on it in curly slanted script: Fuck.

You look more closely at the other rocks in their now somewhat jumbled order. “I Miss Fuck You?” you read to yourself aloud, puzzled.

“You have got to be the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.”

Startled, you look up, scanning what you thought was an empty shop. But then you see him attempting to conceal his obscenely tall form behind an art card rack. It’s ridiculous–and your heart does its best imitation of a supernova.

Boom.

“You asshole!”

He frowns, but has no time to deliver a scathing retort, because you have leapt the remaining stairs and bound the short space to throw yourself into his arms–or more truthfully, just at him. An onlooker might have testified assault over ardor, in your frenzied tackle, as you throw your arms around his neck. He catches you with a surprised, “Oomph,” solid as a wall. You take heart in that his grip is just as desperate as yours. He still tries to get in that riposte, but you head him off again with your mouth on his.

You actually feel the tension leave his body, as you kiss him, and he kisses you, practically picking you up with his arms like iron bands around your waist.

“That’s your big gesture?” you finally demand. “Booby trapping my stairs with profane rocks?”

He honest to god growls at you, and it thrills you to your now curling toes. “It was supposed to say Fuck I miss you, but you had to ruin it.”

“Sorry I almost died?”

Then he is smiling down at you with that glitter in his dark eyes, and you are simply overcome with emotion, your fingers curling in the lapels of his jacket. “I fucking missed you too,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from tugging on him for emphasis.

He is breathing through his nose as he looks down at you, his expression somewhere between affection and constipation. It dawns on you that it’s more than a little likely he was terrified up until two seconds ago, and you soften even more for him, reaching up to stroke his beard. He leans into your hand, closing his eyes, and you know this is it for you. You are done for, and there is no further hope for your sanity. 

“Come upstairs,” you say, pulling on his lapels back in the direction from whence you came. You’re not sure how it’s possible for those midnight black eyes to darken more as he looks down at you, but he follows you without a word with his hand in yours. You flip the Open sign on the door as you pass by, turning the deadbolt without breaking stride. 

You have something important to do. 

***

Between kisses he looks around your second-floor apartment, smiling to himself with that judgy amusement in his eyes. It’s an open space, and there’s no hiding anything really, from your brightly clothed bed to the living area with its mismatched seating draped in bright fabrics, to your little studio space by the window to the miniscule nook of the blue-painted kitchen cabinetry.

“What?” you ask, poking him in the ribs, certain he’s going to make fun of you for your hippy-dippy boho decor. 

“Nothing,” he grunts, smiling against your mouth, assisting you in pushing his jacket from his shoulders. You’re tempted to throw it across the room, but you behave yourself and drape it nicely over the back of a chair. 

“Let me guess. ‘It looks like Pier 1 vomited in here.’” 

He snorts with laughter. “You said it, not me.” 

With a feral little growl you push him to sit on your bed. He’s so tall it just puts you eye to eye, and you cannot stop yourself from crawling into his lap. He gathers you closer greedily, his big hands engulfing your backside. God how you missed this man, and the way you fit together.

“Honestly? It’s exactly what I pictured,” he tells you gently, that tenderness in his dark eyes that utterly melts your last brain cells.     

“Does that mean…you’ve been thinking about me?”

He makes that strangled huff of a sound that passes for laughter, steeped with self-deprecation. “Yeah. You could say that.”

For a long few moments you just look at each other, caught up in the unlikely miracle that you’re here, together, once more. 

You really had believed you would never see him again. You’d believed it to the bone, and now this feels more than a little surreal. 

You consider what to do. Do you play the game, and try not to let on how absolutely bat-fuck insane you’ve been, without him? Would it be unseemly, to clamor with all your affection worn proudly on your sleeve, now that this man has dared to give you a second chance? As you look at him now, moved to the bottom of your soul that he swallowed his pride and his fear to appear at your door–you are done with games. You’re not going to hold a piece of yourself back, just in case. If this man breaks your heart again–at least you’ll know you gave it your all. 

“I’ve really missed you,” you tell him again, cupping his bearded cheeks in your hands, holding him lightly. 

He flinches at that, his eyes narrowing as for once, it seems like he is at a loss for a reply. He did good with the rock schtick, but saying it out loud in actual words from his mouth seems to present a problem for him. With his truth stuck on his tongue, he settles for pulling you into his embrace, burying his face in the bend of your neck with his arms wrapped tightly around you, like you might disappear if he lets go. And then his lips are on your neck, and his big hands are dragging down your ribcage to your hips, and you feel the circuits in your brain spark and melt for this man’s touch. 

You’d be a liar, if you said you hadn’t put yourself to sleep more than a few times, thinking about him with your hand in your panties and his name on your lips like a prayer. Straddling his lap now with his warm palms smoothing up your thighs, underneath your skirts to cup your ass–you are a one-woman stick of dynamite ready to explode. The way he squeezes your flesh with a groan from deep in his throat–you are soaked through your panties, your empty pussy clenching to the point of pain. 

Maybe it would be better, in the long run, to sit and talk this out a little bit before jumping into bed. Your libido, however, seems to find this rational suggestion from your higher brain utterly laughable.  

The pure longing this man calls up from within you–it really should be illegal, and you almost wish it only had to do with the fact that he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. That would be simpler. Safer, somehow. Less painful, maybe, if and when it all goes to shit. But you know it’s too late to pretend. Where your body goes with this man, your heart follows, skipping blithely off to its doom. 

This is fine, you think, as he lowers you onto your back, his delicious weight pressing you down into your soft bed as he claims your mouth with his. 

Everything’s on fire, and it’s perfectly fine. 

“Y/n…” He sits up on his elbows, looking down at you with that haunted, totally lost expression again. You reach up to run your fingers through the silken waves of his hair. It’s obvious there’s something he wants to say, but the words keep sticking on his tongue. 

“It’s ok, Frank,” you try to assure him. Like allowing him to lay on top of you in your bed isn’t indication enough of your happiness with his presence. 

“I can’t say I didn’t hope this would go this way. But I’m not such a narcissist as to think it’s the only way it should have gone. I absolutely deserve a kick in the balls for the way I treated you.”

You raise an eyebrow to this, trying not to laugh at the mental image. “I hate to tell you,” you inform him, twining your leg with his. The bulge pressing against your center practically makes your mouth water. “But that’s not the plan I have for your balls.”

“Very kind of you. I’m serious though.”

“Me too. Believe it or not…” You brush his hair behind his ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You realize this might be a foreign concept to him.

“Y/n…” He closes his eyes momentarily, maybe because you are petting him, and maybe because this is all too much.  “Aren’t you angry at all?”

You think on it. Really think on it, rather than give some off the cuff answer that maybe isn��t exactly true. “No,” you finally answer, and you mean it. “I’m just…relieved. I really thought I’d never see you again, and I was too chicken to go after you. I was afraid you’d say mean things to me and turn me away.” You blink back the moisture that gathers in the corners of your eyes.

“I probably would have,” he admits with a frown, more for himself than you, you’re beginning to realize. His eyes widen as he looks down at you, his long fingers stroking the hair at your temples. “I’m a fucking menace, y/n. I…if we do this, I’m going to hurt you.” The realization at saying it out loud really seems to drive it home for him. He bows his head to rest on your chest, as though ashamed of something he hasn’t even done yet. “Fuck.” 

He shifts as though he means to extricate himself from you, abandon you, again. You thwart him at least for the moment by wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him back to you. You know if you have a real wrestling match, this man who is twice your size is so going to win, but maybe, just maybe, he’ll listen to you for another five seconds. 

“Please don’t leave me over something that hasn’t even happened yet.” You know you sound more than a little pathetic–but you also know if he walks out the door again like this it will destroy you. 

“Y/n…” He growls your name, and the sound does unmentionable things to your insides. “You’re so sweet and pretty and talented, and you deserve good things in your life.” It seems more than a little surreal to you, that this man, who sees the world exactly for what it is and pulls no punches, puts you of all people on a pedestal. That tingling electric feeling is coursing through your limbs again, to your very bones. It’s the most alive you’ve felt in a long while. 

“Excellent,” you inform him brightly. “I’ll start with having you.” 

“You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not listening to me. We’ll take it day by day,” you think out loud, stroking his cheek with the blade of your thumb. “And if you hurt my feelings, you’ll say you’re sorry, and I’ll forgive you. And hopefully you’ll have the same patience for me, because fuck knows I’m no picnic either.”

With a sigh that comes from the depths of his soul Frank rests his head on your chest, finally relaxing a little. 

“You have so much hope,” he grumbles at your breast, like he’s annoyed about it.

“Only as of fifteen minutes ago, I assure you,” you tell him honestly, running your fingers through his hair. You can’t seem to stop yourself.

He makes that animalistic sound in the back of his throat, snarling at all the doubts and contingencies running at breakneck speed through his over-analytical brain. His next words come so quietly you almost miss them. 

“I think I need you.”

A long breath made of pure relief escapes you,  and you keep running your fingers through his hair. “You’ve got me.”

“That easily?”

You snort. “You call this easy?”

“I don’t even know anymore. I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind.” 

You don’t get a chance to make some pithy reply, because suddenly his mouth is on yours again, and your ability to produce coherent thought evaporates into a red cloud of desire. Somehow between kisses and urgent, fumbling fingers you manage to divest each other of your various garments, until the world is right again, with your bare skin against his, and his cock buried deep in your needy little cunt. Frank makes love to you while looking into your very soul, and you know that thing you told him what feels like a lifetime ago was absolutely true:   

What’s it like to fall in love? 

It’s like going insane. 

What you didn’t know to add at the time, is how absolutely wonderful it is. 

***

When you wake from your post-coital snooze you panic a little when you don’t feel him right beside you, shooting up in bed. Did he decide he’d made a mistake after all and flee the scene?

But then you realize he is sitting by the window, in the comfy chair in front of your easel with a blanket wrapped around his otherwise nude form. He is staring at your tablet, where you have sketched his face umpteen times in your miserable longing. You freeze at seeing him sitting there, certain he will make fun of you for being a lovesick little fool. 

Instead, he could have pushed you over with a feather, when he just shoots you a soft smile. “You’re very good,” he says quietly, as though afraid of breaking the sacred hush of the room. You’d be a liar, if you said your best work hasn’t always been fueled by longing of some kind. If you were a happy and content individual, you’re not sure you’d create anything of merit at all. 

“Thank you.” 

Then he smirks at you, picking up a pencil. “I’ll draw you,” he says cheekily, making a show of measuring your angles with the instrument, putting down bold marks. “Voila. My masterpiece.” 

You slide out from the covers to join him in the chair, snuggling into the warm curve of his large body behind you. When you look at what he drew you burst out in laughter, hiding in the dip of his neck. It’s a stick figure…with two emphatically drawn circles in the chest area. “Oh my god. Frank…” 

“You don’t recognize my raw artistic talent?” he teases, resting his chin on top of your head. 

“I see you’re not into the graphic design side of marketing at JD Power.”

He snorts at that. “What do you mean? I’m putting this on our next campaign.” 

You are chuckling so deeply it hurts in your core. This man. This man brings you such joy, and you’ve been withering without him. It’s not good–but it’s true. 

“Great. When they fire you, you can come shack up with me.” 

It’s a relief when he snorts at your joke–you didn’t mean to invite him to move in with you within the first few hours of seeing him again, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He even holds you a little tighter, which plays unfair havoc with your insides.

“Frank?”

“Present.” From the angle of his head, you’re guessing he’s looking out the window, at the ocean. It’s a pretty killer view–if you hadn’t inherited this place from a great aunt, you never could have afforded it. You nearly die of a heart attack every year when the property tax bill comes. 

“What…made you change your mind?”

He grumbles behind you. You feel it more than hear it, with his chest pressed to your back. Maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up just yet, but god. You need to know, as a matter of keeping your sanity.

“I realized…that every time I walked through the lobby of my office building, I was hoping to see you there, ready to terrorize us all with Peter Gabriel playing at ear-splitting volumes.”

“Oh Frank…” 

“Then for a week or so I resented you for not being there, for not coming after me even though I pushed you away in no uncertain terms.” 

