#that outlasts everything else until the end

[ominouspuff]

.

[face-mechon]

i think everything in my life is bad rn like all i do is get myself into relationships and go "this is the best i can do i cant go anywhere else" and jobs too. even my own therapist i dont get along with him and ive pretty much never gotten along with any and i stayed with the last guy for 6 years even though it wasnt helping because i was like "i cant go anywhere else im scared". guy got probably unprofessional with me and i didnt like that but my reaciton to everything is just 😑 and it only ended when he quit

[fancyfeathers]

Hey Fancy! Apologies if this is a wee bit long but it’s a random platonic yandere Batfam idea I’ve had for a long time. Adopted daughter who becomes an investigative journalist. (With Outlast crossover)

Darling was a product of one of Bruce’s affairs and he never really cared, he paid child support and that’s about it. Darling didn’t care as she and her mother were happy together until they weren’t. Darling’s mother starts to have to work longer hours, coming back more and more hollow until there’s nothing left but her corpse. Darling had a gut feeling her mom died because her mom’s boss was cutting corners in safety at some chemical plant and forcing long hours on workers. 

Of course darling has to go to her father’s house now and live with him (I imagine she was adopted a year before Jason died) after a week she’s asked if she wants to become Robin to which she refuses. She wants to fight the criminals who act as altruists, such as corrupt leaders and politicians, companies who have blood on their hands but hide it, because that’s the hero who could save her mom. Bruce accepts this but the family just seems to forget her. Not out of maliciousness, except for Damien, they just don’t have time for a non-vigilante sibling. She feels alone and when Tim and then Damien are welcomed into the family they neglect her too. Damien even mocks her for being useless. The only family she had there is Alfred, as he made sure to care for darling whenever s he could. 

When darling turns 18, she gets out of that house and goes to a university to study journalism. She becomes an investigative journalist who gained her reputation for going deep into the depths of corruption’s depravity and meets this one dude named Miles Upshur who she becomes partners with as they both are freelance journalists because they don’t censor the truth. They get an email one day telling them about messed up things happening at Mount Massive asylum.

They both go and cue the events of the game Outlast and Outlast Whistleblower. I’m not sure if you are comfortable with the contents of those games so I summarize it by saying the patients were being experimented on and broke free causing Miles to get trapped in the asylum with no way to fight back. He only has places to hide and a camera with night vision that drains his batteries. He gets very injured and Whistleblower is the same concept as it’s the same place but from the perspective of the one who sent the email. I imagine the darling was somehow separated from miles but ended up getting out of there with the whistleblower.

She took the footage and instead of letting the whistleblower release it, as the company begging the asylum would hunt him and his wife and kids down, she would be the one as her reputation precedes her. But after dropping the whistleblower off at his home she has no choice but to go to her old one, cause if the company couldn’t ruin her reputation, could just silence her like they did with everyone else. The batfam is going to be very confused when a freshly traumatized, bloody,and bruised darling shows up on their front porch, clutching camcorders to her chest like a lifeline. Who knows, they might just not let her out if this is how she ends up after being on her own.

again really sorry if this is weird or too long! It’s just been brewing in my brain and I needed to share it

God it’s been forever since I played Outlast, I don’t remember everything about the game cause I was screaming and crying for the most part and I literally could only watch Whistleblower and had to skip some stuff

This might not be entirely game accurate cause it has been a hot minute but I will do my best

I do not think Bruce would be exactly neglectful especially since this is yandere content and obsession starts when they normally meet their darling, like a root that takes hold and begins to grow after certain events. I imagine that her mom did not want her daughter to meet Bruce cause she thought he would not be a good influence, the whole billionaire playboy persona. She raised her daughter on her own until her death, her daughter can remember sitting in the hospital when the doctor told her that she was dead, died of radium poisoning, her body decaying while she was still alive.

She remembers sitting in the waiting room of the hospital, waiting after the staff called her biological father to pick her up, a nurse sitting with her. She knew why her mother did not want her to meet her, but her mother was wrong to an extent. She honestly expected someone like Alfred to pick her up, who she knew because he would meet with her mother for fund related affairs since she did not want her daughter knowing her father…

But Bruce was the one who picked her up, in fact he practically came running when he got the call from the hospital when he was at a gala.

When Bruce came into the hospital waiting room, he kneeled down to her level and took her little hands in his, he felt so sorry for not knowing, he could have helped, but for now what he can tell her is…

“Everything will be okay, I’ll keep you safe.”

Bruce is not intentionally neglectful, he really does try his best, but between being Batman and handling his daily affairs as Bruce Wayne he just does not have the time besides to have meals with her. He does keep her safe, puts a tracker in her bag or jacket in case anything goes wrong, but as if something will go wrong while she is playing soccer after school.

Dick is also probably very busy as well to give her much attention but he is pretty similar to Bruce in the way that he cares but he just does not have the time to now that he is Nightwing. He occasionally takes her out to do things, and he apologizes for not being able to spend more time with her, but he is just so busy.

Her and Jason are probably the closest, he is her big brother in his eyes. He helps her transition into her new home the most, making pillow forts, playing video games, taking her out to play in the snow. Then one morning she comes downstairs to see Alfred looking so solemn and Bruce sitting in an armchair in the living room, his head in his hands and still in the Batman suit, but no sign of Jason…

“Dad?”

She knows something is wrong so she hugs Bruce and it is the first time she sees him cry, he hugs her back, as if scared to let her go… but that is because he is.

“Oh sweetheart… I am so sorry.”

He was going to ask her to be a Robin one day, Jason would not have the mantle forever since after all Dick didn’t, but now he can’t stand the idea of loosing her, so he’ll keep her safe, even if that means keeping her at an arms length.

I think after Jason’s death he would probably send her to boarding school in a safer city like Metropolis or boarding school in a small town with next to no crime rate. It breaks his heart to send her away like that, but it is what keeps her alive. She comes home on the holidays and breaks but there is just an aura about the house now that Jason is gone, a constant state of sadness and as if a hand is holding onto her, which is fair because when she is home she isn’t allowed off of the manor grounds, Gotham is just too dangerous. That doesn’t mean they make more time for her, no her summers and holidays are just as lonely as they were before, only this time she is isolated from the outside world and left lonely by her own family.

Tim is similar to Dick in the way that he feels bad but does not make much of an effort to spend more time with her, even less so than Dick does. He only texts her every now and then so show he somewhat cares and talks with her at family meals, but that’s it.

Then there is Damian, she cannot stand him. She knows he grew up entitled in the League of Assassins but he cannot even pretend to be nice. He talks to her as if she is beneath him, despite the fact that when he is brought into the manor she is a senior in high school.

“No wonder you never became Robin, why would father let the most useless child even-“

“Damian, that is enough!”

Luckily Bruce or Alfred normally intervenes and defuses the situation before Damian says something too extreme.

Then she graduates high school and moves on to university, which Bruce pays for in full without hesitation. It is there in university that she meets her partner in crime, Miles Upshur. They are practically joined at the hip and then when that first finals come around and their project is to do a mock investigation and article and they get to choose a topic to do it on and then Miles asked her…

“Hey, what do ya want to do this on? Lexcorp? Abuse in the ballet industry? Maybe-“

“The radium scandal in the Gotham City Chemical Plant.”

“That’s oddly specific, why?”

“It’s how my mom died.”

And that’s how everything started with their chosen path of investigation. They graduate and the two of them even get photos in their graduate robes and degrees together. Her family comes, which an empty seat to honor Jason, despite him watching from a back doorway, she does not need to know what happened to him in the Lazarus Pit and he certainly won’t be caught dead with Bruce at the time.

Bruce is only okay with her going into journalism because he thinks she’ll be working behind a desk at a paper, not what her and Miles plan on doing…

If he knew he certainly would not be happy and try to find a way to interfere…

But sadly he never remembered to ask exactly what she was going to do.

Her and Miles have done a number of stories together, after the first five or so Bruce found out the kind of work she was doing and repeatedly called her to try to talk her out of it, but she would ignore his calls every time.

It was just supposed to be another job, not whatever this was…

They got an email from an anonymous worker, asking to investigate the Murkoff Corporation and their actions at Mount Massive Asylum. The two even joked during their car ride over to the asylum, laughing about stories she shared about her life at the manor and their old college days, they had no idea what they would find inside.

The asylum even looked messed up from the outside, but the inside was a thousand times worse…

Patients who were experimented on, and now they were inhuman and trying to kill, disassemble, mutilate them, you get the idea…

An insane priest to put it lightly…

Dead bodies all over, murdered in horrible ways…

Everyone left alive in there was less than human, insane, or just about to go insane…

And when I say insane, I mean Joker levels of insane.

They get separated along the way, which is good for her, but not so good for Miles.

She makes it out alive thanks to their anonymous source who sent them the email in the first place, Waylon Park who is a software engineer. The two escape together and due to her shock she can’t remember much until long after she left Waylon at his home and she is pulled over at a rest stop half way between Lake County, Colorado and Gotham City, New Jersey, way to exhausted to continue on. She reaches for her phone and finally calls Bruce back.

“D-dad… are you there?”

“Yes, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“S-so much… I want to go home… please I…”

She passes out from exhaustion while on the phone…

But luckily, do you remember what I said about Bruce putting trackers on her things? He never stopped when she was an adult.

When she wakes up she is back home in the manor, in her old room. She is laying flat on her back with everyone around her, even Damian and…

“Jason?”

“Ya… I’m here, lovebug. Just rest, you certainly need it.”

“Need it? For fucks sake she is missing a finger!”

“Dick, shut up-“

Bruce yells them to shut up and he holds her bandaged and stitched hand in his…

“Sweetheart, what happened?”

She only points to the camera in her things as asks them not to play it in front of her. They all watch it together in the Batcave before patrol and…

“Oh my god.”

It is worse than what the Joker did to Jason.

When she finally recovers and is going to write the story and-

No she is not allowed to, Bruce will handle the situation, most likely bringing it to the attention of the Justice League.

In fact she is not allowed to write another story again, she is not leaving the manor again. She is not a hero, she is just a reporter, and Jason is unable to fully move on after what happened to him so how well will she fair out in the real world in her fragile mental state? What if something happens that triggers those memories? They are not letting her take that risk.

Most days she is kept in her room, a controlled environment to make her feel safe. Then most nights one of her brothers or Bruce sleeps beside her in bed after patrols in case nightmare come up and she wakes up screaming. If her mental state get too bad they’ll sedate her so at least her mind is calm and she is not getting flashbacks. Bruce eventually gets her a therapist to work through what happened to her so at least she can have some what of a normal life after what happened…

Well as normal as you can get when you are locked inside for the rest of your life.

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Thanks for the ride (Long Drabble) Author's Notes: Personally this one is the worst one of the four. Also I didn't expect this to be this long. Warnings: MDNI, Angst

Did Soap enjoy being a little shit? Most of the time. But when it involved hurting you, even disguised as Price’s doing, he couldn’t find any joy in it. He may have successfully ruined Price in your eyes but at what cost?

He knew that you would only take so much of this. He wasn’t stupid. You will snap one day and all of their efforts to keep you will end up being futile. But some sick part of him hoped that you liked them enough to stay. That’ll you’ll hold out as much as they have so far.

And if you hold out long enough, maybe, just maybe, Soap can outlast the others. It’s only a matter of time before the others get over their little crush. Right?

But until then, he’ll be waiting. He’ll keep his distance but he’ll come as soon as you start calling.

Like now, as his phone lights up with your name. It’s Friday morning and he’s currently spotting Gaz on the bench press when his phone starts to ring. His heart jumps when he sees your name. He swipes his phone and answers it.

“Sergeant MacTavish,” he says. He cringes at his words.

“Sergeant,” you start. He could cry. He’s not just your sergeant, he’s Johnny, your Johnny-boy. “I am so sorry to bother you so early but I didn’t know who else to call.” He could tell from the tone of your voice that you were in trouble. He turns around to avoid Kyle from overhearing.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I'm okay, but... I... I'm on my way to base, but my car just broke down. I'd walk but I won't make it on time to today's meeting if I do. Is there anyway you can pick me up? I'll pay for gas and your time. Again, I am so sorry for bother--"

"It's not a bother. I'll be there in 10." He hangs up the phone before you can say anything else. Soap was truly God's favorite. Despite everything, you still called him. And like always, he'll answer.

"Everything good there, buddy?" pipes up Gaz.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. Uh... just one of the techs," Soap explains. He grabs his bag and tells Gaz he has to go... "bomb emergency." He leaves and rushes to his room. He zips through his room, trying to change into something less sweaty. He wasn't sure why, but his heart was racing.

Was he nervous?

Of course he was nervous.

This would be the first time in over a month that you called him for something that didn't involve a mission. There would be no Ghost, no Price, no Gaz to get in his way. He sprays some perfume that you had gotten him for his birthday, grabs his keys, and runs out of his room.

It's just a straight shot - straight down the hall and to the parking lot. Should be easy?

Wrong.

Waiting for him at the door was his fellow sergeant, Kyle Gaz Garrick.

"Where you going there, buddy? Isn't techs on the other side of the base?" He stands up straight, staring the Scotsman down.

Soap does the same. One way or another, he was going to give you that ride. "It is, but it'll be faster if I drive there. So if you can move, you'd make my day." He tries to side-step Gaz, but Gaz stay still. "Move!" Soap tries to push his teammate. Kyle pushes back, pinning him up against the wall, his arm over his neck.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice? Mate, your brightness and volume were all the way up ," he scoffs. "You really think I'm going to let you be the hero here."

"Get off!" Soap roars. He shoves Kyle back and punches him in the gut, forcing the sergeant to fall to his knees. However, it does nothing to stop him as Kyle lunges at the Scotsman, forcing him on the floor. They tussle for a bit before two pairs of arms pull the sergeants off from one another.

"What the hell is going on here?" commands Price. He has Soap in his grip while Ghost grabs Gaz.

"Soap here is trying to see them without us," Gaz spits out. Soap feels Price's hold on him tighten. Soap tries to explain himself. How you had called HIM for a ride and he was just trying to be a good teammate.

Price lets out an empty laugh. "Just like how I was trying to help with lunch." Fuck. Soap knew that was going to bite him in the ass, but he didn't think so soon. Ghost lets Gaz go. Gaz walks towards Soap and snatches the keys from his hands.

Soap tries to stop him, but it's no use, Price isn't budging.

