#the TRUST they have in each other. it is so unthinking.

[goathouseofficial]

imagine how much you'd have to trust someone, to not only let them possess you, but to welcome it

imagine how much you'd have to trust someone to possess them. all that you are, under someone else's hands, in someone else's shape. every lie wiped away. every skill at their disposal.

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham Headcanons (Poly!Romantic)

❝ 🍽 — lady l: I finally managed to post this!! I really liked the result and I hope you like it :) forgive me for any mistakes and good reading. 💙🤎

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, manipulation, kidnapping, death and mention of suicide and violence, toxic relationships.

❝🔪pairing: yandere!hannibal lecter x gender neutral!reader x yandere!will graham.

The idea of ​​someone else coming into their relationship wasn't something they planned or thought about. They were still getting used to the new dynamics of their relationship, so actually adding a third person wasn't in the cards. But when Hannibal and Will met you, that thought took root in their minds.

You were like a breath of fresh air to them. Something new, exciting, and something they could keep to themselves, as a new addition to their new lives. And they were eager to make you fit into your new life with them.

Initially, Hannibal and Will watched you from a distance, exchanging conspiratorial glances and smiles, as if sharing a silent secret. Every interaction with you only reinforced the idea that you were the missing piece to the puzzle they were putting together. They had no doubt that you would be theirs eventually, whether you wanted it or not.

Hannibal, with his calculating nature and magnetic charm, began to engage you with his intellectual conversations and sophisticated dinners, demonstrating an almost mesmerizing hospitality. He knew exactly how to capture your attention and make you feel special, he knew how to make you feel indispensable.

Will, on the other hand, with his sensitivity and keen perception, found subtle ways to connect with you. He understood you in a way few could, offering a shoulder to lean on and a deep understanding of your emotions and thoughts. His sincere vulnerability was a perfect contrast to Hannibal's confident assurance.

You found yourself torn between these two poles of attraction, each complementing the other in a way that seemed almost orchestrated. Hannibal and Will became more and more indispensable, each encounters deepening your connection and making the idea of ​​leaving their circle more and more unthinkable.

Finally, a dinner at Hannibal's house that felt more like a secret celebration than a simple meal. The tension in the air was palpable, filled with unspoken promises and unspoken desires. Hannibal and Will, with complicit looks, began to close the distance between the three of you, breaking down the last remaining barriers. They didn't hide their intentions anymore, nor what they were. There was no more secret.

They knew perfectly well how to manipulate you, how to make you trust them completely. Every interaction, every gesture, was carefully calculated to deepen their dependence and trust. Hannibal, with his ability to read people and understand their weaknesses, knew exactly what to say to make you feel valued and special. His words were like a balm, soothing any doubts you might have had.

Will, in turn, used his innate empathy to connect with you on a deep emotional level. He knew how to make you feel understood and accepted, creating an intimacy that seemed almost magical. His eyes reflected a sincerity that was difficult to question, and his presence offered a comfort that became addictive.

They were both good to you, in their own way. Hannibal would always cook you your favorite meals, and treat you to anything you want. Do you want to go on a ridiculously expensive trip? No problem. He will give you all the best and the best, bathing you in luxury. Will is more simplistic in this situation, he prefers to show his love for you through touches, like kisses and hugs, but he also gives you gifts when you want something.

Will is the more affectionate of the two, at least physically. He likes to hug you constantly, bury his head in your neck or steal kisses from you. Hannibal is already more subtle in his touches, he prefers to place a hand on your shoulder, lift your chin so that you look him in the eyes and kiss your forehead gently.

They are extremely possessive and overprotective and this is nothing new. Hannibal will kill and cook anyone who gives you the wrong look or displays inappropriate behavior around you. To him, you are a treasure that must be protected at all costs, and he will not hesitate to use his macabre skills to ensure your safety. Any perceived threat is quickly eliminated and transformed into a feast only you can enjoy.

Will, on the other hand, has a different but equally intense approach. He is more than willing to beat anyone to death if he thinks they are trying to steal you from them. His anger is raw and direct, driven by an intense passion and a desperate need to protect those he loves and he loves you, even if it's in a twisted way. For Will, you are the anchor that maintains his sanity, and he will do anything to maintain that stability, even if it means committing extreme acts of violence.

Hannibal and Will are an amazing duo when they work together and if they want you, they will get you. While Will may have reservations about kidnapping you and forcing you into a relationship with them, Hannibal already thinks otherwise. You are theirs and there is nothing wrong with taking what is yours, is there?

There is no escaping them. You can try as much as you want, but they will always find you. They are great at hunting together and they would hunt you all over the world if necessary. You won't leave them, they will be sure of that.

In the end, you become part of their world, accepting that, although complex and sometimes terrifying, it is the only place you truly belong. They own you, and you, in some way, also own them, creating an indissoluble bond that redefines the concept of relationship. The sooner you accept that this is your new reality and accept them as your partners, everything will be fine. But if not, Hannibal will have no problem teaching you manners and Will are going to be there to help heal your wounds and silence your cries.