You listen to him speak, quietly tucked under his chin. You would never guess from the level of his tone, but you can feel the thundering of his heart against your back, feel it in the slight way his grip tightens on you. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but your eyes blur with tears, that wonderfully uncomfortable electric feeling coursing all the way to your fingertips. 

“Then I realized that was pretty fucked up, to be mad at you for respecting my wishes, even though it clearly hurt you to do so. So…here I am. I am…a goddamn mess, y/n. I’m a grouchy old man, and I still don’t understand why you seem to like me, but if you do…?”

You think on how those three little words, here I am, actually involved this no-nonsense man remembering that ridiculous little conversation you’d had ages ago, dreaming up the scheme with the rocks, hunting them down or ordering them custom engraved online, and driving all this way in the rain having no idea if you would actually be happy to see him or if you would tell him to go to hell. 

You don’t think it’s just blind optimism, that makes you think he’s not half as broken as he thinks he is. You’re smart enough not to call him sensitive to his face, but he has just been kicked one too many times by people near him who go through life with a lot less thought about how their actions affect those around them. He’s hardened himself as a matter of survival–and that you understand all too well. 

“I do like you, Frank. I really, really, do.” You punctuate each word with a kiss until your mouth is pressed to his, and the grumble of his approval vibrates on a wavelength through your body, to the depths of your very soul. 

“And,” he adds with a wry note, just in case things were getting too sappy, “Your rat shirt is starting to smell more like me than you now. It needs a recharge.” 

This does make you giggle. “What have you been doing with my possum shirt, Frank?”

“You probably don’t want to know,” he answers with that rogue glitter in his dark eyes that curls your toes. 

You scoff–and wonder how many grains of truth are hiding in the lie. The thought of Frank snuggling your shirt at night wishing it was you…you really might melt into a puddle.  

“I still have your black t-shirt under my pillow,” you confess in the spirit of solidarity. 

He looks down at you with a raised brow, amused. “I wondered where that went. You sneaky little thief.” Suddenly he is standing with you in his arms, carrying you towards the bed again. He drops you on the foot of the bed, and you have no zero time to regroup before he is on you, pressing open mouthed kisses to the insides of your thighs, up to eat your pussy like he means to devour you. 

“Fuck!” you gasp, writhing against him holding you down as he wrecks you with his tongue. “How are you even better at that than I remember?”

He withdraws with a long hard lick that makes you see stars. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he admits, manhandling you to the edge of the bed with those big hands on your hips, plunging inside you with a groan that lifts every little hair on your body, fucking into you like you belong to him. 

And maybe, you do.

“And how is this sweet little snatch even tighter than what I remember?” he pants back, trembling with the effort to keep his thrusts slow and deep, like he knows exactly what you need to climb that shining peak–you are running up that mountain with his beautiful manhood teeming inside you.  

“I’ve been working out…” you answer with a laugh that comes out half moan, so happy you could die as he lowers his weight down on you, cupping your head in his hands, his long fingers in your hair. 

“I’m not sure I know what that means…” he answers, losing himself with his eyes closed as he bottoms out against your cervix, catching your mouth in a sloppy kiss that makes you clench and pulse around him. 

“Just say thank you.” You don’t know how you have the courage to tease this man, while he’s inside you. But you feel like your heart is made of pure sunshine in that moment, and nothing bad can touch either of you. 

“I’m trying to,” he chuckles, having just as much fun trading pithy remarks during this intimate moment as you, his thumb sneaking between you to rub your aching button to the rhythm of his body moving inside yours. You’re going to cum, to know it in your bones, but even if you weren’t this perfect handful of seconds of connection with Frank would be purest bliss. Those three dangerous words are dancing on the tip of your tongue, and you bite yourself until you taste blood to keep them in. 

I love you. 

You’ll tell him soon enough. 

The pleasure of your orgasm blindsides you like a truck t-boning you in a four-way stop–it’s as mental as it is physical, this absolute, all consuming rapture for having this man in your arms again, in your body, in your life, if you dare to believe it. 

Frank is not far behind you, moaning into the bend of your neck as he cums, filling you to the brim with his hips locked against yours. In the aftermath he sighs something softly into your hair, something utterly inaudible over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears and your heavy breathing. 

It’s something short though. Something three syllables. 

“What?” you whisper, sweeping the hair from his face with a trembling hand. 

 “Nothing,” he answers, pulling back with a sleepy smile. He shifts to the side and drags over the comforter, wrapping you up in his arms and the cloud-soft blanket. ���You know,” he says sleepily, “I was miserable for so long, I think I forgot what happiness feels like. So thanks for scaring the shit out of me, I guess.”

“Anytime,” you chortle, snuggled under his chin. 

Everything is on fire…and maybe it will be perfectly fine. 

----

Epilogue coming soon...

[myst1cals]

LOVE'S RAGE .. an assortment of lyrics from the artist ethel cain.

i love the way it feels to miss you.

'cause what's the point if you're not by my side?

can you read my mind?

i've been watching you.

i only want him if he says it first to me.

and piss him off until he hates me.

good men die too, so i'd rather be with you.

could you be someone else, if someone else is what i need?

you have tasted love and it tasted sweet.

don't sink in me with your dog teeth.

call me what you want and i'll be that.

he's mean, i'm meaner.

oh, babe, i'm too good for you and it makes me need it even more.

show me where it hurts and i'll lick better.

he's so good to me and nobody else.

i'm bad, he's worse.

i'm not scared of god, i'm scared that he was gone all along.

he hates the way you look at me.

i've loved before, i'll kill again.

everything hurts except for you.

and i like thinking i'm no different from you.

am i not good enough for you?

baby, don't you lie to me.

is there someone who has your heart that keeps you gone, away from me?

do you not love me like you did?

'cause i love you more than i thought i could.

'cause i don't hate you like i know i should.

tell me i'm no one else's but yours.

you're like an angel, nothing can touch you.

you know my weakness, but you don't know what i'd do.

i know i'm gonna lose you, but god i don't want to.

i know i don't need you, but i'm terrified of letting you go.

how am i supposed to feel good about myself when everything i do is wrong?

and we've been cursed since the start.

see it on your face, you won't change in your ways.

jesus can always reject his father, but he cannot escape his mother's blood.

trouble's always gonna find you, baby.

i've killed before and i'll kill again.

where you're still the good guy, i'll play pretend.

you wanna get my clothes off.

you're all the same, black leather and dark glasses.

he's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed.

something they all want that only you can have.

you wanna see me on my knees.

and if you hate me, please don't tell me.

you love blood too much.

suffer does the wolf, crawling to thee.

i am the face of love's rage.

i am no good nor evil, simply i am.

i have come to take what is mine.

i was there in the dark when you spilled your first blood.

you can't hide from me forever.

[vassia-sparta]

Daemon Targaryen x OC (Stark)

So, this is my way of coping until the new season of House of the Dragon is released.

Synopsis: After Daemon is wounded during a patrol with the City Watch, how will his Stark wife react?

This is a oneshot, and contains adult themes, so anyone under 18, please do not read.

You have been warned!

Also, POV is from the OC.

Enjoy!

I had been having tea with the Queen and a few of her ladies, when word came that my husband had returned from his patrol down in the city. That was not the concerning part though.

“I heard from one of the men of the City Watch that he was wounded my lady,” the servant girl stuttered. “Wounded seriously.”

I got up from my seat, hastily made my apologies to the Queen, then made my way out of her chambers and down the many corridors, passing by a lot of nobles and servants, ignoring their enquiries and whispers, hurrying to reach our rooms.

I could hear my husband’s screams and curses all the way down the corridor that led to our wing of the keep. That put me a bit at ease, so I slowed down my pace, coming to stand right outside the entrance to our bedchambers.

“He is in a bad state my lady,” ser Frederick Selwyn, his second in command, said to me when he saw me. “He is wounded, but he is in too much pain to let the maesters sew up his wound. They suggest we try to give him something to sleep so they can help him, but he won’t let us.”

“I see,” I nodded, going through the half-open door, pausing when I heard another string of curses coming out of his mouth as he tossed a vial of something the maester gave him. The thing crashed against the wall, coating it with whatever salve was inside it.

“I will not be drinking anything you grey sheep want to give me,” the Rogue Prince yelled, turning away from the poor maester. He was one of the newer ones, barely three months here in the capital. Two of his acolytes stood in the corner, their wide eyes watching Daemon’s every move.

“My prince, you have to listen to the maesters,” ser Marwyn Westerling, one of Daemon’s close friends, tried to reason with him, but the Rogue Prince wouldn’t listen.

“I don’t have to listen to any of them,” my husband raged. “I am fine, I just need to rest a bit.”

I could see at least one wound on his right side, though it was a small one, and another on his left shoulder, bigger and deeper, both bleeding. His tunic was soaked through with blood, and yet he still didn’t want the help of the maesters. I knew well that his stubbornness would be his undoing. He’d rather die than let someone help him.

“Everyone, please leave,” I called out in a clam voice.

The maester jumped at the sound of my voice. He must have been scared out of his mind, after coming face to face with an irritated and wounded Targaryen prince.

“My lady,” he approached me, his voice dropping to a whisper, “if we don’t treat your husband’s wounds, he will bleed out.”

“I will take care of my husband, you can go now,” I assured him, giving him my best serene smile.

The men hesitated for a moment, but one look at the wounded dragon warrior was more than enough to convince them to leave. They knew better than to force their luck with him.

Ser Marwyn hesitated at the door, but I just smiled politely at him, nodding that I would be fine.

When the door closed, leaving us alone in the room, I turned to face my husband. He had sat down on one of the chairs near the balcony, breathing heavily.

“Rough day?” I simply asked, making my way to a nearby table, pouring a glass of his favorite strongwine before I walked up to him.

“Nothing a dragon cannot handle, she-wolf,” he spat, taking the glass from me and downing it all in one go.

I smiled to myself, amazed at how he would continue this little game we had going on ever since we were forced into this marriage. He would call me she-wolf, and I’d call him rogue dragon. We both refused to use each other’s name, if only to irritate each other. It worked, on both sides.

“Well, it seems this time the rogue dragon has bitten a little more than he can handle,” I nodded at the wound on his shoulder.

“This?” he wiped at it with his hand, wincing a bit as he touched it. “This is a lover’s caress,” he smirked, his eyes glinting with sass.

“Well, your lover has some pretty sharp nails,” I smirked back at him, unfazed by his barb. “What did you do, did you tell her that you found someone else and won’t be fucking her anymore?”

He looked up at me, his eyes wide.

“That is no way a lady should be talking,” he warned me.

“But I’m not a lady,” I reminded him. “We have long since established that I’m merely a she-wolf,” I shrugged, taking his glass to refill it.

As he drank his second glass, I went to a basin of water and drenched a piece of cloth in it. I made my way to him, then started to clean his skin from all the blood.

“Fuckin’ piece of work, he caught me by surprise,” Daemon muttered, leaning back his head and closing his eyes.

“Ambush?” I questioned, taking extra care around the wounds. The one on his side had stopped bleeding, it wouldn’t need stitching, but the one on his shoulder, that was another story. Whoever had hit him, it had gotten him good.

“That cunt was hiding behind a corner, with an axe at hand. Went right through my armor, would have taken my head off if not for ser Strong.”

“Why would someone attack you for no reason?” I questioned, walking up to the basin to rinse off the cloth. The water turned pink, darkening every time I dipped the cloth back in.

“Not like I have a great army of friends in the city. I probably killed one of his gang buddies or something, sliced his brother’s hand for stealing, cut his best friend’s dick for sticking it where he shouldn’t have, the list could go on and on,” Daemon shrugged, wincing as his wound gushed some more blood.

“Yet people still call you the Prince of the City and cheer for you at every tourney,” I reminded him, trying to clean his other wound. “Surely you must have some who like you, especially around the Street of Silk,” I smirked at him.

He looked up at me, his face growing serious. I didn’t know why he looked at me like that. It was no secret he was a frequent patron of the many brothels residing in the Street of Silk, both before our marriage and after. I ignored him, more focused on the task at hand.

After I finished cleaning his wounds, I took thread and needle, refilled his glass, then set out to stitch him up.