And you of course don't know that all of this is going back on base. You're stuck in your car, waiting for Soap to come pick you up. You weren't happy that you called him, but you really had no choice. The bus had already passed, you didn't have enough time to walk, and it looked like it was going to rain. Besides, Soap said it wasn't a bother.

15 minutes have passed and you were starting to get antsy. The meeting was going to start soon and Soap still hadn't come by. You decide to text him... worst case, he's driving and can't answer.

You: Hey! Sorry to bother, but are you close? Again thank you so much for the ride

You put your phone down and look out the window.

Buzz, buzz.

Johnny-boy: Something came up. Sorry.

No fucking way. You could cry right now. And not even out of disappointment, but out of anger. You don't even bother to answer. You turn off your phone and jump out of your car. At this point, it didn't even matter. You were going to be late either way. What's the point of giving them a heads up?

And to your luck, it starts to rain... hard. Could your day get any worse? Fuck, your month, really? Whatever you did, there's no way it was that bad to deserve all of this.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't hear the racing car blasting rock music behind you.

Back on base, Soap is close to just dying in his seat. The 141 are all in the conference room, waiting for your arrival. Gaz and Price are in their seats while Ghost blocks the door. He can see his phone in his Lieutenant's pocket.

Soap begs him to let him go. It's pouring out there and knowing how stubborn you could be, you're probably walking in this weather.

Price shoots him a pointed look. "You really think I'd let them walk in this rain. I already sent some rookies to pick them up." And on cue, his phone rings. "Look, it's the rookies."

Price answers the phone. But instead, of keeping his neutral face, he just frowns. "What do you mean they're not there?" Soap's blood runs cold. Price argues with the rookies for a bit until he hangs up. The room tenses. Everyone looks at Price with baited breath. They all assume the worst. But before anyone can even suggest it, the door opens.

"141! My favorite team! How are... what's with the long faces?" The men all pause. They all had forgotten that Nikolai was going to help them on this next op.

"Nik, not the time," Price grumbles out. All of the men agree. Right now, you were missing and it was all their fault.

Nik gets serious and takes a seat. He assures them that things will work out. Once you finish changing, you can all brainstorm and find a solution.

Once you finish changing?

Soap makes the connection first. He asks Nik if you were on base.

"Da. Found them on my way here." Soap could just cry out of joy. You were okay. You were alive.

His joy is cut short when you come in. You don't say anything. You take your seat at the end of the table.

You look at all of them with indifference, with apathy. "Let's get started."

Soap calls your name. He wasn't sure what he was going to say. All he knew was that he needed to talk to you.

You glare at him. "Sergeant MacTavish, we've wasted enough time today. Let's just do our job," you spit out. You reel in your anger. You were done with Soap, with this team, with everyone.

Soap sinks in his seat. He didn't think you were capable of hatred.

Word Count: 1450

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[grimlers]

OUTLAST OC POSTING

Leopold Dalton - Murkoff Scientist at Sinyala facility

Backstory and how he got to working at Murkoff:

Leopold was born in America into a relatively wealthy family in 1921, he was a very isolated child as he chose to focus more on studying and also had an unnerving aspect to him even as a child to both children his age and adults because of his weird obsession with the medical field.

He left to go study in Britian when he came of age. He got his PhD and became a certified neurologist and moved back to America for work.

Leopold became a respected neurologist studying brain trauma and memory loss, but after an experimental surgery on a patient that went wrong and resulted in a lawsuit and loss of his medical license, he was left disgraced.

He didn't have a job but still tried carrying on his work with the limited resources he had, using animals or 'volunteers' who were usually desperate people in severe poverty where necessary, keeping extensive notes on his progress and making many papers he tried to get published but had a hard time since medical journals wouldn't publish him because of his reputation. After a while he was able to find a small medical journal and they agreed to work with him, only to have his work critiqued harshly, leaving his already ruined reputation even more ruined.

Some higher ups at Murkoff however saw the paper and potential he had and offered him a position at the Sinyala facility where he was free from ethical constraints and he quickly got interested with Easterman's proposed idea of rebuilding a person's entire mind. He would develop methods of psychological torture, extremely fascinated by how fear shaped the human psyche.

Some notes about him and his personality:

He rarely speaks unless necessary but when he does his words are chosen carefully, often with veiled threats. He is very meticulous in his work, constantly checking it over and over again but refuses peer review, he takes criticism very badly. He hates rejection or failure.

He prefers working alone and if forced to work in a team will still try and work alone, refusing to show what he's doing or share ideas until he's done and finalised them, and or will attempt to take over the project entirely acting very harshly because he believes people work better under pressure. Either way in group projects he's a pain to work with.

He takes his work very seriously, usually planning his entire week out and every hour of every day, he is extremely peeved by those who aren't organised and cause him delay, although if he gets too invested in a certain aspect of work he will end up abandoning everything else he had planned until he has finished, not caring if it is affecting others.

Leopold really believes in a 'need to know' basis, not because of privacy, but because of when he shared his work in a journal before Murkoff and he got so much backlash and humiliation.

He also has a Transatlantic accent because of his time in Britian.

I'm still working on him, this is more of a dump of my main ideas for him but things may change later on.

The reference image I used for the art peice is on my TT @/rickwasps

[misctf]

No Nut November

For Tommy and his friends, No Nut November had become a yearly tradition. While he didn’t necessarily look forward to it, the blonde always seemed to win- often being able to outlast his buddies. And while this year had certainly been close, it looked like Tommy was going to take to take home the bragging rights. Sure, his dick ached with need and he had been neglecting it for the past couple of weeks. And while his boyfriend often made fun of him for engaging in such a “stupid contest”, Tommy was more of a strict bottom anyway and got plenty of his needs met that way.

“Congrats on your victory babe.” His boyfriend had texted him, “I have a surprise for you when I get home.” The winky face at the end of the message told Tommy everything he needed to know- and he was definitely looking forward to whatever activities his boyfriend had planned.

But as Tommy continued to go about his daily activities, still ignoring the ache in his dick, a new feeling settled in his stomach. He rubbed his sore abs and took a few deep breaths as he felt an odd cramping sensation welling up from deep within him. He assumed it must’ve been something he ate and walked to the bathroom. But the discomfort didn’t seem to stop- only getting worse as his body temperature rose. He quickly removed his clothing, the cool air of the room feeling nice on his warm skin, while a cool draft caused his cock to stir with pleasure and pain. Tommy nearly doubled over at the feeling in his aching member- staring at it as it grew. He touched it gently and immediately fell to his back from the intensity of the pleasure.

“Wh-what the fuck.” He breathed out, lying on the ground, his eyes unfocused from the waves of pleasure and pain that coursed throughout his lean body.

And like a sudden compulsion, he felt his arms forced to extend above his head, an aching sensation emanating throughout them. He watched as his arms started to fill with muscle, while his hands started to shift and change- becoming wider while his fingers shortened and became stubbier.

“Fuck yeah, finally!” Another voice called out softly, so softly that Tommy barely heard it.

“Who’s there?” Tommy replied, fear taking hold of his mind.

But before he could register anything else, he felt another creaking and cracking of his muscles. This time, he watched as his pecs appeared to sink into themselves, his nipples disappearing, while a small hole formed in the center of what used to be his chest. At the same time, it appeared as though his legs were also beginning to shift. His feet were taking on the appearance of hands, while his leg muscles shifted, taking on an appearance similar to incredibly muscular arms. Tommy looked down at what used to be his arms and his eyes widened as he realized his hands were now two large and calloused feet, tufts of hair on the surface of them. And as his arms packed on more and more muscle, he felt his head being squeezed on either side.

“Ah this feels so good.” The voice was less soft, louder and more present.

Tommy let out a surprised yelp as he felt his body push itself up until the blonde found himself doing what felt like a handstand. And that’s when it dawned on Tommy. His arms were now a pair of muscular and powerful legs, ending with large manly feet. He tried to crane his neck to look up but barely could.

“Ha-ha broooo.” The voice called out, “Fuckin’ look at me.” It said in its deep baritone voice. The same stupid voice that Tommy associated with frat bros.

“St-stop...pl-please.” Tommy called out, his own voice becoming softer. He noticed he was having a harder time moving his mouth to form words.

But he was ignored and suddenly found himself swinging from side to side as his body began to move on its own. He could do nothing as he continued to feel himself change further. First, he felt as though he was no longer able to move his neck and he watched as he blond locks fell from his head. And then for a split second, the world went dark before his field of vision returned, albeit somewhat limited. The same with his hearing. The muscular legs on either side of him became coated in hairs. As he tried to call out again, Tommy felt what he initially thought was phlegm rise from the back of his throat. The liquid was salty and seemed to dribble from his mouth, causing him to want to gag, but he found himself unable to. None of this made sense, and he was trying to get a better glimpse of himself. All he could make out was what looked like a hairy muscular abdomen above him, and two thick hairy thighs on either side of him. Questions filled his mind as he tried to understand his situation. But before he could think more on it, he heard a dumb chuckle and suddenly, Tommy felt as though his face was being stretched- another aching sensation coursing through his head and neck.  

“Ya know you’ve neglected me for a long time.” The booming voice said. Tommy wanted to yelp as he felt a hand wrap around him, “But I’m not gonna do that to you bro.” Tommy barely had any idea what the voice was saying, “Huh, that’s right. This might be a bit confusing for ya brah. Here have a look.”

If Tommy could, he would’ve screamed. In the mirror was one of the largest, hairiest men that he had ever seen. The guy looked like he played football, the pinnacle of masculinity with a stupid dopey grin on his chiseled face. But that was less shocking compared to what Tommy soon came to realize. The man was holding his fat, enlarged member, which is when Tommy was able to put it all together.

“That’s right bro, you ignored me for so long, I just had to take control.” The jock laughed, “And well that means we had to switch places.”

Tommy felt a sense of dread well up from deep within him. This couldn’t be happening- he was a human! Not a cock. This wasn’t possible. As his mind bounced around trying to rationalize his way through this, the jock smiled.

“Well aren’t you eager.” He chuckled in his dim voice, scratching at his hairy pec, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

And that’s when Tommy felt it. The hand around his cylindrical body began to pump up and down, faster and faster. His thoughts became harder to focus on as pleasure coursed throughout his body- the calloused hand that played with him igniting wave after wave of pleasure. He felt himself twitch, his hard cylindrical body throbbing in anticipation. The jock smirked and quickened his pace.

“Yeah, you like that, huh? Think you could just ignore me?” He moaned out, his pace quickening, “Never again bro. Turned you into my needy cock. Showing you what a real man looks like.” Tommy could barely register any of the words, the liquid in the back of his throat rising faster and faster, “Fuck dude!” The jock moaned out as he finally came, sending wave after wave of cum from Tommy’s new mouth.

Tommy could barely process the level of pleasure that rocketed through his new body. His mind was nearly shattered as his cylindrical body softened and dangled limply between the jock’s legs. But as Tommy was winding down from the pleasure, he felt something cover his entire body, throwing his world into darkness. The jock smirked and posed in the mirror, showing off his bulge and ass, which were covered in black compression underwear. There was another dumb chuckle, and Tommy twitched in pleasure as the jock grabbed him through his underwear.

“Welcome to your new home, bro.” The jock chuckled, “Now let’s go find that boyfriend of yours. If I had to guess, that ass of his was also feeling pretty neglected. Someone ought to help him out, don’t you think?” And Tommy felt his new body quickly expanding, pressed up tightly against the confines of the new jock’s underwear.

[khruschevshoe]

Doctor who is literally just a story about grief. About the stages beyond the normal five. About hope and reaching and living hard and fast and passionately bc we're all going to die. About outlasting those you love most and being forced to keep on living. About celebrating the dead and the dying bc they were once alive and will forever be alive in your memories. About learning how to move on despite knowing some part of you never will. About running as fast as you can while clinging to the small bits of love and happiness you can scrape for yourself along the way. About outliving and outlasting everyone and everything you've ever put you faith in until all you have left is the faith itself. About always being dead and alive at once, carrying everyone you've ever lost and every version of yourself you've ever been on your shoulders bc you are too kind and too selfish and too full of grief to do anything else.

Doctor who is about grief. It is about life and death and hope and fear and ecstasy and bravery and melancholy and the constant balance between optimism and weight that living brings.

Doctor who is about grief. It is about how life is only precious bc everything has its time, and everything ends.

And god, isn't that fantastic?

@friendlyneighborhoodamara @neat-crows @lindensea

[toffee4you]

Sleepover Headcanons—--

First Years

Content: Prefect!reader, platonic, everyone's rowdy, Sebek's getting clowned on

Other parts: second years, third years

How would the twst boys behave during a sleepover at Ramshackle?

Ace

He's the first friend who comes over (along with Deuce) and only brings his own possessions to the sleepover. That bag of chips he bought? Yeah, they're for himself. Maybe he'll be willing to share if you make a fool out of yourself, though.

Maybe the only sharable item he brought is his deck of cards, but you were quick to ban that due to his habit of cheating.

Ace isn't that much of a handful when it's just Deuce and Grim. They have their usual petty fights, but you're able to meditate it. The real problem starts when more people begin to join; he's definitely beefing with your other friends, namely Sebek. Have fun trying to ensure nothing gets broken!

He's one of the last people to fall asleep out of the first years... And the first to pull pranks on the sleeping ones. First it's Jack, then it's Deuce. He really motivates you to not fall asleep in all the wrong ways.

Deuce

He comes with Ace but ACTUALLY brings snacks and drinks for everyone.

You don't have to worry much about Deuce fighting with others, the only issue is when Ace provokes him into arguing. You'll have to break it up before things spiral into a fistfight.

He falls asleep pretty late, but not late enough to outlast professionals like Ace... Or just exceptions like Ortho. He becomes the victim of getting his face drawn on.

Epel

This is being kept a secret from Vil for... Reasons. You're pretty sure he'll get dragged back to Pomefiore if his housewarden finds out, even if it's a weekend. After all, sleepovers typically mean staying up late.

He mostly brought apples and apple products due to the mass amount of it that he has, but rest assured he brought a game or two as well.

This one right here is the initiator of the pillow fight. He ends up smacking Ace in the face while shouting at him with a thick accent to the point where everyone's just confused, then everything goes in a downwards spiral from there. At least it was fun.... But the only terrifying part was dodging Jack and Sebek. you really wouldn't want to get hit by them, even if it's just with pillows.