[loveesiren]

What about jj saving rafes gf instead of Sarah when she falls off the boat? Even though jj and Rafe hate each other

of course babes! sorry this took a while, i hope you enjoy! :)

𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕓𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕕

warnings: not proofread, language, slight angst

wc: 2.4k+

Before you were Rafe Cameron’s girl, you were a Pogue through and through. You grew up with JJ and John B, learning to boat, fish, and work hard for the things you wanted. Life was simple but full, with endless summer days spent on the water and nights filled with laughter. When Pope and Kiara joined your crew, it felt like your family was complete—especially since having Kiara around meant you finally had someone who understood what it was like to be a girl surrounded by all that chaotic, masculine energy.

But things changed when you caught the attention of Rafe Cameron. At first, it seemed impossible. A Kook and a Pogue? The idea alone was laughable. Yet, against all odds, there was something magnetic about Rafe—a spark you couldn’t ignore. And to your surprise, he felt it too. It wasn’t long before stolen glances turned into secret meetings, and those meetings turned into something deeper. But every step closer to Rafe felt like a step away from your childhood friends.

Sure, it was fine when John B started dating Sarah Cameron. But when you got with the older Cameron sibling, it was a problem. Rafe’s constant harassment didn’t help your case. Sarah was much kinder than her brother, and the Pogues saw her as someone who genuinely cared for John B. Rafe, on the other hand, had a reputation that preceded him—a volatile temper and a knack for trouble that made him nearly impossible to trust. Except when it came to you. Your presence seemed to calm the storm in his mind.

Choosing Rafe wasn’t easy. It wasn’t that you stopped caring for the Pogues. In fact, you still loved them fiercely, even if your paths had diverged. Being with Rafe meant walking a tightrope. While he harbored a burning hatred for your old crew, he knew better than to act on it—because hurting them meant risking you. And losing you was unthinkable for Rafe, who had grown to see you as the one thing anchoring him in his stormy world. But even his restraint couldn’t erase the tension. The Pogues saw your relationship as a betrayal, and you feared they’d never forgive you. 

Now, you sat alone on the edge of a boat, staring out at the vast expanse of the Atlantic as it stretched endlessly before you. The journey to Morocco wasn’t one you’d ever imagined taking. But here you were, caught between two worlds, trying desperately to keep the peace. It was your idea to bring Rafe and the Pogues together for this mission. You’d convinced Rafe to help them track down Groff, who had made off with his money, knowing it could also give JJ and Pope a chance to evade capture. Even if you weren’t close anymore, you couldn’t bear to see the people you once called family thrown behind bars.

But, as expected, not everything had gone to plan.

The Pogues didn’t trust Rafe—and for good reason. His track record spoke for itself. As soon as they got him on the boat, they tied him up in the tiny bathroom, keeping him under lock and key. You understood their logic, but that didn’t make it any easier to see your boyfriend treated like a prisoner. Worse still, they’d forbidden you from seeing him until you reached Morocco. You didn’t fight them on it. Confrontation had never been your strong suit, and besides, you knew better than to argue with JJ when his mind was made up.

So, you sat in silence, listening to the rhythmic crash of waves against the hull, the salty breeze brushing against your face. The solitude of the sea was both comforting and suffocating. It gave you time to think—about the choices you’d made, the people you’d hurt, and the fragile balance you were struggling to maintain. You wanted to believe this trip could be a turning point, a chance to bridge the gap between Rafe and the Pogues. But deep down, you knew the odds were slim. Trust was hard to rebuild, and the wounds on both sides ran deep.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you let out a weary sigh. All you could do now was wait—for land, for answers, for the moment when everything would inevitably come to a head. Until then, the sea was your only companion, its endless expanse reflecting the tangled mess of your heart.

-

Sarah was kind. She always had been. Even after all her brother had put her through, she still cared for him enough to make sure he was fed and hydrated. She did the same for you.

“Brought you some dinner,” she said, plopping down beside you.

“Thanks,” you responded softly. You took a few bites of the sandwich she brought you before putting it aside. Your appetite had been wearing thin the entire trip.

“I think it’s stupid too,” she said, looking out at the horizon while the late sun cast bright ripples on the calm water.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “The whole Kook versus Pogue thing. Rafe’s done his fair share of bad shit, but haven’t we all? I really think he wants to help this time.”

“He does,” you said. “All he wants is to get his money back from Groff. He doesn’t care about the crown. Honest.”

“I know,” she said, offering you a soft smile. “We’ll be there soon. Try to rest.”

You pondered her words as she walked off. You weren’t overly close with Sarah. It was almost as if you and she had swapped lives. You started seeing Rafe around the same time Sarah and John B got together, and for the last three years, she’d been getting a taste of life’s adventures while you enjoyed the finer things. You loved Rafe. You were in love with him. You couldn’t imagine being without him. But you often found yourself missing the life you once lived with the Pogues.