“Better drink that, this will hurt a bit,” I warned him as I threaded the needle and approached him.

He focused those dark violet orbs on me, and I found myself having trouble breathing for a moment.

I always had that reaction when Daemon looked at me like that. From the moment I first laid eyes on him, that fateful day at the throne, just before my father and king Viserys had announced that we were to be wed, the Rogue Dragon had stared at me with such intensity, I might as well had burst into flames right there. The weirdest part was, I had liked it. I wanted his attention. And he seemed to appreciate my presence, licking his lips as he eyed me up and down. It should have felt wrong, but deep inside me, I was thrilled that I appealed to him.

Alas, that had lasted all but a few moments. After the betrothal was announced, a surprise for him if according to his shocked expression, Daemon turned colder than the Wall itself. During one of the walks we were forced to take in order to ‘get to know each other better’, he made it clear to me that he had no intention of marrying me, but he was merely doing it because his brother forced him too.

Any hopes I had of a happy marriage vanished in a moment. Rumors of his previous marriage had of course reached me, but my father had assured me that I would be different. I was nothing like lady Rhea. I was the daughter of the North, lady Lara of house Stark, daughter of the Warden of the North and one of the prettiest maidens in all the Seven Kingdoms, as some would say. Yet, none of that mattered to Daemon Targaryen. He never acted according to rules set by others. He always followed his own rules, the others be damned. After that walk, he didn’t spend one second around me, preferring to spend his nights with his friends and his whores in the various winesinks of the city.

The night of our wedding, he came to my room and made it clear that he had no intention of bedding me, nor would he ever touch me. This marriage was forced upon him, and he had no desire to consummate it. It was a knife in my heart, a complete destruction of any dream I had for my marriage. I was not silly. As a noble woman and daughter of a great house, I was expected to marry for political or diplomatic reasons. Yet, I hoped that, maybe whoever I had to marry would at least make the effort to get to know me, and then he’d try to make this marriage work.

No. Not the Rogue Prince. He continued with his nights in the brothels and the training of his men, as if our marriage had not happened. I had to endure the whispers and gossip of the ladies at court, maintain a calm demeanor, while the wolf inside me howled with fury. At some point, I had fallen in love with my heartless husband, and therefore was doomed to suffer a marriage to a man that would never want me.

Many had suggested that I follow lady Rhea’s example and go back to Winterfell, away from the whispers of the court and my husband’s cold behavior. It seemed enticing, I admit, but I rejected the idea. I was not some measly girl that would run back to her parents in tears. I was a wolf, and I would show everyone that I was not afraid in the face of hard times.

Life went on and now, almost a year after our marriage, Daemon and I had settled in a sort of routine. We both avoided each other during the day, but made sure to keep a united front against our common enemies during assemblies or feasts. He never slept in our shared chambers, but was at my side whenever anyone tried to get a rise out of our situation and make a fool out of me.

Chief amongst those who sought to humiliate this marriage was Lord Otto Hightower, the King’s Hand. Gosh, how I hated that man. It was the one thing Daemon and I shared. Our disgust at the upstart lord from the Reach who sought to rule the Seven Kingdoms while trying to move the King around like a puppet.

It was during a banquet that Daemon and I first realized that we had that in common. We were celebrating the birth of prince Aemond, the second son of the king and the slimy lord Hand had the audacity to come to our table, baby Aemond in his arms.

“Such a delight that the king has another son to continue his legacy, isn’t it?” he had asked in that annoying voice of his.

“It is indeed my lord Hand,” I had agreed, trying to keep appearances. Daemon, on the other hand, didn’t deem it worthy to answer him.

“Perhaps you should make some effort to give a son to your husband my lady, it has been quite some time since your marriage, hasn’t it? Or has prince Daemon been keeping too busy with the City Watch?”

His comment and that sneer on his smug face made my blood boil, but I took a deep breath to calm myself down. Beside me, Daemon seemed ready to jump at him, but I took his hand in mine under the table, squeezing it slightly. He turned to look at me, a small surprise dancing in those dark purple eyes of his.

“My husband is doing his duty to his king, keeping the city clean of the criminals,” I replied calmly. “Perhaps you should do your duty and find a way to keep our people fed and busy, then maybe the people will stop stealing and murdering, and his talents with a sword won’t be needed so much.”

“Surely he can stop his patrols for a while to tend to you, right?” lord Otto turned to Daemon, and I felt my husband twitching to snatch the little weasel and crush him under his boots.

“I understand my husband’s duty, and I am patient. When the time comes, the Gods will bless us with a child,” I replied, still holding onto Daemon’s hand. Its warmth gave me strength, somehow.

“I did ask your husband to take one of my sons as his lieutenant, but it seems the Rogue Dragon is too proud to accept my help,” lord Otto sneered.

“Which of your sons, the one that runs after boys or the one that I squashed during my last tourney?” Daemon smirked at his adversary.

Lord Otto looked furious, but didn’t say anything.

“The City Watch needs soldiers with extraordinary fighting skills and the guts to do what is needed,” I intervened, not wanting to cause a scene in the middle of the banquet. “Who better to fill that post than the finest warrior of the Seven Kingdoms? I am sad to say that, according to rumors, neither of your sons are known for their prowess my lord,” I smiled sweetly at him. “Wasn’t it ser Gwayne who lost in the training yard yesterday, after ser Harwin smashed him to the ground two minutes into the fight?” I turned to Daemon.

“Why yes it was,” he smiled at me, that teasing smile that could make a septa give in to him. “The poor thing was on his back bleeding, when ser Strong had barely touched him. I assure you my lord, if I took him with me to the patrols, he’d run back to you in tears an hour into the service. How did he earn his spurs, I’ll never understand.”

Daemon turned to smirk at his adversary, his eyes shining with glee. “Then again, you were never known for your skill in the battlefield, am I right? Perhaps your sons took after you.”

The weasel looked furious, but didn’t say anything. After he left, I let go of Daemon’s hand, conscious of how long I had held on to it.

That night, as I was making my way to our bedchambers, I found him waiting for me outside.

“Something wrong my prince?” I questioned, confused as to why he was here this late at night.

“Why did you defend me?” he asked, straight to the point. His face was devoid of any teasing of playful tone. It was the most serious I had seen him since our wedding day.

His question took me by surprise.

“Why not? You are my husband after all,” I shrugged, pushing the door open.

“That is no reason to defend me,” he insisted, following me inside.

“Then I don’t know what to tell you my prince,” I shrugged, sitting before my mirror to take down the elaborate braids my maid had woven my hair into for the night.

“What do you have against him? The Hand never moved against you or your house. Why would you side with me?”

I sighed, the tiredness of the evening making me antsy.

“Look,” I got up to face him. “You might ignore it, but the fact remains that we are married. And though that is no reason to defend you, I do recognize that you do fine work with your men all around the city. You do what you were born to do, wield a sword and swing it on those who deserve to die. The Hand is too proud to understand that, and he decided to make fun of us and our marriage right to my face, in order to get a rise out of you and humiliate me. That is low, even for him.” I turned away, reaching for my hair brush.

“You could have kept quiet,” Daemon suggested.

“We are married my prince,” I looked at him sternly. “That makes you part of my family. I don’t let weasels like him hurt my family.”

Daemon stood there for a while, penetrating me with his sharp gaze.

“Good night my lady,” he nodded lightly, then turned to leave without another word.

From that day on, he became just a tad kinder to me, and I even caught him staring at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. Just as he was doing now.

I pushed my anxiety deep down, and focused on the task at hand. I cut the tunic off of him, leaving his muscular chest bare.

“Are you ready?” I asked him.

“Go on,” he merely replied, taking another sip of his wine.

I came to stand beside him, then started the slow and painful process. I tried to keep the stiches as small as possible, to keep the wound from scarring terribly. I could see several scars on his muscular back and chest, remnants from the battles he had participated in. He was a true warrior, more comfortable in a bloody battlefield fighting his enemies, than in a palace full of courtiers, playing the game of thrones.

In a way, I understood his discomfort. He was a wild creature, preferring to do what he wanted over what was forced upon him. I too longed to be free to do as I wished, but my sense of duty forbade me from acting on my desires.

Halfway through the stitching, Daemon had consumed his fourth glass of wine, and looked a bit drunk. His eyes shined, and his face had turned a slight pink. He kept his gaze on me as I worked on him, and I tried my best not to flinch. This was the first time I had been so close to him for so long, and the fact that he was half naked only added to my discomfort.

Though I had never known the touch of a man, I was no stranger to what went on between a man and a woman behind closed doors. Prior to my wedding, some of my lady friends, the more scandalous ones, had dragged me into a secret corridor that led to a sort of observation deck. Hidden behind a wooden panel, we watched as two servants used an old storage room to house their secret affair. I still remembered the things that man did to his lover. How he used his mouth, his hands, his whole body to give pleasure to the young woman. I wanted to feel that, what it was like to be in a man’s arms, to be wanted, to be pleasured.

It was no secret that Daemon knew his way around a woman’s body. His many adventures in the city’s brothels spoke volumes. Many a night I had wondered what it would feel like to be in his arms, and the frustration only made my heart and my body ache more for his touch. And now here I was, as close to him as I would ever be, touching his naked skin with my fingers. So close, and yet so far away.

I was so focused on keeping my mind from focusing on our proximity, that I didn’t even realize it when Daemon spoke to me.

“What?” I uttered, my cheeks flaming in embarrassment. My mind had been traveling in paths too improper for a noble lady to consider. And yet, being so close to my beautiful husband, I couldn’t help but wonder.

“I asked, why are you taking care of me?” he said, his voice so rough, it felt like a rumble of a distant thunderstorm.

“You are my husband Daemon, that is my duty,” I sighed, tying off the end of the thread, securing the stitches.

“My previous wife did not feel inclined to treat me when I got hurt,” he commented.

“Your previous wife was not me,” I retorted, feeling hurt. How could he really compare me to his first wife, when he had not even made the attempt to get to know me better?

I turned away, reaching for the salve on the table beside him. I had to lean over him to take the small jar, and felt his chest touching mine as he breathed.

I took a small amount of salve and rubbed it on the wound, trying to keep my touch as light as possible so as to not hurt him.

“Why do you do this?” he whispered, making me pause.

I chucked softly.

“Though I do like black, mourning does not suit me my dear husband,” I shook my head, trying to brush off his question.

“I’m serious,” he growled, his arm wrapping around my thighs, trapping me in place.

“So am I,” I threw back at him, reaching down to rub salve on the wound on his side. I massaged it softly, helping the salve be absorbed by his skin, while trying to keep my mind from enjoying the softness of it, the strength that I could feel underneath my fingertips.

He let me go as I put the jar away and took the roll of bandages to tie off his wound. He leaned forward, letting me wrap the soft cloth around him, making sure both wounds were properly protected before I secured the end of the cloth.

I took a clean cloth and started cleaning the dirt and blood that was spattered on his face. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the cool cloth on his brow before he turned to look at me once more.

“Why do you tolerate all this?” Daemon asked, wrapping his arm around me once more, making my heart beat wildly in my chest.

“As I told you before, you are my husband Daemon,” I sighed, looking at him. “Whether we like it or not, we are bound together. For better or for worse, we are destined to move forward in life, until one of us is claimed by the Gods. By the looks of it, you will not be claimed any time soon. Now, can you let me go, I need to find you a new tunic to wear, and I’ll have to give my dress to the washers and hope they can salvage it.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he replied immediately, still keeping me pressed up against him.

“No need for that my rogue dragon, I can dye it if it doesn’t wash out. Perhaps a deep purple, like your eyes when you get angry,” I smiled, pushing a strand of hair that had fallen over his face while I treated him.

With a swift move of his other hand he pulled my face towards his, crushing his lips against mine. He took me completely by surprise, and my gasp gave him the opening he needed. His tongue slipped in my mouth, deepening the kiss and setting my insides on fire.

He pulled my legs from under me, making me land on his lap, never breaking our kiss. I yelped in surprise, but that only made him chuckle as he resumed his attack on my lips. I was completely stunned, too overwhelmed by the sensations to think rationally, so I just slipped my hand behind his neck, holding onto him as he ravaged my mouth.

