#still thinking on what to do for today's prompt

[psychoticallykind]

Prompt: Name

"Name" - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 555 words

Warning, sort of: Vague Death Threat

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

"Regulus."

"No."

"Darling."

"No."

"Love."

"No."

"Reg."

"Not happening."

"Regulus."

"James, I don't care how many times you say my name, it's not happening."

Everything went quiet for a moment, and Regulus thought maybe James had given up.

"I really love the shirt you're wearing today."

James's tone - soft and quiet, just loud enough to reach Regulus through the door - made his cheeks burn, and he scowled at the closed door.

"Green is a beautiful color on you. Sometimes I see you in green, and I think it might be my new favorite color. You make everything look so pretty, Reg. I don't think I really understood how a color should look before I saw it on you."

Regulus closed his eyes, trying not to melt at the words.

"You're just - Merlin, you're everything, do you know that? You're everything to me. And I've never seen you as anything less than breathtakingly radiant."

"If I keep the door closed, then you'll never have to," Regulus replied.

"If you keep the door closed, I can't perform the counter-charm."

"It'll wear off on its own."

"In ten hours, Reg. You have to eat something."

"I'll be fine."

"Regulus, darling, love of my life. Please."

"No."

There was a quiet sigh. "Do I get a reason?"

Regulus considered. "You'll laugh at me."

"I promise you I won't."

"You will."

"Regulus."

"No."

"Okay," James said. "Alright. We can sit here for nine more hours."

Regulus frowned. "You don't have to stay."

"Love, I'm staying."

Regulus was sure he'd leave eventually. "You'll get bored."

"Probably, yeah."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "And what, you'll still sit there?"

"Yes. I'll be right here when you do come out."

Regulus huffed. Then he unlocked the door. "If you laugh at me, I'm breaking up with you."

"I'll never, I promise."

Regulus didn't believe it for a second. "It's unlocked."

"May I come in?"

Regulus rolled his eyes. "I said it's unlocked, didn't I?"

"I still need your permission, love."

Warmth spilled through Regulus's veins, and he grinned involuntarily. "You have my permission. Come in."

"Thank you." The door swung gently inward, and James stepped into the bathroom. He visibly bit down on his smile when he saw Regulus.

"You said you wouldn't laugh," Regulus reminded him, crossing his arms.

"And I'm not," James replied, visibly amused. "It's just - well. You know."

"I know." Regulus glared. "Fix it?"

"Of course." James murmured the spell, and Regulus's bright yellow skin returned to its normal shade. "There, all better."

"Hmph." Regulus fell forward, letting James catch his weight. "That was an awful spell."

"Yes, Sirius and Barty were dealing with Snape when I left," James replied, smoothing his hands down Regulus's back. "And I think Pandora was about to help."

"Hope she kills him," Regulus muttered.

James hummed. "Usually I'd try to curb the violence, but this time I kind of agree."

"I was yellow," Regulus whispered in horror. "Yellow, James."

There was a muffled sound, and Regulus bit down on James's shoulder.

"Ow." James ruffled his hair. "Sorry. Yes, it was awful. I'm so sorry that he turned you - um, that he -" James dissolved into laughter. "-yellow. Such a bright shade of yellow."

Regulus scowled, holding James closer. "I'm breaking up with you."

James broke down laughing again.

Against his will, Regulus felt himself smile.

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won't Let Go

Greedy Little Thing

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 4.3k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie!AU, PiV, Oral (F!Receiving), pregnancy sex, wee bit of lactation kink

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

If you thought your solo play time in the shower would calm you down, you thought wrong. 

You’re truly spinning out and losing your mind. That is the only reasonable explanation for the level of arousal flooding your system at the moment. 

All of a sudden you can’t help but be keyed into John’s every move. And surely you are projecting every depraved thought squirming around in your little brain- you’re imagining that he’s encroaching that much more into your personal space. His hands- broad and warm- gentle as always feel a bit firmer with his hold as he either brushes past you or herds you where he wants you.

You’re distracted, eyes fixated at the boarded up windows like they’re a big screen showing your favorite sitcom. The book you found lies open on the table, failing to capture your interest in favor of your imagination. Of another universe where John’s interest isn’t a figment of your imagination and he’s willing to do something about it. 

“Something on your mind, Love?” John’s voice startles you out of your thoughts and has you jumping on reflex. “Easy- ‘s just me,” he soothes as he crosses the distance from the doorway to the table you’re sitting at. 

“Nothing important,” you answer breezily, trying desperately to hide that you were just thinking about the various ways he could fold you like a piece of paper. Can always lie and claim to be reminiscing on the past.

He has no reason to doubt you, the rumbling hum of acknowledgment from him showing that you’ve not gained any unwanted attention. 

You don’t know what’s wrong with you, what all of a sudden has you acting like a cat in heat. The only thing you haven’t done at this point is lift your skirts and bend over the table in invitation. 

Any hope you may have of getting back into your book is dashed as he comes closer. 

You’ve never been one to fixate on how a man smells- and not even cologne, since that’s not an option these days really. But how he actually smells- you have no idea if you’re pulling off subtle well, but he smells divine and you know nothing will get done if you don’t get a hold of yourself. 

Hopefully your sinful thoughts are not evident on your face, but if they are then he doesn’t call you on it. 

It’s not uncommon for John to leave you alone for stretches and sporadically swing by to check on you. You know he’s in the neighborhood lurking for supplies and hoping to scrap up radio parts. 

The drop ins soothe your anxiety- that he is just across the street, or a few houses down. 

Although it’s still the end of the world and anything can happen. You begrudgingly accept that he has to leave on occasion so you don’t starve to death in the middle of winter in this frozen tundra.

“Gonna need to go further out today, Love. Not sure when I’ll be back.”

Your displeasure is blatant across your face. 

“None of that, now,” he reproaches firmly. “I’ll come back when I can. I want you back upstairs before the sun goes down.”

You’re pouting like a child, your earlier fantasies completely derailed as your thoughts swirl around the anxiety of being abandoned. Of course there’s a part of you that knows this is an inevitability. There’s only so many supplies in the area. John is reluctant to move you, knowing that the pair of you are relatively safe and hidden which means he’ll have to move further out to scavenge to care for you.

Your lack of an immediate response prompts him to reach out and cup your face, prying your mind from your surly thoughts. By now you know him well enough to understand the cue for what it is- a silent ask for you to soften back up to him and quit being a brat about him leaving. 

The logical part of your brain understands that there’s no choice considering you don’t wish to starve to death. Unfortunately until further notice your hormones are what call the shots so you can’t help yourself other than to be in duress over the thought of John leaving you for more than a few hours. 

“Why are you being difficult, hm?” He ponders, tone substantially softer than one might expect.

“I’m not trying to be,” you protest gently, settling into his hold. 

“And yet here we are,” his tone is more amused than anything else.

His free hand drops to your belly, something that immediately garners the attention of your baby who gives a volley of kicks. 

“You can’t wind him up and then leave me here alone to deal with him,” now it’s your turn to reproach John good naturedly.

Again, you blame your hormones. You like John’s hands on you- like John touching you. 

“He’ll be a good lad for his mummy, won’t he?” He prompts the baby, and you don’t protest as his hand smooths down your belly. 

This time your child is not called to action, deciding to spare your poor ribs from another litany of kicks. You decide to not question the way he immediately quiets down at John’s prompting. 

Despite the conversation you just had, you can’t help but pout and mope as John leaves. You keep it to yourself, even though you know your anxiety is bleeding through and he knows exactly what your thoughts on the matter are. 

There’s nothing to be done for it though, so you’re left alone with nothing but Fred’s shadow and your child for company.

You listen to John’s request and begin your trek up the stairs just before it starts to get dark. The natural lighting in the house is weird and casts odd shadows. It's overcast and a new moon, which will leave little to guide you with when the sun goes down.