Jack

He was just honestly doing his best when he brought protein bars and movie disks. At least the bars are chocolate, so despite how dense they are, nobody minds too much. No one wants to mention his choice of movie genres until Ace does and gets into another small fight.

He's fun to be around since he doesn't rage after games like most of the others (sometimes Deuce is fine). The only issue is that things will get noisy when he catches anyone cheating, so you'll have to oversee the games.

He tries to stay up like everyone else, but since he's so used to his regular sleep schedule, he falls asleep first. He's the victim of having makeup all over his face and getting all prettied up in ribbons and braids. Admittedly, you joined in with braiding his hair and tail.

Sebek

This guy pulls up with his Malleus plushie and immediately becomes the target of jokes within the first 15 minutes of the sleepover. He actually does bring a few refreshments though, which is surprising. You suspect it might have been under the directions of Lilia.

He seems really on edge the entire time since he's not guarding Malleus, but once he gets into the mood of the sleepover, his mind won't be as occupied on it. Plus, Malleus and Lilia ordered him to attend for his own good. He needs peers to hang out with.

#1 game rager, and Ace/Grim are having a field day out of it. He's not good at online games at all, so his only wins are either playing against Jack or playing tabletop games instead.

Watching him chomp down all the snacks starts to make you concerned that maybe there isn't enough at all. Fortunately, an unknown hero (...Ace...) replaced his drink with dark coffee to hold back his appetite. Sebek will try to pretend he can drink it at first before he has to give up, and that's when round 2 of the jokes begin.

Falls asleep around the same time as Deuce, and immediately, everyone wants to test out if his singular lightning-shaped hair strand can actually charge up devices... And Ortho. It's a rumor that was going on for a while.

Ortho

Ace, Deuce, Epel, and Grim get HYPED when he comes because they just know he has all the good games with him. The video games.

He did research on what kind of snacks to bring, plus Idia actually gave him the advice and budget for it so his little brother would look cool in front of everyone!

Naturally, he crushes everyone in online games, but he did try to slightly nerf himself after some of the others game raged.

Surprising good at pillow fights too. He's speedy and able to dodge by flying, plus his power output can be stronger than what it looks like. In fact, he nearly knocked Deuce out cold with a pillow and had to apologize later.

Ortho charged earlier in the day so there's no issues with staying up all night. No one exactly suspects him of being mischievous because they're all focused on Ace, but in reality, he's the ONLY person who gets to have the last laugh at everyone when they fall vulnerable to face-drawing and pranks in their sleep.

Grim

Your little furry friend. He didn't really help you prepare much for the sleepover and kept trying to get into the snacks beforehand, but he's super excited for it.

He talks big everytime he starts a game and rages when he loses, requesting to play something else or to do “another round” until he wins. There is no in-between.

He accidentally sparks jealousy in Sebek when casually mentioning how often “Tsunotarou” hangs out with the both of you, thus causing another fight. It's easier to break up a fight with Grim since you can just grab him and swaddle him. Kitty burrito.

Makes for an amazing pillow or heater when he falls asleep. The only difference between during a sleepover and during usual naps with him is that your other friends get to experience the fluff as well. Note that this does not stop the pranks from happening.

Special: Ouija Board

Epel is the one who brought along an Ouija board, and Ace pushes everyone else to play it by questioning their bravery.

Already, the two people who are fearing this board the most are Sebek, Grim, and Deuce—they won't admit it, though. Each and every one of them is pretending like this game is child's play.

Jack is probably calling this stupid but plays anyways because he won't stand for being called a chicken.

It starts with a simple question of “Are you there?” and ends with panic as the planchette moves to “Yes.”

It seems like everyone forgot there were actual ghosts at Ramshackle, but it was funny nonetheless seeing everyone panic; especially Grim. You would've liked to think that he'd be used to it by now.

When weird rumors about Ramshackle start circulating the school again, you'll know exactly why now. Even Malleus asks about it during his next visit. You might've spotted Rook lurking around the dorm a few times too.

[theorphicangel]

“𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.”

[ 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

tags: strangers to lovers, roommate au!, best friend’s brother, fluff, mutual pining, smut, 18+

synopsis: In a desperate search of a new roommate, you have little to no choice but to accept your best friend's / best barista in the world's offer of letting his older brother rent out the room, who just so happens to be conventionally attractive.

You swear nothing will happen between the two of you but one thing eventually leads to another and you find yourself in his bed, leading to an unofficial roommates with benefits situation.

You know deep down it's wrong and you're worried when you start catching feelings...but it's okay because it's only temporary, right?

Series. next chapter

chapter one: a partridge in a pear tree (that doesn’t know how to fly.)

“So…is this everything?”

“Seems like it.” your roommate nods along— well now to be your ex-roommate .

The keys are already placed on the counter as well as the payment of last month’s rent. It’s a shame that the contract had to be cut short immediately, which was ultimately due to her boyfriend’s eagerness to spend their very first Christmas living together.

You are happy for her. Intensely so. You’ve seen the two of them together and they just seem to make butter melt. It all happened so fast, one date, then two, then seven and suddenly they’re speeding ahead to get moved in.

But nevertheless, you’re happy for the two of them. It’s nearly the holidays, basically the perfect excuse to get as romantic as you want.

You let out a sweet smile at MJ, helping her in carrying bags down to her car. As you made your trips up and down the apartment block you couldn’t help but think about the fact that she was already your third roommate this year, only managing to outlast your previous roommates by two months.

And it’d seemed like you guys had just begun to develop a close bond, until she broke the news that she was moving out at the beginning of December.

Which meant that you were spending Christmas alone… again and already your landlord is pushing for you to keep an eye out for any possible tenant around; silently hoping that you can find a replacement before the end of the year.

It’s another burden put on your shoulders. A burden that should be the job of the landlord, not you.

Just when you had thought that you were getting to the end of the year stress-free, now you’re dealing with the exhausting task of finding another roommate or else you’ll be paying double for the rent.

And if the best case scenario works out for you, then you’d have to go through the awkward roommate phase for the nth time: the awkward first meetings, the uncomfortable shuffles around each other, trying to navigate between each other’s own personal space and privacy. I mean, it took you and MJ a few months before you guys had grown accustomed to each other. She was really beginning to feel like more than a roommate, becoming one of your closest friends.

As you both start bringing down the last of her things, the signals to give your last goodbyes draw near. It’s more sentimental than you thought it would be. The two of you find yourselves in a latching hug, squeezing each other tightly.

“God– I know I haven’t known you for long but I’ll miss our little talks in the kitchen all night.” MJ hums, her head leaning on your shoulder.

You agree along with her, “Me too. I don’t think I’ll ever be happy with another roommate.”

“You can always come and visit me and Peter y’know, we only live a few minutes away from downtown.”

You pull away from each other, meeting each other’s eyes. The cold breeze of the December air in New York whips over the two of you, cheeks frozen in frostbite.

“I know, I know, I’ll see if I can make it down for Christmas.”

“You better swear to that.” And it’s at her words that you outstretch your hand, pinky finger in the air. MJ’s own finger meets your own, sealing the promise for definite.

“I promise.”

“Good.” She smiles and you both indulge in one last hug before you wave her off to the car. She wishes you luck on finding a new roommate and you reciprocate the wish on her and Peter’s future together.

Making your way back up to your empty apartment, reality now kicks in. Standing in the doorway at what used to be MJ’s bedroom, the emptiness and plainness of the room reminds you once more that you are alone again.

You wonder how long it’ll take to find a roommate. Not long you hope since New York’s housing crisis isn’t getting any better but you hope to find a somewhat decent human being. Anxiety blooms at your stomach at the thought of them being anything like your first ever roommate – someone who didn’t know how to clean up after themselves, leaving you to become their own personal maid.

The thought remains with you for the rest of the morning, your routine feeling a little more woeful than usual. Your anxiety and overthinking followed you around like a little stray puppy, claiming you to be its rightful owner. It followed you through the bustling streets of New York as you interweaved between busy people all trying to make it to their own nine to fives.

Even when you stepped into O’hara’s , the puppy continued to follow you. O’hara’s was a little Mexican cafe/bakery that you had discovered in your second year of university. As soon as you had stepped into building the warm scent of hot cocoa and pastries filled up your nostrils.

The cafe was already heavily decorated for christmas: printouts of stars and snowflakes cello taped to the windows, lights strewn across the walls of the cafe and a slouching Christmas tree in the right back corner of the cafe, the golden glittering star limping slightly to one sight.

You join the small queue waiting patiently for your turn. You’re met with a smile by the barista, the same one who meets your face every morning.

“¡Buenos días!, Your regular?”

“Good morning, and yes please.” you reply as you tap your card for payment.

“Take a seat, bonita , I’ll come right over.”

The barista’s words add a smile to your face, slightly easing the anxious ache that you had from this morning. You take your favorite seat, the stool in the corner by the window so you can eagerly watch people as you’re taking your morning coffee.

As always it’s not long before the barista comes over with your order, eager to rush over to you.

“Thanks Gabi .” you say as he places down the hot cup of coffee. Two sugars and a drop of milk. Always to your perfection.

“No problem.” He replies, leaning his arm on the empty stool next to yours. Gabriel watches you take the first sip, as he always does when giving you your coffee. You take a small sip, careful not to burn your tongue. The hot liquid quickly travels down your throat, awakening your body as you do so with its bitter yet slightly sweet taste.

“Perfect as always, Gabi, you’re a natural.”

He waves his hand, in mock embarrassment. “Oh stop it, you’re making me blush.” You repeat the compliment to him everyday without fail and he knows that you would never say anything less, not even on his worst days.

“Now for the tip.” He speaks, a smirk drawing on his lips. “Fifty or hundred today?”

“Don’t be an ass, Gabi.” you mutter, reaching for your purse. You hand him a twenty dollar bill.

“Ooooo, looks like she’s being nice today.”

“When am I not ever being nice?”

“Okay, you remember that one time when that lady pushed–?”

“Zip it.” you quip, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence.

“Okay…..” he rolls his eyes, knowing fully well how he could have proved you wrong. “So are you gonna tell me what’s wrong or will I have to blackmail you with my mama’s tres leches for you to tell me?”

“The latter.” you pipe up quickly, taking another sip of the coffee. You weren’t even surprised that he tell that something was wrong, he had known you long enough to know your habits.

“You mujer interesada, of course you would. Why did I even bother asking?” [self-interested/greedy woman]

You let out an exhale before confessing your thoughts, the anxiety building up in your stomach becoming too discomforting that you just had to tell him. “My roommate moved out this morning. Again.”

“Another one? But you guys got on so well!” Gabriel exclaimed, his mouth slightly open in shock.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s moving in with her boyfriend. They want to spend their first Christmas together after being in a long distance relationship for so long and I’m happy for them I guess but…” You trail off, looking down into your coffee cup.

“You feel lonely as fuck now?”

You nod your head wordlessly. As always Gabriel was always quick in being able to read your mind. “You don’t need a spare room do you?” you ask suddenly, your eyes eagerly brighten at the thought.

“No, I'm sorry. I’m still living with my mom at the moment.” Gabriel flicks his head over to the counter where his mother was, working in the kitchen making more traditional Mexican cuisine. “I’m saving up to get a place of my own one day.”

You nod along again, humming in response to Gabriel’s plan before glancing out of the window.

A comfortable silence came between the two of you as you both observed the streets of New York. O’hara’s was set in a quiet corner of downtown with few passersby and traffic. One of the many reasons why you loved to come here was for the peace and quiet of the cafe– not many would be able to find that in New York. But also, you liked to take advantage of the free wifi.

“Y’know what?” Gabriel speaks after a few minutes of silence.

“What?” You hum.

“I think I know someone who might need a place.”

“Really?” Your intonation rises higher, surprise evident in your voice. You shake your head, stopping your body from celebrating just yet. It looks like you can’t abandon that puppy yet without some sort of confirmation. “Wait, Gabi, you can’t be shitting me okay? Be serious.”

“Hey, I’m always serious!” He retorts and you deadpan him as your response. “Trust me.” He says. “ I’ll get you someone by the end of the week, if I can convince—”

“Oh my god, you're the best barista ever!” You say aloud, indulging him with a hug before he could finish his sentence.

“And don’t you tell me that everyday.”

/

The next morning, you feel a little lighter as you walk the streets of New York. For the rest of yesterday, you were unconsciously avoiding your return back to your empty apartment, upset by the knowledge that there was no one at home waiting for you. Yet, waking up this morning and instantly remembering Gabriel’s words had indefinitely removed the sea of anxiety from your body.

You’re a little more excited than usual to head to O’hara’s, hoping to hear back from Gabi about your potential roommate. You step through the doors of the cafe, the usual smell of coffee, pastries and desserts hitting you like always. The queue is a little longer than usual today, but you estimate that down to more people wanting hot drinks to subside with the colder weather in New York lately.

It takes a while to get to your turn but you’re patient. A cheesy smile is on your lips as you step to meet your usual—

“Uh– what would you like?”

Your face freezes at the sound of a gruff voice addressing you instead of your usual cheery ‘¡buenos dias!’ missing from your usual routine. You hesitate a little in making your order, finding it unusual that Gabriel’s not in for work today. You knew that they were running low on staff recently but…Gabriel rarely takes a day off.

Unless he’s hungover.

Instead, his replacement stands as a tall, tanned and muscular man. Older , you assume or perhaps that’s just the notion that you get from the dark under eye-bags that he has. You practically have to crane your neck just to make eye contact.

He looks familiar but you just can’t recognise where you know him from. The features of his face, dark hair, eyes, and nose screams at you to be recognised. But you just can’t put your finger on it for some reason.

“Do I know you?” you speak up, your curiosity violently plaguing your mind.

“Huh?” The man looks down at you, currently struggling to tap in your order on the till.

“Nothing. Nevermind.”

“Oh, okay.” he says, looking down and attempting to tap in your order again.

You stand around, patiently waiting for your order and as you glance around the cafe you find that your favorite spot is taken. Immediately, your shoulders drop. You take it as a sign that today will be a bad day. Not correlated at all, but it does dampen your mood.

It takes more than ten minutes before you get your order, the muscular figure works slowly as if he’s just figuring out how to work all the machines. A newbie you guess.

Finally , your order is ready and instead you settle with taking a seat in a comfy lounge chair. It’s disheartening not having your regular conversation with Gabi today but you’ll cope instead making a mental list of all the errands and work that you need to run through today.