We broke off for air, but I didn’t have the chance to say anything. He set me on my feet again, though I was glad he kept his hold on me. I wasn’t sure I could stand on my own, my legs felt too unsteady to support me.

Daemon slipped his hands low, never breaking eye contact with me, and pulled the hem of my dress up to my thighs, exposing my legs to the light breeze coming from the open windows. I stood still holding on to the back of his chair, breathing heavily as I felt his hand pull my leg over his lap, whispering words that sent a shiver all the way from my head to my toes.

“Ride me my wolf.”

I obeyed his command, lowering myself onto his lap. Even over my underclothes and his breeches, I could feel him, hot and hard, poking at me. I gasped sharply, clenching my legs around him.

“See what you do to me my she-wolf?” he whispered, caressing my legs lazily.

He nuzzled my neck, peppering it with hot kisses.

“Daemon,” I gasped, feeling so overwhelmed. I had no idea what was happening, but I was too weak to put an end to it.

“I like this, you moaning my name like that,” he purred, reminding me of the sounds Caraxes made when he was around his rider. He might be the most feared dragon amongst those in the Pit, but he was putty in his master’s hands.

Just like I was.

I barely realized it when I started rocking against him, trying to find some relief in the strange feeling I had between my legs. Was this what a woman felt when she was in the arms of her lover?

I paused, not sure what it was I felt at the moment.

Daemon pulled back to gaze at me when he felt me stop moving.

“What is it?” he whispered, his eyes watching me carefully.

“What are we doing Daemon?” I asked, my voice barely audible. I was afraid that, if I spoke any louder, the spell would be broken, and the moment would end. I didn’t want it to end.

“What does it feel like we’re doing?” he smirked, pushing his hips slightly at me, making his intentions obvious. “Don’t you want it?”

“I do, by the Gods I do,” I groaned as he resumed his attack on my neck, descending lower, nuzzling at my bosom while his fingers made quick work of the lacings on the front of my dress.

“Then stop thinking too much about it, and just let yourself go. Let the wolf go free,” he whispered, and the darkness in his eyes made something inside me snap.

I was the one that attacked him this time, searching for his lips as if I was roaming the desert and he held the last of the water in his mouth.

His fingers finally untied my lacings, and he pushed at my dress, letting fall to the ground. I was left in my thin shift and underclothes.

He went for my braid then, releasing my long hair from the ties I had secured them with. He pulled at my hair, not enough to hurt me, but enough to expose my neck to him. He nipped at my skin, marking it with his teeth before easing the bite with his tongue.

“Daemon,” I gasped, pulling at his hair myself.

He hissed, but the lust in his eyes told me all I needed to know. He got up from his chair, wrapping my legs around his waist as he carried me towards the huge bed not far from where we were.

He placed me softly on the soft sheets, hovering over me.

I pulled him for another earth-shattering kiss, and felt him slip his hand under my shift. He reached for my undergarments, pulling at it sharply, ripping it to shreds.

He attacked my neck again, almost rutting against me, and I thought I was going to explode from lust.

“Gods,” I moaned, pulling at him, trying to get some relief on the ache I felt between my legs.

Daemon chuckled.

“I know some of the smallfolk think we descend from the ancient Gods of Valyria, but I never thought a northerner would believe the same thing.”

“You cocky bast-” I started to protest, only to be silenced by the feel of his fingers enter me.

“Ah, so that’s how I can get you to stop talking,” my husband chuckled huskily, giving me another of those fiery kisses.

I couldn’t reply, let alone form any coherent thought. Whatever he was doing to me with those fingers, it lit a fire in my whole body, a fire I never wanted to get out of.

A pressure started building low in my belly and I started panting, as if I was trying to run a long distance.

“Come my little wolf, howl for me,” Daemon whispered to my ear, and it was all I needed. The knot that had been writhing in my belly suddenly burst, and I saw white stars explode behind my eyelids. An amazing sensation engulfed me, and I felt as if I was flying.

Daemon continued to caress me, prolonging this feeling, until I could take it no more. Then, he withdrew his fingers from my core, raising his torso a bit to take a look at me.

I couldn’t imagine what I looked like from his perspective. Panting, with my hair wild, my skin flushed, and my legs spread before him as if I… as if he and I had just…

I dared to open my eyes to look at him, and was rewarded with a hungry look that rekindled the fire in my belly. He looked at me as if I was his next meal.

As if he could read my thoughts, Daemon licked his lips, giving me another of his signature smirks before he reached for my shift. He pulled it over my head, leaving me completely bare before him. I had the greatest urge to try and cover myself, but I knew that would not please him.

“My little wolf,” he crooned, leaning down to kiss me, softer this time. “That was no true howl. Even after what we did, you still hold back. It seems I have to use other methods to let the wild beast free.”

I didn’t have the time to ask him what he meant before he burned a trail of kisses from my lips, to my neck, to the sensitive skin between my breasts, down to my belly and, before I could stop him, right between my legs.

“Daemon, what are you doing?” I dared to ask him, still dizzy from our previous tryst.

“Feasting on my darling she-wolf wife,” he winked at me cheekily, before descending upon my mound.

I moaned loudly as I felt him lap at my cunt, licking like a cat devouring a bowl of cream. I couldn’t control the sounds that left my mouth, nor my hips from moving as close to that torturous mouth as I could get them.

His mouth closed around something down there that made me scream, asking him, begging him not to stop. His fingers entered me once more, and the feeling was even better than before. I bunched up the sheets with my hands, trying to find a way to anchor myself to reality. There was no way this was happening to me. Another jolt of pleasure shook me whole, and the divine feeling shattered my body once more, sending me crashing towards oblivion.

I barely realized that the moans echoing around the room came from my mouth. What was happening to me? This was nothing like what those servants had done in the storage closet. The man hadn’t treated his lover like this, nor had she moaned the way I was right now. Was this a different way for a man and a woman to be united?

I didn’t realize I had closed my eyes until I heard Daemon’s voice, calling to me as if he stood far away.

“Lara,” he whispered, now leaning over me once again. His voice sounded like velvet, and my name coming from his lips like that was the sweetest thing I had ever heard.

I couldn’t reply to him, only gaze at his perfect face, all sweaty and… Was all that wetness around his mouth from me, from my…

“Want to taste your desire my wolf?” he asked, and the flames rekindled in me once more.

I knew I should be disgusted. What decent noble lady would dare to do such a vulgar thing? Those were things that only whores would do, and only because they got paid for it.

But I wanted it. I wanted to taste my desire, mixed with his taste. And I wanted it now.

I reached for him, uniting our lips in a sloppy, wet and absolutely amazing kiss that had me reeling. I moaned at the sweet and at the same time salty taste that exploded in my mouth, and licked at his tongue, wanting more.

He groaned deeply, and I felt something poke at my cunt, something long, hand and hot. I had been so lost, I didn’t even realize when he had taken off his breeches and now was as naked as I was, hovering over me. Daemon rubbed his cock at my folds a few times, then pushed in me, slowly, giving my time to adjust to him.

This new feeling had me gasping. It felt uncomfortable at first, but I was so wet, he slid in easily. I felt him fill me, bit by bit, until he paused.

I pulled back to complain but, before I could, he shushed me with his finger.

“This will hurt a bit at first, but I promise you, it is worth it. Are you ready?”

I didn’t dare speak, only nodded, trusting those dark eyes with my body, my soul and my heart.

With a snap of his hips, Daemon broke through my maidenhead, and I felt as if someone was slicing me in half. I yelped in pain, tears falling from the corners of my eyes. Daemon kissed them away, whispering to me that the hardest part was over. He stilled his motions, giving me little kisses to distract me from my pain.

And indeed, after a while, the pain faded away, leaving only pleasure, and a need for more.

I tried to move my hips, to get more of this feeling, and Daemon groaned over me. He started pushing further in, filling me to the brim with his cock. He pulled back, almost completely, only to slam back in me with a powerful move.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” I begged him, moving with him, trying to get more, more, more.

His hands grabbed hold of my thighs, pulling me towards him, driving into me faster, harder.

I pulled him down for another kiss, this one the hottest of them all. He was on fire, as was I. I didn’t care. I wanted him to burn me, own me, destroy me in every way. I was his, and he was mine. Nothing else mattered.

Daemon quickened his pace, his pants echoing along with my moans all over the room. This time, the knot in my belly was tighter than I had felt the previous times, and I wanted to scream, to let the whole castle, maybe even the whole city know what Daemon was doing to me. I wanted everyone to know that I was his, and he was mine.

His pace became frantic, and I felt as if I was going to explode from pleasure.

“Let go my love,” he gasped, pinning me with his violet gaze. “Let yourself go wild, let go.”

The sound of his voice, those words, the way he looked at me, it was all too much. One last snap of his hips and I was gone, screaming his name for all to hear. He growled, a loud and primal sound that only added to the passion between us. I felt him release his seed deep inside me, and I thought to myself that didn’t want this moment to end, ever.

--

I must have passed out from exhaustion, because the next thing I knew, I woke up with Daemon’s arms wrapped around me, my head resting on his muscular chest. I lay there for a moment, listening to his strong heartbeat, trying to accept what had happened between us. I was no longer a lone wolf. I had given myself, body and soul, to my dragon. That thought both excited and terrified me.

What if, now that he had performed his duty and made me his wife in every way, possibly planting his seed in me, he decided to go back to his old ways, and spend his nights away from me, in the company of his whores?

The thought was like a knife in my heart. It would devastate me if, after a taste of his fire, he turned cold once more. I didn’t know if I could handle it.

I slipped out of his arms, wrapping myself with a sheet and made my way to the balcony. Night had fallen, and it looked to be about midnight, the moon already high in the sky. I stood at the very end of the stone balcony, taking in the peaceful atmosphere of the night. It felt soothing, calming my nerves a bit.

I tried to think of the worst that could happen. If Daemon decided to go back to his whores and ignore me, I would have to continue pretending as nothing was amiss, keeping myself deaf to the whispers of the other courtiers. No doubt our night together was already known to the entire castle. There was no way the servants or the guards had not heard us. They would speak to each other about it behind my back, giggling and commenting how the wolf had not managed to tame the dragon after all, and mock me every time Daemon spent his nights in the Street of Silk.

My only comfort, the only reason to keep myself together, was if I had managed to get pregnant from tonight. If I had, Daemon would have his heir, and I would have someone to give my love to. I didn’t care if I gave birth to a boy or a girl. All I wanted was a child, something to remind me of the one and only night my husband had touched me, had been with me as a man should be with his wife.

My mind was so preoccupied with all those dark thoughts, I didn’t hear the silent footsteps behind me. Two strong arms were wrapped around me, warming me from the night’s chill.

“Why did you leave our bed love?” Daemon whispered, kissing me lightly on my shoulder.

My heart fluttered at the little nickname he used. Could he really mean it?

“I wanted to see the moon,” I lied, lifting my gaze to the almost round glowing orb.

“Ah, my little she-wolf, she wants to howl at the moon, does she?”

I giggled, turning to look at my husband. He looked so beautiful in the moonlight, his silver hair shining, the same color as the moon. He too had wrapped a sheet around his waist, leaving his chest bare. I was mesmerized by how soft and pale his skin looked under the moonlight.

“Wolves don’t howl at the moon,” I shook my head, twirling a strand of his hair with my fingers. “They howl to call out to their mate, communicate with them, let them know where they are.”

“That sounds romantic,” Daemon smiled at me.

“Yes, it is. Wolves only mate once in their lifetime, they never let anyone else near them if something happens to their mate.”

“So do dragons,” Daemon replied, caressing my face ever so gently.

Something in his eyes told me he wasn’t talking only about the dragons currently residing in the pit.

I stayed silent, wrapped in his arms. I had so many things to ask him, but I had no courage to do so. His answers could either make me the happiest woman in the world, or break my heart beyond repair.

“What are you thinking my wolf? I can almost hear your mind humming with how much you are thinking right now.”

“I… just try to think of what tomorrow might bring for me, for us,” I muttered, knowing that it was now or never. Might as well get it over with.