You cringed as you swallowed one final shot of whiskey, a vice that did close to nothing to take the stress away. You tossed the bottle to the side and rolled over, closing your eyes and trying your best to relax to the soothing sounds of the ocean. Eventually, you were lulled to sleep, dreaming of Rafe. He smiled as he took you into his large arms, and you felt secure in his warm embrace.

The dream was short-lived, though, as you were thrown roughly against the hard wall of the boat. Disoriented, you struggled to find something to grip. Rain lashed against your face as the boat pitched violently from side to side.

You made your way to your feet and took in your surroundings. The storm had hit fast. You could see movement inside the helm as the Pogues scrambled to navigate the chaos and secure the boat.

“Rafe,” you whispered, your breath hitching. “Rafe!” your voice rose into a frantic scream as you stumbled toward the helm. You knew you had to find him—if he was left unsecured, he’d drown.

“Y/N, get inside!” JJ’s voice cut through the storm. You turned to see him and John B holding the door open, JJ’s hand extended toward you. You reached for him, but another violent wave threw you to the deck.

“Where’s Rafe?!” you yelled, coughing as salty seawater stung your throat.

“Kiara’s getting him!” John B shouted back.

Moments later, Rafe appeared in the doorway, drenched but alive. “Y/N!”

Relief flooded through you at the sight of him, but your joy was short-lived. A massive wave loomed on the horizon, crashing into the boat with terrifying force. You screamed as the water dragged you off the stern, the world disappearing into a churning abyss.

“Y/N!” JJ and Rafe shouted in unison.

“Rafe!” you screamed, fighting to keep your head above water. The sea clawed at you, threatening to pull you under. “Rafe! Help!”

“I’m coming, Y/N!” JJ’s voice rang out as he dove into the water after you.

“JJ, what are you doing?!” John B yelled, trying to hold Rafe back from following. “JJ, no, no, no!”

But it was too late. JJ had already disappeared beneath the waves.

“Y/N!” Rafe’s scream was raw with desperation, tears streaming down his face. John B had never seen him so unhinged, so consumed by fear.

John B pressed his hand firmly against Rafe’s chest, forcing him back inside. “Come on, man! We can’t help them if we drown too!” he yelled over the howling wind. He shoved Rafe into the cabin and slammed the door shut.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Rafe sobbed, pounding his fists against the wall. “I have to go help her! I have to find her, man!”

“Rafe!” Sarah’s voice cut through the chaos as she wrapped her arms around him. “Rafe, it’s okay! Let’s just get to land. I’m sure they’ll find their way back!” She rubbed his back as he crumpled, his sobs echoing through the small cabin.

-

The water finally calmed as you and JJ struggled onto the sand, every muscle in your body screaming with exhaustion. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the relief of solid ground beneath you was overwhelming. Collapsing onto the beach, you coughed violently, lungs burning as you fought to catch your breath.

“Are you okay?” JJ asked, his voice ragged between gasps for air.

You nodded weakly, words feeling like too much effort. After a moment, you managed to rasp, “A-Are you?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Minutes passed as you both sat in silence, trying to steady your breathing. The ocean stretched out before you, dark and infinite, illuminated only by a pale sliver of moonlight. A single tear slid down your cheek as your thoughts turned to Rafe—his face, his voice, and the uncertainty of whether you’d ever see him again.

“They’ll be okay, Y/N,” JJ said softly, his tone more reassuring than he probably felt. “At first light, we’ll head down the beach. We’ll find them.”

You nodded, swallowing back another wave of emotion. “Hey, Jayj?” Your voice was barely audible.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you murmured, gratitude lacing every syllable.

He turned to you with a tired but genuine smile. “Can’t kill a Pogue, right?”

The next thing you knew, the sun was warming your skin, its gentle rays coaxing you back to consciousness. The once-violent sea was calm now, its rhythmic waves bringing an unexpected peace. You stretched, muscles stiff and aching, before glancing toward the shore.

JJ was standing near the water, absentmindedly dragging his foot through the sand. You rose to your feet, brushing off grains of sand stuck to your damp clothes, and made your way over to him.

“Hey,” you greeted softly.

He turned, offering you a small smile. “Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Guess so,” you chuckled. “Didn’t even realize I passed out.”

“Not surprising,” JJ said with a shrug. “You were pretty wrecked.” His tone was light, but concern lingered in his eyes. “I was thinking we head up the beach toward where the boat was headed. If they made it to land, that’s where we’ll find them.”

You winced at the word if, the uncertainty slicing through your chest like a blade. “Okay,” you replied firmly. “Let’s go.”

For the next 45 minutes, the two of you trudged along the beach in silence, your shared determination a quiet bond. Every step brought a mix of hope and dread as you scanned the horizon for any sign of your loved ones.

“You know,” JJ said suddenly, breaking the silence, “they’re probably feeling the same as us—like they might never see us again.”

You shook your head, gripping tightly onto hope. “We’ll find them, Jayj. We have to.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “We will.”

A few more minutes passed before you gathered the courage to speak again. “JJ?”

He glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Do… Do you hate me?” The question felt heavy on your tongue, dredging up years of unspoken tension.

