#sometimes i think people forget how strange seam is

[carlthebigman]

I love Spamvil, a lot, literally made a whole insta acc for it

But did you know that I also really like Seam/Jevil/Spamton???

I read one fic with two chapters of it and now I'm in love. I love them the silly guys

BUT ALSO

Swatch x Seam

you agree, don'tcha??????

God I am so smart

[colgatebluemintygel]

Pls tell me about oao for the wip ask game

HELLOOO EL my beloved mutual ... oao well.. it's just this silly little thing that i've been working for er ... nearly 2 years 😇 hehe allow me to share some lil deleted snippets with you <3333

from: tuscany part one

Sirius suddenly feels sad and furious all at once. He’s sad that this is a side of Regulus that he’s not allowed to see anymore. He’s furious at Regulus for maintaining this inexplicable distance that seems to have developed between them. Where had everything gone so wrong? Sirius doesn’t even want to answer that question. Where hadn’t it? At some point, they’d stopped talking to each other; Sirius self-destructed and tore through that house like a comet. Regulus retreated so far into himself that Sirius is certain that he left a part of himself behind in that house. Sirius doesn’t blame him. Sometimes he feels the same; that he’s permanently lost a vital part of himself. Perhaps that’s why Sirius is so desperate for love; to feel loved. To feel wanted. To fill the void he feels inside himself. To fill the gaping wound inside himself. And, if Sirius is honest with himself, he’s jealous. He’s horribly, dangerously jealous: he’s jealous that Regulus, who grew up in the same loveless environment as him, has found not just one but two people to spend his life with. Sirius couldn’t even hold down one. And if he’s honest with himself, what Alphard had said the day before had been completely right: the love had long worn off between him and Emmeline. He’d clung to her like a raft. The fear of being alone was worse than whatever hadn’t been working between them.

from: tuscany part two

Sirius remembers the way that Walburga’s face would ripple and contort, her mouth a tight, white line as she’d say, ‘Regulus is a good child, quiet. Not like you were.’ Her comments always perplexed Sirius. he doesn’t remember himself ever making much noise at all. In fact, most of Sirius’s childhood memories involve him trying to take up as little space as possible.  He remembers the time that they passed Hamleys and he got a bit teary-eyed because Walburga always refused to let him go inside. He remembers her eyes flaring like quicksilver and the tight grasp of her hand around his wrist as she led him to a nearby restaurant bathroom. He remembers how the lemongrass soap had burned on his tongue for hours afterwards. He’s never liked lemon, since.  He has plenty of other memories just like it, accompanied by all the others that he tries his best to forget. Even now, Regulus will make the odd comment about how Sirius rebelled, in ways both small and large, quiet and loud. Sirius doesn’t remember those moments. What he does remember is trying to make himself so small, so quiet and insignificant, that he constantly felt like he was bursting at the seams.  Sirius remembers trying so hard, all the time. Regulus remembers Sirius not trying at all. He’s always found it strange how people remember the same events. He wonders how it felt when he was even younger and didn’t know any better than to throw himself down on the ground and scream. Sirius wonders if he’s ever really, truly screamed. He feels like he’s stuck there, sometimes. Stuck in that limbo, that precipice, between a child who screams because they don’t know better, and a child who no longer needs to scream because they’ve learnt how to process their emotions in other ways. Yet, Sirius doesn’t scream, and he doesn’t throw a tantrum. Instead, he slouches back in his seat and stares out the window.

from: berlin??? i think..

The pieces start to slot into place. He remembers their uni years, and how Remus would disappear every night for a few hours, always to reappear looking pink cheeked and messy haired. Even when their lives started to become more separate, their flats scattered across different London boroughs, Remus would always find his way back to Sirius’s flat at the end of the night. He remembers Emmeline the first few times it happened, face drawn and tired, answering the door at 4 am. “It’s Remus,” she’d say, tired and annoyed. “Isn’t there somewhere else he can stay? He has his own flat—“ Then, after the twentieth, fiftieth time, nothing. Remus would always be gone in the morning. They never talked about it. It never struck Sirius as odd until now.

[captainschaos]

Everyone knows the phoenix and the demon. Easy! Tango, firebird, the ever-furious and ever-alight, and Impulse, the horned and summoned, from a realm not of here. Now there's two fiery folk, easy beacons to spot in the night, with roaring laughs and flickering fingers which work the wires. Horrible enemies to make, but generally friendly enough, if you haven't particularly wronged them. But there are two others with them, who you might not even realize you don't understand as well as the first pair.

Skizz bursts to the front with a hearty greeting and ready kindness, and everyone thinks they know exactly what he is! The angel, right? With wings tall and broad, flickering as they decide whether they are here or there. A distortion many assume is a halo, a ring of light (if you catch it at the right angle) that frames his head. And they're not... wrong? But not quite right either.

Would you call a grim reaper an angel?

Maybe you would, depending on your personal thoughts on the idea, really. Particularly if you consider the similarities to the guardian angel, another figure standing tall and imposing, but with the kindness Skizz is known for. But what most don't know is that these are two sides of the same coin. His post is simply on the opposite side of death. A guardian angel patrols a person's life, but he is the one waiting with a steady smile and a gentle hand to guide and protect them when it comes time for them to move on.

If you're confused, you might ask Impulse about him.

"Oh, Skizz? We don't really ask about it too much. I don't like to focus all too much on the hellish side of my life, and I think he prefers to think about the earthly part of his."

But few people will get around to asking. No one really thinks to, quite frankly, and Skizz is alright with that. Not that he wants to hide it, but... it's just nicer to blend in with the gang, y'know? He's always liked the life games for how they let him get in touch with the sides of life he typically can only watch and wish about. He gets to fight like the guardian angels, to cultivate that fierce loyalty, and to just be physical. In every way. Overflowing at the seams, physical and alive. He'd rather forget about the whole reaper business while he can.

There's the other one, though. Now Etho- no one thinks they understand him, and everyone gave up on trying to a long time ago. Etho, the ever-looming shadow at the back of the group, the gaze you can't seem to stop feeling on the back of your neck. He's an enigma. A mystery. And everyone seems to have reached a point of contentedness with this. Few attempt to dive deeper, simply accepting that Etho is not an entity to be understood, but certainly to be feared.

And yet. Well... that's not really correct either.

In some ways, Etho is far more understandable than anyone realizes. After all, there's certain rules to fae. Names have power. Deals are contracts. At least, to a certain extent- they're a bit fuzzy around the edges, of course. What can you expect from creatures woven from such magic and mystique? But still, fae can be expected to be the unexpected. Practically half the Hermitcraft server is some sort of fae or another after all, so they have some idea of what makes those sorts tick. And yet Etho seems to bewilder even them. No one tries to discern how he works- he just does.

If you were really curious about it, you might ask Tango. He'd probably laugh at you though.

"What's Etho? You might as well ask what species the ocean is! Who knows, man. He's definitely the most fae of any of us, but no one knows a single thing past that. Sometimes I wonder if he even knows, honestly."

And yet he makes a strange sort of sense, should you pay attention to it. Behind every action of his, there's a surprisingly clear reason. Why does he trust you? Because of the gift you gave him three weeks ago. Why does he refuse to help you? Because you slighted him, and he hasn't gotten you back yet. These motivations come from the smallest of interactions, but he will remember. In the life games... that's dangerous. There is a looming fear that shrouds him not necessarily because of what you don't know about him, but because of what you don't know about yourself. You didn't forget to pay him back when you promised, did you? You made sure to steer clear of trampling his crops, right? You can never be sure of what you might be forgetting. And there's always the chance that is the detail he chose to remember, stitched up neatly and tightly in his mind, with a deadly needle.

The kind smile at the front, the diligent eye at the back. It's rare to see them side by side, and yet it is even rarer to see them apart. They fought for the same army in the first of the life games, one the berserker, one the deadly tactician. They found themselves fighting the same battles again in the next round, pulling away from each other as they separated their always warring teammates, but united in a two-man army in the war against that war. Skizz was gone for the game of soulmates, but now- of course they are together. No one would think to draw the line connecting them. But there would be something quite wrong to see a line separating them.

And let's just say no one wants to find themself across any line from them.

[I plan on having one of these per week of the series ! 1/?]

Next

[freefallthoughtless]

It strange not knowing my face

All these pictures but they’re just age

Time and flashes, feeling like I’m unknown in between

like I slipped forward while forgetting me

And maybe I’ve never known my face or my reflection

Maybe the documented life is not a correct representation

I don’t know if I can carry it, carry a stranger splintering my body

I’ve been fragmenting and compartmentalizing in every step ongoing

I’ve been digging secrets and living in safe havens locked away

All these things I’ve gathered, all the people I’ve kept with along the way

All the spaces I’ve had to remake or rearrange to keep my name

It’s a parallel of me I’ve been braiding in along my seams

And now I’m lost in a breath of all that is real but not quite me

I feel my heart flutter and protest in aches as I insist on another day

Taking with me what I suppress in the hopes it will go away

Maybe there’s freedom somewhere in this maze

But I think I’ve entangled peace with making my own grave

Forcing new paths forward is slicing through my brain

Every corner I turn impales me further on what I try to escape

I’ve been going deeper and deeper into remembering what was real

Browsing catalogues and memories of when I might have known me and felt sane

But I’m slipping and twisting and free-falling in the chase

Is giving up on this really the only way?

Let loose on the reigns and pray it will fall into place?

I’m unaware of how I could possibly make that change

I search high and low in all my rooms

In all the arenas I mapped out at 16 to keep from being seen

Distances I upheld and enforced to disrupt the uprising in my being

In the deepest pits of me there is always screaming

Way down buried with my unresolved feelings

The wounds I could never seem to truly heal

The cracks in my life that shatters every dream

The parts of me I can never really fulfill

I soothe it over in daydreams so none of it escapes beyond me

I put layer on top of layer until she became a girl with her own name

Living inside of me and wearing all my hurts

Putting on love like a worn and stretched out old t-shirt

I give her everything that breaks me and patch her back up

I weave horrors and agony in the best ways I’ve been taught

Tortured and soul-wrenching and it’s never bad enough

Add another rip, tear her further apart

Twist it all around forgiveness and endless love

Wrap her up in sweetness, give her impossible support

Echo the most insane impossible last resorts

Put her through unparalleled trauma in disturbing thoughts

Test how much innocence and trust that can be lost

Obsess over pain and counteract with warmth

Clench every last ugly parched thirst

Make her pretty and imperfect and just holy enough

Walk the balance of utter heartbreak and getting picked back up

She’s seen places I never have and yet I feel it all like she’s my skin

She knows every buried part of me and is always waiting for me to let her back in

I could front it like secret gardens like the songs might say

but it’s truly secret hell and darkness in an endless cage

It’s not nice or healing, it’s trapping myself in with haunted sin

Hours and hours of flaying my own heart open, forgetting it isn’t real

And sometimes I think I only live to make her see another day

Only live because I know she gets to mend every time something in me breaks

I crush down on my own soul, reshape her story to fit my bones

I let everything in me that I suppress finally be told

I float in that limbo of my imagination more on more

Check out and leave reality at my front door

Let it carry me when I buckle and my knees hit the floor

Give away piece after piece of life around me until it isn’t who I am anymore

It feels like my life is just a surface I have to attend to when I’d rather sail another shore

Drag myself through existence to not fully exist at all

And pretend it’s not my own fault that I don’t know who I am anymore

- In trying to stay sane, I think I might have gone insane.

[redemptioninterlude]

it's funny, isn't it? they all wash through cycles. the whole process of being the internet's newest IT GIRL was exhausting, and strange, and rue doesn't even really see how she even figure out how she's gotten here in the first place. luz is one of those people, though, that seemed to be born for it. she's like everything she's grown up thinking a movie star was supposed to look like, be like. glamorous and grown up. it's kind of hard not to think in a lot of ways that she's just an idea, more than then she was a woman, but... rue's kind of like, happy, getting to know the person under it all too. which is making her spiral sometimes because, why did she care about her at all, she's still crawling through the ranks of becoming somebody, though, nobody really prepares you for how weird the growing pains are in between nobody, and someone.

the shades of IMPOSTER SYNDROME drying down between each take.

"i-i mean..." if anybody does, it's rue, who looks at her with that mix of admiration and a touch of envy ; not for what she had but... what she could accomplish, maybe. those things felt so far away, and within another lifetime to her. success in those arenas felt rarefied, and, it's hard not to imagine a GRAND ROMANCE for luz's attentions. she'd deserve that. and kids? well. even if she hardly seemed that old, it's like... she kinda wonders what sort of mom she was.

it made her think of her own. a flashing thought, a guilty reminder. rue ruins so much more than herself when she dips into the worst parts of using. she doubts her mother forgets, and maybe she's much more lucid now, and not falling apart at the seams, but... you never knew. luz makes her laugh, rue, dodging, pushing. she's fallen behind her, looking from the rest, to the food truck, trusting her for wherever she was going. leave that to rue ; when she thought a person was worth knowing, oh, her care tuned in. "i meannnn... when you put it LIKE THAT, how am i supposed to say no?" it sort of leaves her giddy, doesn't it? biting down with a smile at her bottom lip, trying to smoother how thrilled it left her.

- @scftlightz

she  remembered  what  it  was  like  to  be  that  age,  damn—  her  twenties  for  sure  caused  her  dad  a  few  early  heart  attacks.  she  was  a  bundle  of  bad  choices  but  held  the  front  of  being  '  the  it  girl  '  of  her  time.  early  stages  of  her  acting  days  were  rough,  the  casting  choices  that  her  manager  had  aligned  were  in  her  favor.  she  bunched  her  self  under  the  trope  of  '  the  girl  next  door'  when  it  came  to  her  movie  run.  after  gaining  exposure  in  a  rom-com  it  was  up  hill  from  there.  parties  were  a  norm  and  had  found  a  spot  to  fit  on  her  schedule.  then  the  recreational  use  of  dr.ugs.  she  only  favored  cannabis.  then  and  now.  with  luz's  expertise  in  being  though  the  cliche  trope  of  the  promising  hollywood  actor,  she  kept  finding  reasons  to  accept  the  fact  that  she's  turning  into  a  mentor  for  rue. if  she  was  being  honest,  there  were  only  two  reasons  why  she  was  still  anchored  to  this  project.  one,  she  was  well  within  shooting  and  wrapping  up  the  last  episode  of  the  mid  season  finale.  (  she  misses  old  tv.  you  know,  where  there  used  to  be  22  episodes  per  season?  )  and  reason  two,  was  rue.