With only your thoughts to occupy you, you think about silly little things because if you don’t then you’ll be cognizant of the crushing realization of your solitude. That John is out there somewhere in the murky darkness and there is no guarantee that he will come back to you. 

You’d have made a piss poor military wife.

It’s easier to think about how things could be in another life- if you would have met the handsome captain in some bar and flirted shamelessly in the hopes that he liked you enough to take you home and show you a good time.

That you were at his home, in his bed, with his baby nestled under your ribcage.

But you’re not, although in a way you are as close to that fantasy as you can get. 

You’re tucked into the little hidey hole that John has chosen to squirrel you away, waiting for his return upstairs just as he asked while your child does somersaults and uses a kidney for soccer practice.

Somewhere between bouts of fretting, you manage to fall asleep. It’s certainly not the best sleep of your life by any stretch but you’ve also had worse without question.

It’s also easily disrupted. There’s a part of you that is still keen to your surroundings- that’s still aware that you’re alone in the dark and the cold, and that to truly slip under the haze of sleep could sign your death warrant.

You don’t quite wake at the sound of the door creaking, but you drift that much closer to the land of the living. 

It’s when the bed dips under his weight that you stir, partly in offense at the cold air that creeps under the covers with him.

The greeting that escapes you is more of a whine than anything else, hands grabbing at him and trying to burrow under the weight of him.

“I’m right here, lovely- told you I’d be back.” He soothes you like an over reactive pet that’s absolutely enthralled with his return and showcasing it by trying to crawl into his skin.

He’s warm, a welcome reprieve from the biting cold waiting for you just outside your blankets. You want to melt at the sensation of his hands on your back. You’re a puddle of a human being in his hold.

And somewhere between your squirming and his soothing, you’re not completely sure who ends up kissing who first but you have zero complaints.

Quickly your searching hands find purchase on him, just as his anchor you to him.

You’re drowning, you think- head dizzy, completely disoriented as lust burns through you. This is everything you’ve been pining for and now that it’s in your hold you don’t quite know what to do with it. 

John rolls you gently onto your back as the pair of you break for air- hovers above you, mindful of your belly while still not being too far away.

“Tell me to stop,” he looks as flustered as you feel, and a part of you preens in the knowledge that you’ve impacted him the way he’s impacted you. That you haven’t been the only one yearning for more. 

“Please don’t s-“ you don’t even finish the sentence before he’s on you again, the covers rustling as he shuffles to position himself closer to you.

“Good girl” he praises against your lips, the words itching something seated deep inside you.

John’s hands roam your body, searching for the hemline of your dress only to hike the skirt up to your hips once he finds it. 

“Please,” you whimper and try to arch under his touch. 

Rather than immediately diving under the skirt of your dress, he continues to feel up your chest, back, hips and thighs. You could practically melt at the attention, gladly feeling him up in turn before your hands grope down his chest to pry at his shirt. Your make out is briefly interrupted as he shucks his shirt, although in the dim lighting of the dark it’s hard to fully appreciate everything he’s displaying at the moment.

“God, you are soft,” he marvels, lips leaving yours to kiss down your neck. 

You realize that he’s trying to keep the covers over you as he works your dress up your body, pooling the fabric around your collar bones as his attention drifts from your neck to your sternum.

One hand gropes at a breast as he teases your nipple with his tongue, immediately making you gasp and grab his hair. 

“Gentle!” You correct him- while under normal circumstances his grip on you would have been perfectly acceptable, you’re currently very pregnant and part of that means your chest has been sore the last few weeks. You’re so sensitive now. 

“I’m sorry, lovely. I’ll be gentle,” he apologizes, and you relax back into the mattress.True to his promise, John is far more careful of where he gropes and kisses, delighting in all the noises you make.

The sensitivity in your breasts has you squirming underneath him, whining in pleasure.

You feel strung out and desperate, some nebulous part of you aware that you're in trouble if you're already this amped up and he's barely begun to touch you yet.

Arching into his hold, you both freeze at the same moment you feel something akin to a release in the pressure of your chest. You haven't quite been sure when you would start actually lactating- knowing that the real stuff wouldn't come in until after birth, but knowing that there was the colostrum prior.

You're not quite sure what you feel. Flustered? Relieved? Embarrassed? But John remains unflappable, a mere "Tastes sweet" before returning to the task at hand.

The hand not anchoring your breast for his mouth drifts down your side, ghosting over the fabric of your underwear. You're wet- keenly aware of how his fingers trace across your skin. Gooseflesh rises in the wake of his touch, something to do less with the all encompassing chill that you two are trying to avoid and more to do with the lust that is firmly growing in your belly. The gusset of your panties doesn't take long to soak as he teases you over the fabric.

Your hips twitch, trying desperately to follow his fingers. 

You want more. It's been so long since you've had anyone touch you, and the weight of John over you feels phenomenal. "Please, John- I need you to touch me." Never in all your days have you actually begged a man to touch you, but your life has just been full of unexpected surprises lately.

"I'll take care of you, lovely- gotta be patient," he consoles you, paired with a teasing suck of one nipple before moving across your chest to get to the other one.

You don't want to be patient. You want him- now- and even though you actively have him right in this moment it's somehow still not enough. You'd say you're like an animal in heat, but animals in heat aren't usually ready to calve at any moment. It's almost alarming how little control you have over your own body right now. You're little more than your most base urges with spread thighs and heaving breaths as you keenly watch him.

"Gotta get you ready for me, sweetheart," he soothes with his words as his hand slips under the waistband of your panties. "'m not a small man- don't want to hurt you."

You feel dizzy just at the thought. You're well acquainted with what he's packing at this point, and the knowledge he's going to try to make sure it's good for you too is enough for you to find what minimal patience you possess.

The feel of his fingertips lightly searching for your clit has your legs spreading and thighs twitching in anticipation. He's an insufferable tease, tracing the pad of one calloused fingertip around your vulva and teasing the seam of your lower lips. Just enough to keep you keyed in on him, hook line and sinker, whining for more like an anxious dog. 

When he finally parts your pussy with his fingers, you arch up into his hold as he spreads your wetness around. "Bein’ such a good girl f'r me" his praise is low and gravely and shoots straight between your thighs. 

God the things that this man could make you do if he asked you nicely.

"John, please!"

"So impatient" he chuckles against your soft skin, nipping at you ever so carefully. Just enough to get your skin between his teeth, the squeal that escapes you more in anticipation than from any actual discomfort.

He shushes you, lapping at the patch of skin that he nipped in a mock apology as the hand slipping between your lower lips slides one finger inside of you.

There's certainly more to his one finger than to your own, and you must be such a greedy little thing tonight because you're still wanting another finger. John is in no hurry it seems, content to rock his one finger in and out of you as your body gets wetter in preparation of future events. 

His hand doesn't leave from between your thighs, but he moves further under the covers where they've obscured him completely, falling around your collar bones. Certainly warmer for the pair of you for him to do this like this, although your hips are already rocking. 

You've got a reasonable guess on what he's about to do, but not being able to physically see him does, you admit, add a certain level of excitement. There's nothing you can do other than lay on your back patiently like a good girl and wait for him to make his next move. His warm breath on your pussy makes you jolt, a thrill shooting up your spine.

 You haven't gotten head in ages- certainly not with your last beau.

"Try to be quiet for me, lovely. Don't need anything outside hearing your pretty noises," is all the warning you get before he's lowering his mouth to you.

It is certainly easier said than done- partly you manage to keep your whines and whimpers down, but it just makes your eyes want to roll back the way John doesn't hesitate to put his tongue to work.With a cursory lap of your vulva, he's quick to hone his attention on your clit while his finger continues to slip in and out of you.