Pulling out your phone, you go to his contact to text Gabriel.

You (8:23am)

Let me guess…you’re hungover? Anyways, I hope you feel better soon <333 Lmk if you need anything…and if you get any updates on the roommate situation. :)

You hit send and slide the phone back into your pocket. You’re not expecting a response anytime soon from him. Picking up your cup, you take a quick sip of your coffee before immediately pulling a disgusted face. Too much sugar.

You’re in the right mind to go back up to the counter and order a new one but by the look on the new barista’s face, which you could tell was filled with stress and internal panic, you think it’s best not to run him ragged even more.

For his sake you decide to keep quiet. For now.

reblogs are much appreciated!

lmk if you would like to be tagged

[fumblingmusings]

Don't Hold Out on Hope

Gift for @hydraespacial for the USUKUS Lounge Christmas Secret Santa (apologies for tagging you on so many platforms 🤯)

Queen Arthur dreams of an Alfred, King of Diamonds, Clubs and Hearts, each in turn after years of perceived neglect from the King of Spades

Also readable over on Ao3 if preferred!

******

“How long will you be gone for?”

Arthur slowly collected the black pieces from the checkerboard, creating four neat columns of discs. Alfred, sitting opposite, left his own white pieces alone, the silence stretching long enough until Arthur lost patience, and began to repeat the small tower construction with the other colour.

“A while,” Alfred finally commented, watching Arthur place the final disc into place. “I don’t know how long. This was just to say goodbye.”

It struck the Queen how cold this statement was. If it had not been for Arthur already sitting with the board ready to play against himself when Alfred entered the room, they would not have played these three matches (Alfred winning every time) and it seemed likely to Arthur that the King would simply have made his declaration in the doorway of the Queen’s chamber, then leave without so much as declaration of affection. That it was an act of kindness in of itself to even say goodbye in person .

Gods, there was a fanciful thought.

“Well… then. I will do my best at Court, until you return.”

Alfred smiled, genuinely smiled, though not at Arthur exactly, never at Arthur. The ever present ache in Arthur’s chest flared. “‘Course you will! You and Yao both.”

Hand trembling, Arthur took a risk, reaching for Alfred’s own gloved hand on the table.

“Please be safe,” he said.

Alfred pulled his hand away before their fingers could touch. His smile cracked, as if disappointed at the action. At himself pulling away, or Arthur daring to reach, the Queen could not tell.

“Always,” Alfred declared. His smile froze for a moment, and Arthur watched him swallow a lump in his throat. He seemed to attempt to say something else but could not manage it. Arthur did not push him, as he was too frightened to upset the King. Instead, Arthur watched as the man stood, flicked his coat with silly panache, and then trotted out the room. He pushed the regret of not asking after Alfred down. There would be another chance, perhaps, when the King returned.

The sound and sight of the closing door seemed to darken the very room the Queen sat in, or perhaps that was Arthur’s magic making itself known in odd ways.

*****

Arthur’s magic making itself known in odd ways was not that uncommon of a feature. For the most part he had control over such things, but it could be easily argued that the Queen was not as composed as he wished to appear.

It was one of the reasons Alfred had refused to merge the King and Queen’s chambers - there was a fairly substantial chance that the Queen would end up throwing a lightning bolt or similar down upon them in bed during a nightmare. They knew this, as it had happened once before as Arthur slept alone. It being his own magic, the Queen himself was unharmed. The bed and furnishings on the other hand…

Still, Arthur knew it only added to the gossip. Poor unloved Queen. And now the King had left for who knows how long to do who knows what.

It seemed childish to admit that he was lonely, but it was the truth. Arthur was lonely.

A long term companion to the then Crown Prince in childhood, Arthur had known as a member of the prominent sorcerer family of the Kirklands, he was guaranteed a place at court. The news that he was to be more than just another courtier, but the Queen himself, had elated Arthur. The chance to be closer to the new King, whom he had long loved, to matter and to have a grand wedding and everything else small children dreamed of at night was a pure joy had promptly withered and died upon seeing Alfred’s paling and horrified expression.

Whatever friendship the two had maintained prior to the wedding did not outlast the consummation three years ago.

On one of these lonely nights, Arthur stayed up until quite late, staring at the canopy of his bed until he was sure he was seeing figures in the painted blue wood and finally a heavy sleep took him.

He was awoken by such a crash that it sent him flying in a panic off the bed, collapsing in a heap of sheets and cushions next to the wooden frame.

“What the -”

“Arthur!”

“Alfred?” the Queen exclaimed, emerging from the cocoon of fabric. The sound of a door slamming shut jolted the man further awake.

“Why did you sleep in here? I woke up this morning and you never came to bed?”

Arthur frowned, peering up over the mattress, confused and ready to ask what on this green earth was Alfred talking about, only for the colour of the sheets to catch Arthur off guard.

Gold. The gold of Diamonds.

Arthur’s gaze flitted around the room - marble tile floors (his room had quartz), an open balcony guarded by strong pillars and fluttering curtains (his room was too cold and too exposed to leave such a space open to all the elements), and gold . Gold everywhere. No baby blue flowers on the fireplace, no midnight blue sheets that glittered like the night sky. Just a warm white and golden glow filling the room.

Speaking of golden, Alfred had hopped onto the bed, and his yellow hair and blue eyes appeared over Arthur’s head. He was smiling down at Arthur.

“Huh?” Alfred prodded, ignorant of Arthur’s look of panicked disbelief. “Why’d you not join me last night?”

“Where am I?” Arthur asked, noting even Alfred himself was dressed in white and gold. When he looked down, Arthur saw that his pyjama bottoms were the same as he remembered, white satin.

“Your room. Why didn’t you come through to our room? Are you mad at me?”

“When did you return?” the Queen asked, convinced he had simply blanked out some journey or events. He didn’t remember drinking last night, but that was probably just a sign that Arthur had gotten rather drunk. There were no symptoms of a hangover however, which added to Arthur’s confusion.

“Return? Arthur, where would I go?”

Strong arms thread themselves around the Queen, and pulled him upwards off the floor and onto the comfort of the large mattress. Remaining limp, cautious at what was happening, Arthur allowed himself to be splayed out on the bed. It was the first time he had willingly been touched in… years.

“Think I’m dreaming…” he murmured, staring at this golden Alfred smiling bemusedly overhead.

“Oh? Why?”

Before Arthur could conjure a response, Alfred had leaned down and planted a very firm kiss to Arthur’s temple.

The shot of fire that flooded the Queen’s veins was so sharp and sudden that Arthur could not help the gasp that escaped his lips. A gasp of pure pain, the sensation of having a dagger pulled out of his stomach after hours of it being stuck in between his ribs. Breathing was no longer easy, instead it was agony. An agony that Arthur dare not exacerbate, even with Alfred settling down next to him. The warm beating heart thrummed steading behind Arthur’s back, and Alfred’s legs twisted and wrapped around Arthur’s own.

“Cold toes,” the King complained with a huff. Another kiss was pressed to the back of Arthur’s neck. The man stiffened like a corpse, breathing shallow. “Hey, what’s going on? You’re all jumpy. What’s wrong?”

Alfred was remarkably attentive today, though Arthur dryly, despite his horror and confusion.

“Can… you tell me I’m not dreaming?”

“You’re not dreaming. Gods, Arthur, what makes you think you are?”

“Then… tell me what’s real. And no pinching my skin.”

“Uh… You and I are here, in the castle, in the Capital City of Diamonds. I’m the King and you’re the Queen, and you only ever sleep in the Queen’s chambers if you’re mad at me.”

“King of what?”

“...Diamonds…?” came Alfred’s baffled reply. He sounded sure himself, but confused at Arthur’s inability to understand. “Did you go out drinking last night? Is that what happened? Sneaky Queen pretending to be one of the people and got absolutely wasted or whatever you call it?”

They were friendly words, comfortable in their familiarity and a gentle teasing tone which Arthur had never known from Alfred. His Alfred. Or, at least, he had once, until Yao had sat them down and explained the situation of their upcoming nuptials.

The King of Diamonds tugged Arthur’s legs apart, settling his own securely in place in the warmth of the embrace.

It was enough to set Arthur’s brain into a frazzle. He was dreaming then. Incredible truly - the man was so lonely his shrinking brain had magicked up a little world where apparently the answer to all of Arthur’s troubles was to simply be born in another country.

He distractedly mused for a second what had happened to Francis and Lilli, but then Alfred was kissing his neck, and the thought fell away.

“Look at me for a sec?”

Arthur turned slowly, reluctantly, on the bed. He kept his gaze determinedly on Alfred’s collarbone peeking out underneath that loose shirt. He could refuse his King some things.

“What’s wrong?”

Frustratingly, stupidly, Arthur’s eyes watered. He simply was not used to being asked after. Against his better judgement, his hand went up to touch and stroke that collarbone that was distracting him so. His better judgement had always faltered when it came to Alfred. It couldn’t be helped. To be able to touch him, even in a dream, was too tempting of an opportunity to miss.

He was as warm as expected, dry skin and trembling under such a gentle touch.

Green eyes finally met blue, and Arthur’s breathing stuttered.

“You’re so beautiful,” Arthur gasped.

Like a child receiving a compliment, Alfred turned bright red.

“Wooft, you’ve never said… Aw, no, well… You’re not so bad yourself!”

It was this clumsy complement that made Arthur’s tears spill over, and - against his better nation - years of grief poured out.

“I love you and I love you and I… You never even look at me.”

“That is not true”-

“It is because all I ever do is look at you!”

“You never tell me this - where is this coming from?”

Arthur barrelled on, arguing, “I know politics is awful and I know it isn’t exactly conducive to a romantic relationship but the least you could do is not make me feel like an outsider in our own home and maybe smile at me once in a while -”

*****

The very air throbbed so painfully that the Queen’s ears made him cry out and flinch away from Alfred. Bolting upright with his eyes screwed shut, Arthur groaned, only for his reopening of his eyes to be accompanied by - once again - being dragged around.

“Arthur, come on! Fight back already!”

Distantly the Queen noted all that was gold had turned to green. A beautiful deep green that seemed to glow from within.

Clubs?

The dream was trying to tell him something then. Making the Queen confront versions of what could have been. What he was missing out on, what he should be grateful for? He did not feel grateful at that moment. Just emotionally exhausted with a thumping head. He wanted to return to the warmth of the bed and Alfred’s kisses.

Instead, he was welcomed by hateful blue eyes coming into view, and a disdain that made Arthur gasp, going to back off the bed.

It seemed he was not moving quickly enough. With a violent shove, Alfred proceeded to throw Arthur off the bed. He collapsed in a heap, but quickly rose to his feet, trying to understand what was happening. He was given no chance, as Alfred was suddenly looming over him, and hands were curling into Arthur’s blond hair and around his right shoulder.

Disorientated and panicking, Arthur backed away towards the windows. Heavy velvet curtains framed a wonderful snowy view, mountains and glowing golden lights.

Arthur had no time to admire the view for the King, now clad in the heavy furs of Clubs, was pushing and pulling Arthur towards the glass. His grip in the Queen’s was akin to a child dragging their favourite toy around on the floor, and it made Arthur flush with panic. He could spark and burn Alfred’s very hands, but he didn’t want to hurt the man.

Even if there were bruises (and there were going to be bruises on his arms after this) Arthur could not bear the thought of hurting Alfred in retaliation.

“You never fight back and you used to” - Alfred’s hands tightened around Arthur’s forearms. The Queen floundered, unable to keep track of what had happened. What had been a golden, loving and gentle embrace on the bed had morphed into a violence that seemingly threatened to toss Arthur out the window.

Arthur wriggled, but Alfred held tight.

“Don’t roll over! Come on fight -”

It was an animalistic instinct that took over then. A fox caught in a trap, fully prepared to gnaw off its own leg to ensure its short term survival. Alfred would not take any action against him lying down, but what choice did Arthur have? He was being pressed against the glass panes of the window, a strain that would crack and slice Arthur’s skin. He didn’t want to hurt Alfred, but he also could not justify being tossed around like Alfred’s childhood broken toy. Neglect was one thing, physical harm was quite another.

Thus, Arthur twisted out of those strong hands, and with a great swing, punched the King of Clubs squarely in the nose.

“Don’t touch me like that,” he hissed. Ignoring the growing smile on Alfred’s face, Arthur shoved the King away. “You cannot treat me like…”

“Oh, now you’re being honest.”

“Honest? What are you on about?”

Arthur paused, looking around the room but keeping his guard up in case Alfred decided to body slam him again, but that seemed increasingly unlikely considering the blood that had begun to flow from Alfred’s nose.

Alfred groaned, stemming the flow with his hand, but the blood continued to drip over his hand and wrist.

“Damn, you hit like a bitch.”

“Fuck you!” slipped out instinctively. Arthur looked around the warm room, roaring fire and several candles giving the war such a comforting glow that was totally at odds with the violence both men had nearly enacted on each other.

The trembling of his own hands caught Arthur’s attention, and he looked down to see them shaking violently. How very unlike him to behave so childishly. He was above such insults and violence. Well, he had been ever since getting that crown on his head.

“What is going on?” the Queen asked, mostly to himself.

“Teaching you a lesson,” Alfred muttered, facing the painted ceiling. “Passivity doesn’t suit you, hon.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Arthur grumbled, circling around Alfred like a cautious prey animal. Where Arthur would go, he did not know.

He preferred the golden Diamond Alfred for certain however. He was warm and charming and not as snide and mocking as the man who was soon sighing and setting himself down on a cushioned chair by the fire.

“Rolling over and letting me do whatever I want… hoping like a beaten dog that obedience earns love… be serious, Arthur.”

An awful silence ensued as Arthur listened to this and grew increasingly angry as he began to understand what he was being told.

“It’s not my fault you’re a brute!”

“No but you’re” -

“Oh fuck off Alfred! Grow up! Don’t take your misery out on me!”

Alfred, still bloody nosed and burning blue eyes, looked at Arthur for an uncomfortably long silence. If he expected Arthur to be the first to flinch and look away, he was mistaken, as Arthur could only glare back, lip curled and ready to bite out another insult.

A grin stretched over Alfred’s lips. It was his genuine smile, the kind that made Arthur’s heart ache.

“You’re getting it.”

Dreaming though he may have been, Arthur had always maintained a mind for logic (or so he believed) so could only roll his eyes in frustration.

“Getting what?”