"  yes,  kids,  did  i  stutter?  "  she  added  emphasis  on  the  word  as  her  lips  had  stretched  into  a  humored  grin.  she  loved  poking  at  the  age  gap  between  them,  obviously  there  was  roles  assigned  but  there  was  nothing  opposing  of  it.  luz  could  find  humor  in  it,  the  jokes  of  her  being  older  between  the  two  barely  boke  the  surface  of  her  hardened  skin  but  deepened  the  bond  she  felt  she  had  with  rue.  "  finally,  i  knew  i  smelt  jackass  before  i  could  even  look  at  him.  "  she  grumbled,  leading  the  other  towards  a  food  truck  that  she  had  grown  to  like  more  than  the  craft  table.  "  wait  a  minute,  we're  moving  on  kind  of  fast  from  the  topic  of  you,  ma'am.  "  immediately,  luz  casted  a  glance  in  her  direction.  was  she  scolding?  "  do  you  want  to  come  over  later?  sit  by  my  pool  and  s.moke  a  sp.liff—  which  i  saved just for  you.  "

[babbushka]

I’ve never been able to give prompts because I’ve always been asleep while they’re open 🥺 So now I’m being greedy with 2 😂 “see what happens if you rub your ass on me like that again” and/or “what do you say?” Smutted it up with Flip Zimmerman 🔥🔥🔥

Can I please request the prompt that’s like ‘should I wear the panties or the black panties? I don’t care, I’m going to rip them off anyway.’ For Exhibitionist!Flip please? Thank you 💋

2k, CW: brief derogatory name-calling, brief violence; NSFW (roleplay, public sex (back hallway of a disco), exhibitionism, finger-sucking, hair pulling, possessive behavior, rough sex, teasing, messy PIV) 

Lights down low, music loud, Flip stalks through the crowd. Bodies gyrating and grinding on one another, he pushes through the dance floor, singularly focused. Women fawn over him, hands caressing his broad shoulders and tall frame, men eye him up and down appreciatively, give him looks he respectfully declines as he sucks down the nicotine from his cigarette.

He’s hunting you down, trying his best to find you among the happy screaming cheering singing discotheque. It’s a game you play sometimes, a game he loves to win: find you, seduce you, and bring you back home with him. It’s a game you’ve been playing for years, and as ABBA thuds inside his brain, he spots you moving and grooving almost in slow motion, covered in sweat and glitter.

Flip’s about to grin, glad to have found you – when suddenly he stops dead in his tracks as a pair of unwanted hands slip around your waist, and he sees red.

He can’t make a scene, not here, not around all these people, but he storms his way through the crowd to get to where you’re awkwardly shimmying away from this strange man, a man you’ve never seen before, someone who decided to take advantage of you being by yourself on the dance floor.

“Hey gorgeous.” Flip’s voice is deep and dangerous, cutting through the blasting bass, and your whole face lights up.

Flip slides an arm around your waist and immediately tuck you against his side, content to just steal you away and let that be that, but this stranger seems to not have a sense of self-preservation and clamps his hand down on your arm, not letting you go.

“You look like you’re lost buddy, lookin’ for someone?” He threatens, and you yank your arm out of his grip, pressing yourself against your husband’s side.

“Yeah I think I just found her.” Flip sneers, brows pinching in a menacing scowl, giving him one last chance to, “Back the fuck up.”

Evidently realizing that you had no interest in him, the stranger cuts his losses and scoffs. He gets half a step away before saying something that you wince at, not because you’re upset, but because you know Flip is going to lose his fucking mind about it.

“You cunts are all the same.” The man waves you off, and Flip practically lunges forward to grab him by the back of his exaggeratedly collared shirt, twisting him around and kneeing him in the stomach hard, until he’s falling to the floor.

“Apologize, now.” Flip nearly bites through his cigarette, kicking the guy in the gut when he doesn’t answer. “Now!”

“S-sorry! Fuck I’m sorry!” The man immediately grovels and apologizes, and Flip lets him get up and scramble away, muttering and wheezing under his breath, “Fucking Christ…”

No one around you cares enough to so much as spare you a glance, let alone stop dancing, and Flip’s grateful for it. Worse has happened in this club, and everyone’s high out of their minds anyway. In a couple minutes, everyone would forget about his outburst of aggression, and the night could continue smoothly.

Except…now Flip’s angry, real angry. Bright and hot, burning up through his body. He knows it was a possibility, pretending you didn’t know each other, pretending you weren’t married opened you up to a whole world of schmucks’ advances. He knows you can handle yourself, he knows, but he loves you too much to let you.

“My hero.” You dance and sway your hips to the joyous music, a stark contrast to how wound up he’s feeling. You press your glittery lipstick right up to his ear, kissing at his cheek and teasing, “Thanks mister, I owe you.”

“Yeah you fuckin’ do, that wasn’t part of the game.” Flip snaps, and you laugh with how quick he is to drop this little roleplay act.

“Aw come on honey, he didn’t do anything, I would’ve stopped him I promise.” You cup his cheeks in your hands, kissing him deeply before turning around and pulling his arms around you, grinding your ass against his crotch.

He’s painfully hard, the rush of adrenaline going straight to his cock. You grin, wide-eyed and excited, because you love when he’s like this, you want him to take it all out on you.

“Watch what happens if you rub your ass on me like that again ketsl, just watch.” Flip mutters, and in a typical act of stubborn defiance, you do.

It takes two seconds for him to lace his fingers through yours and pull you away from the dance floor, away from the immediate crowds. He leads you to one of the back hallways, where it’s dark and much cooler, not so many bodies packed together. In fact, there’s only a handful of other people in the hallway, and they’re all occupied with the pleasure they’re giving or receiving.

Flip pushes you against the wall, it’s seedy, slick with steam from someone else’s fucking, but neither of you care. Flip wants his hands on you, and wants it now – and you’re no better. You’re already unzipping the front zipper of your halter top, your mini-skirt pushed over your ass. It’s dark enough that no one can see even if they looked, and the thought thrills you both.

No one can see, but everyone can hear, can hear how badly you want him when you whimper and whine for his cock. Flip’s hands feel you up all over, remembering a brief moment from earlier in the day:

“Should I wear the red panties? Or the black ones?” You had asked over the phone during one of his breaks.

“I don’t care, I’m going to rip them off anyway.” He had replied, much to your amusement.

He’s glad though, glad to feel the familiar lace of the red panties peeking up at him. You thought he might’ve been kidding, because you gasp out in shock when he tears the seams of the panties right between your legs, kicks your feet open.

“Flip!” You laugh, swatting at his hand in a mild punishment. He’d be grinning at you if he weren’t still so wound up with anger about the way that man touched you.

“I told you honey-bunny, don’t act surprised.” Flip shakes his head, smokes his cigarette as he pushes your back against the wall, hikes your leg up. You go easily, so easy for him, “Good girl.”

He pulls his cock out and strokes it once or twice before nudging the head of his cock into your pussy, stretching you slowly as he pushes in, walks himself forward until he’s all the way buried to the base.  

“Fuck your cock’s big.” You sigh happily, your pretty nipples stiffening against the fabric of his flannel. It was too hot to be wearing it inside the disco, but Flip doesn’t give a shit, not when he’s two seconds from railing you hard like you deserve.

“Tell me all about it ketsl.” Flip flicks his ash and drops the cigarette, stepping it out underneath his boot and crushing your lips to his as he begins to thrust rough and fast.

“Oh, Flip! Ah—” You gasp into his mouth, clinging onto his shoulders for dear life as he braces one hand against the wall for leverage and fucks you hard.

“You like playin’ dirty? I’ll show you dirty.” Flip grumbles, plowing into you, your pussy stretching around him and clenching, slick and wet and throbbing around his cock. You make the sweetest sounds, little panting moans and whines that’ll get you both caught, so Flip sticks three fingers into your mouth, “Shh, shh baby you gotta be quiet.”

You lave your tongue over those fingers of him, sucking on them like they’re your favorite thing, like they’re his cock. Maybe you will blow him, now or later, you’re sure he deserves it. He makes you feel so good, fucks you so right, protects you. You suck on his fingers until you’re drooling around them, until your jaw hurts.

“A-are you gonna hurt him? Gonna beat the shit out of him for putting his hands on me?” You pull off his fingers for a moment or two, licking up the spit on his knuckles, biting and sucking at the palm of his hand.

“Depends.” Flip grunts, balls slapping loudly against you, the had of his cock pressing hard against your cervix.

“O-on what?” You lick your lips, back of your throat clicking, sweat and glitter smeared across your face, in your eyelashes.

“Where he put those hands.” Flip seethes, possession flaring up in him again and making you come, making you come just from that.

“Fuck me hard Philly, c’mon I – I can take it – yes!” You gasp, your body melting, short-circuiting, legs turning into jell-o.

Flip pulls out of you just long enough to turn you around and push you up against the wall. Your face presses against it, and he’s got one hand around your throat, holding you in place. You hum happily, pushing your ass back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust even as your knees turn in, even as you moan and whine and sigh as he milks your orgasm for all its worth.

He winds one of his hands around your hair and pulls tight, arching your back beautifully for him. He wishes he could see you, but it’s too dark, the low light only illuminating a few inches in front of him. Flip’s cock pulses and comes inside you by the time the next song ends, fucked you raw.

The both of you are breathing hard, and as Flip comes in you he feels some primal urge in him. Let everyone know who you belong to, he thinks. Not that you belong to anyone but yourself, but still. Let them all know who you want, who you keep, who you love.

You love him so much, and he loves you, loves you with everything he’s got, he should tell you as much, he knows you like hearing it when he says it.

“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me one of these days honey.” He says instead, and you crack up.

He comes in you a little more, and then when he’s sure he won’t make too much of a mess, he pulls out. You turn around and sigh happily against the wall, arms reaching for him, pulling him close. Flip goes eagerly, wanting to be close to you always.

“Don’t be dramatic, kiss me instead.” You say, teasing him only a little.

“No.” Flip scowls, certain now that he’s come and has a clear head, that it was your plan all along to get him jealous. It worked, because of course it worked, but he doesn’t like admitting he’s so easy to get.

“You know you want to, you love kissing me, don’t you?” You bat your pretty lashes, and Flip doesn’t want to admit that either right now, but yeah, he really does.

So he kisses you, because it’s his favorite thing in the world, and you smile so wide against his lips that he has a hard time keeping a straight face. Beaming up at him, you card your fingers through his hair, so soft and sweet, bringing him back down to calm.

“I don’t like seeing you dancing with other men.” He mumbles, zipping up your halter top, putting your skirt back into place. Your panties are garbage, so he just shimmies them down your legs, stuffs them in his back pocket to sniff on a rainy day.

“I’m sorry honey, I won’t do it again.” You caress his cheek, light him up a new cigarette.

“It’s okay, I’ll just find you faster next time, promise.” He gratefully accepts the camel, blows a couple rings that make you roll your eyes.

“One more dance and then take me home?” You bump your hip against his, the two of you walking back out of the hallway, leaving the other couples and groups who are fucking one another to continue on their own fun.

“Make it two, and you got yourself a deal ketsl.” Flip breathes, and you grin and nod, pulling him back onto the dance floor, only having eyes for one another.

[slasherscream]

You don't have to if you feel uncomfortable but may I have a request where JD, Hannibal, Billy and Candyman react when they found out the woman they love who always cares and smiles for others, just a ball of sunshine coming from a dysfunctional broken home. Even when they find her with a black eye due to an argument, she still smiles and ensures she's fine

Jason Dean

JD never saw it coming. He figured you came from some perfect, little suburban dream family. A loving Mother, a doting Father        he didn’t know what else could produce someone like you but a stable home life. 

He had a childhood that was less than ideal, putting it lightly, and you two shared almost nothing in common. Where he was pessimistic you were looking on the bright side. When he pointed out the nastiness in others you’d somehow find a way to make him see the good in the people around you two as well.

Though sometimes he thought you were a little naive it endeared him to you more than you could know. No matter what he did you’d come back swinging with that positive, happy-go-lucky outlook and it was beginning to rub off on him, just a little. 

He smiled more when you were around. Everything felt more worthwhile. That was, of course, when the illusion went tumbling down. 

He crawled through your window ready to see you and surprise you as he’d gotten your address from one of your many friends at school. 

He climbed through the window he guessed was yours only to find you curled up on your bed, clutching your pillow and trying to block out the sounds of loud fighting going on downstairs. 

Multiple voices screaming back and forth, you flinching at every sound bleeding through your door. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was when he made a noise finishing coming through and you turned to look at him, startled. 

Your eye was swollen and already beginning to discolor but immediately upon seeing the expression on his face (rage and heartbreak mixing together) you raced to him trying to reassure him you were fine. 

He asked who touched you but you just kept reassuring him that everything was fine. You hugged him close and tried to soothe his nerves, all the while, the fighting downstairs got louder.  

You can say it’s fine all you want but JD will never forget and he’ll get his answer eventually. He’ll punish your family for hurting you all these years when there was no one around to protect you. You were everything that was good about the world, and if he had to burn it to ash to see you safe and happy the way you deserved to be? He’d do it in a heartbeat. 

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal is probably the closest to seeing something off right from the start of things. 

It’s not that you aren’t convincing, or even that you’re faking your joy and general love for the world around you. He hates people that aren’t genuine and he can sniff them out easily. 

It’s just that sometimes there is a sadness to you that he is always trying to trace back to something. You are a puzzle that he is trying to solve and somewhere along the line he falls in love with you. 

He notices how you dance around the topic of family, keeping your comments vague and going a bit quiet whenever he brings up wanting to meet the people who’d raised such a wonderful, young woman. 

For some reason his mind does not jump straight to abuse. There are plenty of strained parental relationships that are not out right abusive and outside of those tiny moments where you seem to break a little at the seams you’re so bright. 

Love is blind, he’d thought the expression only true for others, he hadn’t ever imagined himself being in love in the first place. He couldn’t have imagined his own assumptions towards you blinding him to the obvious. 

When you show up to a lunch date with him wearing sunglasses he tries to spend the meal ignoring them but finally asks, for the sake of manners, for you to remove them as you are at the table. He’d never known you to be rude. 

Slowly you take them off and the world goes still. Your face is pointed downwards towards the table but it doesn’t stop him from being able to see your eye. He rushes from his side of the table to cup your face and everything clinks into place immediately. 

“Who did this to you, dearest?” his voice is devoid of judgement, calm the way he is during his sessions. But inside he’s engulfed with rage. 

“My (family member) didn’t mean to. Our fights just get so bad and I’m always making them so angry-” He pushes your head into his chest, stopping your onslaught of excuses for a person who wouldn’t be in the land of the living very much longer. There was no need for you to think of them anymore. 

Billy Loomis

What draws him to you is how good you are. At first it annoys him because he thinks you’re faking it. No one could possibly be as sweet and kind as you’re pretending to be. 

He can stand few things less than he can stand a fake and at first, frankly, his interest in you is finding out everything he can about you so he can kill you and mentally torture you while he does it.

It’s while he’s learning everything he can about you and stalking you that he starts to fall in love with you, little by little. Stu keeps asking him when they’re going to off you and he keeps answering ‘not yet’ every time. Eventually Stu stops asking and starts to focus on the next victim. 

Billy doesn’t lose focus. He can’t think of anything but you. He starts stalking you more and more, the need to see you and hear you only worsening by the minute. 

Eventually he gets sloppy and slips up and you see him. You’re walking alone at night for some reason in a town with an active serial killer but you look like there’s no other place you’d rather be. He wonders why you don’t go home but just barely, he’s grateful you’re usually so easy to keep track of. 

When you spot him you recognize him from school and call out to him. He’s got no choice but to approach you casually, pretending he’s also out for a late night walk. “We should walk together to be safe!” Before he knows it you’re looping your arm through his and walking together.