 After a few thrusts of his wrists you have to turn your head and muffle yourself with a pillow as he gives you the second finger you've been so keen for. His fingers stroking you from the inside paired with his tongue on your clit is certainly enough to work you steadily towards your orgasm.

You're not sure that you're going to last much longer when he starts to crook his fingers against the anterior wall of you- seems he knows exactly how to try to wring out every last drop of pleasure from you, and you're more than game to let him.

"John," your whine is a small, pleading thing this time- not the same feverish anxious plea from earlier, attempting to get him to give exactly what you want. This is a softer cry, a plea and an acknowledgement all wrapped together that he will take you where you're trying to go if you'll just let him do it.

Cold be damned, your activities under the sheets have a sheen of sweat breaking out over your skin. You pull the blanket off of you, partially because you're starting to get hot and partially on the reflex that you want to watch him- although that isn't really going to be an option with your belly in the way. "Oh my God, please don't stop,” you beg, perfectly able to picture the smug grin on his face as you feel the vibration of him chuckling in amusement at you.

Your squirming is dealt with swiftly as he grips one of your hips with his free hand, holding you in place as you rock against his mouth. The pleasure coiling in your belly twists down tighter and tighter, your staccato breaths hitching as he pushes you closer to your climax.

Right when the dam breaks, it seems both of you were on the same page- one of your hands clamping over your mouth to muffle yourself right at the moment John straightens a bit and abandons your hip in favor of trying to cover your mouth as well.

Which suddenly puts you in the position of being completely at his mercy- that he's using the hand buried between your legs to see how much he can get you to squeal now that your noises are  muffled to his standard. 

When he lets up, you're dizzy and gasping for air. This is so much more intense than the orgasm you'd brought yourself to in the shower and that one had literally brought you to your knees. There's a part of your brain still cognizant enough that you want to return the favor- That he's made you feel absolutely divine and it's only fair to reciprocate that. 

However, rather than functional words, all you can come up with is to just paw at the top of his pants, mumbling more so than speaking "I want- I-"

Despite your complete lack of clarity, he seems to understand what your mission is regardless.

 "We can worry about that later, Love," he assures you, coaxing you onto your side and getting in close behind you. Despite having just gotten yours, for a moment you are incredulous at the idea that he's about to just tuck you back into bed and go to sleep.Then you realize the covers are still down around your ankles, and your night dress up across your breasts- and, blessedly, that he's pulling down his pants. 

God you wish you could see it, but between the darkness and the angle with him behind you it's not really an option. You can see enough shadows to have a vague idea of where he is behind you, but also the lack of vision is adding to the experience. 

Just groping and touching in the dark like a pair of frisky teenagers trying to not get caught.

"I've got what you need right here, pretty girl- lift your leg up for me," he instructs and you comply immediately. 

Oh God he's big. You knew that, sorta- have been well acquainted with what he feels like pressing up against you with morning wood. And he just told you that you needed to be prepped in order to take him. 

But somehow this feels completely different, and here you are lying soft and compliant on your side with your legs spread wondering how the fuck he's going to make it fit.You're completely gagging for it either way. 

"Please, please, plea-" you beg, head turning his direction in the dark even if you can't see well. Your begging is cut off as he drags his cock across your swollen folds, sensitive from the earlier attention he paid to you. 

"Easy, lovely. Told you I'd take care of you," he instructs, and it takes everything in you to lie still in his hold while he lines himself up with you.

Your mind is spinning a hundred miles an hour, excited by the prospect as he finally pushes the head in and gives a shallow thrust.

His chest is lined up to your back, one hand helping prop up your thigh to give better access. It's the most intimate position the two of you can manage, and it gives you a front row seat as he groans low in the back of his throat.

Oh, you like that noise.

You want to hear him make it again.

"Christ you're warm," he chokes, and a deep satisfaction rolls through you. Just knowing that he's as affected by you, as you are by him is enough to stroke your ego.

"John, I can't wait anymore," you whine, pushing back against him in encouragement for him to move. Since when did you become such a needy little mess? It would be embarrassing if you could bring yourself to care. 

You've been long overdue for a good romp between the sheets, and you are just thrilled to pieces that the captain has decided to be the one up for the task.

"You are an impatient creature, aren't you pet?" His admonishment is a gentle thing, as are his first few thrusts as your bodies acclimate to each other.

"It feels so good. Want you to feel good too," you plead your case, and really who was he to disagree with that?

"Feels fuckin' incredible, lovely, don't you worry about that. Sweet pussy of yours has me like a vice," You push back against his thrusts, eyes rolling as the angle lets him hit that one spot in you. Pragmatically, this position was the best to allow the pair of you to be close to each other while not overcrowding around your belly- allow some level of intimacy, as John is able to get up close behind you, and you can reasonably turn to touch and paw at him. But God is it also working for you as far as bringing you pleasure. Each time his hips bury against the plush of your ass he hits that spot that makes your leg shake in his hold.

"Gonna get you there, lovely, just-" it strokes your ego that he's babbling slightly as he speaks. That he's just as excited to have access to your body, to let you have him like this.

"John, right there- I, ah!- Oh God, right there," your pleading seems to just ramp him up. He's not rough with you by any stretch, just clearly comfortable that he's not going to hurt you and confident that your body's acclimated to take all of him. It's your turn to babble, whimpering and whining in his hold. The hand holding your thigh spread coaxes your leg over his hip, hand drifting back to your clit to stroke the little bundle of nerves.

"Just like that, hm?" he asks you like your eyes aren't almost crossing from how good he's giving it to you.

"Oh my God, please!" your brain's possibly broken. Your entire universe has condensed down to you, and him, and this bed and how damn good he's making you feel. 

A quick study, he's already learned your tells that you're inching closer to your climax.

"You can do it, pet- cum for me. I wanna see your pretty face when you cum all over my cock.”

You’re past words, clinging to him with one hand and the sheets with the other as you breathe and try to relax your tensing body.

“That’s it, good girl- deep breaths,” he coaxes you, and that’s the magic combination to get you seeing fireworks. 

He must still doubt your ability to stifle your orgasm yourself, muffling your noises by grabbing your face and turning it so he can kiss you. You certainly have no complaints, aware by the way his pace changes for a few thrusts that he’s not very far behind you before reaching his own end.

For a moment, the pair of you recline in silence as you come down from your respective highs. The heat the two of you made quickly starts to dissipate in the night with the covers still bunched at the foot of the bed, making you shiver as the cold finally settles back over you.

That movement is enough to bring John out of whatever post coital bliss he was in, shifting behind you to pull out.

“Hang on, love,” he instructs while pulling his pants back over his hips before pulling your dress back down your legs and grabbing the covers.

You feel calm for the first time in days, content to laze on your side with John behind you as he snuggles in next to you.

You remember turning your head back towards him for one last kiss- something slow and soft and gentle- and don’t even realize it when you fall asleep.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

[philistiniphagottini]

Hiii can I please request number 7 + Blade? I really enjoy the way you write him. Thank you if you end up doing this!

Thank you for the ask Anon. I appreciate you telling me that you enjoy the way I write Blade, he's my current favourite character and I'd love it if people wanted to talk to me more about him. I hope you enjoy. Comments/reblogs greatly appreciated.

cw. light angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of blood, gender neutral reader, chubby reader, minors DO NOT interact

7. Lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise.

Prompts

Your room smelled of disinfectant and medicinal salves. It clogged your nose when you breathed deep, a pinch forming between your furrowed brow as you slowly and meticulously wrap fresh bandages around Blade’s exposed bicep. You had to discard his jacket, the material slashed and tattered laying in a bloody heap long forgotten on the floor as you gave your undivided attention to Blade. 