******

As if slapped, the air was stolen from the Queen’s lungs once again. The fire burned so bright he fell away from the heat and gasped for air. He fell to his feet by the window, desperate for the chance to catch his breath. Dream or his own magic lashing out, he had had enough.

“Arthur?”

“No!” the Queen screeched at the sound of Alfred’s voice, though he could not yet see him. The floor, as he had half expected it to, was a polished red marble, golden and purple veins running through the quartz. “No, no more Alfreds, thank you!”

Fumbling at the window, Arthur managed to locate the catch with his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t want to see what Hearts looked like, he didn’t want some twisted lesson on how it was somehow Arthur’s fault that Alfred didn’t love him and it was just Arthur that needed to be emotionally vulnerable and violent and why was it his fault why was it always his responsibility to fix Alfred’s messes -

Arthur got the catch of the metal frame to open, and - still very much believing he was dreaming - decided the quickest way to wake up was to fling himself out the window.

“Arthur no!”

Alfred’s strong arms were once again around Arthur’s torso. The Queen squawked and cried out in desperation, but Alfred really was stronger than him (a gift of being a King as much Arthur’s magic was a gift of being Queen). Already exhausted from his fight in Clubs, Arthur could only moan as Alfred carried him back to the bed. As soon as Alfred’s arms retreated, Arthur scrambled to the backboard, curling into a ball and ready to bite at Alfred’s fingers if he got close again.

“Just… leave me alone,” Arthur weakly begged.

Alfred, all in red and burgundy and always so beautiful, watched him carefully. The gauzy curtains blew with warm moist air. Like each other room in turn, Hearts was as beautiful as Clubs as beautiful as Diamonds.

Still, Arthur yearned for the soft and calming blues of Spades. Its temperate air, its clean rivers and gentle hills.

“I can’t leave you alone, Arthur. I need to apologise.”

Slowly, disbelieving his own ears, Arthur uncurled from his tight ball.

“You?”

Alfred smiled, bashful. “Don’t act too surprised.”

“Alfred I am going mad,” Arthur whimpered. “So whatever you’re going to say, get it over with.”

A left hand snuck into Arthur’s vision, the golden band around his ring finger glimmering in the early morning light.

“Don’t… don’t give up on me.”

With a cry he didn’t know he was holding on to, Arthur fell forward into that hand, pressing it down into the mattress, and wept.

“Promise Arthur?” Alfred murmured, curling on top of his crying spouse.

“You’re such a shit,” Arthur cried. “Making me do all the heavy lifting.”

“...Yeah. Sorry.”

Arthur turned to look at the canopy of the bed, then suddenly like glue Alfred was resting on his chest. Unable to help himself, Arthur thread his hands through the King’s golden hair. Indulging. He would always indulge Alfred, if he let him.

“Can I ask, what would you do, if you were me?”

“I’d probably throw my hands up and wash myself of you.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not you though.”

“No.”

“Thank the gods.”

A broken laugh fell from Arthur’s lips.

“Small blessings.”

Alfred hummed, staring at the same spot as Arthur. The two men lay largely in silence, Arthur slowly recapturing his breath as his tears stopped. The pressure of Alfred’s head on his chest was a comforting pressure, but his stomach still churned at confusion. This dream simply felt too real. His cheeks were wet, the back of his neck still tingled from the press of Alfred’s lips, his arms ached from imprints which would perhaps bruise if given enough time.

But it was just a dream. Just a dream.

“Alfred…” The King shifted as Arthur rose to sitting on the plush bed. He looked at Arthur curiously. Arthur took in a breath and continued, “If you were me, if you loved someone who did not love you back”-

“Who said that I don’t?”

Arthur choked on his question. When he caught his stolen breath, he protested, “You don’t even let me touch you.”

Alfred only had to look at their conjoined hands to make his point.

“No! No, not you. Other you.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“I need to wake up.” Wiping at his nose, sniffing and pressing his free hand to his flushed cheeks, Arthur tried to shake himself awake. “You’re sweet and I accept whatever transgression you think you have done but I need this to stop now. No more Alfred’s in rainbow colours kissing me and slapping me and begging me for apologies… I need to wake up.

Alfred’s free hand captured Arthur’s, pulling it towards his cheek and trapping Arthu’s into cradling his strong jaw.

“I think… Arthur… you put yourself under too much pressure.”

It hurt to look Alfred in the eye, but Arthur was unable to look away. It was the expression on Alfred’s face that held Arthur’s attention so closely. It was nothing but empathetic, compassionate, and deeply concerned.

“I ain’t mad,” Arthur protested to that face, in a rougher tone and language than usual.

Alfred scoffed. “I think you’re over tired, more than mad.”

“Oh, maybe. Maybe so.”

“I think sleeping would do you good. You know, over jumping out the window.”

Arthur laughed again, letting go of each of Alfred’s hands. He laughed until he felt sick, reaching for the King’s face. Alfred let him touch the skin, watching as the tired Queen bit his lip. He seemed to be contemplating something, a conundrum he would never quite be able to answer.

“You gonna go lie down?” Alfred asked, not at all subtly. He was still watching Arthur warily. He may have been kinder than the previous King of Clubs, but that did not make him as unguarded as Diamonds. Hearts were something to be protected after all.

“Need to ask you something first,” Arthur replied, yet moved back towards the sheets nonetheless. He had enough of this jumping from place to place. He needed to go back to his own bed, in his own room.

To his own King.

“Shoot.”

Throwing the sheet up over his head, Arthur hid hi1mself from view, deeply embarrassed by what he was about to ask. Alfred’s hand was resting on his leg, a casual intimacy that sent a lump up into the man’s throat.

“Was it hard?”

“Huh? Can’t hear you under there.”

“Was it hard?” Arthur spoke louder, “To fall in love with me?”

It did not occur to Arthur that it should be impossible, but he could almost hear Alfred smile. With no response coming immediately save that smile, the Queen blushed.

Alfred eventually replied, softly, “Nah. You just needed to knock down some wall.”

It was all the confirmation Arthur needed. A smile joined his flushed skin to match the King’s.

“I…I can do that.”

The cover was pulled down, just enough for the Queen’s straw hair and green eyes to pop out from under the blood red fabric.

Alfred’s soft gaze met his. He seemed bashful, a little ashamed at the vulnerability

“…Don’t give up on me.”

“Promise.”

They two stared at each other, for a moment too long, before Alfred coughed and turned away, standing up away from the bed.

“Cool. Thanks.”

Arthur, equally embarrassed, returned to hiding under the covers.

“Welcome. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Arthur closed his eyes, and finally, for the first time in what felt like years, felt his stomach settle. The bed was soft, the room was warm, and even though this Alfred had not said the words, had not kissed him nor really said anything beyond telling Arthur to try… It gave the Queen hope.

******

When he woke in the morning, safe from the dream and the thumping headaches, the loneliness did not seem so awful. For once, it seemed, his magic had potentially helped him solve a problem, not just being excellent at causing explosions.

Hope was a powerful thing after all.

The lessons stuck with Arthur for all the weeks that the King of Spades was gone. Honesty, no more stiff upper lip, being the one to push and push…

It still occurred to Arthur that the entire onus should not be on him alone, but he was the one who was willing, and Alfred had once given Arthur the impression he wanted to speak more openly.

Perhaps, Arthur thought, watching from the top of the grand staircase as the King returned from wherever he had been. He watched him speak to Yao, then look up at Arthur. He did not smile, but Arthur did not expect him to. Steeling himself, Arthur trotted down the staircase. He held tightly to that feeling of hope as he moved closer and, to everyone’s surprise, threw his arms around Alfred’s broad shoulders and pulled the taller man down for an embrace.

He felt the expected stiffness, heard the gasp and confusion, but held on tightly. What surprised him, more than if Alfred had thrown him to the side in disgust, was a pair of hands holding on to his shoulder and waist.

“Welcome back.”

Alfred swallowed loudly, but squeezed Arthur’s slim frame nonetheless.

“I went… to talk to someone for a while,” he admitted.

“Oh.”

“Gave me a bit of a reality check.”

Arthur pulled back, but kept his hands around the King’s neck. He tried to look Alfred in the eye, but saw that the man was red from a blush, and kept his eyes very determinedly on Arthur’s shirt. Shy , Arthur realised with a startled laugh, he’s shy .

“I need to talk to you myself, I think,” Arthur murmured.

Finally, finally , the King of Spades looked at the Queen of Spades, and smiled.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

[wutheringvibe]

December 28 - I keep falling. Off rhythms, off rituals, off promises. promises whispered to myself under the soft glow of imagined tomorrows. Journaling every day felt like a promise too, but promises, like stitches, often snap when pulled too tight. But anyway here i am trying again. The sun is out today, shining bright, but the wind steals its warmth. It’s the kind of weather that feels like it’s trying to tell me something, sharp, brisk, and fleeting. i didn’t dress for it, as usual. my summer clothes cling to me in defiance, they are my second skin. winter weather, though, holds my heart, it feels like coming home. i sit with my pen, feeling its weight like it’s carrying more than ink. I love the way it feels in my hand on such days, the way it presses into paper, leaving lines so permanent, so unapologetically real, like truth written into existence, as if marking time itself. My palm skates across the page, a small rebellion against the cool surface of the paper. The pen becomes more than an object. It’s alive, an instrument, an extension of my thoughts. I think about the way my fingers cradle it, for a moment, it feels like holding power, creation, the world. Did God feel the same when he shaped things? Was it a pen he used, or a paintbrush, or maybe just his hands, raw and bare, palms pressed to nothing until it became something? I wonder if he felt the peace i feel when i hold my pen. There’s a vision I hold close, one I’ve carried since I was a child, a backyard bathed in sunlight, a gentle wind nudging the clothesline into song. The clothes sway, soft cotton ghosts dancing against the sky. It’s a quiet heaven, removed from the relentless noise of the world. The air sings a soft song, the sun casts its golden fingers over everything, and peace settles like dust on an undisturbed surface. This image keeps returning to me, unannounced, unbidden, grounding me when the world feels too sharp. It’s strange, how a fragment of a childhood dream can linger, outlasting years, outlasting doubts. My teacher had asked us where we’d like to live. That's when it first came to me. But I couldn't answer her. I didn't have the words to describe how the wind of that sunny afternoon felt in my imagination. And that feeling hasn’t ever left me. I am still trying to find my way to it. That backyard, that moment, that wind. that imagined peace. But peace, I’ve learned, is slippery. It dances just beyond reach, a game of hide and seek with no end. It’s there in glimpses, slipping through your fingers the moment you try to hold it. Outside, I hear new born pups crying. New lives, fragile and fleeting, fighting for survival. Most will not see spring. Their tiny tragedies pass unnoticed, unmourned, just like so much else that vanishes quietly from the world. Life goes on, with or without our permission. Sometimes I wish I could stop running with it. I wish the plants would claim me, take me into their fold. Their roots don’t wander, their leaves don’t ask questions. Rooted and swaying to rhythms far older than time, their harmony is enviable. They sway to the wind and bask in the sun’s embrace, content with simply being. I imagine myself as one of them, soft green and unburdened, listening to the quiet hum of the earth. I wish to shed this skin of noise and human yearning, to just dance in the cool breeze and breathe without want. There’s a strange comfort in the simplicity of things. There’s comfort in becoming part of something larger, something still. There's peace in these quiet moments, like clothes on a line, like the pen on paper. Like dreams of a far-off backyard, swaying, soaking in the sun. A peace which runs away from me again and again. I wish i could bottle it up

[helleboretks]

AHHH THATS so exciting we are getting a second part with some Lee!Suo hehehehehheh

He seems like the type that rougher tickles don’t really get to him at first but if you start soft and get him off his guard he would just absolutely break down into giggles to the point that if Sakura or Neiri started tickling faster it would destroy him lol

The softer tickles on his belly get him bad, but it’s like on bare skin with super light touches at first that mess with him. He thinks he’s safe and confident in being pinned down until Sakura lightly skitters his fingers down his bare sides and Suo practically jumps like he’s been electrocuted.

An absolute coverer of the giggles, he’d be so focused on not letting the level headed persona slide that he leaves his tummy completely defenseless but once he realizes that he does this weird switch back and fourth between trying to cover his stomach and trying to cover his mouth.

I could see Neiri gaining the confidence to help Sakura out in keeping Suo down while also trying desperately to take notes on the newfound information on Suo.

Anyway I wanted to rant abt this since it’s so wholesome thanks ✨

OH BRUH RANT ALL YOU WANT TO ME ABOUT SUO HE IS MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE LEE OF THE ANIME!!

Suo would TOTALLY be too busy trying to cover his giggles, and I think Sakura would find that both amusing and take it for a challenge like "you think I can't get you to laugh your ass off??? Motherfucker WATCH ME-" and promptly destroys Suo.

I LOVE the idea of getting to Suo with the soft tickles first before amping up the intensity! Like, going straight for the kill probably wouldn't affect him as much as building up all the anticipation, giddiness and giggles, and then breaking down his defenses slow and painstakingly attentively using soft, gentle tickles all along his stomach and sides.

(He secretly loves all the attention-LOVES when his friends tickle him like that! He refuses to admit it though, almost as stubborn as Sakura.)

He probably can't handle all the suspense after a bit. He may be patient, but under all the chill guy persona is a pretty boy WISHING to be in on all the ticklish fun and it gets him every time, especially if you can outlast his nearly saint-like patience.

Nirei and Kiryu would be the best lers for him if we're talking endurance. They could totally get him restless with the slowest, most drawn out, torturous tickle session of his life-especiallly if they team up-and he can't do anything but lose his damn mind!

If he wants to be screaming in a matter of minutes, ya gotta get Sakura and Tsugeura on his ass, especially after Nirei and Kiryu have done their part. They are quick on the snap, and once Suo's been all worn out with the gentlest torture known to man, oh boy he better hope he'll be able to breathe after getting absolutely manhandled by our two most energetic lers of class 1-1!

They are ruthless with him, clawing at his belly and spidering his sides, Tsugeura would let him kick and squirm and writhe as he grins at him all happy, but Sakura would totally zero in on those flailing limbs and start messing with his knees and thighs in the process! Once he gets over how embarrassingly intimate that spot is...

They wouldn't leave a single spot left untickled, and Suo would probably have damn near lost his voice by the end of it, with all the screaming and pleading he'd let spill uncharacteristically from his mouth.