You stay out nearly the whole night together and he asks you out the very next day. It’s not long before he’s calling you his girlfriend and stalking you less. You spend so much time with him he’s actually pretty secure in the relationship and what you mean to each other. Sometimes he’ll do it just to check up on you but it becomes a rarity. 

One night he follows you home, just to make sure you get there without incident, and he starts hearing strange loud noises from inside the house. He sneaks into your bedroom window just to make sure you’re okay. You run in crying right as he’s making his way to the door, clutching the side of your face protectively.

He’s on you in a second, locking the door and prying your hands away. You don’t have time to ask him what he’s doing there before he sees the early signs of your eye bruising and falls into shell-shocked silence. 

With more gentleness than you knew he was capable of he kissed your head, got out a bag, and began to pack away some of your things. You watch him quietly, trying to convince him it’s okay but he silences you with one intense look that he disappears quickly, replaced by the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” He crosses the room, cupping your face gently, thumb grazing the skin beneath your bruised eye.

Once he’s done packing he guides you carefully out the window and into his car. He’s going to take you to Stu’s where he intends to share their big secret. Then he and Stu are going to make a night out of killing your family. 

Candyman

He is a spirit, roaming and untethered, when he sees you and is first struck dumb by your beauty. He never thought he’d love again but the minute he sets eyes on you he knows he can grow to love you. That he could cherish you for the rest of your natural life and beyond. 

He wants you. Needs you. He begins to visit you in dreams. Never nightmares. In your dreams he is a princely figure that loves you already, that has loved you more than anyone in your entire life. 

You’ve never slept better than in the months where he woos you, and makes you fall in love with him, this phantom created by your own mind. 

Part of you thinks you’re going crazy. How could you be falling in love with a man that isn’t real? But you’re a romantic and can’t deny the pull you feel within yourself. They may be only dreams but they make you happy. Daniel, makes you happy. 

You don’t have to wonder for long if you’re losing your mind because he whispers to you in a dream that he can be real. Real as flesh and blood if you say a name three times in a mirror. Candyman. 

You wake up the next morning feeling silly but can’t help doing it. Part of you desperately hoping that your escape from your real life could become your real life, if there was really some magic in the world. 

It works of course and the minute you feel his arms around you, you start to cry tears of joy. But you’d forgotten about the fight you had with your family the night before. In your dreams you are always perfect and beautiful, your skin unmarred by the abuse you endure every day. But now, away from your dreams, Robert can see that someone has dared to harm you. His love. His darling. 

He doesn’t need you to tell him who’s done this. One look at you and he seems to know. He knows you better than anyone else. 

His hand, the human one, the one that isn’t for killing or hurting, touches gently your damaged skin. He presses a kiss to your forehead. 

He has been summoned and there’s a price of blood to be paid. 

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

mermaid au with thrawn prompt 3

“Aw, your legs are trembling~ does it feel that good?”

A/N: So...this turned into a thing. Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1.9K

"Why do you insist on wearing this,” Thrawn asked, his fingers playing absentmindedly with the hem of your shorts. “It cannot serve the function of keeping you warm.”

Instinctively, you pulled the fabric down a little further down your thigh.  You knew he didn’t really mean anything by it.  He was a mermaid after all, humans, and by extension the taboos surrounding where someone was allowed to touch them, were still a mystery.

How strange your life had become.  One day you were exploring caves along the coast line and the next, you were spending every waking hour talking with an honest to God merman.  A very attractive merman. A very attractive and intelligent merman who was just as curious about you and you were about him.

You let your foot play absently in the water as you tried to find the best way to explain to someone who, for many reasons, didn’t believe in pants.

“Clothes aren’t just for keeping warm,” you said, carefully. “They also serve to cover what is perceived to be sexual aspects of the human body.”

Thrawn raised an eye brow, his red eyes scanning your up and down in careful consideration.

“Interesting,” he mused.  “Does that mean humans are incapable of controlling their breeding urges and so much find ways to suppress them?”

You let out a laugh.  “Yes and no? I don’t think many people find somebody walking down the street butt naked is all that appealing. It could even been considered threatening.  On the other hand, if a woman walks down the street in a tight skirt, many people think that she’s asking for whatever sexual advances come her way.”

His brow furrowed.  “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted.  “I guess it’s just one of those things that’s been part of the culture for so long, you can’t really explain it well unless you’re part of it.”

He seemed to consider this before nodding.  “I suppose there is something to that. But, you didn’t answer my question.  Why do you insist on wearing this?”

Blood rushed to your cheeks in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.  “I don’t just get naked for anyone who asks!”

Thrawn straightened, clearly taken aback.  “My apologizes,” he said, calmly. “I did not mean to offend you.”

You let out a breath, a small amount of guilt settling in your stomach. “No, no, it’s okay. I’m sorry, sometimes I forget how much you don’t know about us.”

You gave yourself a moment to collect your thoughts.

“Being naked in front of someone is...well it came be seen as a sign of trust,” you said, slowly.  “It is a human in one of their most vulnerable states.  There is no way to defend yourself or hide imperfections and so you are at the mercy of the other person, for better or for worse.”

The heat in your cheeks came back even as you attempted to make what you had to say next as scientific as possible.

“It is also give the other person full access to our sex organs.  So, willingly being naked with some one can imply you want have have sex with them.”

Thrawn took this information in with the same calm, impassive expression he always did.  His fingers continued to brush along the skin of your thigh his eyes oddly transfixed.

A pleasant shiver went through you at his touch.  It was taking everything in you not to moan.

“I’m going have to ask you to stop doing that,” you said, airily.

Thrawn immediately retracted his hand, his brow furrowed.  “Does it pain you?”

“No,” you assured, catching your breath. “Just the opposite actually.”

The crease of his brow deepened.  “Then why would you ask me to stop if it brings you pleasure.”

“Because I don’t think it was your intention to give me...that kind of pleasure.”

You looked down, hoping he could manage to catch what you were implying.

It took him a moment, but then the creases smoothed away.

“You’re correct. It was not my intention,” he said, smoothly.  “However, now that I know it does.  I’m curious as to what else brings you pleasure.”

Your breath hitched.  Was he seriously suggesting what you thought he was suggesting.

His red eyes seemed to glow even brighter in the dim light, reminding you ever so subtly that he was the apex predator of his realm.

“Would you show me?” he asked.

Your nodded, your heart racing in anticipation.  “Yes.”

A small smile came to his lips.  Reaching out a hand, he let his fingers play across your skin, slowly working their way up the inside of your leg.

Your legs spread instinctively at his touch.  Your breath became shaky and all you could do was give into the sensations.

His lips pressed against your outer thigh just below where your shorts ended. 

A small gasp escaped your lips.  You could feel yourself becoming wet.  It should have been embarrassing how little it took for him to turn you on, but it felt too good for you to care.

“Take off your clothes,” he whispered.  “I want to see you.”

You nodded, carefully pulling away as Thrawn relinquished his hold.

You stood, your knees like jelly as you stared down into the water.

Thrawn watched you, the predatory look in his eyes only growing as the seconds ticked passed.

You started with you shirt, pulling it carefully over your head before dropping it to the cave floor.

Thrawn’s lips parted slightly.  One small flaw on his impassive face. 

You felt bolder at the sight. 

Your fingers then went to your shorts, pulling them down and kicking them to the side.

Thrawn’s gaze traveled up your body, his tail flicking just a little harder beneath the water.

Your bra was next.  You didn’t know why this was the part where nerves too over.  Your fingers shook, making it difficult to unclasp the hinges.  The fabric slid down your shoulders, but still, you couldn’t fully let it go.

What if he didn’t like what he saw? What if he thought it was a mistake? What if...?

Thrawn’s low voice interrupted you thoughts.  “I said, I wanted to see all of you.”

You swallowed.  The look he was giving you was a mixture of understanding and quiet hunger. How could you not listen?

You dropped your arms, allowing your bra to fall at your feet.  Deciding to ride this new wave of confidence, you pulled off your panties next, before standing straight and allowing Thrawn a full view of your naked form.

A hum of approval left his throat as he took all of you in.

“I think I may understand the purpose of clothes now,” he said. “If I were human, I would only want your beauty to be for my eyes.”

A warmth spread through your blood at his words.  You couldn’t think of a moment anyone had made you feel so desired.

He pushed away from the ledge leading down to the water, before reaching out his hand as a gesture to come.

You did, kneeling down and slipping into the water. 

You weren’t a bad swimmer.  You were actually rather good.  But as you paddled to meet him, you felt very much like an awkward toddler making their first steps.  Just a reminder of who’s world you were in now.

Thrawn met you half way, pulling into his arms. 

Your grasped his shoulder, using them as leverage to keep you above water as your legs kicked beneath you.

With great care, Thrawn let his hands trail down the length of your body, guiding your legs to wrap around his tail.

The feeling of smooth scale felt odd between your legs, but there was no denying the small thrill it gave you.  You didn’t have to do anything but allow Thrawn to hold you, suspending your both in the water.

For a moment, you just floated, staring intently at each other as this new feeling spread between you. It was strange and erotic and alien and wonderful.  How could people go their whole lives and not feel this?

Slowly, Thrawn closed the gap between you and pressed his lips to yours in a tentative kiss. 

You kissed him back, adding just the slightest pressure before pulling away.

Thrawn’s eyes watched you carefully, as it making special note of your initial reaction. 

His next kiss was bolder, his tongue sliding against the seam of your mouth.  You gave a small gasp, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

His hands moved up and down your back, squeezing and grasping at your skin. 

You couldn’t suppress your moans which only drove him further.

He was learning to play your body as his personal instrument, checking and rechecking all the places that made you sing beneath his touch.

A throbbing ache grew between your legs.  You hips rolled against his scales, trying to find some friction, anything to relieve the pressure.

 “What do you need,” Thrawn rasped between kisses.  “Tell me.”

“I need you to touch me.”

“Show me how.”

Taking one of his wrists, you pulled his hand from your back and guided it between your legs. With surprising speed, he found your clit brushing it gently with his finger.

You let out a small gasp of pleasure, your skin buzzing in anticipation.

Thrawn pulled away from your lips.  The lust filled haze clearing and taking on an almost studious expression. 

He touched you there again, your gasp this time turning into a moan.

“Thrawn...”

He didn’t stop.  His strokes became harder and more sure with every sound from your lips.  His eyes never left yours, wanting to catch every emotion that crossed your face.  It was all so much and yet not enough.

“More,” you begged.  “Please, Thrawn.”

He rubbed harder against your clit, but even he knew that wasn’t what you were asking. “Tell me what you need.”

“Inside me,” you gasped, your mind a haze of want.  “Put your fingers inside me.”

“Where?”

You reached between you, pulling his hand to your now slick opening. 

He let you take the lead, watching in utter fascination as you sunk yourself down on his two ready fingers.

You groaned in relief at having something spread you open.  His fingers were so long and rough, they felt like heaven buried in your cunt.

You tried to go slow, but your body was too buzzed to perform any kind of self control.  You rolled your hips, fucking yourself in earnest as you chased your high.

Thrawn soon caught on,  Grasping your waist, he pumped his fingers in and out of you, matching each of your thrusts to reach deeper inside you.

The coil in your abdomen began to tighten.  You were getting close, you could feel it.

“I’m going to cum,” you moaned.  “Harder! Please, I need to cum!”

Thrawn pushed himself further into your pussy, curling his fingers inside you.

A cry ripped from your lips, echoing around you in an erotic chorus.

He curled his fingers again, hitting the same spot over and over.

The coil snapped.  You came hard, your walls clenching tight around his digits.

He didn’t stop.  He kept his fingers pumping, prolonging your orgasm as you shook and moaned around him.

Finally, you came down from your high, breathing hard.

He slipped his fingers out of you, placing his hands carefully on your hips.

“Your legs are trembling,” he whispered against your lips.  “Does it feel that good?”

You nodded.  “Better.”

A small smile came to his lips as he kissed you gently. 

“I want to make you feel that good again.”

You shook your head, allowing your hands to trail down his chest.

“Not just yet.  It’s my turn to make you feel good.”

A small groan slipped passed his lips.  “Are you sure?”

You answered him with deep kiss, only pulling away after your felt him moan into your mouth.

“Show me how to touch you.”

Kinktober 2020 Masterlist

[shoryubug]

Standing Up. Chapter 1: Alya

Starting this off with saying, first and foremost; please take it easy on me, this is my first fic since 2004...second; I have read a LOT of Miraculous salt, and honestly I am just really tired of Alya being made into a racist caricature in all saltfics that I read, and I wanted to do something that seemed believable. This is intended to be a oneshot with an open ending, but...it has the potential to become more if people want to see a real resolution. UPDATE: This work will be continued as a 10 part story, and can now also be found on AO3!

When it came to matters of the heart, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not well versed, after all, she had just begun to learn what it was like to fall in love...and all of the intense feelings that came with it. Being new to the age of fourteen was strange in and of itself, but it had come with a lot of new hormones and feelings to process as a result of those hormones...and right now, she was feeling a lot of heartbreak...but living in a city with an emotional terrorist had given her certain limitations, and thus eradicated the ability for her to have a healthy way to get over the intensity of the heartbreak that she felt...so she turned to new, and very welcome distractions, such as throwing herself entirely into her hobby of designing, and planning out sketches for her future designs. 

It wasn’t much, but it was all that she felt comfortable with, it made her feel at ease from the pain of wondering if she had made the right choice when she confronted Hawkmoth at the end...many questions had lingered on her mind, should she have chosen Chloe over Kagami? Chloe was calling out to her...and the choice she had made...was it really pragmatic, or was she thinking with her heart instead of her head? Yes, Kagami had picked up on things rather quickly...but when she pondered it afterward, she couldn’t see anything aside from the mistake she’d made...if she had chosen Chloe, then they wouldn’t have had to face Miracle Queen...but the more she thought about it...facing Miracle Queen was the best possible outcome. She still would have forgotten to change back, due to Mayura’s distraction, and if Miracle Queen hadn’t acted like such a pompous brat, then Hawkmoth definitely would have kept all of the Miraculous for himself...and the more she thought about it like that, the more she felt that she had made the right choice...even if it was for the wrong reasons. 

A sigh played on palid pink lips before she picked her pencil up and began to absently sketch out a design that played on the newspaper trope that was seemingly both in and out of fashion. A part of her wished that she could put that kind of design into the fabrics of her choice, to give it a retro-vintage look, but another part of her was certain that anything that tied to the printing press was on it’s way out. Her mind was a blank void for the moment, before she stared at the home screen of her computer. A picture of Adrien Agreste standing there, she still had yet to change it, despite having taken down a lot of the fanfare that had previously adorned her walls. “Looks like I forgot something else…” she mumbled, before she felt a slight brush of wind, and a tap on her cheek. 

“Marinette! Don’t be so hard on yourself! Everyone can be forgetful!” Tikki’s charming voice rang out. A smile played on her lips for a brief moment before her soft gaze fluttered back to her computer screen and she began to search online for a picture that she knew existed somewhere, of Ladybug and Chat Noir sitting on a roof, gazing out at the city. She still wasn’t sure who had captured the photo, but it was one of her favorites, just a picture of her and Chat enjoying the moment. No flirting, no puns, no akumas...just patrolling the city in the pursuit of helping the citizens, and taking a pause for themselves afterward. 