He thinks it's a wasted effort but he lets you do as you please. His free hand is resting in your lap, fingers lazily curled into your thigh until the soft skin squished beneath his touch. You feel incredibly warm beneath the tips of his fingers as he stared at you, absentmindedly watching you work patch up his wounds. Wounds that would naturally heal themselves, just another chip on his scarred and haggard body. Your attentiveness wasn’t needed when he was cursed to constantly heal but you always kicked up a fuss whenever he returned to you in a bloody heap, supporting fresh wounds and a tired look in his eyes. 

It was a little awkward for you shuffling around Blade as you worked. You were practically, almost in his lap as you hovered over him on the bed, the sheets already drying with flakes of blood and whatever else Blade had dragged in the door with him. The sheets needed to be changed as soon as you got the chance. The stench of decay and death was particularly strong on him today. It almost made you blanch. The tips of your fingers grazed the top of his bicep as you finished wrapping the bandage around him, your lips pressed into a tight, thin line as a pensive frown plagued your facade. You eventually had to stuff your bottom lip between the pinch of your teeth to stop it from quivering as you blinked rapidly to dispel the wetness clinging to the edges of your thick lashes. 

“Don’t give me that look” Blade said, his quiet murmur cutting through the thick silence. 

You released your bruised lip from between your teeth as your gaze now flickered up to his face, his piercing red stare causing a shiver to creep along the notches of your spine. You sniffled softly, unshed crystalline tears still vehemently beading at the corners of your eyes and making your vision a little blurry. 

“What look?” you asked as you reached for another bottle of medicinal salve. 

Blade gently caught your wrist before you could grab it, preventing you from swiping it off the little bedside table nestled close to you. Your hand started to shake and he could feel the tremble of your pulse when he pressed his fingers into your wrist. You peered up at him beneath the hood of your lashes as they fluttered over your round cheeks. 

“That look” Blade said. “Sadness doesn’t suit you.”

Something tugged on your heart strings. You were sad because of him. Because it hurt you to see his body so battered and bruised. It hurt you whenever he said you were wasting your time patching him up. He would naturally regenerate, such was his curse. It was barely a comforting thought. Too many bad thoughts plagued your head like a persistent swarm of insects, their buzzing incessant and never ceasing no matter how many times you tried to swat them away. You took a shuddering breath.

“It brings me no joy seeing you in pain.”

Tears threatened to spill down your cheeks and before they could, Blade was drawing you into his lap. You complained at first, not wanting your weight to hurt him in any way but he batted away your protests. He coiled his arms around your plump waist, giving your soft stomach a gentle squeeze as you were coddled in his lap, your thick thighs falling beside his as you were forced to sit on top of him. It felt a little ridiculous. He was the patient, not you. Blade wasn’t good with words. He didn’t know how to tell you not to worry. He couldn’t weave words like countless others he knew could. He lacked tact when it came to delicate matters and he knew his blunt words were only going to cause you further distress. You didn’t treat him like a weapon, the way he believed he deserved to be treated. You were too kind and soft hearted. You have no reason to be so close to him, when his sharp edges could cut into your soft skin and hurt you. Yet, you give your kindness to him so freely and easily, despite one wrong whisper of the mara threatening to creep in. He could hurt you. But you knew he wouldn’t. He’d rather fall on his sword than intentionally hurt you, mara or not. 

You hid your tear stained face from his sight, lips pressed to the purple and red bruises forming over his skin as they bled into his skin. These too would fade soon and the press of your plush lips was the healing balm. Blade slowly rubbed his hands along your back, his calloused fingers aching when he smoothed them against your pillowy soft skin. You were so incredibly soft and warm it was already lulling him into a state of peace. He can feel your salty tears wet his skin and it only makes him squeeze your soft waist harder. 

“Blade, can you please be a little more careful?” you softly requested. “If not for your sake, then for mine?”

He’s not sure you know what you’re asking of him. The way you had worded it, he’s unsure if it was intentional or not. Because it was exceedingly hard for Blade to refuse a request from you. Not when you ask it in such a sticky sweet voice that he can feel it rotting on the back of his teeth when you say his name like that. He was rough and sharp around the edges but only you were able to soften it up and dull it. You made him feel like he wanted to be good. Only wanted to be good just for you. No one else. Your skin squishes under his touch as his large, scarred hands touch your soft stomach, a soft hum stirring in the back of his throat as you plant another soft kiss on his bruises. 

“Just for you” he replied. 

He didn’t elaborate further and you hoped it was a promise he was going to keep. It brought a little smile to your face as you wrapped your arms around Blade’s neck, hugging him closer to your body as you tangled your hands in the baby hairs lining the nape of his neck. For now, it was enough.

[magical-reid]

Braids and Confessions

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 1K

Prompt: 29 “I can braid your hair for you—I mean, only if you want.”

Summary: After a dangerous encounter, Steve offers to help you with your hair, leading to an unexpected moment of vulnerability and closeness between the two of you. As he braids your hair, Steve confesses his deeper feelings, and the two of you share a life-changing kiss.

The rain outside pelted softly against the windows, the rhythmic drumming muted by the thick tension in the room. Steve leaned against the edge of his kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching you from a distance. You were seated on his couch, legs curled up beneath you, trying—and failing—to tie your hair back into something remotely manageable.

“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about this,” Steve finally said, his voice edging on exasperation but laced with concern.

Your arms ached from the earlier scuffle with whatever the hell that thing was. A vine had lashed out, wrapping tightly around your wrist, and though Steve had managed to cut you free, the bruising was vivid and unforgiving.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though your shaky hands betrayed you as another hair tie snapped under the pressure.

Steve sighed and pushed off the counter, walking toward you. His sneakers scuffed against the hardwood floor before he stopped, towering just slightly over where you sat.

“You’re not fine. You’re stubborn.” His tone softened as he knelt down in front of you, resting his arms on his knees. “Let me help.”

You snorted, dropping your hands to your lap. “What, you’re gonna fight a Demogorgon and be my hairstylist now?”

Steve flushed but didn’t back down. “I mean… yeah. If that’s what you need.” He cleared his throat, his eyes darting away before he added in a quieter voice, “I can braid your hair for you—I mean, only if you want.”

Your mouth fell open slightly, surprised by the offer. It wasn’t like Steve to be so gentle, not when his typical armor consisted of sarcasm and bad jokes.

“You… know how to braid?” you asked, suspicious.

“I have a sister,” he said with a shrug, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Used to braid her hair all the time when we were kids. Pretty sure I still got the muscle memory.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your heart stuttering at the thought of Steve’s hands in your hair. But the truth was, you needed the help, and the look on his face—earnest and patient—was impossible to resist.

“Alright,” you relented, your voice soft. “But if you pull too hard, I’m throwing a pillow at you.”

Steve grinned, his whole face lighting up with the kind of boyish charm that made your stomach flip. “Deal.”

He climbed onto the couch behind you, settling in close enough that you could feel the warmth of his knees brushing your back. You handed him the brush, and he gently began to detangle the mess, working from the ends up.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a few moments. “You good?”

“Mm-hmm,” you murmured, though the truth was far more complicated. Steve’s fingers were deft but careful, the occasional accidental brush against your neck sending shivers down your spine. The closeness was almost too much, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

As he worked, the room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft scrape of the brush and the hum of the rain outside. When Steve finally started braiding, his voice broke the quiet.

“You scared me today, you know.”

Your heart twisted at the vulnerability in his tone. “Steve—”

“No, I mean it.” He paused for a beat, his hands stilling for a moment in your hair. “When I saw that thing grab you… I thought—” He exhaled shakily. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

The weight of his words hung heavy between you, and you struggled to find a response. “I’m okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, but what if you hadn’t been?” His fingers resumed their work, but his voice remained tense. “I don’t think I can do this without you.”

Your chest tightened, and you turned slightly to glance over your shoulder at him. “Steve—”

His hands dropped from your hair, the braid unfinished, as his brown eyes met yours. “I’m serious. I—” He shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an idiot, but I care about you. A lot. More than a friend should.”