And finally, as icing on the cake, after everything is said and done, Sugishita will just sloooooowly lean over him as Suo catches his breath, and give him the smirk.

The one he gave to a gullible Sakura for believing one of Suo's shit- stirring lies. If you know, you know.

Man doesn't need to do anything else, cause Suo just burst into tittering laughter at his face alone! Boy has got the case of the giggles now, and it will literally take damn near forever to get him to settle down, especially if his friends keep subtly egging him on with those mischievous looks and threatening finger wiggles. They totally had bets on who could keep him going the longest. So far, somehow, Nirei is in the lead with the highest points.

(one time, they tickled him to near death at the very beginning of the school day, and they kept him feeling giggly all the way til the end of patrol. Man got the hiccups after and they never let him live it down-)

See Suo? This is what happens when you let the people you care about in on you as a person! They tickle you within an inch of your life and keep tormenting you until you can properly gain your composure again! How fun!

Yes I used your message as an excuse to ramble about Lee!Suo, you can pry him from my cold, dead hands. But also your ideas are so fun I just HAD to branch out on it!!! Thanks for the ask, bud!

[argisthebulwark]

Cleanse Me With Pleasure

summary: second chance! you've known them and lost them, but fate brings you back together. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used feat: Miraak, Hadvar, Vilkas warnings: very mild body horror (miraak has too many pupils), depiction of overstimulation (vilkas)

Miraak

He was your first love, the one meant to outlast all else. He became the one who shattered your heart. Your shared power as Dovahkiin should have brought you closer - your fates as the First and Last intrinsically twined together, though Miraak seemed intent on severing it. His refusal to share power turned to distrust, a fracture your relationship never recovered from.

He became obsessed. Blinded by his need to rule over Tamriel, you found yourself growing apart until you could hold onto him no longer. Miraak forgot all else when he became lost to his hunt for power, casting aside love and humanity as he lusted after forbidden knowledge. He forgot about you, his fellow Dragonborn. His beloved.

As the ages have passed, you now find yourself unfulfilled. You’ve seen much of the world in your time, taken fleeting lovers and leaving few traces. The dragon blood in your veins keeps you stationary while the world shifts around you, able to inflict little change upon the matters of men. Civilizations develop and empires crumble before your eyes as you search for the place you belong. No matter how much you love this world you still seek the place that feels like home.

After many years spent unsuccessfully settling into a small village you decide to leave Skyrim. At least for a short while. Too many eyes are on you after your influential part in the civil war. You need somewhere quiet. Hoping for the comfort of an old friend or a Telvanni tower your eyes turn to Solstheim. It’s been far too long since you’ve walked its shores, perhaps clarity awaits there.

Your wish for peace is unfulfilled as always. Rumors of locals wandering off into the ashen wastes reach your ears in every tavern. Just one night, you promise yourself when you fall into a cheap rented bed. Just one night of rest and I will investigate in the morning. 

A voice you’d forgotten ages ago invades your dreams. His mantra shocks you to your core - he was behind those horrid stones? Scrambling for your pack you set off into the night fueled by anger, old and long forgotten. You don’t care how powerful he’s become in your time apart - it matters little if he’s finally ascended to godhood, you’re going to give him an earful. 

Sharp spikes and dark towers loom over the horizon - his palace. The elegant arches are beginning to crumble with no sign of repair. Perhaps all of his loyal subjects are too busy tending to those awful stones, minds stolen away by Mora’s influence. Stomping through his castle you’re horrified by the years of dust and grime accumulating on every surface. Much like yourself, it seems that this palace has spent ages stuck in a time the world has forgotten. 

Upon a spiraling staircase, the railing is surprisingly clean. Tracks of fingers trail through the dust and a shiver runs down your spine. Weak light flickers from above and you steady yourself for whoever lurks in this ancient place. It may be a sign of life but you cannot decipher whether that is a good thing.  

You should have known. The only visible light emanates from the heart of Miraak’s palace - his library. Tomes written in dead languages give way to the common tongue, each shelf meticulously cleaned. Your footsteps are careful, though you can do little to calm the erratic racing of your heart as you wind through his maze. 

A dark cloak is draped over hunched shoulders. His quill scrapes over the parchment without pause. Blazing light from the fireplace illuminates his silhouette and for a moment it’s far too easy to forget about how everything ended - the fighting, the screaming, and that uncrossable distance that grew between you. When Miraak’s head tilts you catch sight of stubble across his jaw, the once black hair now peppered with gray and white. There is the sharp angle of his nose and lips that had once spilled nothing but admissions of love. For one moment he is the man your heart still screams for. 

“You must be brave if you dare to enter.” His deep voice rumbles through the library and you’re shocked back to reality. Deep green eyes sweep toward you, pinning you in place as too many pupils assess your interruption. “Remove your hood and state your business.” 

“What have you done?” Miraak’s fingers clutch the edge of his desk, revealing sickly black veins creeping under pale skin. His eyes narrow and in a dramatic flourish he stalks toward you. Old rage builds with each step that draws him closer; that sneer on his face, the condescension in his tone, the terrible way that power has warped him. 

“How dare you speak to me like this?” He seethes, teeth practically bared when he glares you down. Standing only inches away you can feel it, the terribly oily power infecting the rest of Solstheim. It is like nothing you can recall dealing with. Attempting to move swiftly you remove your hood, brandishing a reliable dagger between your bodies to hold him off. 

Something you cannot read shifts in his eyes. He blinks too many times before one hand reaches past your weapon. You consider slicing into his arm, calculating how likely it is that Miraak could cast some horrible spell upon you when cool skin cups your cheek. 

“Darling.” Your heart squeezes when Miraak draws you closer, completely ignoring the blade pressed to his chest. “My love, where have you been?” 

“I left.” Your voice is harsh, cutting through the strange softness of his tone. You cling to the rage that fueled you to find him, grasping for something to keep you upright when his thumbs trace so lovingly across your cheeks. 

“I have searched this world for you.” 

“What?” You sputter, taking a step back. Your heart slams into your ribs when he looks at you, such adoration in eyes you have not seen in centuries. “You let me go. You forgot me.” 

“I was wrong.” Bravely, he attempts to move closer. “I cannot do this without you - I do not work without you, my love.” 

“I do not wish to rule.” Your voice quivers and you steady the dagger. Miraak makes no move away from you, still carefully holding your face. “I have never wished to rule.”

“Tell me what you want.” 

“I have told you.” You insist, obnoxious tears pricking at your eyes. It’s terribly hard to remain angry when he’s so close. “You never listen.”

“Tell me once more.” Miraak gulps, unnatural eyes never moving from yours. “Please, just once more.” 

“I want,” your voice falters as you consider your options. Rationally, you should drive the dagger into his chest and free the world from his influence. You should kill Miraak while he is distracted. You should end him before he does further damage to this world. 

But you cannot. Sweaty fingers clench around the blade but your muscles have turned to stone. He may be different, hell he may be awful, but you cannot bring yourself to kill him. He is still Miraak. Your blade stills over his heart, the only one that has called out to yours. Despite the inky black stains these are his hands, the ones you’ve imagined each time you’ve taken a lover. 

“I want you.” Fat tears coat your cheeks when you relent, speaking the words that have been a thorn in your side for too many years. Old desires wash away the anger, each night spent missing him fresh and new in your memory. You remember speaking the same words during your last argument with him, one final plea for him. “I want to find somewhere quiet and grow old with you.” 

“I am sorry that it has taken me so many years to agree. I am yours, entirely, if you will have me.” Miraak’s nose brushes yours and through your bleary vision, you see him. His vision is no longer clouded with obsession, eyes focused entirely on you. Something wrenches deep in your chest and time seems to grind to a halt. 

It is all you’ve ever wanted from him. There is fear in Miraak’s eyes while he awaits your response though he makes no offensive moves - he’s left himself open if you decide to strike. There is no defense, no shield to hold you off. Miraak has made himself vulnerable to you. 

Joy and grief and all other emotions swirl together as your blade clatters to the ground. Desperate hands dig into the back of your cloak and you feel his sigh of relief against your chest, unheard promises whispered into your skin. 

Hadvar

Training. Guard rotations. Research assignments. Reconnaissance. Palace guard duty. Shift changes. Too many responsibilities and not enough time, yet for so long you managed to cling together. There was never time for anything more than falling into bed together, a shared cot and the comfort of one another. 

Schedules shifted every few weeks, never amounting to much more than a change in when you're afforded time to sleep. Without bothering to open the envelope for your new assignment you’d hobbled back toward the barracks, muscles aching from a day stuck near the city gate.

A sharp bark of your name stopped you short. A harsh explanation that you were heading off to some newly established camp in the Rift. No time to change or grab your supplies, they’ll have clothes waiting for you at the new camp. Your heart was in your throat when your commanding officer bundled you into the back of some carriage and sent you to another Hold without a chance to tell Hadvar. 

In the shuffle of everything, you lost each other. No letters could be sent as you had no idea where he’d been stationed or who his superior became after the new assignments. Though your nights were lonely, over time you accepted that he’d simply slipped through your fingers. 

Leaving the army was a difficult but necessary choice. That strange power seemed to grow with each day that passed yet you had no clue what it was. Something terrifying was happening inside you and you snuck away from your camp, deserting in search of answers. 

Your many attempts to diagnose whatever lay inside you remained unanswered. It felt like some sort of serpent, often dormant and rarely flickering into life. Presently, you find yourself glaring into the horizon and regretting that shitty mug of ale. Falkreath has yielded no answers and although you’ve tried to avoid Skyrim, the College of Winterhold may be your last resort. 

It all happens so fast. The clanging of armor and harsh shouts ringing through the forest. Dozens of blades are pointed in your direction and before you can think your hands are cuffed, pack ripped from your back and you’re shoved into a cart of fellow prisoners. 

The ride is quite short but one man insists on chatting, drawing the attention of the soldiers. Imperial soldiers. Your stomach turns sour as you rush to come up with a story - it’s been years since you deserted, no one will recognize you. You can claim to be a hunter. The forest has enough elk to make the weapons in your pack plausible. 

Staring straight down at the tips of your boots, you avoid acknowledging what is happening only a few yards away. The pleading words, the blade cutting through the air, the sickening thump. You shuffle through the line of prisoners intending to recite your half baked story, steadying yourself when you finally look up. 

“And who are,” Hadvar pauses, still staring down at his parchment. Your heart stops when he finally looks up, face bright red as recognition lights his expression. “You?”

You’re fucked. 

“I’m a hunter.” You lie as another guard ushers you toward the block. “I was looking for elk. Just a trader.” 

“Yeah.” The guard snorts, guiding you to kneel. “I’ve heard that one before.” 

There is nothing more to say, no words that will change their minds. Dew coats your knees and you can feel Hadvar staring at you, blue eyes sharp and mouth still parted with questions. You try to take comfort in the clear skies and calm breeze. If you are destined to die today, there is something nice about knowing that the last thing you see will be Hadvar. 

“Dragon!”

Your world is a blur of fire and smoke. The executioner’s blade thumps to the ground, mere seconds from taking your head. Rough hands drag you to your feet and you stumble along, unsure if you’re alive. On all sides Helgen is burning, shrieks of the dragon blend with screams of humans into one horrible sound that drowns all else out. 

Time slows to a crawl when Hadvar wheels toward you, soot staining his features as steady hands check you for injuries. For one brief moment the world is quiet, Helgen’s Keep miraculously still upright. 

“Are you alright?” All you can manage is a nod. Hadvar passes you a sword and plants his helmet on your head, instructing you to stay close. Falling into line with him is too easy - ducking when you feel his muscles flex to swing his sword, backs pressed together as you cut through Stormcloaks and spiders. 

The road is quiet, its usual sense of peace only heightening your nerves. Acrid smoke clings to your nostrils and burns sting at your skin but you continue walking, unsure of the destination. Hadvar’s steps are sure through the small village, explaining the situation with only a hint of the panic still lacing your veins. You anticipate questions he does not ask, explanations cluttering your mind but he doesn't breathe a word of your desertion.

His family is wary but welcoming. They don’t ask questions when you refuse to part, sides glued together as you recount your stories. You feel their curious eyes as Hadvar leads you downstairs to where you’ll be staying. He doesn’t pause before unbuckling his armor and falling into the sole bed, one arm open in silent invitation.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” Hadvar murmurs, allowing you to curl into his chest. You can hear the racing of his heart as one arm rests around you, perfectly aligning with all those memories. He’s warm and still smells like fire but you block it out, focusing on nothing more than Hadvar’s hands combing through the mess of your hair. “I’ve lost you so many times, I don’t know if I can let you go again.” 

Vilkas

Although Whiterun would always be your home, somewhere deep down you’d long harbored a distaste for how crowded it was. Too many sounds and smells, elbows jostling you and siblings to keep track of. Food sizzling and water gurgling from the nearby fountain, it all turned into one overwhelming wave of sensations. High walls kept out the breeze and often you found your skin felt too tight, ears ringing as you ran off toward one of the abandoned watch towers. 

From far below you heard the delighted shrieks of your younger siblings as they frolicked through the market. Your head pounded although the breeze cooled your overheated skin, lessening the sensory terror of the crowd. 

“Mind if I sit?” Your eyes shot open and you saw a boy no older than yourself standing on the final step to your hideout. “My brother’s down there but it’s - well, it’s too loud.” 

“Sure.” You agreed, scrunching your legs closer to make room. He didn’t say a word, merely plopped down and began reading the book he’d tucked under his arm. His presence was nice, silent and uncaring as you unwound. A breeze whistled through old shudders carrying a welcome chill. 

“I should get back to my brother, he’ll start to worry.” He carefully placed a bookmark before standing. “My name is Vilkas.” He only introduced himself upon parting.

Your friendship was easy. Afternoons spent in comfortable silence, tidbits of information swapped once your ears stopped ringing. Vilkas’s way of speaking was refreshing; his tone was always even and getting right to the point. You never had to puzzle through the hidden meaning of what he said not did he push past your limits.

There was no way to know one meeting would be the last. Vilkas was recalled to Jorrvaskr and sent on some mission by his superiors and your mother was being shipped off to Solitude to serve the Jarl. Between packing up your entire life in a few chests and wrangling all of your siblings there was simply no time to find Vilkas, you never got a chance to say goodbye. 