“You’re right Tikki...but as you know, sometimes it can be really hard not to chastise myself.” Marinette stated, before she finally found the photo and set that as her background. “What do you think of this design by the way?” she asked, motioning down to the paper she was sketching on and tapping on a small section of the paper with the erasure of her pencil, highlighting it for her Kwami partner. 

“I think you should make it! It’d look really nice on anyone that wore it, and I know that’s important to you!” Tikki offered as Marinette’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “You really think so? I was just sketching but, if you really think I should!” her voice was full of joy. 

“Yeah! I can even help you like when you made the hat!” Tikki offered before Marinette scooped her up with both hands and placed a soft kiss to her Kwami’s forehead. 

“Thank you so much Tikki!” Marinette stated before setting the kwami back down on the desk. “Now it’s time I get to work!” she stated while giving off a joking macho pose. Reaching into her pocket she sent out a few texts to Juleka, Luka, and Rose, asking each of them if they wouldn’t mind measuring each other for sizes, so that she could work on a new project, and after about 10 minutes of waiting, all three had sent separate responses with answers to her question, and upon that, she set straight off to work. 

The process of making the jackets and shirts was a bit arduous, having to deal with puckered seams a bunch of the time, and becoming ultra friendly with a seam ripper, but after a while, she had finally perfected everything, and it had only taken one day and three afternoons, so for her it was record timing. Excitement filled the air as she sent texts off to Juleka, Rose, and Luka, asking if all three wouldn’t mind meeting her after school so that she could do a fitting for them, to perfect any issues in the clothing, and after that if they wouldn’t mind modeling the clothing out near Canal Saint Martin, so that she could play on the setting with the color tones of the clothing, offering each a box of macarons for their help, and to use the images on her new website. Rose and Juleka had answered with earnest, though Luka had yet to respond, but Marinette wasn’t too concerned, having believed he was just busy with his morning routine. 

As she had gone through school, everything was basically the same as usual, aside from the excited glances she kept shooting back at Juleka and Rose, anticipating the afternoon. 

“Girl, what’s up today, why do you keep looking back at Juleka and Rose, is something up with Kitty Section? Or is this about a certain boy in blue?” Alya teased before Marinette’s cheeks tinged pink. 

“Nothing’s up exactly...I just asked the two of them if they’d model a new outfit for me is all, and I’m really excited to get it all set up on my website!” Marinette practically sang, her heart entirely set upon her work. 

“Oh! You know what you need for that then? Adrien and Lila! They can totally help and give you some amazing tips to seem more professional!” Alya volunteered, which made Marinette sigh in irritation. 

“I’d really rather they didn’t come.” Marinette stated, which made Alya roll her eyes. 

“Look, you have to get over that he’s dating someone already, you can’t just pretend that you’re friends when you’re together but then avoid him for stuff like this that would actually help you!” Alya whisper-stated. 

“No Alya, and this isn’t even about that! Besides, I’m fine, and Adrien and I are friends, I’m not pretending anything!” Marinette hissed. 

“Then what, is it about your jealousy of Lila? She’s a model now girl, she really could help you!” Alya insisted, which made Marinette roll her eyes. The bell rang just at that moment, which was a godsend to Marinette. If she had to keep up with that conversation, she was going to scream. Scooping up her book-bag she slung it over her shoulder, reached into her pocket, and checked her texts. Finally, the message from Luka that she’d been waiting on! 

>>>Yeah sure Marinette that sounds fun, but you really don’t need to bring the macarons, your company is enough of a present. 

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she walked in a daze down the stairway, she wasn’t exactly in love with Luka, but he really did know how to make her feel light as air...but her mood was brought down the moment that she heard Alya’s loud voice in conversation with Lila and Adrien. 

“Yeah! Marinette’s doing it today, just ask her---” Alya was midway through the sentence before Marinette stomped over. 

“I already told you that I didn’t want them coming. This is private Alya, I didn’t even invite you so what makes you think that you can invite others on my behalf?!” she snapped. 

“Girl like I said you need to get over your jealousy--” 

“I’m not jealous! Why do you always have to make this about me being jealous!? What about this seems like jealousy?! I already have my models chosen, and since both Adrien and Lila are GABRIEL’S MUSES it would look bad on me to use either of them, for their help or for their modeling! I already told you I didn’t want them to come, but you came over and invited them anyway! Why won’t you just listen to me?! Do you want another Reflekdoll incident?! You didn’t even apologize to Juleka for that, you just left it all on me, and it wasn’t even my fault!” Marinette huffed, making motions with her hands the entire time, before finally turning her attention to both Adrien and Lila. “Look guys...I’m really sorry this isn’t about either of you, but I just wanted to spend some time concentrating on my own thing today and Alya really had no right to invite either of you. Everything is fitted to those three, and I’m doing final fitting checks for the new designs I made, it’s not even about you two, which Alya would have known if she’d have asked me first, or paid attention to when I said no!” her attention set back to Alya as both Lila and Adrien inched away slowly to get away from the splash zone of what they both perceived to be an obvious fight on the rise. 

“Th-that’s fine Marinette! I understand, and I’m sure Lila does too...I’m gonna go meet my bodyguard now!” Adrien stated, before practically sprinting off. 

“Marinette I don’t get it, why are you being so stubborn!? Is it really impossible to be friends with him now?” Alya begged. “I mean it’s weird enough having to plan around both of you being in the same place--” 

“Nobody asked you to do that Alya! Neither of us should be unincluded! I already said it a few times now, this wasn’t about Adrien or Lila or jealousy, this was about you stomping into my already set plans and trying to take over, like you always do! It isn’t fair! Not to me, not to the people I make these plans with, not to anyone!” 

“This really can’t be on me. I mean, there’s obviously something deeper--” 

“No! There isn’t! Now would you stop making it a habit of stomping in on my plans and taking over!? Because I really have to go and I don’t want to keep having this conversation with you!” Marinette shot before slapping a hand to her face and huffing. “Look...we should really talk about this later, but right now...I have plans that I intend to follow through on…” and with that, Marinette took leave of the school, of Alya, and away from all of the weird looks she was getting. Her mood was clearly shot, but she wasn’t going to let that ruin the designs that she had spent days pouring her heart and soul into, or the fun she still intended to have with the Rose, Juleka, and Luka.

[ikkos]

﹅   000   ✩     一    THE SILHOUETTE !

“See the horizon. See the sun that’s coming awake there, or perhaps it’s retiring for the moon now; see the golds and pinks and the promise of a sunny day’s blue, or perhaps the indigos and violets stark behind stars. See the one that approaches, their gait and their pace and the clothes that hang off their figure. Most details are lost to the distance, but if you look and listen hard enough, you might be able to discern their identity…”

⠀

TW: Death.

—  Describe your muse as best as possible in a single sentence.

“She’s standing on a line between giving up and seeing how much more she can take.”

—  Describe your muse as horribly as possible in a single sentence.

“I just gotta kiss myself sometimes, I’m so f*cking pretty.”

— Describe your muse’s voice.

Honey drips at the seams every time her lips dictate any form of noise. It’s sweet, delicate, gentle - perhaps, formal. She has been trained since a young age to maintain posture and reduce aggressiveness or excessive negative language due to her growth of rank. The classes have always been about creating a purr as opposed to a stuttering, unconfident statement. As, for a woman, in such an industry, one must be taken seriously by the way they stride or maintain themselves. Maybe if you leaned a little closer, listened a little more, there could be something seething in her undertones of dishonesty and toxic intentions.

— Describe your muse’s fashion sense.

Fashion to her is more than cute clothings, but rather an expression of personality, uniqueness, and showcasing her own self-confidence. From pleated skirts, thigh highs, short dresses, and high heels - she’s maintained the typical ‘rich girl’ aesthetic by the amount of high end brands endorsing her look. However, she enjoys a twist, her own sense of self in her clothings by either: cutting, restyling, recoloring, or repurposing.. which makes all of her closet options simply distinctive to only her. Nothing about her fashion sense would be found on anyone else, but her. It is what she has taken the most pride in over the course of several years as her style continuously evolves into something of a more formal business woman. No, you won’t ever catch her looking basic, even if she’s dead.

— Give a quote of something your muse has said before.

“How many funerals can someone attend before they’re twenty?” Black adorned her frame a little too perfectly for the event, at least, if you ignored any dark circles coated underneath her eyes that were negligent to constant appraisal; yet the mirror mounted in-front of her paid no mind to highlighting all of those small details to her. She knew she looked like a mess and didn’t need the untrustworthy reminder. “Miss. Jeon, that’s inappropriate.” Komi’s eyes rolled at such a statement since she nearly forgot someone else accompanied her in the tight space. “But, it’s true.”

— What fable, mythic, or fairy tale character would your muse best play the role of?

Sleeping beauty; her favorite princess.

“Princess Aurora (also known as Briar Rose) is the protagonist of Disney's 1959 animated feature film, Sleeping Beauty. She is the daughter of King Stefan and Queen Leah. On the day of her christening, Aurora was cursed to die by the evil fairy Maleficent. Due to the efforts of three good fairies, the curse was altered to instead draw Aurora into a deep sleep that could only be broken by true love's kiss.”

— Which archetype best describes your muse?

The Lover.

“The lover archetype represents play and sensual pleasure. They like to live in the moment and are appreciative of the physical environment. They try to be more attractive physically, and emotionally. They crave intimacy and enjoy being in a relationship with people. The lover archetype is also known as a friend, spouse, team builder, partner, and sensualist. The lover archetype is probably the most passionate, but they have a tendency to lack discipline. They want to stay young, innocent, and pure. They remain one of the most likable of archetypes.”

— Which temperament does your muse have?

Sanguine 21, Phlegmatic 12, Melancholic 6, Choleric 8.

“Your temperament is Sanguine. The Sanguine temperament is fundamentally spontaneous and pleasure-seeking; Sanguine people are sociable and charismatic. They tend to enjoy social gatherings, making new friends and tend to be boisterous. They are usually quite creative and often daydream. However, some alone time is crucial for those of this temperament. Sanguine can also mean sensitive, compassionate and thoughtful. Sanguine personalities generally struggle with following tasks all the way through, are chronically late, and tend to be forgetful and sometimes a little sarcastic. Often, when they pursue a new hobby, they lose interest as soon as it ceases to be engaging or fun. They are very much a people persons. They are talkative and not shy. Sanguines generally have an almost shameless nature, certain that what they are doing is right. They have no lack of confidence.”

— Describe your muse’s favorite memory.

Four years old, a memory at its earliest stage, yet so delicate and precious. The young girl trotted after her father in a near skip, smiles echoed on both of their features. This was the first time she found herself glued to the man’s side in endearment rather than fear; something of a new emotion for her to experience. But, It was only given that her attention faltered onto the beautifully decorated frames of different generations alongside the wall by her. Curiosity at its finest, one that her father indulged in while they toured the vacant manor. “One day it’ll be your’s, darling. Your own castle that you can protect.” At the time, of course, she didn’t fully understand the definition behind his words, yet the idea alone gave nothing but a euphoric feeling as her fingers laced together with his. “You can do that for me, right?”

— Name something your muse will always believe in.

Destiny & soulmates.

— Name a song that would play during the opening of a movie about your muse’s life.

Worst Behavior by Ariana Grande

— Going out or staying in?

Going out.

— Read the book or watch the movie?

Read the book.

— Talk during a movie or absolutely not?

No. What do you think this is?

— Sing to a song, hum along, or people should just stay quiet and enjoy listening to the song?

She wouldn’t be able to decide herself.

— Windows up while you’re driving or roll them down?

Wait, she’s allowed to drive?

— A wizard casts a spell on your muse that reveals their true colors. No, literally. The wisp of an aura is beginning to form around your muse. What color is it?

Crimson twirled around her in a deep fog. It felt suffocating as if air was forced out of her lungs within mere seconds, being replaced by nothing but the encasements of red. She knew very well that she deprives herself into two different personalities. She just didn’t expect the full showcase to cause such an intense pressure down against her chest. Red..? The color of love, creativity, passion, adventure, energy, and so many more beautiful things. Although, all she could think about were the color’s relativity to danger and aggression. There’s no way to tell which is the true or honest tell of her character.

— A wizard casts a spell on your muse that reveals their true nature. Smoke curls around your muse, accompanied by distant sounds of wildlife. When the smoke clears, what animal is standing in your muse’s place?

The previously suffocating smoke finally cascades from her senses. Opposed to the expected, a small fox appears in her wake, sounds of birds and leaves in the wind peeking from the distance. Many appeal to the fox as an ideal spirit animal by the way they follow signs of loyalty, independence, adaptability, beauty, and positive signs of luck. This is something she felt she could agree with as well as understand despite the strange circumstances. It’s what she didn’t know is the entire reason behind her revealed spirit; that the foxes are the royalties of mischievousness and tricks.

— A wizard (is this still the same wizard?) casts a spell on your muse that allows them to see what they most desire right here, right now, right in front of them. What do they see?

It seems these strange events never stop. This realization dawned on her the moment a figure shaped in-front of her, a figure so familiar yet unknown. The figure reached out to her with worry printed on their ghostly features. She didn’t know how to react at first, it was only natural that her hand reached out to his, an unforced smile tugging at the edges of her lips. When their fingers touched, all shades of color and light became possible. It became easy. It felt like fireworks plus all previous negative emotions or pressures ceasing to exist in his wake. She believed that this was her fate, the one she’s destined to be with. At least, until the figure lifted her small frame off the floor in a more maternal stance. Her eyes grew wide while everything around her froze. “Fa-..”

— A wizard (why haven’t they given up yet?) casts a spell on your muse that forces them to see what they are most afraid of. What do they see?

Within an instant, everything vanishes from her line-sight. Nothing but pure darkness surrounds her, not even indications of time or location. Her heart begins to pound inside her chest as panic shivers its way down every nerve and fiber of her being. Where is she? Where did everyone go? The girl paces back and forth before eventually running anywhere she could go without truly feeling like she’s moving at all. In the end, her body falls down to her knees as weakness or hopelessness settles into her bones; a broken sob stuck in the back of her throat. Being alone is the most tragic feeling anyone could experience.

[downyonder0]

Can you see me?

Have you ever met someone you could see straight through? Not in some metaphorical sense. I mean physically. I once had this experience. It's not often talked about—many would prefer to forget it ever happened. Or maybe they're afraid to remember. Afraid of what it might do to them. I'm long past those reservations. I think it's best to let everything air out.

They were crystal clear. Sometimes it was a struggle just to know where they were. I'd have to search for the telltale signs. The light catching in just the right way, the parting of grass as they passed through, things like that. It wasn't easy, and it never really got easier. That kind of situation is so divorced from normal life that it's a hard skill to continuously develop. What truly made it easy was their actions. If they were quiet and reserved, certainly that would have been an issue. But they weren't. They had a presence. Most of the time I did not have to worry about finding their location in these roundabout ways. They were broadcasting it to everyone in the room. And it's easy to find someone who wants to be found. The center of attention, but you could scarcely see them. I always found that funny.