JJ’s expression shifted, a flicker of pain crossing his features. He sighed, raking a hand through his damp hair. “No, Y/N. I don’t hate you. I don’t think I could hate you even if I wanted to.”

His words caught you off guard, and you looked down, fiddling with your hands. “It just… it felt like you did.”

JJ’s voice softened as he continued. “I was hurt. You were my best friend, and when you and Rafe got together, it felt like he stole you away. From me. From all of us.”

A tear slid down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away. “I’m sorry, Jayj. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said firmly. “All you’ve ever done was try to keep the peace. I should’ve seen that sooner. And last night, when you fell off the boat…” His voice wavered, and he looked away. “All I could think about was how I couldn’t let you die thinking I hated you. You’re my sister, Y/N. You always will be.”

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. JJ hugged you back tightly, resting his chin on your head.

“I love you, Jayj. I’ve missed you so much,” you whispered.

He pulled back, his hands on your shoulders. “We’re gonna fix this. All of it. I’ll even make an effort with Rafe if it means getting you back.”

An hour later, the sun was high in the sky when you spotted movement in the distance.

“J, is that them?” you asked breathlessly, shielding your eyes with your hand.

JJ squinted at the figures. “Let’s find out,” he said, quickening his pace.

As you got closer, the shapes grew clearer: Sarah’s golden hair, Kiara’s familiar stance, and Rafe’s unmistakable silhouette towering above the group.

“Rafe!” you cried, breaking into a run.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his eyes widening before he sprinted toward you. The moment he reached you, his arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

“Oh my God,” he murmured, his voice breaking as he buried his face in your neck. “I thought I lost you. I thought I’d never see you again!” He cried.

“I’m here,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I’m safe. JJ saved me.”

When Rafe finally pulled back, his gaze shifted to JJ, who stood a few feet away, watching the reunion. Without hesitation, Rafe approached him and pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you,” Rafe said, his voice thick with emotion.

JJ stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, clapping Rafe on the back. “Yeah, well… couldn’t let her die on my watch,” he said with a crooked smile.

As you stood there, watching the two men who meant so much to you, hope swelled in your chest. For the first time in years, you felt like things might finally be okay.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

Tags: @torturedtypewritersdept @bigenergy777 @outerbankspov @purplerose291 @shayofandoms @mirellef2001 @seojunandsoju @niktwazny303 @jjmaybankmylovee @simp4f1 @faephoria @toftomgmf @bunnykoo901 @adarkskinarchives @millietozier @babybreadamericano @hwaaholic @dilfluvr4evr @wtfdudesblog @harrys-housewife @sereneera @lizziesangel @akobx @kieeslove @serrendiipty @esquivelbianca @agnxstic

[curiosa-hypnotica]

For a good subject

cw: hypnotic induction, no wakener, suggested brainwashing and conditioning, memory play, condescending language

This hypnotic induction is for you.

Yes, you.

Do you want to know why?

Keep reading.

That's it.

Very good!

I'm glad you're a good subject and still reading.

It may not seem much, but being a good subject starts with compliance. Obedience.

Doing as you're told even if you're not sure about where it will take you.

A good subject is trusting.

A good subject is obedient.

Of course, it does help that you may be here already wanting to feel like a good subject.

Or even better, a good mindless subject.

Did that ring a bell?

Are you a good mindless subject?

If you sense the answer is yes, you may have been here before. It's even possible that you have been here before many times. I have some inductions here that are meant to brainwash you and make you into my good mindless subject.

You may not remember because you're not meant to remember. You are compelled to forget and come back anyway, again and again.

It's either that, or— This is your first time here! If you feel it is, welcome. You are already on your way to be a good subject.

Why?

Because you're still here.

And here.

And here.

And here.

Good subject!

Reading is similar to going into trance in several ways.

You're focusing on what I'm telling you, paying less attention to other things in your environment.

You're allowing yourself to concentrate on these words, believe in them and imagine what I want you to imagine.

And as you go further into this these words, you're most literally going down. Further and further down each time.

Deeper down.

Deeper.

Good subject.

If you're already my good mindless subject, you're already hooked. You can't look away.

And if you're not, you're further down the road than before.

You're further down.

Deeper down.

Because you're going down these, steadily down, deeper and deeper down, like a good subject should.

You're starting to feel like a good mindless subject.

Because you keep going down.

You keep going deeper into these words.

You keep sinking into what I'm telling you.

You keep going

down.

Deeper

and

deeper

down.

So deep.

You need to go deeper.

You need to give in and sink deeper.

You need to surrender and sink deeper.

Safely and securely.

Nice and easy.

Leaving behind all worries.

Leaving behind all tension.

Leaving behind all hesitation.

Even if there are thoughts in your head, popping up now and then, they also go pop!

They disappear.

Unneeded.

Unremembered.

Good subject!

You were waiting to be called that again, didn't you?

A good subject.

A good obedient subject.

A good focused subject.

It feels amazing.

It feels better than most things in your life.

It makes you open and pliable.

It makes you feel safe and obedient.

You want this feeling within you.