Now, the title of Dragonborn grows hefty. You’ve carried it for years but it never seems to get easier - there are constantly people asking for favors or wanting to hear stories you’ve told dozens of times. Although many years have passed you often find yourself wanting to regress to that child that hid away in abandoned guard towers, wishing you could simply curl up in some corner and let the world forget you for a while.

Too many eyes are always on you, watching your every move and telling tales of your heroism. Taverns herald your arrival, merchants offer special deals for your presence, fighters either want to duel or be in your employ. It seems that quiet is simply not in the cards for you. 

Trekking across the plains, the buzz of conversation finally ceases. Most civilians aren’t motivated enough to follow you out of their walled city. You walk until your legs are numb and collapse, back pressed to Whiterun’s massive wall as you stare out across the heavens. There's no telling how much time passes - elk skip over the hillsides and shadows grow longer yet you remain, unsure if you are ready to face the bustling city once more.

“You alright?” 

There's no hiding your groan at the interruption. A gruff voice breaks through the quiet of nature, ruining the ruffling of wind through tall grass. Biting back whatever truth threatens to spill from your tongue you turn to the offender, intending to ask for a bit of time alone when you pause. 

His brown eyes have hardened, now lined with the telltale signs of many sleepless nights. Dark hair has grown out over the years and stubble lines a strong jaw, hands that once carefully balanced books now perched precariously on the hilt of his greatsword. Relief washes away all the annoyance as he silently eases to sit at your side, eyes cast out over the plains. 

“You look different.” You dare to observe, a nervous smile breaking out at his snort of laughter. 

“You’ve been gone for quite a while.” 

Everything is so easy with him. Conversation comes and goes in waves, hours spent catching each other up on your lives lapsing into a comfortable silence. As the sun dips below the horizon and Whiterun’s plains are ablaze in deep shades of orange and pink the tightness in your chest lessens, noise from of the city quieting as its inhabitants seek shelter in homes and taverns. You remain there with Vilkas for far too long, both relieved to reconnect with the one person who understands their need for quiet. 

[aleksatia]

Feral Ties: Chapter 1

Image is AI (obviously), as I have no idea how to draw. Just first attempt to start publishing in English, CoD and Omegaverse. As I am not a native speaker, would appreciate any feedback.

Chapter 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley was not a man given to sentiment. If anyone had dared say otherwise, he’d have laughed—short, sharp, laced with contempt. A soldier had no use for tenderness, just as a blade had no use for mercy. He was made for something else. War. Blood. Killing.

Feelings were dead weight. Emotions? A liability. Attachments? A snare for the weak, for those too blind or too foolish to see the teeth waiting beneath. And Ghost was no fool.

He was a ghost.

Omegas. Alphas. Betas. The words meant nothing to him, nothing beyond the useless classifications people clung to in their need for order, for certainty. He required neither. He knew exactly who he was. He did not live by instincts but by war. Power wasn’t about scent or submission—it was about steel, precision, and the ability to outlast everyone else.

He refused to play their game. The hierarchy, the rules, the primitive instincts that decided who knelt and who commanded—it was all bullshit. Biology had no place in war. And war was all that mattered.

But duty… Duty was different. It was real. He understood it, relied on it. It was the only thing that had ever made sense.

And if duty required him to help an Omega endure the torment of her own body, then so be it. A transaction. Nothing more. No emotions. No attachments. No illusions.

And yet, they always tried.

Wide eyes. Trembling fingers. Voices dipped in honey, weaving the same tired traps of softness and submission. Some came with naive hope, others with the cunning of snakes, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Ghost never got caught.

Until today.

Emily Lamar was different.

She didn’t plead. Didn’t coax. Her scent wasn’t overpowering or demanding—it was subtle, like a whisper. Promised. A quiet, steady warmth he’d never known, never thought to crave.

That made her dangerous.

And now, she was tied to him.

His knot had locked them together, leaving no room for movement or escape. He hated this part the most. The false closeness. The illusion of something more than biology.

Most nights, he let himself disappear. He became nothing. He waited for it to pass.

But tonight—tonight—he let himself think.

About the mark.

His breath seared against her skin, a fleeting warmth tracing the curve of her neck. He could hear her heartbeat, erratic and desperate, slamming against her ribs. One bite. Just one. And everything would change. One bite, and she would be his. Forever.

What if there was something more?

The door didn't open. It exploded.

A she-wolf stood in the wreckage of the threshold, young and wild, raw energy radiating from every inch of her. Restless, like a storm rolling in from the north. White fur gleamed in the dim light, silver catching at the edges, and her emerald eyes burned, sharp as a blade catching fire. Claws bit into the floor. Her tail was raised high. She didn’t enter the room—she claimed it.

Dominant. Shameless. Defiant.

Selene Lariano. Nyx.

She was fury made flesh, and when she spoke, her words carried the weight of a command.

“Where the hell is Price? I’ve been looking for him all over the base for two goddamn hours.”

Emily tensed. A moment ago, her scent had been thick, unshakable, draping itself over everything like heavy velvet. Now, it was gone. Erased. Overwritten.

Selene stepped forward, and the room tilted under the force of her presence. She didn’t need to bare her teeth or raise her voice—she simply was, and everything else made way. Ghost exhaled, slow and controlled. He couldn’t check her, not here. Not like this. Not with Emily still locked against him. The last thing he wanted was to wound Selene’s pride.

She was his responsibility. His burden. A natural Alpha, but still untested, still clawing her way up through instinct and defiance. She had strength—undeniable, magnetic—but no control. No discipline. It was his job to temper her before that unchecked force turned on itself, before she burned too hot and left nothing but ruin in her wake.

Selene tilted her head, narrowed her eyes. She had been too caught up in her own fury to notice at first, but now… now she saw exactly what was happening. Her gaze snapped to Emily. To the way they were locked together. To what had almost happened.

Something shifted. The irritation didn’t fade, but it twisted into something else. Not fear. No, never fear. Something more complex. More dangerous.

“Hm.”

Her head cocked slightly. Silver-tipped ears twitched. Her voice came lazy, taunting, but the fire in her eyes sharpened.

“Interesting. Wasn’t it you who said you couldn’t be tied down, Lieutenant?”

Ghost said nothing.

Selene stepped closer, every movement measured, deliberate. A hunter closing the distance, taking her time.

“I thought you were the type who was ‘in, out, no attachments.’” A slow smirk pulled at her lips, sharp and knowing. “But look at you now—lying there, getting comfortable. Relaxing.”

She knew exactly where to twist the knife. She was waiting for a crack in his composure.

She wouldn’t get one.

Ghost felt Emily tense. Selene’s presence devoured everything, drowning out the air, pressing against the walls. Emily was nothing more than a shadow now, fading against the oncoming storm.

"Are you finished, Lariano?" His voice was cold, stripped of patience.

Selene’s lips curved, slow and sharp.

"Between the two of us, you’re the one who’s finished."

She began to circle, lazy, unhurried, moving with the practiced ease of a predator that knew exactly how close it could get before the fight began. Her emerald gaze flickered, her tail twitched. She was enjoying this. And he let her. He could have shut her down, cut this short, ended the game before it started.

But he didn’t.

"The operation plan is complete shit."

His brow twitched slightly.

"And which part, exactly, fails to meet your high standards?"

Selene scoffed, shaking her head.

"The part where we blow up a damn train in the middle of the woods with no satellite coverage and turn it into a miniature Siberian apocalypse. You do realize we’ll have minutes for the fireworks, right? Mountains, tunnels—one thing goes wrong, and we’re buried under an avalanche along with the cargo."

He had been expecting this. She’d been stewing over it all day, long before the briefing even started.

"If you knew more than the rest of us, why the hell did you stay silent?"

"Back then, it was just a hunch. Now it’s a certainty."

Ghost held her gaze, his silence slicing through the air like a blade drawn in warning. No anger. No mockery. Just something heavy, unspoken, stretching the space between them. She wasn’t wrong about the op.

But that wasn’t what bothered him.

What unsettled him was the way she looked at him. Like she already knew. Like she had seen past every wall, every carefully controlled breath, down to the raw, primitive hunger coiled beneath his skin, gnawing at the edges of restraint.

Ghost exhaled slowly, pushing the irritation down, forcing it into a tight, iron-clad box. This entire scene was a performance—staged, deliberate, predictable. A game she was playing because she could. And he was tired of playing the silent observer in someone else’s script.

"Selene, we can table this conversation. Once I’m free, I’ll find you." His voice was steady, precise, the kind of edge that warned there was nothing left to push.

He knew it wouldn’t change anything.

Selene never backed down.

Never.

In her world, words like later or not now meant nothing. Dry leaves underfoot. She pushed, pressed, tested boundaries—not just because she could, but because she thrived on it. And damn, she was good.

She didn’t move. Not an inch. Instead, she prowled, circling him with the slow, deliberate confidence of something untamed. She invaded his space with shameless curiosity, drinking in every detail, searching for cracks. She was enjoying this—he could see it in the slight squint of her eyes, the subtle curl of her lips.

She was playing.

And he endured.

“How much longer is this going to last?” Her voice was lazy, indifferent on the surface, but amusement—sharp and cutting—flickered beneath.

“Depends. Up to an hour,” Ghost answered, holding her gaze. “Nyx, get lost.”

“An hour?” Selene tilted her head, pretending to consider. “How is it? Comfortable? Bored yet? Just sitting there, waiting, enduring? Maybe have a smoke? Flip through a magazine?”

His teeth locked, his patience stretched to its limits.

“Lariano. Get out.”

For a moment, it seemed like she would. She turned, took a step—then stopped.

The shift was instant. Subtle, but unmistakable. Her nostrils flared as she took a slow, deliberate breath. Her whiskers twitched. Her expression flickered—just for a second—before settling into something else. Something colder.

Disgust.

Her throat bobbed, muscles tensing as if fighting off a gag reflex.

“You’re gonna reek for days,” she muttered, tilting her head. “At least the last one didn’t stink as bad.”

Ghost closed his eyes.

Anger surged through him, hot and relentless, like a predator ready to strike. A slow, measured tide that dragged nails over his patience. Inside, it boiled—heavy, suffocating, dense as the silence before a storm. But outwardly, he gave her nothing.

The mask held.

His jaw locked, muscles coiled tight. The grind of his teeth, barely restrained. The impulse—dark and insistent—to shut her up with one quick, decisive motion.

It took everything not to give in.

His temples throbbed. His fingers twitched. His body pushed toward action.

Selene exhaled, flicking her paw toward the door, her voice barely a murmur.

“Try not to get too cozy, Lieutenant.”

The smirk in her tone was almost imperceptible.

Then she was gone.

***

The silence Selene left behind didn’t just settle over the room. It clung to it, thick and suffocating. The kind of silence that seeps into the walls, into the skin, slow and insidious, like smoke from a fire long since burned out. Ghost exhaled, the sound barely there, letting reality click back into place. Cold. Familiar.

Emily.

She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Or maybe she did, but so quietly the air refused to carry the sound. He knew this kind of silence. Had seen it before. In the hands of soldiers gripping their weapons too tightly, afraid their fingers might betray them with a shake. In the hollow faces of men who had just realized their lives had split clean down the middle—before and after.

Fear was written all over her.

The tremor in her muscles was almost imperceptible. Almost. But he noticed. He heard her swallow, the tiny, forced motion of someone trying to pull themselves together. And then, finally, she looked at him.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t react. Didn’t acknowledge her.

That became a problem.

Her breath hitched. A small, sharp sound, barely more than an inhale. She curled in on herself, like an animal suddenly realizing it was locked in a cage with something that had just decided it had lost interest.

But he was still here.

Still touching her.

Heat. Weight. Presence. And yet—he was gone. Retreating into that cold, unreachable place where nothing could touch him.

Emily needed him to stay, to not vanish into that cold, distant place.

She had almost become his mate. Almost.

His breath had burned against her neck. His teeth—so close. She could still feel the ghost of them on her skin, the phantom of something that never quite happened. One more second, one more fraction of hesitation, and everything would have changed.

She had been right there—one half-breath away.

But now, he wasn’t looking at her.

Her body jerked instinctively, too sharp, too sudden. She caught herself, forced it into something softer, pressing in just slightly—an accident, or something close enough to pass as one. Warmth. Invitation. A quiet plea she wasn’t foolish enough to speak aloud.

He would feel it.

He would notice.

He would have to acknowledge it.

Because he was still inside her.

The dull, persistent ache of his knot—still there, unyielding. Still holding them together. A trap that hadn’t yet released her.

Some part of her wanted to speak. To shift, just enough to force his attention. To tell him it was too much, that it hurt.

But she wasn’t stupid.

If she said it, he would only pull further away. Shut down. Retreat behind that cold, impenetrable wall. And then she would lose him completely.

So she chose a different tactic.

A slow breath. Heavy-lidded eyes. A subtle shift, barely there, as if her body had surrendered on its own, yielding to the warmth still anchoring them together. Almost an illusion.

But he noticed.

His fingers twitched against her thigh.

A good sign.

She tilted her head, her voice soft—almost a whisper.

"You were going to mark me."

Ghost moved. Barely. A flicker of tension. His shoulders, rigid. His jaw, locked. But he was looking at her now.

Good.

Emily exhaled, careful, steady, holding onto the fragile thread between them.

"I want this."

Simple words. Not a plea. Not a demand. Just an offer.

And yet, she felt it—the shift in him. Not physical. His knot was still there, still holding them together, unyielding. But something inside him had vanished.

Not doubt.

Not guilt.

Emptiness.

A cold, absolute void swallowing everything that might have been an answer.

Emily realized—too late—that she had miscalculated.

Ghost exhaled. Slow. Merciless.

"No."

That was it.

No explanations. No justifications. Just a final, unshakable refusal.

The rejection struck like a blow.

Her throat tightened, something cold washing through her, settling like stone in her chest. She swallowed it down, forced the reaction deep, where he couldn’t see it.

Fine. If he wouldn’t give her this—she would take something else.

Her fingers trailed along his forearm, slow and deliberate, tracing the tense muscle beneath his skin. As if nothing had happened.

"It's not that important right now anyway," she murmured, deliberately light, deliberately easy. "We still have time."

Ghost didn’t respond. His silence pressed down on her, heavier than before.

Not reassuring.

But not dismissive either.

Not yet.

***

The armory was heavy with the smell of oil, metal, and gunpowder—thick, acrid, sinking into the skin. The dim overhead lights cut jagged shadows across the walls, casting patterns of steel and phantom silhouettes. The only sound was the rhythmic clatter of metal as Selene worked, her movements sharp, mechanical.