I digress. My point is: being around them was a unique treat. Their nature made time spent with them always wonderful. And outside of those larger gatherings, they did not lose their luster. On the surface it was as though they were empty. But that 'emptiness' was in itself attractive. It called out to anyone and everyone, drew them in effortlessly. They made fast friends. But, unfortunately, the inverse was also true. Less thoughtful people were loathe to interact with them. Some mistook that 'emptiness' for lack of substance and, by extension, honesty. It sounds silly I'm sure, but that's just life. Some people lack that vital trait of understanding. It can't be helped, but its effects were still there. Being scorned, being treated so differently than others, it hurt them. You couldn't read the hurt from their face, but it was still there. You could pick out the hesitation, the slight wavering in their words that followed.

It culminated in their most essential need. Others could be with them, you know? They could interact with them on this superficial level. What they wanted most was that one impossibility. They wanted to be seen.

It's necessary to have a high level of self-reliance. To build your identity on your ideas of your self. What is just as important to that basic feeling of existence is the perception of the other. After all, if nobody can see you, can you ever be certain that you're real? Were they really there, or were they just a silhouette of a person? Like Echo, they could just be a voice travelling the world. A disembodied imitation of those around them. It's a strange sort of struggle. A bit difficult to wrap your head around at first. But I tried to be understanding as always. Talk through these ideas with them as often as they wanted. Help them along on this journey of self-discovery. And after a while, it wasn't just what they were seeking. I wanted it to. I wanted to see them. More than just those signs of them. I wanted to authentically take them in. Few would have the drive to seek such a thing. Fewer still could boast such an accomplishment.

As with any goal this substantial, the wait was interminable. The efforts were exhausting. Running through all the possibilities, all the different paths we could take, it was daunting.

In the end, it snuck up on me. I don't really know how I expected it to happen. Perhaps when one experiences a great event, it is very difficult to realize it. We only realize in hindsight, be that far into the future or just a few moments after it happens. So it happened. I saw them. It wasn't some special moment. There was no buildup, no grand finale. I simply looked and they looked back. And for that fleeting second we knew. I saw the fullness of their character. They were bursting at the seams with joy, passion, love, humanity. The totality of their self was laid out before me. Our goal had been achieved. The happiness it brought them was unlike anything I had ever seen. The night that followed was one of revelry. And I was happy because I had to be. It is the duty of any decent person to share in the happiness of those they are close to. The terrible thought that took root in my mind had nothing to do with them. I had been presented with everything. I had seen the whole of another person. They were everything I could ever hope to be. Each trait I picked out was something I could only dream of having for my own. So at the end of it all, I could only see myself as a shadow of that. While they had worked for so long to show me everything, I had nothing to give in return. You couldn't see through me. My opaque exterior gave me the simple definition that they had sought for so long. But it was also a safeguard. Because if you were to peer past that shell and crack me open, you would see nothing like what I had witnessed that night. I know when I looked at them they were looking back and they saw a whole heap of nothing.

I didn't spend much more time around them. It wasn't what either of us wanted.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Chief (Part 1/3)

Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~1570

Warnings: Sam’s hotness beard of sex, which has been known to cause melted panties and spontaneous human combustion. Dom/bratty sub relationship. No sex, but lots of teasing and foreplay. 

A/N: Because... beard. That beard (and the confident, authoritative Sam behind it) makes me want to be aaaaalll sorts of bratty. This was written for my own 2K(inky) Celebration! If you’d like to join in,  please check out the guidelines and send me an ask! You can still take the “brat/brat tamer” prompt, too, if you want; it’s open, I’m just trying to write something for every item on the list, in addition to letting people sign up. 

You watch from the library door for a moment before you make your presence known. Sam’s on the phone with one of the Apocalypse World hunters, and even though his back is to you, you know the face he’s making right now: brow furrowed, mouth a thin unhappy line under the scruff you’ve become so fond of, as he flips through yet another book and tries to solve yet another problem. It’s been over an hour since he said he would come to bed. 

He finally hangs up and lets out a long, frustrated sigh, running his hands through his hair. 

“Sam?” you call softly. He turns in his chair. 

“I thought you were going to sleep,” he says. His eyes flick over your outfit: worn-to-shreds tank top, so thin it’s translucent, and the stretchy short-shorts he loves to see you in. 

“Missed you, though.” 

“I’ll be done soon,” he says, with a strained smile. His eyes aren’t really focused on you; he’s looking through you, still mentally lost in the book. 

“I don’t believe you,” you counter. 

He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I just need to finish up. Go to bed, baby.” 

“Is that an order, Chief?” you say mockingly. 

“Don’t.” 

You just tilt up your chin, raise an eyebrow at him. 

He raises an eyebrow right back and says, firmly, “Come here.” 

You perch on the edge of the table, right in front of him, blocking his view of his book. 

“All work and no play makes Sam a dull boy,” you sing-song, and you can see his jaw clench in exasperation. 

“I need to -” he starts, but you cut him off. 

“I need you, Sam.” You lean forward, and his gaze drops down to your chest, where your nipples are hard and showing clearly through the thin fabric. 

“Don’t you have toys for that?” 

You bat your eyelashes. “Not the same. You know you’re the only one who can really take care of me.” 

He’s trying to keep up the stern facade, but he’s smirking. He licks his lips. You fight the urge to tackle him onto the nearest flat surface. 

“Don’t worry, princess,” he says, low and promising. “I’m going to take good care of you… as soon as I’m done here.” 

“Sam…”  

“Baby? Go to bed.” 

There’s a hint of steel in his voice, and his eyes are really focused on you now, hot and intent. And yeah, the goal here is to get Sam in bed, relaxed, and asleep, as soon as fucking possible, but you’re not exactly dreading what “relaxation” entails, with him. If he’s already strung tight enough to use that voice, it’s going to be a fun night. 

You learned a long time ago that Sam won’t take care of himself, when he’s working, but if it’s a matter of taking care of you? He gets off on it, hard, in ways you’re not ashamed to exploit when you need to.

You give him an exaggerated pout. “Can’t I just stay here and keep you company?” 

“After the kitchen incident last week? Not a fucking chance.” 

You grin. “Mmmm. Yeah, that was fun.” 

His phone rings before he can answer. He shoots you a warning look. 

“This is Sam,” he says tersely, into the phone.

While he’s listening to the response, you slide off the edge of the table and sidle forward, standing right in front of him, between his legs. He holds up a finger, telling you to hang on, and you grab his hand in both of yours, guiding his outstretched finger to your mouth. You give it a lick, swirling your tongue over the tip. Sam glares and you giggle, sliding down and sucking hard before he yanks his hand away and starts playing with his hair instead. He’s refusing to look at you, staring up at the ceiling instead as he tries to focus on his conversation. 

You slide forward and straddle him, settling into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. Sam grits his teeth and makes a cut it out sort of gesture. You smile innocently and rock your hips, slightly, just enough to feel the way he’s starting to get hard. 

You shift forward, draping yourself over his chest, and go straight for the sensitive spot under his ear. It’s Sam’s kryptonite. You can feel the way his hips jerk up when you give it a nip, but before you can really sink your teeth in and start teasing, he grabs you by the hair and tugs, pulling your head back; the jolt of pain makes you hiss and squirm, struggling against his grip, feeling the sting in your scalp as it pulses in time with the low throb of arousal between your legs. 

“‘Scuse me for a second, Maggie?” Sam says. He’s controlling his voice, keeping it even, and you’re pretty sure nobody else would be able to hear the icy undercurrent in the words. He holds the phone away from his mouth. 

“C’mon, is that all you got?” you breathe, arching into his grip, wriggling your hips and grinding against his cock. His eyes flash dangerously. 

“Stop that,” he hisses, sharp and venomous, and fuck, that voice does things to you. There’s a muscle twitching in his jaw. 

“Whatever you say, Chief,” you whisper, smiling. 

He tugs on your hair again, hard, lip curling into a snarl, and you can’t help the little whimper that escapes your mouth. You can feel the way his cock twitches, hard and hot through his jeans. 

Sam holds the phone to his ear again, scowling. “Sorry, where was I?” 

You give him a second to talk. Then you run one hand down his chest and abs, feeling the muscles flex under his shirt. He’s watching you warily, and you hold eye contact as you run your fingers up your own thigh and under the waistband of your shorts. His grip tightens in your hair, but he doesn’t make any real move to stop you. You let out a low sigh of pleasure as your fingers circle your clit. 

Sam shakes his head, teeth bared, grimacing in a way you’re all too familiar with; it means he’s furious, he’s barely controlling himself… it means that you are in for one hell of a good time as soon as his hands are free. You shudder at the thought, heat lancing through your core. 

“Okay, Maggie, thanks for the update,” Sam says. A thrill of anticipation runs up your spine. “Check in tomorrow? Thanks. You too.” 

He hangs up. You hear the phone hit the floor. You work your fingers faster on your clit, panting, watching the way Sam’s eyes narrow, the way his neck moves as he swallows and tilts his head, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel hot all over. 

“Behave,” he snaps. 

You lift your chin defiantly. “Make me.” 

Sam finally lets go of your hair. He catches your wrist instead, tugging your hand out of your shorts, and his other hand grabs your ass, fingers digging into flesh hard enough to bruise. He grinds up, using his grip as leverage to pull you down against him, angle perfect to drag rough friction up the soaked-through center seam of your shorts, and your eyes roll back in your head at the sparking too-good feeling of it. You moan, loud and shameless. 

Before you can blink, Sam’s on his feet, taking you with him, and then you’re sprawling back on the table, all the air knocked out of your lungs. 

You gasp, trying to catch your breath. Your legs are still wrapped around his waist, and he’s still got one big hand curled around your wrist, pinning it down to the table. It all happened so fast your brain is having trouble keeping up. 

“You think it’s fun, teasing me like that?” he growls. You almost say yes, but the word dies in your throat as you look at him. He’s looming over you, chest heaving, eyes smoldering, a tendon straining in his neck. 

Sometimes, Sam is so sweet that it’s easy to forget who he is and what he does. It’s easy to forget that this is a man who scares monsters and demons and angels alike. 

Now, though? When he’s like this, wild and ferocious, he’s terrifying. He looks like nothing so much as an apex predator, and you feel like prey. You’re aching with how wet you are, clenching around nothing, squirming with how much you need him, but the primal survival instinct in the back of your brain is screaming at you to run. 

You don’t run. You stare up at him, dazed, and try to breathe through the dizzying mix of fear and lust that’s making your blood run hot with adrenaline. 

“I asked you a question,” Sam says, hoarse. 

You shake your head slowly. “No. I’m sorry.” 

Sam’s lips curl up in a smile. “Don’t lie to me.” 

Before you can answer, he’s bending forward, pulling you up, and somehow he throws you over his shoulder like it’s nothing. He stands, and your head spins at how far away the floor is, suddenly, and how strange it feels to be upside down and out of control. You couldn’t move if you wanted to. You go limp and let him carry you. 

“You’re not sorry,” he says calmly, taking long strides toward the door. “But you will be.” 

.

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Next part is HERE! 

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If you enjoyed this, please reblog, rec, or leave a message HERE!

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 21: Answers

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Rowan awoke that morning feeling fresh and clear and light, so much so that it surprised him. Unnerved him. He still felt weightless, but he was no longer falling, no longer lost. He could almost still feel Aelin’s hand in his, a phantom limb. Guiding him onwards.

The day passed normally, only Aelin was banned from the kitchens so they made their trek up to the temple ruins in the early morning rather than at noon. They were both quiet for most of the day, adjusting to this new thing – this new dynamic between them. Or at least Rowan was.

He didn’t know what to do with her, didn’t know where to place her in his life.

Yes, she was temporary, and would soon be gone back into the west, but right now she felt frighteningly permanent. And though she was young, she felt old. Very old. Her experiences in life had aged her immensely, and though she was very similar in temperament to Fenrys, Rowan felt far more akin to her than he’d ever felt to the reckless male.

But she wasn’t a friend, wasn’t a sister, wasn’t a companion. She was still his student, still under his command. And he did not take that lightly, nor could he forget it. She was his responsibility until they knelt at Maeve’s feet in Doranelle, and no earlier.

And yet, last night something had passed between them. Something had shifted, and would not easily shift back.

Yet it was far from easy between them. The day Aelin didn’t provoke him at least once, would be the day the world fell apart at the seams. What was strange was Rowan was almost starting to enjoy the teasing, and how it morphed into a comfortable banter between the two of them.

Mostly, however, he felt a ravenous, aching curiosity. The girl was a mystery, one he was now determined to solve. One that he would solve. Last night, Rowan had broken down the door, and handed her his past on a silver platter. And she had taken it, had listened to his every word. Without judgement, and without reproach.

It had felt…good. To open those floodgates, to let go of his truth. To share it with her. And he had no intention of going back to the icy silence. All the questions had built up within him over the past weeks and were now resting on the tip of his tongue, begging to be asked. He just had to find the right opportunity.

That evening, Rowan ate in the kitchens with everyone else, then retired to his rooms early to begin repairing the damage done to his tattoos. He used a mirror to ink in the mangled sections on his face, but soon realized it would be impossible for him to fix the marks on his right arm without help.

Rowan sighed deeply, and went to go ask Aelin a favor.

···

“Tell me about how you learned to tattoo.”

“No.” An automatic response.

Aelin looked up, her eyes narrowed. “If you don’t answer my questions, I might very well make a mistake, and…” She lowered the tattooing needle closer to his arm for emphasis.

Rowan almost laughed. As it was, he let out a huff of air through his nose and his lips tightened, preventing a smile.

He was sitting on his worktable, facing away from the idly burning fire and towards the closed door. Aelin was sitting in the rickety wooden chair and hunched over his wrist, baring the tattoo needle with a wicked glint in her eyes, her neck arched towards him, her golden hair falling over her shoulders and masking the beautiful curve where her neck met her torso –

“Did you learn from someone? Master and apprentice and all that?” Aelin’s question jerked Rowan from his thoughts.

“Yes, master and apprentice and all that,” Rowan answered, silently cursing himself. “In the war camps, we had a commander who used to tattoo the number of enemies he’d killed on his flesh – sometimes he’d write the whole story of a battle. All the young soldiers were enamored of it, and I convinced him to teach me.”

“With that legendary charm of yours, I suppose.” This time, he couldn’t completely hold in the smile curving his lips. He cursed inwardly again, and mentally shook himself.

“Just fill in the spots where I – ” Rowan hissed in pain as Aelin took the needle and punched another mark into the thin skin on his wrist. “Good. That’s the right depth.”

Rowan couldn’t help but be impressed. Before they’d begun, he’d instructed her on how to properly use the tools, and she’d taken to the lessons quickly, her skill with blades translating fairly well into the subtle dexterity necessary to make the delicate markings. Usually he asked Gavriel to assist him, and it’d become a regular ritual in their easy friendship. Once, he’d asked Fenrys, and then immediately regretted it. The male had no patience for the fine, slow work.

Aelin made several more marks, her hands steady, while Rowan focused on locking his jaw and evening his breaths.

“Tell me about your family.” Another casual question.

“Tell me about yours and I’ll tell you about mine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Fine.” Her hard voice revealed nothing. “Are your parents alive?”

Rowan shook his head. “My parents were very old when they conceived me. I was their only child in the millennia they’d been mated. They faded into the Afterworld before I reached my second decade.”