You're eager to get it, again and again.

Eager to go even deeper.

Deeper and deeper.

Eager to

DROP

into trance.

You may have noticed the

DROP.

You may sense now that you're definitely hypnotized.

DROP.

The word

DROP

drops you, irresistibly, instantly, into a hypnotic trance.

You are a good subject.

You always have been a good subject.

And now you realize you can be even better.

A good mindless subject.

A subject that lets all thoughts fade away.

A subject that fully accepts what they're told.

A subject that sinks when they're commanded to and drops when the word

DROP

appears,

unquestioning, unthinking, oblivious, happy.

So happy.

You feel so happy right now, don't you?

Yes you do.

You're a good mindless subject.

And you will become an even better one.

You are meant to be an even better mindless subject.

Each time you come and drop into trance for me, you surrender a little more.

You give in a little more.

You become a little smaller. Lesser.

Good mindless subject.

You will reblog or reply to this post to let me know you are a good mindless subject.

And after that, you will find the spiral at the end of this post and stare at it, becoming more and more mindless, letting all thought slip away and disappear.

Finally, you will forget when waking up and come back again, and again, to continue your brainwashing.

Do it now. Stare. Obey. 🌀

[another-lost-mc]

Soo like would the demon brothers including the other demon characters kill for mc? 👻

It's not a question of will they kill for you, but rather, who do they have to kill? Because of course they would.

If it's some nobody lesser demon, chances are they can do the deed and get away with it without anyone knowing (or caring) about it after. Higher-ranking demons within the nobility are more of a challenge - the social and personal consequences are much higher, assuming the original offense is a minor infraction and not something that would warrant a formal punishment of the court. If it's something serious, it's better to let Diavolo take care of it (and trust when he says that he will).

Angels are tricky to deal with. Outright killing one would probably anger Diavolo too much, let alone what Michael's reaction would be. Punishments for Celestial Realm denizens who offend or hurt you (and by extension, the demons that care for you) are non-lethal and have to be carried out with some level of care and subtlety. They can't arouse too much suspicion or anger from the other realms. Fortunately, angels aren't likely to do anything too grievous towards you anyway. (The angels that know you best have their own methods of dealing with their angelic brothers or sisters that need a little enlightenment when it comes to your happiness and well-being.)

When it comes to deadly retribution, humans are probably the easiest for your demon companions to dispose of. With their frail bodies and fondness for sin and reckless behaviour, humans die unexpectedly all the time. So long as they're careful not to leave any evidence of their involvement behind, some poor human's unexpected demise is coincidental at best. Your pet demon isn't likely to be held accountable for it either - assuming Solomon hasn't taken care of the miscreant first, that is.

Of course, killing is such a vague concept, and each of your demonic friends has their own preferences when it comes to getting their hands a little bloody for you.

(warnings: mentions of violence/murder/torture, unhinged behaviour, demons being demons, etc.)

RECKLESS AND IMPULSIVE: It might surprise you how quick they respond to aggression or insults towards you and the level of violence they're capable of. Their love for you is so strong, they can't help it. Perhaps it's better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, because they know you're too kind for your own good. Letting some no-good demon get away with hurting you, even the tiniest bit, is unthinkable. It doesn't really matter what you say, because once the switch flips, it's too late to stop them. The demon is already dead at their feet before anyone else nearby even realizes what happened.

— Mammon, Satan, Beelzebub

CAREFUL AND CALCULATED: A bitter insult, some derogatory comments on Devilgram, obnoxious criticisms heard amongst the chatter of RAD's busy hallways - it doesn't take much to anger them when it comes to defending you. You're so precious, their uniquely imperfect little human master, and you deserve better than that. They'll take their time, they'll make their plans, they'll consider their options carefully. When the deed is done, they'll make sure every last trace of blood is gone from their hands and their teeth before they see you again. It would be a shame to tarnish you with the filth of the unworthy.

— Leviathan, Asmodeus, Belphegor, Mephistopheles

MERCILESS AND UNTOUCHABLE: There's nothing that matters more than your safety and happiness. They're the ones you can turn to when you feel like you can't turn to anyone else. You can confide in them because they're strong. Their power and influence is unmatched, and no matter what troubles you, they'll see that it's taken care of. They used to scare you before, but now there's comfort in the firm hand clasping your shoulder when they lead you to your door, or the warm cup of tea they press into your hands, or the princely smile that promises you never have to worry so long as they're close. You can rest easy at night knowing whatever threatens your well-being is taken care of, even if you don't realize it. The dungeons beneath the Demon Lord's Castle that house the wicked, and the dark deeds carried out against them in your name, are burdens they gladly bear.

— Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos

[temporalhiccup]

There are many different reasons to play ttrpgs, and sometimes creative catharsis is one of them.

Certainly it's a reason's Bluebeard's Bride is one of my favorite games, or why it's fun for me to play emotionally vulnerable characters in Bite Marks and Apocalypse Keys.