Your breath hitched. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice softer now, almost shy. “I have for a while. I just… didn’t know how to tell you.”

A warmth spread through your chest, so intense it almost hurt. “Steve, I—” You swallowed hard, your next words trembling but sure. “I feel the same way.”

His eyes widened slightly, his lips parting as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Then, slowly, a smile broke across his face, genuine and breathtaking.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice tinged with hope.

“Yeah,” you said, unable to stop the smile spreading across your own lips.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you charged with something electric and undeniable. Then, with an awkward laugh, Steve cleared his throat. “So… should I finish the braid or—”

You laughed, reaching up to take his hand. “Forget the braid, Harrington.”

Before he could respond, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his. It was soft and tentative at first, but as he kissed you back, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious, it deepened into something that felt like home.

When you finally pulled back, Steve rested his forehead against yours, a grin playing at his lips. “Best hairstyling gig I’ve ever had.”

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. “Guess you’re hired full-time, then.”

“Deal,” he said softly, his voice filled with affection. And as he pulled you into another kiss, the rain outside continued to fall, but inside, everything felt warm and bright.

[cakesfunhouse]

HELLO!!! HERES A A VERY VERY LAZY THING I WROTE FOR YOUR BUNKER AU REAL QUICK, A DAYDREAM I HAD LOLLL ITS LATE SORRY

!!!! charades, sun & y/n

mute y/n + language barrier obvs, but y/n understands a little now after being with the boys for some time, they’ve been proud human owners for about five or six months now hehe

the prompt: y/n lately has been trying really hard to communicate with the boys, a recent development <3

currently sun is fixing y/n their lunch, today it’s something simple

he still can’t get over how tiny the portions he has to make for them, so cute

behind him, y/n has been slowly pacing in circles for awhile with a far off look on their face, having trailed in the kitchen after him like a duckling

sun takes notice after a few moments and watches in mild curiosity before asking y/n what they’re doing

it takes y/n a minute to stop and look at him, not realizing they were being spoken to at first and looks up and stares at him like a cutie

“whats wrong, sweet thing?” sun repeats

y/n looks down for a second afterwards, he guesses thinking to themselves based on the way they ever so slightly scrunch up their cute little face before miming sleeping by putting their hands together by their cheek like the way moon does and then pointing at sun, then staring up at sun expectantly again

sun hums thoughtfully, offering a soft smile down at them as he bends his knees and rests his hands on his thighs “are you tired, sunshine?”

they pause before repeating the gestures again, not tired it seems. he watches patiently, then makes a display of thinking to himself. glancing up off to the side and putting a finger to the edge of his faceplate as if he had a chin before returning his attention back to them

“moon?”

they frown and look to the floor, staring at the cracks between the tiles

he gives a small “hm,” before continuing

“you want to know where moon is?”

he’s about to clarify when his sunshine abruptly puts their arms up to form an ‘x’ in front of their chest and and shakes their head before shuffling closer and tugging on the end of his pant leg a few times with both hands in the way that makes them lean back as they try to dig their heels in the ground, but the tiles of the kitchen just make them slide in their little socks, looking over their shoulder while they do so. they let go after the third tug and run off elsewhere in the house out of sight

confused, sun follows after them in the direction they had headed, quickly finding them waiting at the threshold of the living room, peeking around the lip of the wall, upon seeing sun come towards them they run off again, but not out of sight this time. they walk up to the coffee table situated in front of the couch, fingering at the edges of one of its drawers and pulling hard to drag the drawer out, sun reaches out to help them as he walks up to them but they’ve already pulled it out and are now climbing up it and into it

he kneels down by the drawer and watches curiously as they rummage around in there, eventually they try to drag out a notepad and push it up onto the surface of the coffee table with a loose crayon under their arm, visibly struggling to do so though so sun gently takes the notebook from them with one hand and scoops them up in the other and places them onto the coffee table surface

after righting themselves a bit and smoothing out their clothes they untuck the crayon from under their arm, oversized in their hands being as small as they are, they go to the notepad, carefully getting down on to their knees and start drawing something out

they draw out a simple sun first, glancing back at the sun behind them briefly from over their shoulder as they continue, they put down a plus sign and then beside it they doodle out what looks like someone sleeping with a dream cloud bubble above their head

y/n turns to look at sun for a moment, searching for something in his face, before messily drawing an arrow to the dream cloud, then they stand shifting from foot to foot while they hold onto the crayon

“daydreaming?” he guesses

that seems to be the right answer as they beam up at him and they hop in place in a little circle, they seem quite pleased with themselves that they managed to get the message across

if he had a heart he’s quite sure it would be throughly melted, instead his chassis warms slightly as he watches them, his eyes turn to happy white crescents and chuckling to himself

FHEHDHGDGE that’s all for now, thanks for reading!!!!!

IMMM GONNA BITE YOU????? IM GONNA BITE YOU???????????? THIS IS SO CUUUTEE JKDFSKLF;DGGH

[beaconfeels]

hi!! <3

short prompt (if you're still in the mood):

steter / "who are you?"

We’re going to die, Peter thinks. He never thought it would end this way. The Hale pack has stood for centuries. Nobody’s even dared to attack them for the past three hundred years. 

But now their emissary has disappeared, their forests are burning, and there’s a veritable army on their land. His throat tightens as he extends his claws. He won’t go down without a fight, but he will go down. They all will. He looks at Talia and sees the same fear and anguish in her eyes. 

He glances around the clearing at his nieces and nephews, and it feels like his heart is going to shut down in pain. He would willingly die for them, but he never wanted to die with them.  

Deucalion and his army stand before them, all silent finally. The breath before the battle. 

A twig breaks underfoot, and everyone’s heads snap toward the sound. A man walks into the clearing, taking easy, measured steps until he comes to a standstill between the packs.

“Goddess bless villains and their penchant for monologuing,” the man says. “I apologize for being late, Alpha Hale,” he adds, turning around with a slight nod to Talia. 

Peter looks at her, and she shoots him a look that says, “I don’t know who the hell he is either.” 

“And who might you be?” Deucalion asks. 

“I am the protector of this land, and this pack,” the man answers. His body language is deliberately loose, but Peter can see that he’s much more alert than he’s trying to let on. Something about the set of his shoulders maybe. Peter can’t quite put his finger on it. 

Deucalion laughs. “You think you’re going to protect them?” 

“Yes, I do,” the man says. Then he snaps his fingers, and a hole opens up in the earth and swallows the man next to Deucalion. One minute there’s a person there, and the next there isn’t. The hole closes up behind him, leaving only a small disturbance in the soil. 

It’s the kind of thing a mind doesn’t want to process. That’s probably why there’s a moment of silence before gasps and murmurs start. 

“Now,” the mysterious man says, “Where were we? Oh, right. I was explaining to you how I am the protector of this land, and you will leave if you don’t want the same thing, or worse, to happen to you.” 

Or worse? Peter thinks. He almost wants to see what else this man is capable of. Apparently burying a man alive in an instant is just level one for him. 

“You think one trick is going to scare me-” Deucalion starts, but there’s a scream, and a woman disappears. 

Half of Deucalion’s army runs off into the trees. The smart half, Peter thinks. 

The man lets out a piercing whistle. Everyone looks around frantically, and then the beating of wings starts. It’s ravens, more than Peter’s ever seen at once. Their wings and cries are overwhelming. Peter clutches his hands to his ears, and watches as the ravens attack their enemies. Growls and shrieks and cries join the racket as the ravens shred with beaks and claws. 

Then the man whistles again, and the birds fly off as quickly as they came, soon only a black cloud on the horizon. 

“That was your warning,” the mysterious man says. “Your last and final warning. Leave here and never come back.” 

They leave at once. Even Deucalion tries to leave, but he’s unable to. 