Aelin was quiet, so Rowan paused for a moment, deliberating. There was so much he wanted to ask her – about the years he knew nothing of, about her family, her friends, about whoever had died and left her to cross the ocean alone, desperate enough to bargain with a Fae queen. But he knew he had to ease into it.

“You had no siblings.” The statement was flat, the question implied. And even though Rowan had thought it innocuous enough, Aelin still hesitated, her embers curling around her as she steeled herself.

“My mother, thanks to her Fae heritage, had a difficult time with the pregnancy. She stopped breathing during labor. They said it was my father’s will that kept her tethered to this world. I don’t know if she even could have conceived again after that. So, no siblings. But – ” A pause, and a deep breath. “But I had a cousin. He was five years older than me, and we fought and loved each other like siblings.” Her voice was hollow and cold. Rowan searched, trying to remember, but the name slipped his mind. Her cousin…

“I don’t know what happened, but they started saying his name – as a skilled general in the king’s army.” And then it clicked. Aedion, Aedion Ashryver. The name he had heard her whisper in her sleep that night they camped in the wilderness together, the male she had apologized to in her dreams. The Wolf of the North, and general to the King of Adarlan.

Rowan didn’t know much about him, only the scant rumors that had made their way across the sea. Before the fall of Terrasen, not much was said about the boy – especially when so much attention was laid on his much more powerful cousin – but Rowan could remember hearing of vague machinations to marry Aelin and Aedion, strengthening Terrasen’s ties to the Ashryvers and Wendlyn, and therefore to Doranelle.

After its fall, Rowan had heard nothing at all until Aedion swore fealty to Adarlan and was placed in charge of Terrasen, only now under the thumb of the evil king. He had become Adarlan’s whore, and a menace to his own people. But still, he had survived. A feat in itself.

Aelin’s voice was quiet as she admitted, “I think facing my cousin after everything would be the worst of it – worse than facing the king.”

Understanding twisted in Rowan. She had left Aedion to deal with everything completely alone – with the fall of their kingdom and the slaughter of their family, with the murder and enslavement of their people, with the shame of having to kneel to the southern king. Aelin’s hands trembled, shame and hatred dousing her golden flames.

So Rowan gave her all he could – the calming meditation that came with the repetitive action of using the tattoo needle. “Keep working,” Rowan said, jerking his head towards the tools currently sitting in her lap.

After a few more taps of the mallet, Rowan chanced another question. “Do you think your cousin would kill you or help you? An army like his could change the tide of any war.”

Aelin’s lips pursed. “I don’t know what he would think of me, or where his loyalties lie. And I’d rather not know. Ever.”

Rowan kept silent, waiting for Aelin decide to continue the conversation. He knew what it was to be unable to talk, and though his curiosity burned, he didn’t want to push her into giving anything she didn’t want to give him.

But after only a few moments of silence, she offered up another question. “Do you have cousins?”

“Too many. Mora’s line was always the most widespread, and my meddlesome, gossiping cousins make my visits to Doranelle … irksome.” Aelin gave him a small smile, and though it didn’t touch her eyes it urged him onwards. “You’d probably get along with my cousins. Especially with the snooping.”

Aelin squeezed his hand hard enough to hurt. “You’re one to talk, Prince. I’ve never been asked so many questions in my life.”

The light teasing had him baring his teeth in response, though the pressure of her hand was a surprisingly welcome warmth. Rowan stiffened, forcing those thoughts back, and glanced meaningfully at his bleeding wrist. “Hurry up, Princess. I want to go to bed at some point before dawn.”

But instead, Aelin used her free hand to make a particularly vulgar gesture. Before she could drive the point home with some quip or insult, Rowan caught her hand with his own, baring his teeth again. “That is not very queenly.”

“Then it’s good I’m not a queen, isn’t it?” She tried to keep the words light, but they burned with the weight of her self-hatred. And Rowan could no longer hold in his curiosity.

“You have sworn to free your friend’s kingdom and save the world – but will not even consider your own lands. What scares you about seizing your birthright? The king? Facing what remains of your court?”

Their faces were now inches from each other, close enough that he could see the flecks of brown hidden in the indistinct border between her turquoise pupils and their golden core, their hands still clasped together between their chests. “Give me one good reason why you won’t take back your throne. One good reason, and I’ll keep my mouth shut about it.”

Aelin paused, seeming to weigh the intentness of his gaze against her desire to keep her answers locked up deep in her chest. Then she finally said, “Because if I free Eyllwe and destroy the king as Celaena, I can go anywhere after that. The crown … my crown is just another set of shackles.”

He leaned back slightly, the information clicking into place. His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, another set of shackles?” Rowan loosened his grip on her hand to reveal the two thin bands of silver that encircled her wrists – the marks of heavy chains, embedded in her bones.

Aelin yanked her hands out of his grip. “Nothing,” she said. “Arobynn, my master, liked to use them for training every now and then.”

Rowan’s mouth tightened. Something was off in her scent, and it almost smelled like the anxiety that came with a lie. Not that Rowan blamed her if she was keeping anything back from him – she didn’t own him anything.

Aelin went back to her work, and Rowan kept his body very still through the sting of the tattoo needle. But his mind was far away from the small, damp room. It was across the sea, in the capital of Adarlan and deep in the bowels of the Assassin’s Keep, where he could see a small golden figure curled up in the dark, her limbs held in chains. A perfect reflection of the cage she still labored within, the mental shackles containing her power. But in this image, Aelin had a child’s face.

Fury rippled through him, and the question leaped to his lips. “Why did you stay with Arobynn?”

A pause. “I knew I wanted two things: First, to disappear from the world and from my enemies, but … ah.” Aelin avoided his gaze. “I wanted to hide from myself, mostly. I convinced myself I should disappear, because the second thing I wanted, even then, was to be able to someday…hurt people the way I had been hurt. And it turned out that I was very, very good at it.”

That quick flash of fury gave way to a much deeper, writhing rage as the image of that chained girl shifted, her face becoming twisted with a suffering and anger and violence that no child should be faced with. There was much about the princess that eluded him, but this didn’t. He too had been put in chains, he too had a master.

But he had chosen his chains, had walked into this slavery. She had been forced into it, and the difference there was massive. Infuriatingly so. The difference between jumping off the ledge, and being pushed.

Aelin continued. “If he had tossed me away, I would either have died or wound up with the rebels. If I had grown up with them, I probably would have been found by the king and slaughtered. Or I would have grown up so hateful that I would have been killing Adarlanian soldiers from a young age.”

Rowan’s brows rose at all the questions she was purposefully leaving unanswered, but Aelin only clicked her tongue, saying, “You thought I was just going to spread my whole history at your feet the moment I met you? I’m sure you have even more stories than I do, so stop looking so surprised. Maybe we should just go back to beating each other into a pulp.”

“Oh, not a chance, Princess. You can tell me what you want, when you want, but there’s no going back now.”

She lifted the needle and mallet once more, another tease on her lips. “I’m sure your other friends just adore having you around.”

Rowan grabbed her by the chin, lifting her face to look up at him. “First thing,” he breathed, “We’re not friends. I’m still training you, and that means you’re still under my command.”

A thin shield, one Rowan could only hope would stay intact under the weight of Aelin’s relentless teasing. If she started making any other kind of advance, he had no idea what he would do. Rowan didn’t know what Aelin wanted with him, but he did know that he wanted her. And that he couldn’t ever have her. For many, many reasons.

So he also said, “Second – whatever we are, whatever this is? I’m still figuring it out, too. So if I’m going to give you the space you deserve to sort yourself out, then you can damn well give it to me.”

She studied him for a moment, their breath mingling.

“Deal,” she said.

···

The next few weeks passed more quickly and easily than any Rowan could remember in the past century. He still woke up almost every morning gasping for air, still occasionally heard Lyria’s faint screams in his head, and felt the cold numbness dragging at the corners of his mind. But time no longer pressed in on him like bags of sand, and passing through each day no longer felt like fording through river rapids.

Emrys grudgingly let Aelin return to the kitchens the next day, and she spent each morning and evening playing scullery maid. Rowan had decided to continue the pattern, even if he now knew that the work wouldn’t teach her the lessons he’d originally intended it too.

Aelin didn’t need to be taught the value of hard work, didn’t need her arrogance curbed by manual labor. She already understood these things. But she seemed to enjoy her time working with Emrys and Luca, so Rowan had no intention on depriving her of meaningful, productive work in which she found purpose and camaraderie. Particularly as it freed up his mornings to continue his pursuit of the dark creature.

To both his and Malakai’s relief, no more dead demi-Fae appeared. And though each morning Rowan flew into the wild, carrying out systematic searches for the creature, he found nothing at all. As usual.

By now, the flights were almost solely out of habit, or perhaps some sense of obligation. Though he remained vigilant, Rowan didn’t truly expect to discover anything on these trips, and he ended up spending most of the time thinking about the princess.

Not that he really wanted to be doing that either.

But he couldn’t help it, she was an enigma. The more he tried to unravel her, the more tangled up she seemed to be. And she was very adept at dodging his questions; much of the time they spent together, it was he who was speaking, telling her his many stories, his long history.

Now that he had finally let go of some of his truth, the rest of it followed suit, flowing out of him more painlessly than he would have ever thought possible. But it was more than that – Rowan wanted to tell her. Wanted her to know him, just as he wanted to know her.

Rowan told Aelin about his various campaigns in the south and east of Doranelle, the wars fought and won, the courts that rose and fell with the tide, the Fae he’d led through battle and who died at his hand and under his command. Told of sieges in bloody sand that lasted for years, of the destruction of towns and villages, the massacre of evil and good men alike, of spying, lying, cheating, and killing.

And she listened to it all, unwittingly giving him the greatest gift she could give.

Fenrys, Connall, Lorcan, Vaughan and Gavriel were frequent visitors in his tales, though it was rare that all of them were ever in one place. Aelin didn’t ask many questions about them, and Rowan only rarely provided names or details. There were stories that weren’t his to tell, truths that didn’t belong to him.

As he talked, Aelin worked with her magic, painstakingly drawing out small tendrils of flame and trying not to burn up the mountainside. She only sometimes failed. The small things were still the hardest, and Rowan had her practicing lighting candles, putting out hearth fires, weaving ribbons of flame through her fingers. Slowly, she improved.

A week or so after the incident beneath Bald Mountain, Namonora finally sent notice to the fortress.

Prince Whitethorn –

We have completed our examination of the body, though I would prefer to explain our conclusions in person. And also, I think there is someone here you would benefit from meeting.

Please come at your earliest convenience.

– Namonora, Head Healer

Western Compound, Doranelle

So the next morning, Rowan flew out to meet with Namonora at the Healer’s compound.

This time, he found her sitting at a worn desk in a small room deep in the stone castle, pouring over a piece of paper, her brow furrowed. Rowan greeted the old female respectfully, his head slightly bowed. Namonora jerked from her reverie, then greeted him in return.

“As you asked, so I have come.” Rowan said.

“Indeed you have, Prince Whitethorn.”

“And?”

“And there is no doubt that the demi-Fae are being murdered. None whatsoever.”

Rowan’s lips pursed, and he nodded, gesturing for the old healer to continue.

“The body arrived approximately two weeks ago. Both I, and two other experienced healers conducted the examination. We couldn’t determine an exact time of death, due to the strange nature of the decay, and the damage done to the body in transport. The demi-Fae could have died as few as two or three days before he was discovered, or as much as three weeks.”

“Is that normal? To have such a wide gap?” Rowan interrupted.

“Far from it. Normally, we can determine the age of any corpse by the degree to which various species of insect have matured on the body, in combination with how physically decomposed it is. But this body has not decomposed naturally, and has been avoided by all kinds of scavengers – including insects.”

“Do you know of anything that could cause such a thing?”

Namonora clenched her teeth, and shook her head jerkily, frowning. “No. I have never heard of bodies being avoided by insects – such a thing is completely unnatural. A disruption of the biological cycle, the order of things. It all but confirms that whatever killed the demi-Fae is just as unnatural.”

“You mean, the creature…marked them, somehow?”

“Perhaps, I don’t know.” Namonora shook her head again, this time in discomfort. “It could be the scent that keeps them at bay, but we couldn’t prove such a thing. It could also be as simple as the fact that the corpse was so withered and empty of sustenance that scavengers were deterred from feeding.”

“What about a cause of death?” Rowan was intent, his eyes narrowed.

Namonora pursed her lips. “Another mystery. You were right, there were no marks on the body, nor could we find any internal damage to any organs, vital or otherwise. The lungs, heart, liver, intestines, brain – all intact.”

“So death was magical.” Rowan asserted.

“Yes.” Namonora sighed. “I can’t think of any other reasonable explanation, though I don’t know of any power that could inflict this kind of damage.”

“It has to be something new.”

Namonora pursed her lips. “One of the first lessons you get taught as a healer, is that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. I do not like asserting something so outlandish, no matter how it stares us in the face. It was why it took me so long to summon you. I kept re-examining our notes, turning the facts over and over in my mind. I even consulted with my former instructor, but he knew nothing that could be helpful.” The healer sighed, a huff of air out of her nose. “But once Paynor arrived, I knew I could wait no longer.”

Rowan frowned, asking a silent question.

Namonora just shook her head, standing from her chair and moving to depart. “I will let him tell his own story.”

The healer led him back through the compound, and towards the wing of the camp where long-term patients stayed while being treated for non-life threatening injuries. Namonora knocked on an obscure dark wooden door, her expression expectant. A soft, “Come in,” could be heard from within, and she entered, revealing a small, dry room with a well-made bed and a tall, lean man sitting upright, though his left leg was encased in plaster.

“Head Healer,” the man greeted her, nodding respectfully. He was completely human, his scent bland and uninteresting – a mixture of wool and hay and oats. His clothing was simple, but clearly marked him as a soldier from Wendlyn, possibly naval.

“Paynor.” Namonora inclined her head in return, her face tight, “This is Prince Rowan Whitethorn.”

Rowan nodded his greeting, while the man’s scent filled up with that all-too-familiar fear, his eyes widening, muscles stiffening. Rowan shifted slightly. It had been a while since someone had reacted to his presence so violently, and it discomforted him.

The soldiers of Mistward had no love for him, but they no longer flinched whenever he entered a room. Rowan could even eat in the kitchens now without attracting too much undue attention. And spending so much time with Aelin, who had not feared him even once since that first encounter, was really shifting his expectations for how others reacted to his presence, and not helpfully.

Namonora’s voice cut through the tension rapidly filling the small space. “The Prince is investigating a series of deaths, and I think your story is relevant to his search.”

The soldier looked confused, but with a gesture of encouragement from Namonora, he began to speak. “Until very recently, I was a soldier serving in Wendlyn, in the King’s navy, beneath Prince Galan Ashryver.” The young soldier shifted in his seat on the bed, settling in to tell his tale.

“The first couple of years were simple, not easy, but expected, you know? I fought when I was told, did whatever work was asked of me, kept silent when I was told to. But then a few months ago, we got a strange assignment. A foray into enemy territory, but not to strike – to spy.” At this, the soldier’s eyes flicked uncomfortably over to Rowan’s and then back again.