Receiver cover—gone. Recoil spring—resting in her palm. Bolt. Carrier. Click. Clack. Rustle.

Again.

Her fingers moved fast, flawless. Precise, almost predatory. The cold steel grounded her, steadied her hands, but it did nothing to quiet the fire inside. The anger didn’t fade. Didn’t settle. It gnawed at her, coiled tight in her muscles, demanding an outlet.

She wanted to break something.

To slam her fist into the damn table. To tear this useless feeling out of her chest, rip it apart until nothing was left. But she didn’t. Instead, she worked.

Disassemble. Reassemble.

Deep breath.

Again.

Click. Inhale. Exhale. Clack.

It wasn’t just anger. It was something worse—something deeper. A frustration so raw it scraped against her ribs. An itch she couldn’t reach, a sharp, suffocating helplessness that wouldn’t be silenced. It clawed at her insides, daring her to snap.

The scene looped in her head like a wound that refused to close.

She needed him. Needed to go over the plan, to break it down, to find a way to survive the hell ahead. But he had been busy.

With an Omega.

The thought made her fingers tense mid-motion. A second too long. A half-second too tight. The rage ground inside her like sand between her teeth. What pissed her off more—that it happened, or that she gave a damn?

Selene exhaled sharply. No.

It didn’t matter.

Feelings didn’t solve problems. Emotions didn’t make tactical decisions. She had to focus, had to do something.

She sensed him before she heard him.

The air shifted. Thickened. Like the silence before a trigger pull. A cold edge sliced through the heavy heat of the room, running down her spine.

She didn’t see him. Didn’t hear him.

She felt him.

The smallest displacement of air. A faint, deliberate disturbance. The kind of presence that filled a space without needing to announce itself.

The door creaked open, quiet, controlled. The scent of metal and gunpowder mixed with something sharper. Colder. Almost sterile.

She didn’t look up—didn’t need to.

The atmosphere had changed, the space suddenly smaller. Tighter.

Ghost.

Selene didn’t look up. The rifle was assembled. Checked. Placed on the table. She waited.

"Talk?" His voice was calm. Even. Giving nothing away.

She scoffed, picked up the rifle again, and started taking it apart.

"You lost control. Again." His tone was flat. Unshaken. Arms crossed. "Was it about the op, or did you just feel like making a scene?"

Selene tensed but didn’t answer. Stubborn silence wouldn’t do her any favors, but if she spoke, she might start yelling. Instead, she dismantled the bolt, set it aside.

"You want me to leave?"

She shrugged, barely glanced at him. "No."

He stepped closer. Watching her. Studying her.

He saw the same thing he always did—a tall, lean figure, athletic, her silver-white hair bound in two tight braids, heavy like steel cables. Emerald-green eyes, sharp as knives, always gleaming with defiance. Sun-kissed skin. The dark silhouette of a sniper rifle entwined with a cobra inked onto her forearm.

"Explain what the hell that was." His voice was steady but edged, a clipped command. "Barging in unannounced, making a spectacle, pushing down on those weaker than you. That’s not strength, Selene. That’s stupidity. You think my tolerance is weakness? That you can do whatever the hell you want just because I don’t put you in your place every time you get an itch in your ass? You’re wrong."

Another step. His voice dropped lower, but the warning in it sharpened.

"I give you freedom because I believe you can handle it. Don’t mistake that for impunity. Cross the line again—I’ll file a report."

She snapped the bolt shut, harder than necessary.

Ghost moved in.

When she reached for the bolt carrier, his hand closed over hers.

"Not like that," he said, voice even. "Smooth. No jerking."

Her fingers stiffened, but he didn’t let go, holding the pressure just long enough for her to register it. She clenched her jaw, but she complied, adjusting her movements. He nodded.

"Selene, my patience is running thin. I’m your CO, not your babysitter."

"Fine, I was wrong. Happy, sir?"

"No." His voice was sharp, decisive. "You just dumped a mess of emotions on me, Selene. But where’s the logic? Where the hell are the facts?"

She exhaled harshly. "I needed you. And where were you? Stuck with an Omega while the rest of us are trying to stop this mission from going to hell. The op is a mess, and you—" she broke off, voice tight. "You were supposed to have my back, Ghost."

Needed.

The word hit like a rusty nail driven into wood. He ripped it out, leaving only splinters.

Focus—on action, not words.

"Omegas. You don’t have to love them. You don’t have to pity them. But you do have to respect them. Because without that, you’re just a rabid dog biting at everything in sight."

"You hate them too," she shot back, sharp and unyielding.

"Bullshit." His voice didn’t waver. "I’m not looking for a mate, but without them, we don’t last. Someone has to keep the balance, or everything collapses. And then what will the alphas have left to trample?"

His eyes locked onto hers.

"Tell me something, Lariano—if Omegas are so useless, how the hell were you even born?"

Selene’s lips twitched. "Hatched from a dragon’s egg."

For the first time, she lifted her gaze fully to his.

His masked expression didn’t shift.

"And raised by dragons, apparently," Ghost muttered, exhaling sharply.

His voice steadied, the steel in it deliberate now. "Listen. Supporting an Omega through their cycle isn’t indulgence, and it sure as hell isn’t a choice. It’s a necessity. Their condition isn’t a whim, not a way to get attention. It’s pure physiology. And if an Alpha turns their back on that, they’re not an Alpha. They’re just an idiot who doesn’t understand how this damn world works."

He spoke evenly, without excess emotion. Just a fact laid bare.

"I did what I had to do. Because it’s my responsibility. As an Alpha. As a leader. They depend on us, and if we start looking away when they need us, then what the hell are we even worth? This isn’t weakness, Selene. This is duty. This is strength. This is what we are."

His gaze didn’t waver.

"And I sure as hell ain’t gonna apologize."

Selene said nothing, but her eyes flicked to the side. Ghost exhaled, pulled his hand back, stepped away slightly.

"I know, I know. They’re weak and fragile. You want me to say I’m sorry?"

"Weakness and uselessness aren’t the same thing." His voice was low, tight. "This was my choice. My responsibility. And you’re gonna deal with it. While Emily’s in heat, she stays in my quarters. So either you learn to control yourself, or you get used to closed doors."

Her fists clenched. Anger stirred, raw and insistent.

"Come on, Selene. You’re not the type to throw tantrums." Ghost’s tone was firm, steady. "An Alpha isn’t just strength—it’s restraint. Discipline. Taking a hit and doing what needs to be done, not what you want to do. You know that. So stop acting like some fresh pup who just grew fangs and thinks that makes her untouchable. You’ve got a brain—use it."

Selene’s jaw tightened. "Fine. I’ll try." The words came clipped. A concession, but barely. "Are we discussing the op tomorrow?"

"I’ll think it over. Though if it were up to me, this plan would already be in the trash."

She smirked, stepping past him. Her fingers brushed against his shoulder—not a farewell, not gratitude. Just a casual motion, like a mark left behind, claws scraping over wood. Then she was gone. No hesitation. No glance back.

***

Ghost dragged a hand down his face, short and sharp, as if wiping something unseen away. Then he stepped toward the table.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

The walls, lined with old repairs, swallowed the sound of his movements. Racks of weapons stood in precise rows, cold, indifferent. Just props before a battle. A warehouse of killing tools. Nothing more.

The scent of Selene still clung to the table. To the rifle she had just handled. Stubborn. Warm. A lingering proof of presence that was no longer there.

He ignored it. Almost.

His fingers closed around the nearest rifle. Tested the weight. Checked the balance. Mechanical. Break it down. Inspect. Reassemble. Deep breath. Again. The metallic clicks, the steady rhythm—usually grounding.

But not now.

Her presence was still there. Not the scent—the memory. The impression. Something barely tangible, but impossible to shake. It made him breathe deeper, prolonging the torment.

Worse than if she had still been here. Staring him down with that sharp, defiant gaze.

The phantom of it echoed in his skull like the crack of a gunshot. The familiar jolt in his muscles after a fight. He felt it in every precise motion, in every inhale that carried not just gunpowder but a shadow of her.

Stupid. Useless.

An Alpha had no business fixating. Not in their world. A world where everything hinged on defined roles, the balance between Alpha and Omega—how else was survival ensured?

He knew this. Had it carved into his damn instincts.

But her—

She was always the exception.

She crashed into his space, upset the balance, never hesitated to push, but never hesitated to return either. Her words hung in the air like a live grenade, waiting for someone to pull the pin.

He could ignore it. Could shove it down, bury it, pretend it didn’t exist.

If it were that easy, he wouldn’t be sitting here, dismantling a rifle that still held her warmth.

He pulled the bolt back. Click. Clank. Locked and loaded.

Exactly as it should be.

Just like always.

[anjeriouskharne]

Hello. I'd say good morning, but this morning isnt good. We lost. Im well aware there are already 4 billion messages like this one, but I will add mine to the pile. Survive. I am very very new to transitioning, and this wall of red legislation horrifies me, as Im sure it does you, but we all need to hold fast. We are human, if anything, we are greater than human for all the magic we perform to alter ourselves with such small doses of this and that. We are notorious for having some major, hidden skill. I dont wanna hear you say you dont. Ive seen us be incredible with cars, photography, computers, electronics, things old and new. You have a magic skill that just clicks, you may even do it daily and not even realize it. So hold on. Keep going. Our bodies were built to move one step at a time, and thats how we take life too. We will mark these 4 years down as a step in the wrong direction, and we will step back after that. We will persevere, endure, and outlast these people. We are loved by those close to us. Lean on them for a while. We are loved by each other, lean on us for a while. Lean when you cannot stand, and support when you have strength to give. This fight does not end today, it does not end tomorrow, it does not end until we have our freedom and it cannot be stripped from us again. Do you hear me, young trans girl in their room, sobbing while looking at her skirt, thinking of throwing it away? Dont! Save it, where it when its safe. Do you hear me, young trans man, who was about to cut your hair? Dont give up that idea, find a way, an excuse, a lie to let you do that, or if all else fails, preserve that dream until its safe.

Please, dont fall into the darkness. Its not just what they want, its not worth it to leave everything behind for eternity over a temporary hell. I love all of you, and I will cry for each and every one of us that dies because this is all too much. I will cry for every one of us that dies in whatever comes next.

We will survive, as we always have. All we need is each other. My heart goes out to you all!

[zodiactalks]

Top 4 PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE Zodiac Signs

Everyone has their own way of expressing their frustration. There are far too many who are roundabout in their displeasure.

There is nothing worse than being on the receiving end of passive-aggressive behavior. It leaves the person confused and hurt. 

Ironically, passive-aggression comes from a desire not to hurt the person with whom they are upset. The fear of an aggressive, angry confrontation is less appealing than making snide remarks.

Let’s take a look at the top four passive-aggressive zodiac signs.

#1. Cancer

Cancer is the first most passive-aggressive zodiac sign.

Despite how blunt Cancer can be, they prefer to be as passive-aggressive as humanly possible until the other person snaps. It can turn into a game of who will break first. And Cancer never loses.

Cancer’s target will just feel the anger radiating off of them. Negative energy can cling to Cancer like an unrelenting cloud. Anyone around when they are in this mood will take notice. 

Whenever asked what’s wrong, Cancer will smile, and say, “Nothing!” 

No one believes it for a second.

Cancer knows that if they outlast the other person and rile them by being passive-aggressive, it will make the other person look bad when they snap. 

Despite how wonderful a happy, healthy Cancer can be, the opposite is a dangerous foe. They know how to manipulate situations to make others look mean.

Be careful if you become the target of Cancer’s anger. Best to suck up to them instead of trying to dig up the real problem. Or they may bury you in that hole. 

#2. Pisces

Pisces is the second most passive-aggressive of the zodiac signs.

Pisces is stereotyped as being dreamy, flighty, and innocent. Naturally, it makes them masters at being passive-aggressive. 

Pisces don’t enjoy confrontation. They like to believe everyone has the same moral compass as them and therefore knows when they’ve hurt someone. 

Pisces is sorely mistaken and quickly becomes bitter when someone proves their preconception wrong. 

They aren’t likely to be obviously hostile yet deny it like Cancer and Libra. That is what makes Pisces scarier than the others in a way. They are passive-aggressive in a way that has their target questioning their sanity.

Pisces passive-aggression is so hard to spot it can take days or months to recognize. They may even have put in motion a long-haul revenge plan. 

Pisces is sneaky, and it’s nearly impossible to oust their passive-aggressive behaviors. 

#3. Libra

Libra is the third most passive-aggressive zodiac sign.

Libra is the zodiac sign of balance and harmony. Symbolized by the scales, Libra’s nature is to avoid rocking the boat. When Libra is exposed to a person or situation that upsets them, they try to brush it off.

If the issue persists, Libra will resort to gentle suggestions at first. If it continues past that, the passive-aggression makes its appearance. 

Libra will become sarcastic and maybe even a little cold to the person causing problems. Even comments that aren’t laced with sarcasm carry a vibe of double meaning. If the person is deserving of Libra’s ire, they would do well to apologize.

If the person doesn’t feel guilty or is unaware, they stepped on Libra’s toes, it can cause them to become confused. 

Libra isn’t without mercy, though. If the person asks what it was they did wrong, Libra will finally tell them. If they are ready to. 

#4. Virgo

Virgo is the fourth most passive-aggressive of the zodiac signs.

Virgo dislikes conflict and can be bad at expressing their hurt emotions to others. So, they opt to be as passive-aggressive as possible. 

Virgo will be extremely sarcastic and give everything they say to the person a double meaning. Even when they are talking to others in that person's earshot. 

Virgo uses the technique used on children. Talk to someone else as if that person isn’t there to get them to listen. No one likes being talked about, especially right in front of them. 

It depends on Virgo’s level of irritation. They can be petty passive-aggressive or boarder on cruel passive-aggressiveness. If Virgo reaches the higher levels thats when it becomes obvious to everyone around them that something is wrong.

When confronted with the dreaded question of “what’s wrong?” they will deny it. Virgo will say they are just having a bad day. It’s their favorite cover-up excuse. 

This routine can become wearing to Virgo after a while. Though don’t get it wrong, Virgo is capable of holding a grudge for a long amount of time.

By the time Virgo gets tired of their passive-aggressive routine toward another person, they’ve probably forgotten why they are acting that way. 

Virgo will either have come clean early or carried on for so long they forget why they are mad.