“Not you,” the man says with a shake of his head. “I will not allow you to live, demon wolf.” One more snap of his fingers, and Deucalion disappears into the earth. 

The man turns back to the Hales. “I would have liked to have dispatched him in a more colorful manner, but well, I suppose everyone has had enough trauma for today, don’t you think? Staring down death is not an easy thing.” He smiles sympathetically, his eyes drifting to Peter, and it’s only then that Peter realizes his own hands are shaking, and that Talia has dropped to her knees, her shoulders heaving with sobs. 

Yes, things seem to have been tied up with a bow, but only moments ago, they had thought death was imminent. Just the thought of it still makes him ache. 

“Who are you?” Peter asks through trembling lips. 

“Stiles Stilinski,” the man says, holding out his hand. “Psychic. Witch. Spark. And your mate.”

Their hands close around each other, and Peter feels an almost unbearable rush of power as they do. “Shouldn’t you be waiting to tell me that last part?” He asks. 

“What’s the point in being psychic if you can’t use it to move things along a bit from time to time?” Stiles says with a winning smile. “Now go look after your pack. They’ve had quite the shakeup today. I’ll find you later, my wolf.” 

Then he ambles off across the cleaning like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Peter looks after him, and he can’t help the low rumble of relieved laughter that bubbles up. He turns his face to the sky, and smiles. 

[writingdevil]

Hiiii! I saw that you were accepting prompts/requests for stp things OvO Do you think you could write something about cold and skeptic? It doesn't have to be romantic or anything just them interacting! Love your writing!!! :3

(Of course!I hope I got their dynamic right-Enjoy!)

Cold once again looked down at Skeptic,who had joined him on his walk this morning.

Cold usually wakes up incredibly early,to the point where the sun is only just about peeking out on the horizon.Not a lot of the others would be awake at this time,and if they were,they'd rather not be disturbed.This usually wouldn't deter Cold,but it was hard to interact with birds-who were either sleep deprived or trembling from nightmares-in an interesting way.So Cold had gotten into the habit of just wandering around the forest,walking until he felt like he had had enough.

Skeptic wasn't an uncommon bird to see at this hour,with thoughts too heavy to allow him sleep, and Cold would often see him mumbling to himself as he scribbled in a notebook.Cold normally didn't pay him any mind,but today-Skeptic had asked to join him.

It surprised him enough to be intrigued,and say yes.

He expected Skeptic to be chatty,to basically use Cold as a way to air out all that was mentally plaguing him like he normally would do.But he was actually silent.

Cold never had a problem with the silence most days-it gave his mind time to calm down and go back to that droning,dark state,and then Cold would try and feel something new again.

But it was hard to do that with Skeptic next to him, eying everything that passed with a sharp look,as if every leaf and rock in the place held some mystery or secret.

Cold turned to look ahead again as he asked,"Why did you want to walk with me?"

Skeptic blinked at him,as if only realising that Cold was with him,then shrugged and said,"I just wanted to get out of the house for a bit."

Cold hummed in response,then they fell into silence again,but Cold knew better.

Three,two,one-

"Why do you go on these walks every morning?" There it was.

Cold sighed,watching the cold air float in front of him."Because there's nothing else to do at this hour."

"How come your body always wakes up this early?"

"I don't know,"Cold casually said,then looked Skeptic in the eye ad he said,"Why can't you ever leave a theory until the next day?"

Skeptic almost tripped over his own feet at the question,but he managed to keep his balance while still glaring at Cold.After a few seconds,he said,"It's hard to leave a question unanswered,especially when I know I can figure it out."

Cold rolled his eyes."Why bother,though?Isn't the unknown more fun?"

Skeptic chuckled."Maybe for you it is,but some of us want to understand what's going on around us."

"How well has that been going for you,detective?" Cold was hoping that struck a nerve,to rile the other one up,but the only reaction he got was Skeptic staring up at him blankly.It was a little disappointing.

He kicked a rock,watching it fly off into the tall grass,just as Skeptic asked,"Can I ask you a question?"

"I don't care.You'll ask it anyways."

"Why do you do these things?"

Cold raised a brow,but continued to look straight ahead."What things?"

"Things that will make you feel something."

"You just answered your own question."

"No,I mean-"Skeptic sighed harshly,and Cold finally glanced down at him,noticing the exhaustion in his eyes,"-I mean why do you need to do these things in the first place?"

Cold shrugged."I can't help how I came to be in His head."Skeptic made a sound,slightly tilting his head from left to right in thought."I guess so,but don't you ever wonder why you feel so-so-"

"Numb?"Cold finished,and although Skeptic looked uncomfortable with the wording,he nodded.Cold sighed again,exhaling cold air right into Skeptic's face.He chuckled at the face he made,no doubt having questions about that as well.

"Wondering about it won't change it.It won't make me feel something,so it's not worth my time.If anything,I think I'm better off than the rest of you, not being weighed down by fears or duties."

"I know,you've made that clear in the past,"Skeptic quietly muttered,tracing his hand against a bush and its vibrant leaves as they passed by.

Neither of them spoke for quite a while,and the pink in the sky was beginning to fade.Cold noticed that they were at the point where they would loop back around to the house.Someone would definitely be awake by now,possibly Stubborn or Smitten.

Just as Cold was beginning to think that Skeptic wouldn't interest him anymore,he yawned and softly said,"It's quite nice out here."

Cold glanced back down at him,and Skeptic had a small smile on his face,usually sharp eyes now clouded over with something that Cold couldn't name right now.

"If we're being honest,"Skeptic said,"I didn't intend to join you just to question your motivation about who you were."If Cold didn't know any better,that sounded like an apology.Usually Skeptic's tunnel-vision way of thinking got in the way of seeing when he hurt someone's feelings,and then Smitten would have to gently explain it to him.

Not that Cold was offended.If anything,this was amusing.

Skeptic continued,rubbing a hand over his eyes,"I actually came out here to escape thinking for a little while."

"Really?"

"Yes.I was beginning to just get angry at myself,and I never know how to fix it,either the problem or my lack of sleep.But then I saw you going for your walk, and I thought that this might be what I'm missing-a moment of not thinking."

"A break,you mean,"Cold playfully pointed out, knowing that Skeptic hated having to stop and rest almost as much as Stubborn did.

Skeptic chuckled,and nodded."Yes.That."He sighed, and Cold just stared down at him,until Skeptic turned to look at him and quietly admitted,"You know-sometimes I envy you."

That actually made Cold stumble in his steps,but thankfully Skeptic said nothing of it,and Cold forced himself to keep moving as he stared down at Skeptic,wide-eyed.

Skeptic refused to look him in the eye as he said,"It must be so nice not to question every little thing,to not feel an itch for an answer.You just do whatever you want,just to see what'll happen,to see what's interesting,and not logical."

"It must be so calm in your mind,"Skeptic muttered, turning to look at the ground,but all Cold could focus on was what he had just admitted,and how surprised he was at it.

Calm wasn't the word Cold would personally used-but he did think that it was necessary against the others intense way of thinking.Although,he never thought that someone would envy the way he was.

He didn't know how to feel about it-and that made him want to learn more about it.

As the house grew closer,he made sure his tone was casual and uncaring as he said,"You're welcome to these walks anytime,you know."

He could hear the smile in Skeptic's voice as he softly replied,"Thank you,Cold."

[jemgirl86]

For the "send me a ship and one of these and i’ll write a mini fic" sambucky and 15. things you said with too many miles between us

Hi! Sorry for the wait :) But what can I say? The Golden Globes inspired me lol

Also, tagging @funsized-loser who asked for the same prompt. Thank you both!