“It was strictly against the King’s directive, but the orders came straight from the lips of Prince Galan, and my commander wasn’t one to question princes.”

“So you went.” Rowan said, his face inscrutable.

“So we went.” Paynor agreed dispiritedly. “Galan wanted us to make a sweep of Adarlan’s coast, to scout the locations and dispersal of enemy ships, and to determine whether the bastard king was really intending on invading us anytime soon. We were to disguise ourselves as merchants, but instructed to keep our distance from foreign ships as much as possible.”

Paynor signed. “It worked at first. We shot across the sea, heading for the southern half of the western continent, around Fenharrow. After about a month, we reached land, and began to skirt our way up the coast. We knew we would have a sketchy bit of sailing around the Dead Islands, but we had no idea what we were in for. A storm caught us at exactly the wrong time, and we were marooned just off the coast. Only twenty-three of us survived the sinking. But that was only the beginning of it.”

The soldier’s face darkened, and he shook his head slowly. “Now, I have to think I’d gone insane. But I would have sworn I could hear…roaring. Fell noises at night. And then people began to disappear.” The soldier shuddered. “For all I know, they were only wandering off and then succumbing to dehydration, or exposure. But with that roaring…it was hard not to think that the islands were haunted. That a creature was coming at night and killing us off – one by one.”

Paynor took a steadying breath. “I soon lost track of the days, but we had to have been stranded for nearly a week. And then, the night before we were rescued, I think I caught a glimpse of…something. A…darkness. That reeked of death. But then it was gone, and in the morning the twelve of us remaining were found by a passing vessel and taken to the nearest port, where we bartered transport onto a ship heading for Varese, and didn’t look back.”

The soldier’s voice regained some of its former strength. “Another month passed in travel, and we regained some our health. But this leg – ” Paynor gestured to the limb currently bound in plaster “ – was broken in the sinking, and it didn’t set right. So once we returned to Wendlyn, I was sent to the Fae healers, so I might recover its use. And now here I am.”

Namonora nodded, her pleasant expression doing little to disguise the anger and fear and disgust that colored her scent. “Thank you Paynor, I know that was hard for you to relive.”

The soldier nodded, his brow furrowed in anxiety and confusion. “I only hope I could be of service, ma’am. But I don’t really understand how I could much help.”

Namonora only nodded once again, giving the soldier a polite farewell and turning to leave the small room. Rowan followed her back up to her small office, thoughts swirling.

“So.” Rowan said, once the door was shut behind them.

“So. Last time you visited, you asked after anyone who bore a similar story to yours. So once I heard Paynor’s, I sent for you.”

“He is not exactly a trustworthy source – he admitted himself that he must have been going mad.”

“Quite to the contrary. Before you came last time, we had already treated another from Paynor’s company and discharged her. There is another to corroborate his story, who also spoke of a strange darkness stirring in the Dead Islands.”

“That does not mean it has come here.”

“No, it does not. But you must be able to see the similarities between them.”

Rowan sighed. “Paynor did not lie, but I am loath to take such vague assertions at face value. As you said with healing, so is true with most things: the easiest explanation is usually the correct one. And a connection between two events, thousands of miles apart and separated by an ocean, is far from the easiest explanation.”

Namonora’s jaw tightened, and she sighed as well. “Still. I thought you should hear his story.”

Rowan nodded, and thanked her.

Namonora shifted in her seat, her eyes once again finding his. “And as for your other problem, how has that been going?”

Rowan blinked. “She has progressed well since we last spoke.”

“And is Aelin Galathynius’ mental block gone?”

Rowan couldn’t contain a flinch of surprise.

Namonora gave him a small smile, her eyes warm. “I did not know until I saw her in person. I knew her mother, many years ago. A good woman, the Ashryver Princess. Her daughter seems to have inherited her strength, and her compassion.”

“So it seems.” The words were tight, even if Rowan should have anticipated this after Emrys’ revelation the previous week. Namonora had been here just as long as the old male, if not longer, and her memory was infallible. No matter her penchant for bedside tales and impractical notions.

“The Heir of Terrasen has walked a hard road. I can only hope that it has been less dark of late.” The healer’s eyes glinted.

Rowan’s mouth tightened, but before he could reply, Namonora interrupted once again. “I stand by what I said before, Prince. There is still hope. And it gladdens me that after all these years, you seem to have found it again.”

Rowan just nodded curtly, his face an icy mask as he strode from the room. It wasn’t that he was angry with the female, more that he didn’t have the heart to contradict her. No matter all that had happened, how much had changed, it didn’t mean that there was any hope for him.

Rowan had been entrusted a spark, and he would ensure its survival unto his own death – but that meant nothing for his own future. He had tied himself to Maeve, and though it had been at the lowest, most desperate point in his life, he had still done it. And it could not be undone.

Not for anything, let alone feeble hope.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

[kentuckywrites]

Tell Me A Story

The story of the man who could not die, and how he allowed himself a moment to truly live.

It had been a bad day.

A mission gone wrong. BLADEs dying beside him. Astral Heals given too late. Skells destroyed. And once again, Pongo was the only one standing. He was the only one left.

Pongo walked. He climbed up a familiar ridge and positioned himself so he could see the night sky and the ocean beyond the cliffside. The cold Primordian air tasted ever so slightly of salt. But more than that, he tasted blood, fresh on his lips and permeating through his skin and heart, electrifying the guilt beneath. He could already hear a cacophony of voices, telling him it wasn’t his fault, there was nothing he could do, he gave it his all and sometimes bad things happen.

But...bad things always happened. He knew he could’ve done something, anything, to save people. The guilt only grew with every passing day. Would he ever be strong enough? Would he ever be able to save people? Pongo was starting to believe he’d been lied to. He couldn’t do this. He was a fool for even trying. He was going to disappoint everyone who ever believed in him, but giving up was better than continuing to lie, continuing to feed into this picture of a perfect hero.

Pongo was tired. Tired of always falling, tired of getting back up. He was tired of losing people and never having a say in their safety, despite doing everything in his fucking power to be a protector. 

He sat down on the cliffside, soaking in the night air. He closed his eyes, feeling the ground beneath his fingertips, and eventually coming to discover that Mira was closer than before. In his mind he could feel the planet shift, almost as if it were uncomfortable. Eventually Pongo addressed it, since Mira seemed unwilling to speak.

“Mira? Tell me a story.”

There was no response, at first. A strange request, one that Mira wasn’t anticipating. But then, it began to echo inside his mind, its words soft and soothing.

There once was a man who could not die. This man could throw himself into explosions, into deep fiery volcanoes, into the deepest pits of the planet, and yet he always returned. He used this invincibility to save others, time and time again, and he never asked anything in return. 

Pongo lied down, staring straight up at the stars. “What happened to that man?”

He died again, one day. When he returned, things were normal. No one was surprised to see this man, because he had died so many times that it had become a routine. There was no fanfare, no congratulations, no thanks given for saving lives. It is the simple truth that humanity tends to forget their heroes, for they have short lifespans in the minds of men. The man who could not die was no longer a hero, because heroes are original, and there were plenty of other heroes who had never died. That was a far more impressive feat to most.

“Where did he go? What became of him?”

He died, but in a manner unlike any other death he had overcome before. He meant nothing to humanity anymore. And so, he gave up his life of being a hero. He put down his sword, his shield, his guns and his armor. He embraced being a simple man, never once throwing down his life for another, and simply worked to enjoy the life he had been given. The life he kept throwing away for others, the life that had never garnered any respect past being a necessity. He learned more about himself than he ever could have in his time being a hero. And he was happy, truly happy.

“But he was a hero…” Pongo breathed, “How could he abandon everyone who needed him? Did people think he was selfish for leaving?”

Never. Not once. Because in the end, he was a hero amongst heroes. They continued to fight, and more people became inspired to become heroes themselves as a result of the deeds the man performed. 

“So...so he never meant anything, even after all that time.”

Maybe not to the entire populace. But the lives he saved, and the friends he made...he meant the world to them. And they meant the world to him. It hurt the man, leaving their sides, but in the end he never truly left them. He was happier living his own life, but that never meant he had to shy away from his friends. And they recognized this happiness too, and they were happy for him.

Pongo was quiet. He closed his eyes, and when they opened again, tears flooded down his cheeks, dripping softly onto the grass below his body.

“I am tired, Mira,” He confessed, close to the brink of sobbing, “I am so tired.”

I know. 

“I want to keep fighting. I want to prove that I can save people. I want to prove that I am strong and all my training means something.”

It does. It always did. 

“Then why...why am I so tired? Why do I feel so weak?”

Because your life has been dedicated to everyone but yourself. Because you have saved so many, but you have never saved yourself.

“Why would I want to?!” Pongo cried, “There is nothing here. You created me to guide them, to protect them - none of this was ever about me! And I never wanted this to be about me, because the lives I saved were always going to outweigh my own!!”

Mira’s tone shifted. Something about its softness turned into mush, into a guilt Pongo had never heard before.

You were built for greatness. You proved greatness deserves better than you.

Pongo choked on a sob, and the pain inside his heart forced him to turn over, to tuck his knees close into his chest and bury his head in between. Mira continued, even with his change in posture.

I would ask you how you managed to save people without ever saving yourself, but I know what your answer will be. You bottle every emotion up that is not joy and excitement and happiness, because who would want to see a hero cry? You have proven time and time again that you are worthy of your own life, that you can cry and be angry and curse the fates for the hand you were dealt. And yet you never complained. You kept it all inside, and now, you are bursting at the seams.

“I can keep it in,” Pongo tried to argue, but his voice cracked and his words shook.

I know you can. You did it for so long. But now...Pongo. I think you deserve to rest.

“N-No, I -”

Please. Please, Pongo. You said it yourself. You are tired, and you have every right to be. Please...just rest. Do not worry about tomorrow just yet. Rest, and dream.

Sleep had never been kind to Pongo. He knew the unconscious was capable of producing horrors far greater than the ones he faced in reality. But something in him begged and pleaded for this. Something in him was reassuring, told him that no nightmares would haunt him tonight. 

So, remaining in fetal position, Pongo closed his eyes again.

“Will you be here when I wake?”

Mira chuckled sadly.

I would never leave you.

[lostcauses-noregrets]

Do you think that, during sex if Levi did something odd or a bit out of his normal character and then saw Erwin a bit confused, would he be so embarrassed that he would, not only leave right away, but also try to avoid Erwin for a while? There’re probably a lot of fic like that out there. Man have I fell down a eruri hole during this isolation. Anyways, I hope you are safe and having more fun than I am. Keep of being amazing.

Apologies for the delay in replying Anon.  I hope you’re keeping safe and well and surviving these strange times.  Please accept this shameless cliched fluff to help you pass the time in isolation. 

Lostcauses Fic: In Other Words

“Please…” Erwin pleaded, head thrown back, fingers pressing bruises into Levi’s sweat slick thighs. “Please, Levi, harder.”  

Levi needed no encouragement. The sight of his Commander, cheeks flushed, disheveled hair scattered across his brow, begging for release, undid the last tattered shreds of his self-control.

“Come on baby,” he urged, the endearment slipping past his lips unnoticed and unbidden, as he snapped his hips forward, harder, faster.  “Come on, come for me.”

Erwin came with a long low moan, arching up off the bed, as Levi’s own orgasm tore through him, the sheer force of it obliterating everything but his overwhelming desire for the man beneath him.

They lay together in the aftermath, warm cum cooling between them, as Levi sprawled, barely conscious, across Erwin’s heaving chest.

“Fuck Erwin,” he slurred, struggling to catch his breath, “fucking love you.”

It was only when Erwin stilled beneath him that Levi realized what he’d said.  The full force of it crashing over him in a cold wave of terror.

“Levi …” Erwin started, his voice so thick with emotion that it made something twist painfully in Levi’s chest.

“I should go,” Levi said, pushing himself off the bed before Erwin could continue, and scrambling into his clothes.

Propped up on one elbow, Erwin watched him from the bed.

“You could stay,” he said carefully.

“You know I can’t do that,” Levi spat, sparing a glance over his shoulder as he tied his cravat with an irritated flick. “People will talk.”

“Let them,” Erwin shrugged. “I don’t care.”

But Levi was already gone, slamming the door behind him.  Erwin sighed, and collapsed back onto the bed, closing his eyes, as the stillness of the room congealed around him.

Sex for Levi had always been a perfunctory business.  A basic, if inconvenient, human need to be satisfied like any other.    It was rare for Levi to search out another warm body to satisfy the urge that ached in his bones, but on the infrequent occasions he did, a faceless fuck in an alleyway was enough to meet his needs.  It was better that way.  Quicker, simpler, no messy emotional attachments, no risk of affection, of feeling anything that could only lead to remorse and regret.  

But that was before joining the Survey Corps.  In spite, or perhaps because of, the precarity of their existence, the knowledge that their lives could be brutally snatched away at any moment, the Survey Corps’ surviving veterans formed deep bonds with their comrades.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that right?”  Levi groused at Mike one night.  The older man was smiling fondly as he watched Nanaba weaving their way towards them through of the crowded bar, carrying two tankards of beer in either hand. “You could be Titan shit tomorrow.”

“Titans don’t shit, you know that.” Hange butted in, waggling a finger at him.  Levi swatted them away, wrinkling his nose.

Mike just shrugged, smiling as Nanaba placed the drinks on the table in front of them. “All the more reason, to take it where you find it.”

And take it they did. All except the Commander, who was widely regarded as being above such things.  A cold bastard, with a heart of stone.  Only Levi knew differently.  

He couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through him the first time he felt the Commander’s gaze fall on him.  The heat and weight of it startled him and set his blood rushing.  An entirely unfamiliar feeling, but not an unwelcome one.

He’d responded out of curiosity, to see if he could recapture that unexpected feeling, to find out if the Commander really was a man of flesh and blood under that implacable façade.  He was.  And oh what a man.  Their first encounter devastated Levi, leaving him stunned and shaken, desperate for more.

To his surprise, Erwin turned out to be a fond and affectionate lover, a million miles from the austere, intimidating persona he presented to the world.   Attentive to Levi’s every mood, he learned to pick him apart at the seams with such ruthless dexterity that it shook Levi to the core.  But what shocked Levi even more was that Erwin gave himself with equal generosity, laying himself bare with appalling humility and unimaginable tenderness.

What started as a casual arrangement soon became a regular one, and though Levi could feel himself slipping, he was powerless to resist.  An inexorable force was drawing them irresistibly together and Levi found, that for all his strength, he could no more stop it than he could stop the sun from rising and setting.  Truth be told, Levi did not want to stop it.  Erwin was the breath in his lungs, the strength in his sinews, the force that drove him forwards, the steadfast vision he followed. But more than that, Erwin was the embrace that circled him and held his broken pieces together, the heat that swelled in his chest filling the cold empty places inside him, the name he cried out breathless and gasping.  Erwin, his commander, his liege, his lover.