Daemon pulled back, his face scrunched in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you Daemon,” I sighed. “All this time we’ve been married, I’ve come to know a lot about you, even with the limited amount of time we’ve spent together. Ever since we got married, you made it very clear that you had absolutely no interest in me. But now, after tonight, things have changed between us. I… I have to ask. What do you intend to do from now on?”

Daemon lifted my chin, looking at me with those dark eyes I had come to love.

“What are you afraid of? What do you fear I’m going to do?”

I looked away, trying desperately to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

“I fear that you will go back to what you used to do every night,” I said quietly, walking to the other end of the balcony. “Go out with your men, spend your time with other women, ignoring me, shunning our bed in favor of some lady of the night.”

My dragon approached me once more, pulling me into his embrace.

“My sweet, my lovely wife,” he sighed, leaning his head against mine, his forehead rubbing on the top of my head.

“Do you know how long I wanted to claim you, to hold you in my arms as we lay in our bed?”

I looked up at him, confused.

“Then why didn’t you, why did you treat me so coldly?” I demanded, hurt.

“Our marriage was arranged, just like my previous marriage. I was afraid, I thought you only agreed to this marriage to get into the royal family, to gain more power for your family, through me,” he sighed, his face turning sad. “I couldn’t let my heart be exposed, let my feelings out and get them crushed under your rejection. You were so cold, so formal with me, I had to keep my distance, to protect my heart.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. This great man, this famous warrior, the man who rode a fierce dragon with no fear, looked at me as if I might break him with a wrong move I made.

“I have not touched another woman, not for a while now, since that night that cunt Hightower tried to ridicule us both. I go out every night, looking for criminals to punish, using them to spend my frustration and fear, but I have not laid with another woman. None have touched me, nor have I touched them, this I swear to you.”

The sound of his words filled me with such happiness, I half-expected to burst from joy. I leaned and rubbed my forehead against his, smiling at how sweet he sounded.

“Your heart has nothing to fear from me my dragon, for you have my own heart in your hands. My heart, my body, my soul, my very being, it’s all yours, from this day, until the end of our days.”

My husband smiled, kissing me sweetly and deeply. I had no words to describe how I felt. I was no longer just me. We were one, connected in every way, body and soul.

“As I am yours my little wolf, in every way, until the end of our days, and beyond that,” he whispered, giving me little kisses around my mouth. "Come now, it’s getting cold out here, we’d better return to our bed.”

That night, we made sweet love to each other, not stopping until the sun’s rays broke over the nearby hills.

The next few days, several noble ladies I came across seemed to notice the bite marks my husband had left on my neck, but didn’t dare to ask me about them. They also didn’t dare to comment on the fact that, after his patrols around the city, Daemon returned to the castle every night, and the corridor outside our rooms echoed with our moans.

Nine moons after our first night together, I gave birth to a silver-haired boy. We named him Aemon.

[kenjakusbraincum]

IGHT HERE WE GO THIS IS OVULATION AND BREEDING CAUSE HAHAHA….send me to jail before I embarrass myself………

Sukuna loves your cycle. Especially when you are ovulating and bleeding. Sukuna somehow knows every step of your cycle with pin point accuracy, and I believe it’s through his sense of smell. Like when you your body is getting ready to ovulate he can smell it coming and he pays very close to attention to you, he sees the way you start craving something sweet. Watches you sneak into the kitchen to grab something that will satisfy you. He makes sure Uraume or the servants are constantly making sweets. He probably makes Uraume make them because he trust their skill more than then any other servant.

He’s ears perk up when you hiss at the slight soreness forming around your beast. Most of the time he will pull you on his lap and undo your robes just enough for your breast to spill out so he can massage and play with them. He might even suck on them but won’t go so far as to fuck you…not yet.

He watches the way waddle a bit because of the slight pain that starts creeping up. When the two of you are together he hold you close so that his body heat will ease you and will wrap his arms around right where your womb sits. On one had it’s also to ease the pain but also in anticipation. He knows you are fertile, and that if he fucks you, there’s a high chance of you becoming pregnant. It makes him even more possessive of you and makes his need to breed you soar. If only these nuisances weren’t around. He would breed you in front of them but at the same time he doesn’t want anyone to see his pet in such a state. That’s for his eyes only.

Finally when the two of you are alone. He takes you. He makes it very clear that you are not going to leave this room until you are so full of him you cannot move or else his cum will spill out. And he doesn’t want that, he wants to make sure his seed takes root and creates something made out his love for you and your very being. He will probably leave so many marks and bruises on you. Bite marks on your sore breasts, nipples swollen from how much he kept sucking on them. Your stomach might have some light marks or love bites to show your womb some love. (His dick/s aren’t enough, he needs to make it very obvious.)

I like to believe that when you’re fertile he likes to spend a good amount of time eating you out. Because your taste is so much sweeter than usual. As a reward he doesn’t use his normal mouth, he likes to use his belly mouth. Because he know how much you like the feeling of his belly mouth encasing your entire cunt. He has to have one pair of arms on your hips and another holding your hands because you go weak and limp at the feeling. It helps ground you but the sight he sees…your form trembling and head thrown back. The sweat forming on you making you shine with the bit of moon light coming in. It’s ethereal and special when you just so happen to be fertile.

S-should I start writing fic?……………..

PLS EITHER WRITE IT OR KEEP WRITING TO MY INBOX BECAUSE I LOVE THIS SM <333 Unleashing my breeding kink to the fullest in these last couple of asks...

Is a man who tracks your cycle really that much to ask for? I'm not saying Sukuna excuses bad behavior, but if it's in line with your moody days he's definitely more lenient about it. Him instructing Uraume when to keep extra stashes of sweets and snacks that you can enjoy when you start to crave it !! UGHH!

I also love the image of Sukuna possessively keeping a hand on your belly like that. That is his, entirely his to do with it whatever he wants!! And I like that you describe his wish to make you a baby not just as his possessiveness but also his love for you!! Sukuna expresses love in weird ways. He would die before he ever said ''I love you'' but he would do stuff like this... Ah plssss

I would 10/10 read a fic with these themes if you decided to write it!!

[archivestarlyht]

banter dialogue if my oc was a playable companion in baldur’s gate 3: sol'rys edition.

selected

sun in my damned eyes. ready as always. command me. lolth's will. i obey. as i am needed.

selected (combat)

new orders? i await. at last. i have awaited this all day. may the strongest survive. some poison on my blades ....

selected (sneaking)

subtle. silent. swift. like a shadow. perfect for an ambush.

selection spam

ssussun! [light upon you!] straj! what now? silence is a virtue.

selection spam (combat)

ssussun! [light upon you!] if the objective is to piss me off, it is working. silence! why do you distract me, and not them?

selection spam (sneaking)

let me work! when i find you ... do you wish to discover what happened to last person who distracted me? what part of 'stealth' do you not understand?

moving

onward. in lolth's name. always alert. sun out of my eyes. eyes up, always. a good place to ambush. what would they all do without me?

moving (in combat)

you're fucked. olot dos! [darkness take you] victory now, a tavern later. may your goddess be more merciful than mine. in lolth's name. take the high ground, always. do i ever not strike first?

moving (sneaking)

silent as death. *chuckles softly* venorik. [silent] finally, what i do best.

hiding

lil alurl velve zhah lil velkyn uss. [the best knife is the unseen one] darkness is my friend. one with shadows. the perfect place to strike.

hiding (in combat)

lil alurl velve zhah lil velkyn uss. [the best knife is the unseen one] *laughs softly* and the hunter is hunted. silent as a shadow, thrice as deadly. *laughs softly* poor bastards. yes ... closer. into my web. *chuckles softly* i see you, you cannot see me.

low health

i am not strong enough. lolth shall deal with me as i deserve. surely i have survived worse? better than becoming illithid .... perhaps ... i am as weak as they say.

attacked by party member

cease this or you bleed next!

can’t fit in a small hole

you are mocking me, aren't you?

can’t fit in a tiny hole

sod off. i am not in the habit of putting my hands where i cannot see. mostly. *chuckles* as much as i .... no, never mind.

can’t use an item

later. wasting my time.

can’t use an item in combat

can you not see my hands are occupied? not now! can you not see this is useless to me? do not distract me!

finding a locked item.

locked tight. try something else. some things even i cannot open.

picking a lock

nice and easy. not to boast, but i am very good with my hands.

looking at a globe

*scoffs*

looking at an astrolabe

more wretched suns. unthinkable to me, not even half a century ago ....

looking into a mirror

fuck. seen better days. sun not doing me any favors. not too bad ... from a certain angle.

looking into a telescope

a surface above the surface?

succeeded perception roll (trap)

a trap, as expected. now what are you protecting, i wonder? step quietl ---- actually, why don't you wait here, and i'll take care of it?

succeeded investigation roll

eyes as sharp as ever. something useful, i hope.

succeeded investigation roll (trap)

clever, but not clever enough. a trap. do you want me to take care of it? nothing can hide from me.

identified a mimic

*laughs softly* the perfect predator, are they not? unfortunately, i am better.

surprised by a mimic

i could learn much from its methods! straj --- that stings.

after a short rest.

no more time to waste. a good soldier knows his limits. enough. we are wasting, uh, daylight.

On character death

player:

one dies, the rest are sure to follow!

player (romanced):

back on your feet. i will protect you.

player (dark urge):

you are better than this!

lae'zel:

lae'zel? impossible!

shadowheart:

i still need you to heal me, cleric!

karlach:

not karlach! you'll not die, not while i draw breath!

jaheira:

a fine reminder, even the mighty fall.

gale:

*scoffs* up close, still just a man.

minsc:

hells, minsc ---- can't he train the damned hamster to feed him a potion?

wyll:

even the blade of frontiers bleeds like any other.

minthara:

minthara .... ? who is worthless, now?

astarion:

just a spawn, after all.

halsin:

dust to dust, or whatever they say, right, druid?

[freyasilverbough]

The Cave Bear and the White Wolf - Warrior of the Moon

A merging of previously posted parts, slightly rewritten. My OC acting insane based on a run I did where I aggroed Moonrise and didn’t have my party with me (I’ve been Baldur’s bored lately after 1500+ hours combined between console and pc lmao I wanted to see if I could 💀).

Read on AO3 here

Cw for blood, death, canon typical violence, slightly explicit towards the end. Some fluff and hurt/comfort. Vague mention of a suicide (?) in reference to Kar’niss being convinced to drop the lantern and walk into the curse.

Word count: 4,061

“Fucking hells.”

Halsin’s eyes snapped open at Freya’s voice, still hoarse from all she’d endured the day before. He had discovered what was wrong with Thaniel while Freya slept and though he wanted so badly to put his plan into action, he knew that Freya would have his balls if he went without her. 

She was, of course, already trying to sit up on her own. Halsin moved from his chair to perch on the edge of her bed and used one hand to push her back down gently. 

“How do you feel?” He asked her. 

“Oh, all-powerful archdruid, I’m in such pain. Put me from my misery, I beg you,” she retorted with a dramatic eye roll. Her sense of humor had returned, at least. He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his chest as he lightly flicked her nose and she snapped her teeth at him. “Honestly, Halsin, I’m fine. I’ll die of boredom if you don’t let me up, and then everyone’s efforts will be wasted.”

Damn stubborn woman, he thought as he slid his arm under her shoulders and helped her sit up. Freya winced slightly as her sore muscles adjusted to the movement, and when she was sitting upright she started testing her injured shoulder. 

She did not behave like a woman who had just been at death’s door the previous day, that much was certain. 

Freya looked down at the leg that had been sliced open to find it clad in clean black cotton pants. She shot Halsin a glare, apparently thinking he got her naked while she was unconscious or something. Not that he didn’t want to get her naked. 

“Not me,” he said quickly. “Shadowheart brought clothes for you last night since your others were shredded.” She ran a hand through her hair, finding it unbraided and clean. “That was me, I’m afraid. I figured if you wanted red hair, you’d dye it on purpose, and the blood was starting to stain.”

Freya huffed a small laugh. “Perhaps it would be easier if I did dye it. Silver is so inconvenient.”

They sat there next to each other in silence for several moments. 

“I know you’re not one for sentimentality, but I need you to hear this. I thought you were going to die yesterday. You are, perhaps, the strongest person I’ve ever met, and without a doubt the fiercest warrior. No one here doubts your skills or your strength,” Halsin started. 