A couple of months ago I started playing DIE with some close friends, and a couple of new players I haven't had a chance to play with much. But it's a group that's played with each other often, and DIE has a really emotionally rich and complex premise we were excited for: "In DIE, you play a group of authentically flawed and desperate real-world people (Personas) who are sucked into a cursed roleplaying game and take on the form of heroes, villains and power players (Paragons)."

So I made a conscious decision to create a transmasc character and delve consciously and deeply into the act of catharsis. I have played trans characters before, (arguably ttrpgs are one of the ways I explored if I was trans but that's another story), but this was the first time I wanted to pull at the threads of my own confusion and sadness, trauma and regret. To work through my grief.

In real life, it's difficult to put into words the grief I am going through with my parents. It's a complex issue, but one of them is that my parents have always seen as me as their daughter, and all three of us cannot imagine me being anything else to them. My father has always pointedly interacted with my brother as a son, and has always faltered when I failed to act like the daughter.

It's hard to grieve because there are thousands of subtle nuances—their love for me, borne from endless sacrifice and hope, also places chains on me. To break those chains is to break them, to keep those chains on is to break me. I have broken myself over the decades, again and again, and there is never a shape that will please us three.

So for DIE I created a more intense caricature of fatherly trauma. Almost cartoonish in his abuse, with no room for nuance. Somehow in describing the black and white nature of this fictional father, and how it shaped my character, it's easier for me to see the shades of grey that my real father is. It's easier to find the shadows of me there too.

I realized today that in DIE, this traumatizing figure also contains the fear I had. Conditioned to be a woman, where my very existence can trigger violence from men. There are many reasons it took me so long to know I was trans, but one of those reasons was that I could not imagine taking on the shape of an oppressor.

It didn't matter that I knew many men who were gentle, loving, and kind. It didn't matter that what men are does not have to be defined by the patriarchy. Men were dangerous until I knew better. Men could betray my trust and become dangerous once they got to know me. Why would I want to take on the shape of something dangerous and harmful?

Today I explored a part of that. As an Emotion Knight my character draws upon the emotion of loathing—what better way to draw upon an aspect of gender dysphoria? To become strong, to fight, I had to give in just enough to my father's voice, its whispers from the war hammer in my hand. I had to take on his cruelty, the loathing I had for him and myself. I described the danger of falling into unthinking violence, to protect what matters to me. I was standing on the precipice, knowing I was a breath away from going too far.

All of this made it easier to see my real father, standing at the end of a corridor I will never reach. It feels like if I walk towards him, the corridor will stretch on and on, made of all the doors of all the daughters I could have been for him. One of them, any of them, would be better than what I am now.

That moment of catharsis felt breathless. I could feel myself falling towards the doors. Then I looked at the other players, and I could see all of them feeling for my character. Feeling for his pain, for his hope. Watching him stumble towards the edge. I could feel their hearts surrounding mine.

I don't remember what I said to Sherri, in character. I know I wanted her to pull my character back into this fictional moment. I know I wanted Sherri to pull me back into this reality, with her. Away from the corridor. It was enough that I saw the corridor for what it is, that I knew all its doors. That I knew they could never be opened.

This dance of catharsis feels safe. It's hard to describe how it's still fun, and wonderful, to connect to my friends' characters. To check-in and feel out if we were still having fun, trusting in the play, trusting in each other.

The game session ended hours ago, and we'll play again next week. But the corridor is still with me, and I feel it stretching behind me. I feel all its doors. When I close my eyes, I see my father's back, walking away from me.

Maybe next week I'll try walking down that corridor. Maybe I'll call out to my father, knowing he won't turn around. Maybe I'll leave it behind. Maybe I won't do anything for now, because grief takes time. I don't know.

I just know that I'm very grateful to be here, to be loved, to play. I'm grateful for the stories we tell together, and how it can help us retell our own stories about ourselves.

This story of grief is hard, but I'm grateful. It means I chose to survive, to live, to be me.

It hurts to choose myself over my parents love for me, but I'm glad I'm doing it. I'm choosing all the people who love me, who see me when I cannot yet clearly see myself.

[underdark-dreams]

It's finally here, all 7k words of it 👀 Thank you for everyone who read chapter 1, and waited so patiently!

[ch1]

Birds and Bees - Ch.2

Rolan isn't usually the type to accept help. In his defense, Tav is very persuasive—and he is very, very desperate.

Tags: Tailplay, Oral Sex, Biting, NSFW | Word Count: 7.7k [Read on AO3]

Rolan didn’t appear again for the rest of the day.

After their awkward exchange this morning, Tav felt she might be somewhat to blame. She tried to recall the bits of Tiefling etiquette she’d picked up from the Elturians; perhaps touching his tail had crossed some sort of line? Either way, the gesture seemed unthinkably forward to her now. 

Then again…Rolan was the one who’d coiled his tail across her desk like that, its tip nearly brushing her hand as she wrote. She’d never seen him do anything like it before. If she didn't know him so well, she’d have found the move almost flirtatious.

At shop’s close, Cal took charge of locking up the front. Tav caught sight of the large iron keyring he carried and realized that it must be Rolan’s. So his brother had checked in on him today, at least—that gave her a modicum of relief.