Sam pulled his vibrating phone out of his pocket and smiled. Normally, he wouldn’t have left his phone on at all when he was at the studio, but it wasn’t exactly a normal day. His close friend.. occasional muse… lover… partner? Well, maybe. They hadn’t exactly defined it, clearly, and they certainly hadn’t told more than a couple of people about it, but his… well, his something, his very important something, was having a very important night. And, since Sam couldn’t be there in person, which he kind of still felt like shit about, he’d figured the least he could do was break one of his oldest self-imposed rules and leave his phone on while he was recording just this once.

Sam looked over to where his band was settling back in after a short break, and grimaced. He knew what he was about to say wasn’t going to go over well.

“Hey, guys, let’s take five - again,” he said, sheepishly.

“Wilson,” Rhodey sighed, wearing a frown.

Sam’s bass guitarist was even more of a tight ass than he was, and usually Sam appreciated having some backup when he was trying to get the rest of the guys to focus during some of their longer and more brutal recording sessions, but right now, with his phone still buzzing in his hand, appreciation was about the last thing he was feeling.

“I just need a minute,” he said, and started making his way toward the exit.

“Sam,” an exasperated voice called over the intercom.

He looked up to see his manager, Isaiah, and really, everyone else behind the glass too, staring at him in disbelief. “This deadline for—

“I know,” he bit out, frustration boiling over. His phone had already stopped ringing, and started back all over again, and Sam didn’t want Bucky to think he was ignoring him, on today of all days especially. He didn’t want to let his — he didn’t want to let Bucky down.

Read the rest on ao3!

[glitchedcrows]

I've never been a writer but I saw a post about Sirius' silver eyes and couldn't get this out of my head...so here's an attempt at something. (I also tried to write it into a @wolfstarmicrofic prompt)

first heartbreak - wolfstar - word count: 743

Remus chews on the nib of his quill as he re-reads the same sentence for the fifth time, ignoring the wet feeling on his lips as the ink is surely staining them.

He'd told the other marauders he had an essay to write, but really he just needed a moment to think. It had been impossible to keep his thoughts straight, all he could think about was those-

"Moony?"

His head snaps up and there they are, those eyes.

A grey storm pulling you into it's depths, keeping you trapped. They look colder today, or maybe he's just imagining because he feels cold looking at them. He watches as Sirius graze flicks down to his lips and he realizes he's still chewing on his quill. Sirius watched Remus wipe at his mouth with the cuff of his robes before meeting his eyes again.

"Can we talk?"

Sirius’ voice cracks a little at the end as he shifts nervously from foot to foot. He's clearly uncomfortable with Remus’ gaze on him which is exactly why Remus doesn't look away. He did this, Sirius did this so he can deal with the consequences. He resides to make the other boy suffer a little longer before he finally looks away, his voice coming out harsh and cold.

"No."

He can hear Sirius fidget on the other side of the table as he shuffles around to pack up his things.

He's not looking back up but he's very aware that he's being watched.

“Please, moony-"

Don't call me that!"

The words comes out as more of a growl and he almost flinches at the harshness of his own voice but he's bad enough.

"You lost any right to call me that when you decided to go and do this prank"

He says the last word with so much venom that, despite not looking at him, it's noticeable his Sirius flinches at the harshness of it.

"Remus…please I just want to talk.. just let me-“

"What?"

He can't help but interrupt as the anger builds in him. The moon just passed but the wolf isn't quite gone yet and Sirius is not helping him control his anger. He can hear the other boy open and close his mouth trying to get his words out.

"I just want to talk…”

But Remus has had enough, as he picks up the last book he finally looks up to meet Sirius' eyes and the mistiness of them is almost enough to make him falter. The grey of the storm is nothing new but they're not supposed to be accompanied but the ocean surrounding the storm.

But then he remembers how he once compares those eyes to silver. Silver which usually hurts him, but not this silver. Not those eyes, they were always so kind and made him feel safe. And the anger comes back in full force.

" You want to talk so bad? Sure let's talk”

And Remus can't hold it back anymore; he lets all his emotions from the past few days spill out. He lets Sirius have it all because he deserves to know how much he hurt Remus.

"Let's talk about how you did the worst thing imaginable and went and told my secret, huh?

Not only that but you went and told it to snivellus of all people! And for what? For a stupid bloody prank? You could have gotten him killed? You could have gotten me killed? If the ministry found out...do you even realize how bad this could have been? I TRUSTED YOU! And what did you do with that trust? Turned around and spat it back in my face apparently.”

Sirius opens his mouth ready to answer my Remus just raises a hand silencing him as he shakes his head.

"No. Just no. I'm done. Leave me alone Black."

He sees the impact of the name and a small part of him relishes the sight of the other boy's pain. He loves him so deeply and so dearly and that's why this hurts so much.

He turns and heads towards the exit. Despite hearing Sirius call after him he doesn't slow down until he's gotten far away from that voice. From those beautifully dangerous eyes. He doesn't know where he's going, just away from the hurt.

Sirius' eyes was the only silver that didn't hurt Remus. They were safe until they weren't. Then they hurt more than any other silver ever had.

[jrueships]

guess whos not going in at all this week, actually

[loumauve]

Sable pic spam bc I'm ridiculously attached to this buggy game

[suffercerebral]

me having gone to bed at 6 am every day for the past week and generally spiraling mentally while rotting in bed waking up this morning: a 4 mile hike in the heat is a really good idea right now, and while we're at it let's start like 3 art projects

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <33

[astersatdawn]

FFXIV Write Day 6: Halcyon

“What are you doing?”

Azem looks up at him, their eyes dancing with that bottomless sense of mirth. “Is it not obvious? I’m making flower crowns.”

They present the flowers to them then, pretty little things Emet-Selch could not name even if he tries. He knows he’s seen some of them before, their depictions classic in literature, with their gentle white petals or bright sunshine hues, but there are many others that he doesn’t. Unusual multi-colored leaves attached to the stems of gentle cool-toned flowers, some with petals more geometric than round. 

“Do you even know what flowers you’re working with? They could be poisonous.”

They laugh, though Emet-Selch would not know if it was they had caught his ignorance or if it was that Azem, as always, charged ahead despite the dangers without a care. “Only one way to find out.”

And before he can protest, they reach for a disorganized pile, pull something out of it, and plop it on his head.

He sputters, reaching for the apparently finished crown Azem had been hiding, because of course they were, but doesn’t remove it from his head. “I wasn’t aware I was summoned to be a test subject.”

“A test subject, and company,” Azem’s grin, somehow, broadens, as they resume weaving the stems together with practiced movements. “It’s been a while since we’ve been able to see each other.”

The tone shift is jarring, the wistfulness in their tone almost unexpected. The words are a gentle punch that has him slumping beside them. 

It’s true that it has been some time since they had seen each other. Things have been busier as of late. Azem was out on adventures, as always, and some of the others among the convocation had been sent away from Amarout for miscellaneous tasks. 

Some might call it fortuitous that his responsibilities had sent him Azem’s way, for once, though Emet-Selch would vehemently protest and insist the universe was playing some sick joke on him instead. Truly, the others underestimated Azem’s penchant for trouble, somehow doubling whenever he was in the vicinity. 

“Do you think the three of us will see each other again?” Azem whispers, enough that Emet-Selch has to strain to hear it. 

“It wouldn’t take much to get Hythlodaeus here,” Emet-Selch murmurs. 

Azem laughs, but there’s something about it that’s off. Like a cry, squashed away and hidden away. The stem between their hands snaps, and Azem stares down at their hands forlornly. “Maybe it wouldn’t have, once.”

“We’ll be together again,” he insists, setting his hand on their shoulder. The touch is enough invitation for Azem to lean over, into him, bonelessly collapsing in a way that he was all too familiar with. In seconds, their head is in his lap, and his fingers are now in their hair, playing with it with practiced ease. The flowers Azem had been weaving fall away, some rolling back onto the ground while others cling to their robes and tuck themselves within the folds of the fabric. 