Not that Levi would admit it, he shied away from the word, stubbornly refusing to face it, as if ignoring it would deny its truth.  But now there it was, the appalling truth of it laid bare before them.  Unwilling to face the consequences of this revelation, and unable to run, Levi went out of his way to avoid Erwin in the days and weeks that followed.   He found endless excuses to skip meetings and briefings with the squad leaders in Erwin’s office, visited the officers’ mess only between meal times, earning the opprobrium of the cooks, and spent endless hours on the training grounds drilling the recruits until they dropped.  He even sought sanctuary in Hange’s basement workrooms until they lost patience and turfed him out.  

“You again?” Hange snapped when he turned up for the fourth afternoon in a row.  “What the fuck is going on Levi?  Whatever you and Erwin have fallen out about I wish you’d make it up, because I’m busy here and you’re getting under my feet.”

“What the fuck?” Levi started, but Hange was already shoving him unceremoniously out the door.

The stable block was his last refuge.  Barring a familiar nod, the stable hands paid him little attention and any soldiers who happened to be present generally minded their own business and left Levi to his.  Soothed by the soft stamp and whinny of the horses, and lulled by the familiar task of grooming his black mare, Levi was almost able to forget the hurt that lingered in Erwin’s eyes, to convince himself that the fateful slip of the tongue had simply never happened.

But it had.  Nothing could take it back, and the longer Levi avoided Erwin, the more he was consumed by regret, shame, anger, and remorse.

“Levi.”

Levi looked up from where he was cleaning the mare’s fore hooves; absorbed in his task, he had barely noticed the stable hands closing up the stalls for the night, the soldiers returning to the barracks. The sun was starting to set, bathing the interior of the stable block in a soft rosy glow, empty now but for himself and the Commander.

“What do you want?” he snapped.

Erwin smiled ruefully and shook his head.

“You know I could reprimand you for speaking to your commanding officer like that?”

“So? Why don’t you?”

“Levi…” Erwin took a step forward, and Levi tried not to notice that way the soft light gilded his hair. “You must know that’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here then?” Levi crossed his arms over his chest and stared defiantly at the Commander. The mare stamped and tossed her head, sensing his sudden change of mood. Erwin reached out a hand to calm her and she nuzzled into his palm.

“There’s no need for you to go to such lengths to avoid me Levi.  You don’t need to keep running.”

“I’m not,” Levi started, “I haven’t…”

“I know.”  Erwin said simply.  “What you said…I’ve known for some time.  I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such a gift, and I don’t know how I can ever repay you, but I promise that I…”

Suddenly Erwin stopped and blinked, peering at Levi in the low light.

“Oh,” he said softly.  “You didn’t know? Until then, you didn’t know.”

The denial died on the tip of Levi’s tongue and he frowned and looked away.

“Levi,”  Erwin stepped towards him.  “It’s alright you know.”

“What’s all right?”  Levi asked.  He had a desperate urge to run but Erwin was close enough for him to smell his faint scent of ink and cologne and he yearned to close the gap between them, to lean his head against his chest, to loose himself in that familiar warmth.

“It’s alright to love.”

“You could be dead tomorrow,” Levi muttered, “or worse.” He still couldn’t bring himself to look Erwin in the face, afraid of what he might see there.

“I know, and so could you. That’s all the more reason to make the most of it don’t you think?”

It sounded so obvious, so easy.

“You sound like Mike.” Levi replied.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, he said something similar.”

“Well you know,” Erwin continued, “sometimes Mike’s worth listening to.  He hasn’t survived this long without learning a thing or two.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was low, quiet.  “It’s not the word that makes it true Levi, it’s everything else.  And besides, there are other words.”

“What words?” Levi finally looked up to meet Erwin’s gaze, brimming with such hope, such desire, such belief, that it almost floored him.

“Captain.” Erwin reached out and brushed a lock of dark hair off Levi’s brow.

“Comrade.” A callused thumb swept lightly over the arch of his cheekbone.

“Right hand man.”  Warm lips set a kiss on his forehead.

“That’s three words,” Levi murmured.

“Sorry.” The kisses moved to his cheek.

“Trusted companion.” Levi closed his eyes, leaning in to the kiss.

“Humanity’s Strongest.”    

“Fuck off.”  Levi snorted pushing Erwin away, but strong hands caught him, circling his waist, drawing him into the embrace.

“Wait there’s one more.”

“What’s that?”  Levi tried his hardest to affect a skeptical scowl, but it was spoiled by the smile that was pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Friend.”  Erwin breathed against his lips.

“Friend.” Levi agreed as he melted into the kiss. 

~~

(PS. You may also enjoy @ladymacbethsspot‘s beautiful fic on a smilier theme.)

[tokidokitrash]

It’s been quite awhile since the previous post and I’m sorry!

I actually wrote this awhile back, but lacked the courage to post it.

I’m someone who is quite insecure and scared of how people might view me and my writings online.

But today I decided to just post this anyway-it’s June and Seven’s birthday is coming up— heck it!

I’m sorry it’s so long , and we aren’t at a conclusion yet- I’m just writing whatever comes to mind kinda and I’m grateful to any who reads it- your notes are such an encouragement, however small.

Also, amidst these crazy times, I hope you are all well, stay healthy, remember to eat!

——————————————————————————————-

The way we are - 02

Seven is left standing outside her door. He’s pretty lost for words at this point, which is rare for a smart mouthed genius like himself.

He has to admit, he feels better after laughing like that -it was cathartic, but after listening to what she just said, seeing her smile like she was entirely broken inside, he can’t help but feel that he’s lost something very, very important in that moment.

He’s realised she was probably crying.

And that it was most definitely his fault.

Pangs of guilt worked his their way up his mind, as his heart aches at the thought that he’s given someone as cheery as her so much sadness over his demeanour.

She had always been so strong, so happy. Shining with the brilliance of the sun with every step she took. Always seemed like nothing in life could bring her down. True, she was a little weird, with her adorable exclamations of excitement over what would seem to be the most mundane of things. How he’d catch her standing outside the apartment for a spell, start to worry she’d seen something or someone that could cause her any harm....only to realise she’d be staring adoringly at a pigeon who’d made his way down the corridor. She seemed to be delighted by any little critter or creature, and that part of her, he adored.

She was such a sweet creature herself.

He’d sometimes catch himself distracted by the CCTVs, ever on a lookout for a glimpse of you, eager to see if he could decipher what had caught your interest that day.

And oh, how his heart would swell whenever you returned to the apartment, no matter how distracted you’d be, or how many bags you were holding after a trip to the grocery store... you’d always find time to look up at the cameras and flash him a beaming smile, giving him a little wave or wink. He’d sometimes find himself giving you a wave back, blowing a kiss or two, despite knowing full well you’d never know this. You were just so, so cute, he felt his heart would burst at the seams and implode on him due to an overload of cute.

While he might be greedy for more of your attention, he savoured those little, minute, unseen interactions with you.

The incident with ‘unknown’ was the turning point.

Seeing that precious girl in danger once was too much for a lifetime.

How could he have let this happen? Was he just incapable to protecting those he cared about?

His mind entered overdrive at the realisation that Unknown was none other than his sweet younger twin Saeran, whom he’d always longed to reunite with someday.

But never in his wildest, sickest imaginings did he want a reunion like this.

Saeran, who stood before him, a completely different man. Gone was the timid, sweet boy- in his place was a twisted man whom the world had hurt too much...and it was all his fault- he failed to protect his brother .

So many unanswered questions reeled in his head, he was having the worse headaches of his life. Trying to piece together the massive puzzle that was unfurling right before his eyes. If there is indeed a god, he was being awful.

In the days he spent at MC’s place, frustration and growing anger seeped into his very core. The complications between Rika, V and Mint Eye...and how....what happened to Saeran?? Then there was the anger at himself... at how put MC in danger. He had nearly let his bright, shining flame get snuffed out.

All this was too much, he was slipping off his 707 persona, whether he wanted to or not. Telling himself it was for the best, he started pushing MC away, first treating her coldly, with disdain, as he tried his best to pour himself into the work.

Next came the harsh words lashed out towards her fuelled by his own frustrations.. Or just ignoring her, or just telling her she was being an annoyance, disrupting his work.

Yet she still always came to him, like she was pulled towards him by an unseen force.

Sometimes, all she wanted to do was sit close to him, watch him work.

Other times, she would make small talk, peppering the conversations with little jokes, trying her utmost best to lighten the mood.

She always seemed to have her eye on him, watching over him. Often fetching him some dr.pepper or honey Buddha chips, or, you know, proper food and water so he doesn’t die of malnourishment.

Once, he had accidentally dozed off mid-work, and woke to the feel of a blanket placed on his back. Then, being the jerk he is, he told her not to bother with him and leave him alone, to stop wasting her time on him, before grabbing the blanket and hurling it across the room, startling her.

Regret sank in immediately when he thought he saw her eyes glisten with the threat of tears... he saw her lips force themselves into a tight smile, the she pouts a little, rolls her eyes just ever so slightly, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Alright, alrighttt, sorry!!” She exclaims as she gingerly pick up the blanket- folding it neatly before placing it in the couch next to him...”jusssst in case, alright? “ she says in a whisper , before adding “.....Please take care of yourself.”

He just ignored her the rest of that night.

He hated that even in this crazy situation where he’s already decided to push MC away for her safety, she still made his heart glow with a slight warmth whenever he saw how much she cared for him.

Since the day after the incident, he realised she truly was a strange one. She seemed flighty, almost airheaded at times, like when her curiosity got the better of her and she touched the floppy disk containing all the photos he had of Saeran, leading Seven to lash out at her and tell her to mind her own business for the umpteen time...

Yet there where times she seemed acutely sharp, always seemingly able to see through his 707 persona- to look deep within him and see Saeyoung.

‘No. What she was attracted to was the 707 she could fool around with in the chat rooms. Not this horrible person I truly am...not Saeyoung.’

Heading back to his corner, Seven tried to settle back into work.. but his thoughts keep bringing him back to MC. He had never wanted to see her like this. He recalls what he managed to see in that short moment they had eye contact- the reddened, swollen eyes, tear-stained face. It ripped his heart to shreds knowing he did this to her.

During that moment, there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to apologise to her, scoop her up in his arms and kiss all the tears away, whispering apologies and sweet nothings to her as he showed her that he cared for her just as deeply as she did him.

On the other hand, the other side of him wanted to bolt out of the apartment. So that he could never hurt her again- that way she could forget about him sooner.

At this very moment, all he could think about was how much of a jerk he was- how he really could never stand in the sun with someone as radiant as her.

He was filth.

Head pounding, he sighs, slipping his headphones on- well aware this might make his headache worse, but he still blasts the music anyway, as though he’s looking for some internal form of self-punishment.

Minutes had probably turn to hours, the sun had long since risen, already hanging a little lower in the sky. Seven cracks open another can of Dr.pepper, his tongue a little numb from the constant combination of Honey Buddha chips and his favourite beverage. Idly he realises the last proper meal he had ......was the same time as MC’s. That fact makes him straighten up. He had at least some semblance of nourishment over these last two days- what about her?

He started to feel ashamed of his actions, more so, his inactions. Had he truly been so wrapped up with work and trying to push her away, that he failed to check if her basic needs were met? Whipping out the phone that had been stowed away in his oversized hoodies’ pockets, he fires off a private message to her.

- ‘Are U awake?’

...he stares at the phone expectantly, waiting for her reply.

Only the reply doesn’t come.

‘...maybe she’s asleep. ‘ He quietly thinks to himself. The idea to hack into her phone crosses his mind, but he stops himself. If he does hack into her phone, not only would it be a telling sign of his occupational hazards, it might also be a serious breach of her trust....but from the way she used to flirt with him on the messenger, she sure gave the impression that she might not be totally against the idea of him sneaking a peek or two at her.

He brushes the thought away, absentmindedly rubs his face and ugh, he feels greasy and gross- he himself was in dire need of a shower, as he’d clearly neglected himself these last few days- well, maybe the days before these as well. The man took terrible care of himself once the momentum of work was in full swing.

Phone still clutched in his left hand, he starts looking up food delivery options. He couldn’t care less about himself, but was growing more concerned about MC- he won’t have her starving herself, not on his watch! He mutters the various food options he sees on the screen, wondering what would be a good choice. “........bibimbap? Kimbap? Ah maybe something different like western or....fast food?.........hnnnnnn Indian food? What would it be.....hmmmmm...”

“WOAHH”

Her voice booms from the phone and he yelps, fumbling about with the phone. He quickly holds the phone against his ear.

“is this a miracle?! Are you finally going to eat something?!” She exclaims, voice a littler higher due to excitement and he winces from the loud volume, pulling the phone away slightly.

“MC?? How come you’re on the pho- ahhh. I did it again didn’t I?? Ahhhhhhh I need to stop dialling you ahhhhhhh” he groans as he slaps his forehead. The sound elicits giggles from her, and his heart does little somersaults in response.

“Dawwwww did you truly miss little old me thaaattt much?”

Why Yes. Yes he did.

“I know choosing what to eat might be difficult.... but you didn’t have to call y’know- cause ...dundundun! Here I am!”

Right as she says that, the door to her room swings open and she jumps out of the room, one arm up in the air, the other holding the phone to her ear, presenting herself. To Seven, it seems like light has returned, and she’s brought a gust of fresh air with her- her joyful bearings seemed to alleviate that pounding headache he’s been having. Only now does he realise that he’s finally relaxed his furrowed brow.

“Ta-dahhhh~!” She says, and Seven can’t resist clapping for her, then mentally slapping himself for going along with her antics. Hadn’t he resolved to push her away, not show the slightest form of affection for her? But ahhh, how could he have possibly resisted that??

She brings her arm down and does a little bow for him, then patters over towards his corner, dressed in a large, long sleeved shirt and pyjama bottoms with animal prints all over. Her short umber hair a messy cloud, sticking up in weird tufts, being uncooperative with her as she gently combs through her bed-head. Being so stupidly adorable- he notes. As she nears him, she stills herself, before awkwardly sitting at the far end of the couch. “So, uh, I’m here to....help?” She says as she smiles widely, exaggerating for him. He resists the urge to chuckle, and tries to go back to his ‘serious, no nonsense, leave-me-alone’ persona...then he remembers whatever happened during his last interaction with her, and tells himself that he doesn’t have to be that much of an ass. He clears his throat, noting that her eyes were now downcast, but always sneaking glances at him.

“Well, I guess it’s good you’re here, I was about to order food for us-speaking of which, I hope you aren’t starving yourself. You shouldn’t bother with me, but you should make sure to eat, to take care of yourself, or the rest would worry about you..”

“Hmm, I know! You don’t have to worry about me too, Seven~” she sighs “I can handle myself too.” Her voice seemed laced with a barely noticeable tinge of sadness at that last statement.

Worried, Seven finds himself at a loss for words, he hadn’t had time to think about how to act around her, and as the awkward atmosphere nearly makes a comeback, her belly makes its presence known on cue with a small, but audible rumble. A slight pink blossoms on her cheeks, and they stare at each other, before casting a sheepish look his way.

“bibimbap sounds good right about now though...”

He darts his eyes away from her and disguises his chuckle as a grunt,signalling his approval in her choice, rapidly scrolling away on his laptop, searching for bibimbap...and it takes every fibre of his being maximum effort to hold back the laugh that nearly escaped him, as her blush turns from pink to scarlet.

——————-

Thank you again for reading! And thank you to @emberchoihan for your comment on my previous post :)