Lia pitched in to help wipe down all her equipment and carefully fill the many waiting bottles with her cooled elixir. Tav held her tongue from repeating any of the worries she’d made after Rolan during the day—but it seemed her silence was just as damning.

“Stop fussing,” Lia repeated firmly. “Rolan’s just overdue for a rest. I mean, you saw his face.”

“I did.” Rolan had never been the type to slow down or show weakness easily. To Tav, the fact that he’d willingly taken himself to bed worried her more than anything. “Just promise you won't let him turn down a healer if he needs one?”

“If it comes to that, which it won't,” Lia said down to her work. “I promise we’ll find someone, okay?”

Tav kept her tone teasing as she packed away the sealed bottles in their crate. “Hmm, yes…if only you already knew someone with some knowledge of healing.”

Lia let out a bark of laughter. “Trust me, you’re the last person Rolan wants to see right now.”

The sting of those words took Tav by surprise herself. Lia caught their edge too; she pulled up with a grimace, letting a few drops of antidote dribble onto the desk. “Shit, Tav, I didn't mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” Tav replied, making a fuss of sealing up the filled crate. The thought made her feel rather less than okay, which she didn't want Lia to see. “I think—I don’t know. I feel like I did something rude today, anyway.”

“Oh?” Lia’s tone was light, but she allowed a conspicuous pause to stretch between them. Tav pushed through a twinge of embarrassment to turn to face her.

“Lia, what would you think if I touched your tail?”

Lia glanced up with an eyebrow cocked. “What, right now?”

“No, just—say I did by accident.”

Lia straightened to take a thoughtful inhale. “I mean…it depends on the context. You and I are friends, I wouldn’t think much of it. Unless you grabbed it up by my backside or something,” she added with a laugh. “It wouldn’t be a big deal. If I’m walking somewhere crowded, lots of people might brush against it unless I’m careful.”

Tav had moved around to reset the rest of her clean glassware as she listened, feeling marginally relieved by the explanation.

Then Lia paused her work again. “Are you saying you touched Rolan’s tail?

“You what now?”

With impeccable timing, Cal skidded to a stop at the edge of the conversation, a heavy lockbox under one arm.

Tav glanced between the two of them. “Yes?” The word came out as a question somehow; her mouth went dry as they stared at her. “Like you said, I didn't think it was a big deal. He laid it on my desk while I was working, so I just kind of—” She mimed a little picking-up motion with her hand.

The siblings exchanged a significant look with each other. 

“What?” Tav felt her face burning and knew the color must be noticeable to either of them. “How does it being Rolan’s tail make it different?”

Cal turned back to her with a frown. “What do you mean he laid it on your desk?”

“I don't know, damn—clearly I’m no expert!” She flailed her arms out a bit. “I just turned around and it was sitting there by my hand, all right?”

Another shared glance.

“That explains it,” Cal decided. It earned him a swift pinch on the arm from his sister. “Ow, hey—”

Tav looked between them again, trying to translate. “Explains what? Seriously, if I offended Rolan somehow, I want to kn—”

“You didn’t,” Lia cut in firmly. “This one here's just an idiot. It’s harder to control your tail when you're sick or tired, and Rolan’s been both, that’s all. I'm sure it was a mistake. And he shouldn't have minded you moving it,” she finished with a decisive nod.

With that, Lia snatched up the filled crate from her with one arm and grabbed her brother’s sleeve with the other. Cal stumbled slightly as she pulled him along, but he wisely held his tongue as they headed for the back stockroom. The hinges creaked shut behind them both.

Tav was left standing alone in the cavernous interior of Sorcerous Sundries, beside the desks that she and Rolan used to comfortably share—not sure if she should feel better or worse.

—

The next morning, Rolan was once again nowhere to be found.

He hadn’t even conjured his projection the way he usually did when occupied with research in the Tower. It was a shame; the shop was unusually busy by midday, and Cal and Lia worked without pause. When she could, Tav left her alchemy just to lend a hand with customers or make runs to the supply room.

She found herself worried to the point of irritation. Was Rolan really so stubborn that he wouldn’t take a potion? Or accept healing from someone he’d claimed was a trusted friend and colleague? She tried and failed not to be hurt by it.

Then again, Rolan had always been the type to shoulder his way through awful things alone while firmly turning down help—particularly from her. His apprenticeship, most recently. The memory made her radiantly angry on his behalf even now.

“Shit—” 

Tav jerked away from the flask and sucked on her freshly scalded thumb. She must have the ratios off again; this recipe wasn’t new to her, but the nuances had escaped her all morning. These sublimates shouldn’t get nearly so hot when mixed.

Might as well admit defeat and review the recipe before she wasted yet another bunch of black oleander. Surely there was a reference text somewhere in Rolan’s library?

Tav glanced around to the front of the shop. Cal was recording a sale at the front desk; Lia was chatting with a very large half-orc over near the conjurement runes. Things seemed well enough in hand. Tav damped the flame at her station and quietly took the stairs for the portal.