“My brother always said that anything before the word ‘but’ is bullshit,” Freya answered. It was the first time Halsin had heard her say a word about her family, and he didn’t even think she realized she said it. 

“But,” he continued. “Even you cannot face everything alone. I am here to be your ear as you bear your burdens and the arms that protect you when you can shoulder them no more. If you aren’t ready to share your mind with me, at least let me mend your body when it comes back to me bleeding and bruised.”

Freya let his words sink in for a long moment, her blue eyes lining with silver as she took a deep breath. “Az would’ve loved you,” she whispered. “He would’ve smacked me upside the head and called me a stubborn brat.” She swiped at her eyes and let out a sad laugh. “Where I’m from, every favor has a price. There’s only ever been one person I could really trust to watch my flank, and he’s been gone a long time. I couldn’t protect my brother, but I can protect all of you.” She stood, gingerly testing her weight on her bad leg, and faced Halsin. Without any of her armor on, and missing her sword and shield, she was just a woman with the weight of the world on her slender shoulders. 

She was choosing to be vulnerable with him, to share some pieces of herself that she had kept locked away for Silvanus knew how long. He took both of her hands in his and let blue light flow from his palms to hers to soothe her lingering aches.

“My friend, you rescued a bear from a cage and certain death without knowing if it would kill you. You saved my grove and showed Kagha the errors of her ways. You held the line and almost lost your life to help me find my oldest friend. If you believe that my aid comes with a debt, consider it paid a hundred times over.”

Freya brushed her thumb over Halsin’s knuckles and gave him a quick nod. For her to share with him that small bit about her past, he knew, took greater courage than anything else she’d faced since he joined her camp. That knowledge made his heart nearly burst. 

“Let’s get Thaniel back to camp,” she said, breaking the tension. “He’ll be safest with us.” She let go of Halsin’s hands and looked around the room. “Where in the sweet hells is my armor?” 

Halsin laughed. “I gave it to Dammon for repairs. Wait here, I’ll go see if he’s finished.” Freya backed up a step so he could stand, dwarfing the paladin as he did. 

“You know, you’re quite large for an elf,” she blurted. 

“I am? You don’t say!” Playful sarcasm laced his tone as he laughed once more. “Trust me, it’s been said. You’ve shown more restraint than most in avoiding the subject until now.” Indeed, with them standing so close to each other, he noticed how tall he was in comparison to her. The top of her head barely reached his chest. He still had no doubt she could obliterate him in a fight if she wished. 

She shoved at his shoulder. “Whatever, old man. Go make sure Dammon hasn’t ruined my armor.”

As Halsin left the room and closed the door behind him, Jaheira caught his eye and raised her wine glass in his direction. Her eyes twinkled in amusement as she gave him a knowing look. 

It seemed the woman did know everything that happened in her inn, after all.

-------

“Hey, Dammon,” Halsin called as he approached the blacksmith. 

“Hey, how is she?” Dammon asked as he turned to the larger man, clasping Halsin’s forearm in greeting. 

“She’s awake. Wants her armor back.” Dammon chuckled and nodded to where her suit lay on his workbench, polished and free of all the dents that adorned it after the battle the day before. “You do work fast, impressive.”

“I added some extra reinforcements to the plate. It’s a good set, but there are too many gaps in it for someone who takes as many hits as Freya does.” 

“Actually, I wondered if you might be able to make something,” Halsin said as he pulled the sketchbook he kept from his pocket and handed it to the smith. 

Dammon looked the sketches over for a long moment, his brows creasing as he mapped his new project in his head. “Yeah, I think I can manage it. Give me a moment to measure the other set, I have plenty of steel and scraps of scalemail thanks to Talli. Should take me about a week or so.” 

Halsin thanked the tiefling as he gathered Freya’s armor and turned back to the inn. “Oh, Dammon?” He called over his shoulder. “Keep it quiet, would you?” 

--------

They were heading for Moonrise that day. Freya was a ball of nerves, wound so tight that he was sure any minor inconvenience would cause her to snap. She was worried that Ketheric might recognize her, and therefore put her newfound friends at risk, so she insisted that everyone wait outside while she went in and “tested the waters.” 

Halsin didn’t like it one bit. There were too many things that could go wrong in there, and while he didn’t doubt Freya’s abilities, he also wouldn’t underestimate Ketheric Thorm. 

“Take Astarion inside with you at the very least,” he tried to reason with her. She just glared in response. “He knows how to stay hidden and he can back you up if something goes wrong.”

“Remember how you insisted that you were the only one who could enter the Shadowfell? This is like that,” she snapped. “If Ketheric recognizes me, it’s all over. The rest of you have an advantage, he’s got no clue who you are and if I fall, you can still infiltrate the tower. If you’re with me, and things go sideways, he’ll behead you for association before you even know what’s happening. I won’t put anyone here at risk because I apparently failed to kill him a hundred years ago.”

She’d removed her headband and earrings that marked her as a follower of Selûne. Instead of her plated armor, she sported black leather and wore a hood to cover her silver hair. She had striped her face with black kohl to hide the scar over the bridge of her nose. She looked more like an assassin than a paladin. 

Halsin ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. The archdruid in him wanted to command her to stay behind, to let the others scout the tower if she was so worried about being recognized. He knew that such a command would just piss her off, that she would never ask another to do something she herself wasn’t willing to do. 

The plan was that he would wait just outside the moonshield with Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart. With the pixie’s blessing, they’d be protected from the curse while the cultists were forced to stay in the light. If Ketheric recognized Freya and she somehow made it out of the tower, Astarion would pick off the cultists with his bow and Gale would open a portal to Last Light, while Shadowheart and Halsin would make sure they all survived. 

If Freya made it out. He’d never admit to her that the thought she may not make it made his bones run cold and his heart sink to his gut. He wanted to go with her, to protect her, to stand between the oathbreaker and the faithful and give her a chance to flee. 

Freya stepped closer to him and looked into his eyes, a cold determination hardening the blue. “If I fall, be assured that I plan on taking every damned cultist I can down with me.”

“You once told me your brother always said that anything before the word ‘but’ is bullshit,” Halsin echoed her words from the week before. 

“But,” a smirk lifted her perfect lips. “I have no intention of dying today. By my oath, I will do everything in my power to see justice come to Ketheric Thorm.”

When she invoked her oath, Halsin knew that there was no more arguing to be done. She stood firm in her choice. All he could do was pray to Silvanus and every other god that would listen that she would return to him. 

“Let’s get this over with, then,” he said, clapping her shoulder as he strode to meet the others before departure.

--------

Halsin paced just outside the moonshield, watching the huge oak doors of the tower as if he could see through them and glimpse what was happening. 

“Would you settle down? You’re making us dizzy,” Astarion whined from the stump he perched on, carving new arrows with his knife. 

Halsin ignored him and carried on as he was. 

“Don’t be an ass, Astarion. It’s giving you wrinkles,” Shadowheart quipped. 

“Honestly, I doubt there’s anything to be that worried about. We watched our favorite paladin sweet-talk a drider into killing himself.” 

Halsin stopped his pacing when bells sounded from the tower and he heard the faint shouts of the guards. His breath caught in his throat as he stopped just in front of the moonshield. 

He strained his ears, hearing the faint clashing of swords from inside the tower. 

Freya. 

If there was fighting, she was alive. Halsin breathed a sigh of relief before that relief quickly turned to panic. Who was she fighting? What was she doing? Freya was formidable, to be sure, but one soldier against an entire stronghold? She’d either had no choice, or she was completely mad. 

The oak doors at the tower’s entrance blew open with an explosion of silver moonfire, and out poured a host of gnomes, tieflings, and…

Was that Minthara? 

Freya followed close behind, covered once again in blood and glowing with the rush of battle. Her hood had fallen and her braids swung wildly behind her. She pulled something from her pocket and launched it toward Astarion as the gnomes and tieflings ran across the bridge. 

“Tell the pixie to protect the prisoners from the curse! HURRY!” She screamed as he caught it. Halsin vaguely registered Astarion following her order, but his focus was on her. Minthara stood with her as the prisoners fled from the battle. The drow had no weapon, but she had a paladin’s magic and was using it to compel foes to halt, flee, drop their weapons as Freya struck them down. 

Gale muttered incantations under his breath as purple magic began to swirl around him. A portal appeared, and Shadowheart ushered the prisoners through to safety. Astarion drew his bow and fired as Freya and Minthara sprinted across the bridge. One of the guards dodged Astarion’s arrow at the last second and reached out to grab Freya by the braids, and Halsin decided he’d had enough. 

He let the earth guide him as he shifted, fur and claws erupting where there were once skin and hands. He leaped over the two women and tore out the guard’s throat, letting loose a roar of fury. When the drow crossed the portal, Freya slid to a stop and approached to stand at Halsin’s side. 

“Well. I may have started a bit of a fight,” she said as more guards poured through the doors. “We should probably go.” Halsin shifted back to his elven form and grabbed Freya’s hand, the two of them sprinting through Gale’s portal. 

Halsin stumbled as his feet touched the ground outside Last Light, and Freya landed on her hands and knees. Reunions and celebrations were happening all around them, but he couldn’t bring himself to gaze at anything but Freya. She sat back on her heels, tilted her face to the sky, and laughed. Cackled like a godsdamned madwoman, covered in her enemies’ blood and viscera. Perhaps she’d taken a pommel to the head. 

“Fucking hells, that felt good,” she said between her laughs, trying and failing to catch her breath. Halsin leveled a glare in her direction. “Oh come on now, they were taking Minthara to the cells to erase her mind. I was on a time crunch,” she said to him. 

“Yeah, that’s another thing we’re going to talk about. Minthara, Freya? I thought she was dead!” Halsin tried to keep his voice level, but his anger raised the volume. 

“I thought she was too, turns out she’s tougher than I thought.” Freya got to her feet and crossed her arms in defiance as if she hadn’t just saved the drow who’d threatened his grove not two months before. 

“She’s an oathbreaker, Freya. She’ll slit your throat in your sleep now that you’ve set her free. What in all the Nine Hells were you thinking?!”

“They’re arguing about me, aren’t they?” He heard the drow ask someone behind him. It took every ounce of will he possessed to keep from turning his wrath on her. 

“Don’t worry, Freya always wins him over. She has a thing for taking in strays,” Astarion responded. 

“She’s an oathbreaker, yes, but you’ll make one of me if you ask me to send her back to the shadows. She was controlled by the tadpole when she planned to take the grove, a fate I would’ve faced myself were it not for blind, stupid luck. Who knows what they would’ve made me do, had the prism not intervened? Minthara is a valuable asset whose goals align with our own, for now. If she turns on us, I’ll cut her down myself.” Freya’s tone quickly turned from exuberant to commanding as she spoke, returning Halsin’s glare and spreading her stance. 

“You would die in the attempt, but it’s a noble thought,” Minthara retorted. Halsin whipped around to face the drow and Freya circled him so she stood between them, gripping her sword as she did. 

“I don’t like her either, Halsin, but I must hold to the tenets of my oath and I must accept every sword I am offered in this fight.” Freya’s gaze softened just a fraction and Halsin knew she was right. Fuck, but she could talk him into biting off his own hand if she wanted. 

He looked over Freya’s shoulder to the drow. “The first sign of trouble, and you’re gone,” he said to her. 

“Oh, I intend to cause plenty, but only for our enemies.”

--------

Back at camp, Halsin’s whittling turned into a pile of slivers in his frustration. He was still so angry with Freya, she was only meant to “test the waters,” as she had said. Instead, the woman took it upon herself to tackle an entire stronghold on her own.

He knew she would do it all over again to save those prisoners, and he couldn’t exactly fault her for it. He didn’t know the exact words of her oath, but he knew that most paladins were bound to defend the innocent. The tenets of her oath would always come above her own safety, and something about that fact aggravated him to no end. Did she just not value her own life the way she valued others? 

She materialized before him as if she could read his thoughts. She leaned on a tree and bit down on an apple, without a care in the world. She wore a sleeveless cotton top that accentuated every curve and muscle of her lithe torso and dipped low into her cleavage. Her moonlight hair was unbound and she’d washed the black from her face. 