There’s something soft and torn in Azem’s gaze as they look up at them. Their hand, now free of flowers, rises to trace his jaw and settle on his cheek. All the joy Emet-Selch is used to seeing on Azem’s face is gone, as if it had never been there at all. 

“Not for many more lifetimes,” they say, mourning, and Emet-Selch’s own heart sinks deeper and deeper with the weight of it. “I won’t regret it, but I am sorry, my dearest Hades.”

“Thalia? What are you—”

“You can’t hold onto me forever. It’s time to wake up now.”

As if a spell is cast, his gray robes shift to imperial black, white gloves distance him from the softness of Azem’s hair, and he can feel their solid weight against him fading away. 

“Thalia, wait.” He grasps her wrist, he blinks, and they—she flinches when his hand tightens its grip. Those damn eyes of hers are wide, the exact same shade of violet, made brighter by the light of the Rak’tika Greatwood. “What were you doing?” 

“I…” the Warrior of Light clears her throat. “I was just getting this out of your hair.”

As if proving her point, she rubs the stem of a leaf between the fingers of her captive wrist.

“Why bother with such a paltry detail?” He snaps. 

Ellida is silent for a long moment, her expression shifting only into a deeper frown. 

“I was surprised to see you asleep,” she says instead of any meaningful answer. 

He scoffs, drops her wrist. Truthfully, he doesn’t know if he wants the answer himself, at this point. She had ripped him away from that moment of peace so long ago, tainted the memory with her very existence. No answer would satisfy him—there was simply no excuse that made her action so forgivable. 

“Am I not allowed a moment of rest? I certainly thought you and yours would have preferred I kept my distance.” 

She puts more space between them, now that the choice is hers. “We do.”

“Well then, go make some distance, for however long you can.” He waves her off. “Do you not have better things to do, hero?” 

She’s staring at him. It’s uncanny, how long her gaze lingers, as if she sees something he doesn’t. Her lips are pressed together, something thoughtful in the lines of her face. Whatever had her attention drops away with a quiet sigh.

“Yes, I do.” Even so, she hesitates. “Will you be alright?”

“Excuse me?”

“I—” she shakes her head. “Nevermind.” 

Without another word, she’s marching off, leaving behind a moment that, Emet-Selch knows, is best forgotten. 

[batsplat]

are you as analytical/thorough about all your interests and hobbies as you are about motogp? kind of blown away by the breadth and depth of your knowledge

:( this is so nice... and I guess it depends! obviously there's stuff I'm way more casually invested in, including with sports... I'd like to think my actual field of research is something I am similar levels of knowledgeable about lol, and there's probably a few other things... a lot of the stuff I enjoy really comes back to about four core themes in my head, which helps. mostly I'm just really into note-taking and overthinking things that weren't designed to be overthought

[a-lonely-dunedain]

12 for Margim & Celeair

12. "help me"

Margim's old habits die hard as it turns out (I think I could've done better with this one, but my brain is deep fried and crispy so Words and Descriptions Do Not Go. I plan to shove all these little prompt fics into an Ao3 fic once I'm done with all of them, so I'll probably clean this one up/flesh it out a bit then.)

There were no casualties for us in the last skirmish with the Dragon-Clan raiders, but still some injuries, and that’s where my work began.

I’ve spent the last few hours in the infirmary with the other two healers patching everyone up. Exhausting but rewarding work, and far less grim for once. There was healing to be done, but no mourning. By the time we were done, no one was in poor enough shape that they would need to stay the night here, so one by one all of our charges were eventually sent home to rest, as were the other two healers. Except for me of course, I offered to stay behind and clean up so they could go to their families. Gathering up bloody rags and discarded vials, making careful notes of what salves and politics had been used so that we could resupply before we ran out, and anything else that needed to be set right. 

Margim often stops by to help me with this, but I have not seen her yet. I imagine she’s celebrating the victory with Elain and her other friends, or has already gone home to rest and is waiting for me there. She looked tired when she returned with the other warriors.

Just then, I hear the door slowly open and soft footsteps approach. It sounds like someone is trying to be quiet, not necessarily trying to hide their presence, but trying not to draw attention to it at least. I look up from what I was doing and see that it’s just Margim. I smile at her "oh, hello Mar!"

“Can you… help me with this?” she asks quietly, although I'm not sure what 'this' is exactly.

“Hm? With wh…” I start to ask, but as she approaches I see the answer and my words seem useless. She moves her cloak aside to reveal a large black stain on her garment, her blood, slowly oozing from a wound on her side.

“You’re hurt!” I exclaim, gently taking her arm and guiding her over to a nearby cot.

“I noticed.” She responds dryly as she sits down, removing her cloak.

“How… How did this happen?” I ask, examining the wound. There is some panic in my voice, although I try to hide it.

“One of the cursed Draig managed to land a blow.” she says bitterly “Only after I caved his skull in, but his dagger found its mark anyway.” This is from the skirmish then, but… that was many hours ago. 

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” I ask in equal parts confusion and worry.

“There were-” she winces as I remove her garment from the cut, I whisper an apology. I’m being as gentle as I can, but the blood has clotted to her clothes and there’s not a way I can do this that won’t sting at least a little. “-There were others more hurt. I would rather not take your attention away from them.”

“There was plenty to go around,” I take a nearby bowl of clean water and carefully start to clean the cut with a cloth, “and I would rather have tended to this sooner… What if it was-”

“If it was more serious I would have had no choice but to come earlier. But the cut was not deep, it could wait.” her tone is strangely defensive.

My brow furrows. Maybe the cut was not deep, but it was still in a place where any injury would be cause for great concern. She’s still bleeding, and ideally, she would not be.

“-really, it hardly even hurt!” she insists

My frown only deepens, it clearly hurts a great deal. Margim sees that I’m not buying the act and lets out a defeated sigh. “...I’m not a very good liar, am I?”

“Not to me, no.” 

I’m nearly done dressing the cut. Luckily she was right that it was not deep, there’s little else I need to do to it, but I am still troubled by the fact that she waited hours before letting anyone see to it. It was not severe this time, but the concerning thought of her trying to hide a more serious injury –and the damage that could be done by that– is still in the forefront of my mind.

“So… why did you hide it then?” I ask quietly.

Margim’s averts her gaze “I… did not wish for the others to see.”

There would have been no shame in it, letting the others know she was hurt, for the other warriors were even bragging about their own wounds when I saw to them. The Caru-Lûth consider scars earned in defense of their land to be a badge of honor, as proof of what they endured for the sake of love and loyalty. The numerous battle-scars Margim already bears were part of the reason they so eagerly accepted her among their ranks, as they seemed visible proof of her strength and devotion. I know Margim would not see the scars from her time in Mordor that way, but whether or not she agreed with their assessment did not change the fact that they respected her for them.

None of them, least of all those who had fought alongside her, would ever think of her as weak for something like this.

“I do not think they would have thought any less of you for it.” I try to assure.

“That’s not what I was afraid of… I… do not know what I was afraid of.” she mutters haltingly, barely loud enough for me to hear. She seems to be looking away at something that isn’t there. “...It's a force of habit, I suppose.”

Ah, that makes more sense then. It was not a fear of shame that caused her to hide the wound, but an instinct carried over from Mordor, where showing any physical weakness would only paint a target on her back.

“You have nothing to fear here.” I say gently as I finish with the bandages, although I do not know if my words will do much to help. It’s not an easy thing for her to unlearn, not when it was fear that kept her alive for so long.

“I know it… but sometimes I think my heart does not believe it. We are not always on the same page.” she mutters slowly

“I understand. Well, a little bit, at least. If there is anything I can do to help, please, let me know.”

“You have already helped a great deal, there is nothing more I would ask of you.” she sighs “I think I would just like to go home and sleep.” she pauses, a somewhat regretful expression on her face "and... I'm sorry to have bothered you with all this."

"It's not a bother to me at all! I'm just glad I you're alright now."