She looked like a godsdamned angel, and that just made Halsin angrier. 

“You’re upset,” she stated, taking another bite of her apple. 

Halsin took a deep breath, willing his centuries of training in patience to kick in and chase the rage from his bones. “Yes,” he responded. 

“Look, I made a call in the moment. I’ve spoken with Minthara, and I believe she’ll stand with us against the Absolute. They scarred her mind, and she wants vengeance. If you talked with her yourself, you’d believe her, too.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about Minthara.”

“Then why the fuck are you sulking in the farthest corner of camp?” Halsin stood, stalking toward Freya like she was his prey. She pushed off of her tree and straightened, crossing her arms and widening her stance. The movement made her biceps ripple and her breasts pushed together slightly. Halsin pretended that his cock didn’t twitch at the sight. 

He didn’t stop until he was inches away from her. “I’m sulking because you asked - no, demanded - that everyone else stay behind while you went on a fucking suicide mission, Freya. You put yourself at risk again and I cannot figure out how someone with such high regard for others can care for her own life so little. It was stupid, and you know it. I thought we were past this recklessness, that you would finally ask me for help, and then you go and pull this nonsense without a thought for how your friends would feel having to burn your body.”

“Don’t you dare act as if you were there. You didn’t see what they were doing in that prison, Halsin.”

“I didn’t see because you forced me to stay behind!” he yelled. “I wasn’t there because you always insist on standing alone!”

“What would you have me fucking do?! I am somehow responsible for each of the lives in this camp, for each of the souls in Last Light. I’ve been fighting for well over two hundred years, I trust in my own strength even if-“

Halsin couldn’t help it. He took her face in both hands and crashed his lips to hers. She stiffened in his grip for a moment, then melted into his kiss, molding herself to his body. She was a perfect fit. She put both of her small, calloused hands on his chest as one of his own traveled to her waist. He gripped her side as he groaned slightly into her full lips, feeling the ridges of her scars under her shirt. She opened her mouth for him, and their tongues danced in a battle for dominance. 

It was not a sweet kiss, nor a gentle one. He wound the hand that had been cupping her cheek into her long hair, wrapping it around his fist. He moved her back against the tree and the hand on her side inched up to her breast as she moaned into his mouth. It was the sweetest godsdamned sound Halsin had ever heard. 

All reason and restraint had left his body in that moment. As he kissed Freya against that tree, there was no Shadow Curse, no invulnerable general, no tadpole swimming in her skull. There was only her. 

That fierce, kind, compassionate, reckless woman whose loyalty had no match, whose strength could challenge gods and rattle the stars. He’d taken many lovers, always held that his heart roamed as nature willed it, but he knew without a doubt as he held her that she was it for him. Whether she would have him or not, there would never be another. 

Reluctantly, he broke their kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, staring into her bright blue eyes. Both of them were breathless, and he could smell her arousal as his cock stretched the leather of his pants. 

“I wish you could see yourself as I do,” he whispered, before gripping her thighs and hoisting her up to his height. She wrapped her legs around his hips and bared her neck for him in a rare show of vulnerability as his lips wrapped around her soft flesh. His teeth moved their way up to her delicate pointed ear and she ground herself into him with a loud sigh of pleasure. 

He was ready to burst in his pants like an adolescent when a call from Astarion interrupted them. “Freya! Quit fucking the bear, there’s a devil in our camp again, and it’s not Minthara.” 

She broke away from him, panting and thoroughly flushed. “I’m going to fucking kill him,” she murmured. Halsin chuckled and nipped at her throat before releasing his hold on her. He smoothed her hair with his hand and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She smelled like rosemary and thunderstorms, he realized, as he took a deep inhale. 

“Next time I risk my own hide in an epic act of heroism, I expect to be thoroughly fucked, druid,” she said in a sing-song voice as she turned to hurry back to where an alleged devil waited to meet with her. 

He chuckled to himself as he adjusted his breeches, and jogged to catch up with her. He was in such deep shit.

--------

The devil in question was Wyll’s patron, Mizora. She’d appeared to inform Wyll that he needed to rescue one of Zariel’s assets from Moonrise. Freya agreed on Wyll’s behalf, stating that they’d do it only if Mizora freed her warlock from his pact. 

The damn woman would argue with a devil. She sat with Minthara on a log, handing her the weapons they’d gathered from their travels for inspection. The flaming sword she’d picked up on the nautiloid was too big, the mace from under the creche too small, and the shortsword from the goblin camp downright insulting. 

Freya smirked as she passed the drow a Menzoberranzan blade she’d looted from a drider. Minthara stood, gripping the hilt with finesse and testing its balance. “Finally, good drow steel. This will do,” she said. Freya retrieved her own sword and started sharpening it with her whetstone. Halsin watched as the two women fell into an easy camaraderie, honing their weapons and talking of battles won, foes vanquished. 

May all the gods above have mercy on Ketheric Thorm, for the elf and the drow would not.

[gabriel-xander]

Don't Forget

[Sans x Female!Reader]

9: He's Scheming

♪⁠────✿⁠(⁠✧◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕✧⁠)✿⁠────♪

Napstablook has gotten the absolute pleasure of getting to know you for the better part of the passing week. Sure, the experience was slightly watered down because, as YOU had warned him, your period made you a little more emotional and dramatic than usual. He can’t even blame you for it either; what kind of fucked up shit is this that you have to bleed for a whole week??

You were always quick to sincerely apologize whenever you accidently raised your voice, or when you would get jealous over a monster having cute ears, or when you would outright sob when you ate that delicious burger he brought for you from MTT-Brand Burger Emporium.

You were a bigger cry baby than he was! Honestly, Napstablook was pretty impressed!

But as much fun you two were having together in the Ruins, he knew that it couldn’t magically fix one specific dilemma.

You needed to get out of these Ruins.

The catacombs are very small and the amount of monsters living here are smaller. They tend to keep to themselves as well, and aren’t the most receptive when it comes to you. Yes, they’re polite and don’t turn you away, but when you were subtly telling the owner of a few places that you’d basically work for free, they found every excuse to turn you down.

“Oh, I’d just feel bad for taking advantage of you and your time.”

“Then pay me the bare minimum.” You’d counter.

”I-I don’t think I have the funds to afford another employee, you see…”

“No… No, I get it. Thanks for hearing me out, though.” You’d force a smile, letting everyone know who was involved that YOU know it was complete, and utter bullshit.

You don’t actually want a job, you don’t want to work for free. You just want something to do. You need new stimuli and the Ruins cannot provide that for you.

”it’s just a shame…” Napstablook tells the smiley skeleton, “but she doesn’t have a lot of options…”

After seeing each other every day for the past week, Sans and Napstablook have built a small routine with each other.

If Sans manages to catch the ghost BEFORE entering the Ruins, then Sans will have a ghost-friendly snack to share as Napstablook tells him the plans you two have for the day. If Sans catches the ghost AFTER, then they’ll both share what their day was like (aka, Sans trying to know more about you while giving short answers when it was his turn to share).

Right now, Napstablook and Sans were munching on some hot cats, talking about your sad day yesterday. In a little bit, he’s going to have to wrap this up so he’s not late.

“hm, guess the monsters in the ruins are still a little close-minded about humans,” Sans gives an honest opinion, “if the human is actually as nice as you say, then it has nothin’ to do with her, and everything to do with her just being human.”

‘you keep saying that…’ Napstablook thinks to himself. ‘“If she is actually this or that”… why do you distrust humans so much…? especially this one…?’

“i feel so bad for her. i can tell she’s getting exhausted…”

“why can’t she just leave the ruins then?”

“it’s not safe…” Napstablook hesitates for a moment, “not just because she’s human, either… there’s a monster who almost killed her when she first fell down… according to miss toriel, anyway… that’s the real reason why miss toriel asked me to hang out with the human. so i can make sure she can safely leave the house and watch out for that monster…”

Sans freezes for a second.

Napstablook is obviously talking about Flowey. He wouldn’t put it past that invasive weed to try and immediately kill a human that isn’t Frisk at this point. But Frisk was also almost killed by Flowey, but not once in ANY time line was Toriel THIS worried about their safety. Other than asking Sans to make sure that Frisk doesn’t die (not that he ever bothered to do that either), Toriel never made this much of a fuss over a human.

What kind of fucked up shit did Flowey do to you?? And why are you cowering so much?

…

Wait.

This gives Sans a great idea.

“hey, blook,” Sans’ grin widens noticeably, “i think i got a good idea to help out your friend. but uh… we might gotta be a little sneaky about it to work.”

Napstablook gives the other a (rightfully) hesitant look. “what do you have in mind…?”

⁠────

Napstablook gives you a small smile, waving goodbye in spirit (hah) as you go into the house. It was another good day, albeit a little shorter than usual since he has something else he has to do. You were a little dejected about it, but you didn’t put up a fight.

At first, Sans’ plan seemed out of nowhere and sketchy. Not that he’d ever have the courage to say that to the skeleton’s face of course. Sans never showed much trust or faith for you, so his plan to “help you out” doesn’t sit very well with Napstablook. No, he doesn’t think Sans is going to do anything erratical, but…

After spending this day with you, Napstablook decided that he can’t allow you to go down this path. Sans’ plan is sketchy, but it’s also your best shot at finally leaving the Ruins.

It does not take long to find Toriel. Again, the Ruins are small, and there are only so many places one can be. He managed to find her leaving the Spider Bake sale with a few spider donuts, and a jar of spider cider.

Uh oh. You two had already bought some before getting you back home since you were complaining this morning that you wanted to help their cause. It seemed that Toriel had heard you and wanted to treat you to a surprise.

Toriel blinks at the ghost’s appearance, “Oh, Napstablook. Is [Y/n] safe at home?”

“yes, miss toriel…”

“I already told you just—Never mind,” She shakes her head with a smile, “Was there something you needed?”

“ah, yeah… i wanted to talk to you about [y/n]… you must’ve noticed it, right…?”

Her expression falters, and her smile becomes crestfallen, “Yes, I… I cannot deny the truth that is right in front of me. [Y/n] insists constantly that she is content with staying in the Ruins, especially because we have yet to find that flower monster. But I know this is no place for someone like her to spend her time.”

“i really enjoy her company, and i don’t mind coming here to see her… i don’t go out a lot, but even i still have a lot of places i can to go to make up for it…”

Napstablook avoids eye contact as he continues, “i know it’s scary-for you and [y/n]-but… it’s something to think about…  she can’t stay here forever…”

Toriel looks down, “Yes. Yes, you are correct. I will give it more thought. Thank you, Napstablook. It’s comforting to know that [Y/n] already has another friend who cares for her dearly.”

“she’s a good friend… i’d hate to see her get worse…” Napstablook starts to back up, “i-i need to go now, but… give it some thought… for her….”

”I will. Thank you, Napstablook. I will be seeing you tomorrow, correct?”

“yes, miss toriel… see you tomorrow…”

“Goodbye, Napstablook.”

Napstablook floats away, leaving the goat monster to her thoughts. She sighs through her nose, walking back to her home… Her home with you…

Toriel doesn’t want you to leave. You are quickly becoming one of her best friends already, and she adores you. You two have bonded so closely, and shared each other’s souls. In her long, long life, the only ones she had allowed to see her soul (outside of battler) were Asgore and Asriel. And you—You didn’t hesitate for a second to share your soul in return. Your beautiful, fragile, human soul that, after a brief look, had NO defense at all.

You trusted her-you trust her so adherently. She doesn’t know if she can bear to lose you if something happened to you. She doesn’t want to leave the Ruins, but she doesn’t want you to go off on your own. Perhaps it’s overbearing, but it’s better to be safe and sorry.

Maybe…

Maybe it’s time to finally tell him.

⁠────

Step one of the plan has been done. Once Napstablook told Sans exactly how the exchange went, the skeleton looked proud. He can tell that the ghost does not fully trust him, but Sans has no qualms about it. After all, the only time Sans has ever gone out of his way to speak to Napstablook is about the human. The skeleton knows he did a shit job at trying to conceal that he doesn’t trust you.

It’s actually reassuring in a way to know that Napstablook doesn’t trust blindly, even if they’re “on the same team.”

After sharing briefly about each other’s day, Napstablook headed home to work on some remix of a song you played on the piano about a week ago. Conveniently, this is the day he usually speaks to Toriel, so he opted to stay back, sitting against the door for a short nap.

Sans only gets to nap for fifteen minutes when a familiar knocking pattern on the Ruin doors rouses him from his sleep. It takes him a moment to reorientate himself, but in a few seconds, he’s knocking back.

”Hello, old friend,” Toriel greets rather… seldomly.

Sans feigns confusion, “hey, you okay?”

”Yes, I am fine. There’s just–something weighing on my mind, I suppose.”

”well, you know you are always more than welcome to tell me what’s bothering you,” Sans hums, “only if you wanna share, no pressure.”

There’s a silence between them for a moment. Sans doesn’t rush her; he pulls out his blue comb to brush his beautiful, lucious skull. Actually, he just has the comb to scratch his head since his gloves don't let him do it right. After a few minutes, she finally opens up.

“I have a confession to make, but…. Please, hear me out first.”

”yeah, of course.”

“For the past month, I’ve been housing a human. An adult human woman.”

Wait, you’re an adult?? Napstablook had him believing this whole time that you were just some kid. He probably kept away that information on purpose. The skeleton barely hid his dislike for you, it would've been ten-fold if he knew you were much older.

Huh.

Good on Napstablook.

“Her name is [Y/n], and she has been nothing but a sweetheart and a delight. She’s so funny, and she’s incredibly smart. Ah-ha ha! I sometimes have trouble keeping up with some of the things she’ll share with me. Her humor is all over the place, I think you’d enjoy her jokes, too.”

You have Toriel wrapped around your finger too, huh? Napstablook wasn’t enough for you? No…No, Sans is just being unfair now. You are not Frisk. You might not even know what the hell is going on and you’re staying with Toriel because of that promise of protection from Flowey. He wishes that was enough to reassure him, but he’s just… he can’t be too careful.

“sounds like you really care for this human,” Sans hesitates for a second, but he needs to ask. For his own sake. “she isn’t… you’re sure she’s good?”

“Hm,” Toriel huffs out a small laugh, “Just the other day, she willingly showed me her soul, even after I thoroughly explained what it means here in the Underground to do something like that.”

“she what?”

You—Are you stupid or just overly trusting?! Sans barely lets Papyrus see his damn soul and his brother is one of the few people that Sans will never feel any different for even after so many Resets. Papyrus has shown his soul many times, but never pressed Sans into doing the same because he understands.

For you, someone who is supposedly SO intelligent, to trust a boss monster so willingly even when Toriel had explained it to you…

Crap, but that totally means you’re familiar with the sensation of someone looking at your soul now. Sans won’t be able to look at your stats without you knowing. He normally wouldn’t give a shit if that were the case, but it’s going to be more awkward when you know what it means to share your soul with someone.

“[Y/n] is very precious to me, so… so when the first day she arrived, there was a monster who nearly killed her… it had put me on edge in a way that I’ve never felt before.”

She must be talking about Flowey. Sans still doesn’t understand why it’s such a big deal this time when Frisk was almost killed by Flowey too.

“really? do you remember what the monster looked like?” Still, Sans has to ask to keep up appearances.

“It was a flower, I believe. It’s strange, I’ve never seen any other monster like it.”

Yeahhh, crazy…

“is this why you’ve been keeping her in the ruins and not telling anyone about it?”

“Yes, precisely. We’ve come to the agreement that she wouldn’t leave our home alone since we were worried that if she was alone, the flower would come back to kill her.”

Right, Sans knows this (now) thanks to Napstablook.

”But lately, I’ve noticed a change in her behavior. She’s been more reclusive, and she isn’t as energetic as she used to be. [Y/n] would also tell me that when she tries to get hired just so she can have something to do, she’s turned away because she’s human.”

Yikes. Sans might not like you very much (nothing personal, he just doesn’t like humans), but even he thinks that’s pretty fucked. From the sounds of it, you really are just trying to live peacefully with the situation you’re given. Staying with Toriel. Trying (and failing) to get a job. Literally doing what you can to survive a psychopathic flower.

…Maybe Sans’ mental image of you is a little harsher than what the truth actually is.

“[Y/n]’s only other friend suggested this, and I’m reluctant to agree with him, but this isn’t just about me. I want [Y/n] to be happy, too.”

“what are you thinking?”

”My friend, if it’s not too much to ask, and if it’s not too much of a burden,” Toriel takes a deep breath, “can I entrust you to watch over [Y/n]?”

Sans’ grin widens. Seems like his plan worked.

Taglist:

@lemonboy011

[neoflames]

Attempting to do present tense again because yes so have a Lim Life Lizzie oneshot

Word Count: 1495

——

Lizzie is in a death game. Again.

She's not quite sure how she's ended up in this predicament. When she got a message from Pearl asking if Lizzie would step in for her on a server as the moth hybrid was busy that day, she had expected Hermitcraft, or maybe some other unheard of server.

Lizzie did not think she would end up in another stupid life game.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

She can't be back, she can't be, the last one was awful- the faerie is used to a laidback, relaxed server with building and talking and maybe a bit of pranking, but Last Life was terrifying.

Death actually meant something, it wasn't a minor setback anymore, it actually meant something. Yes, being referred to as a queen was quite fun, and using her red life as an excuse to do whatever she wanted was certainly enjoyable, but it was awful to watch death. To watch people crumple to the floor unmoving and bleeding instead of just flickering and reappearing, instead of joking about how they'll get someone back for killing them, instead of complaining about how annoying it will be to get stuff back.

It was awful and Lizzie never wanted to deal with it again, hence why she had firmly denied the offer of joining whatever Double Life was.

So why was she back again?

Lizzie stares blankly at her reflection in the river. Her hair has faded to a mix of brown and blonde, and she has a torn-up hoodie slung over her shoulders, not even wearing it properly. A necklace with a circular clock is hanging around her neck, and the time is ticking down, slowly, and it's all she can hear.

Lizzie is in Limited Life.

While it was nice to reunite with BigB (although everyone is playing along with the joke of Lizzie being Pearl, it is clear everyone knows who she is), she's still terrified. She doesn't want to lose time for Pearl. She doesn't want to screw anything up. She desperately doesn't want to die. Not again.

There's something unsettling about dying in a life game. It's like there's something missing inside you when you respawn. Something that's missing forever. Something you can never get back.

Lizzie doesn't want to experience that again.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

She glances sideways as her reflection is shattered by dirt hitting the water as someone stumbles down towards the river, and Lizzie plasters a smile on her face as if she wasn't just contemplating death.

Her smile widens as she realises who it is. "Heyyy, Liz-" Joel pauses, adjusting his ridiculous glasses. "Sorry, sorry. Hey, Pearl. How's it hanging? What you doin'?" The man next to her asks, letting out a huff as he squats down next to her in what cannot be a comfortable position.

"It's, uh, it's... hanging. I'm just, uh- waiting on BigB for a thing he's doing!" Lizzie says, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. This isn't entirely untrue- BigB informed her that he was off to converse with some ties people, whatever that meant, and Lizzie opted to remain by the river near Pearl and BigB's adorable (yet slightly odd) frog tower.

She pauses, chewing on her lip with an uncertain expression as she tries to think of what to say next. "What about you, bad boy?" The pink haired woman adds in her attempt at an Australian accent, looking her husband up and down and admiring his... interesting getup.

"Oh, not much, not much- Grian got me and Jimmy killed, but it wasn't his fault, we were super vague. Still gonna blame him though." Joel adds with a grin. "Got any plans for the session, Liz- Pearl?"

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Lizzie frowns, shaking her head slightly as the ticking sound echoes in her ear. Does Pearl have to hear this all the time? Her gaze flicks between the clock earrings dangling from her companion's pointed ears and the scuffed watch loosely strapped around his wrist as she wonders which tells the amount of time Joel has left. Does everyone? "Nope, I'm just uh, rolling with it. Seeing what happens. The usual." Maybe. Probably not- Pearl's a lot more spontaneous than I am. She adds to herself with an internal sigh.

"Ah. Cool." Joel studies her for a moment, unusually quiet. "You okay?" He asks, and Lizzie sighs.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

She knew Joel would catch on. Despite how oblivious he acts at times, he's definitely the person who knows her best. "Not- really." Lizzie says after a hesitant pause.

Joel finally moves from his awkward squatting position to sit next to her, and she rests her head on his shoulder, ditching the joke of her being Pearl. "What's wrong?"

Her breath hitches in her throat as she tries to form a response. She hasn't told anyone how scared she was after Last Life- she brushed off not joining Double Life as her being tired from the previous life game. She dismissed her not joining Limited Life as her being busy with Empires. After a few moments of silence (although it feels like it could have been years), finally she speaks. "I'm scared."

Joel tilts his head slightly in a familiar manner that reminds Lizzie of a curious puppy. "Scared?" He echoes.

"Scared." Lizzie repeats firmly, and she only just realises that she's started to shake slightly. "Terrified. I hate life games. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them-" She breaks down into unintelligible sobbing, that awful sound still echoing in her ears.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The faerie is vaguely aware of Joel pulling her into a hug as she buries her face in his chest and continues to cry. They stay like that for a couple of minutes, Joel muttering reassuring things into her ear. Finally, her breathing becomes more steady and the tears stop rolling down her face so she's just left with her neck and face being uncomfortably wet, and she pulls away as Joel shoots her a concerned look.

"Why are you scared?" He asks quietly. There's a small silence that follows, as if Joel is quietly letting her know that she doesn't have to answer if she doesn't want to.

"I hate dying in these stupid games. I don't want to die. I don't want to mess things up for Pearl. What if I- die a bunch and get her out of the game? What if I like- die die? I don't want to die. It's scary." Lizzie says under her breath in what is barely more than a mumble, sniffing and wiping her nose with her sleeve. What Joel says next is surprising.

"I know. I know, it's scary. It's awful. But you only have to be here for one session, okay? Then you can go home. You're going to be fine." He reassures her with a small smile as she stares back at him.

He's scared too? For the longest time, Lizzie has been convinced that she was the only one shaken up by the life games, that she was the only one cowardly enough to not rejoin, that she was the only one who hated dying. But she isn't?

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"It... scares you too?" Lizzie asks slowly, moving some hair out of her face (the hair that comes with masquerading as Pearl is messy to say the least).

"Oh, yeah. Terrifies me." Joel says with a shrug. "You're not alone, I promise."

She squints at him suspiciously. "You aren't just lying to me to make me feel better, right?" Lizzie asks uncertainly.

"Not at all. It sucks. I only stay in these things because it gives me an excuse to have even more petty rivalries than usual. And cause a lot of chaos. Kill people and blow stuff up." Her husband adds with a grin.

"That bit was kinda fun, I guess." Lizzie admits, laughing and sniffing again.

"It is! So enjoy it while you're here. And then you can go home." Joel's gaze flicked back up to the tower. "I think the other neighbour of the nosy variety has arrived." He adds, getting up and stumbling backwards awkwardly. "OH-" Lizzie giggles slightly as Joel falls into the river, rubbing away the water splashed onto her face with her tattered sleeve. She giggles even louder at the loud string of curses that follow the brunette's mistake.

Joel huffs crossly as he stands up in the shallows of the river, shaking his head violently like a dog as he attempts to dry his hair somewhat. "Oh, for goodness' sake-" Lizzie smiles as she gets up, and Joel smiles awkwardly as well. "Guess you should get back to your fellow Nosy Neighbour, hey, Pearl?"

The faerie nods, grinning. "Yep. See you around, Joel." Lizzie can feel Joel watching her as she stands up and clambers back towards the tower.

For the first time since she arrived in Limited Life, the ticking noise has stopped.

——

I like to think that in-universe, the people who drop out of any life series (E.g Skizz not being in Double Life, Ren not being in Lim Life) do so because they're too shaken up by the previous series, and Lizzie feels very strongly this way.

So returning to Limited Life, even for only a session, didn't give her very good feelings I don't think.

I don't proofread so sorry for any errors <3