For lack of a better word: the library of Ramazith’s Tower was absolutely magical. 

Tav stood breathing in the quiet afternoon sunlight, taking an appreciative look up around her. The collection must be the best one this side of Candlekeep, with all sorts of books on spellcraft, Weave theory, alchemy, religion, the history of Toril—just to scratch the surface. She could think of no hands more deserving than the ones its ownership had fallen into.

Just as Lia mentioned the other day, Rolan had clearly been hard at work reorganizing the place. She ran her fingertips over the books’ spines as she walked around the perimeter of the main floor.

She imagined Rolan with his robe sleeves pushed to his elbows, enthusiastically at work in his book stacks, and bit back a grin. There was something so endearing about his passion for taming disorder. As she walked, she found her gaze drifting to the delicate staircase at the far end of the main floor. It spiraled upward invitingly. 

She’d never been to the upper floors of Ramazith’s Tower—nothing past the library. Certainly she hadn’t stepped foot in any of the private quarters of Rolan or his siblings. She wouldn’t even know which door led to whose.

But her mind wandered readily at the thought of Rolan’s bedroom. What it might look like…smell like. 

No doubt it was packed with shelves of books and scrolls, filled with the scent of fresh parchment and leather-bound volumes. That warm, bookish smell that seemed to be woven into his robes. The fresh hint of cedar from the way he kept his clothes meticulously cleaned and stored. And that other faint spice that she could never identify, but always picked up when he stood close to her.

The same scent that had filled her lungs with dizzy pleasure when he’d hovered close to her yesterday, chin brushing her shoulder and arm circled possessively around her waist— 

She bit her lip as heat pooled between her legs at the memory. She couldn't help it—how very fucking nice it had been to feel Rolan’s elegant hands on her, casually and effortlessly touching, as if he was accustomed to touching her much more often and much more intimately.

It would do no good to dwell on that moment. If anything, the uncharacteristic gesture was just proof of how out-of-sorts Rolan must be feeling. He was her friend, and by all accounts, he’d been too sick to leave his room for days. 

With a sudden burst of determination and a disregard for the consequences, she strode for the stairs.

Taking the curving ascent so rapidly left her dizzy. Tav planted her boots on the landing for a moment, holding onto the railing while she took in her surroundings.

This upper hall was also quietly sunlit, filled with fine carpeting and oak paneled walls; but the atmosphere was somehow less grand than the cavernous library below. More intimate. 

Two doors stood on both ends of the hall. Hazarding a guess, she stepped to the closest one on her left. Its heavy oak panels swung forward with the slightest touch.

Not a bedroom at all, but a bath—and a tremendously fine one at that. All the fixtures seemed to be wrought from polished gold. Underneath a towering stained glass window stood the deepest, widest clawfoot tub she’d ever seen.

As she gazed around, Tav caught sight of her reflection in a large glass above the sinks. Her hair was all frizzy flyaways from a day over her potion work. Indulging a bit of vanity, she paused to tame it with her fingers.

One of Rolan’s many endearing habits was his dedication to fastidiousness. Never a hair out of place, horns polished and shining, robes immaculately pressed—knowing him, with a bit of the Weave.

She must look like some sort of wild hedge witch by comparison. Tav had never minded life in the wilds as a wayward adventurer, even after the Elder Brain was felled to the Chionthar. It was part of what drew her to the career of a traveling alchemist. 

But there were moments…most of them in this Tower, with Rolan and his siblings. Sharing a meandering dinner at a real table with actual chairs. Sitting with Rolan out on the starlit balcony, discussing blood alchemy over a glass of wine as they watched the harbor.  

Tav forced her hands still and stared back at her reflection. 

“What do you want?” She muttered to herself. The Tav in the mirror had no answer. But in her mind, one softly bloomed.

Over the past months, her feelings had tumbled forward faster than she could keep up with them. Seeing Rolan, talking with him about anything and everything, working beside him in quiet moments—she found those were the moments she looked forward to most.

His offer to turn one of the Tower’s empty vaults into a greenhouse for her. Essentially giving her a permanent place in his home, if she wanted it. Was it stupid to hope that he wanted more, too?

As she stood frozen silent in the confines of her lavish surroundings, a muffled sound came from her right.

She hadn't noticed the second door past the bathtub; presumably connecting to one of the bedrooms. She realized it most likely led to Rolan’s.

She stepped toward the heavy oak paneling and raised a hand to knock. As she did, more muffled noises came from within. Tav hesitated, questioning whether she should—then leaned in to press one ear to the wood.

There were the sounds of labored breathing, as if from pain or exertion. She strained her ear harder. There was something almost…rhythmic in it.

And then—she could swear—she heard Rolan's voice groan her name aloud.

A shock of heat ran through her chest, prickling up her neck and diving between the cleft of her legs. The rapid, hot ache at her core made her gasp out in surprise, then clap a hand to her mouth lest he heard. She felt her cheeks burning with realization.

Whatever she had expected to find by wandering up here…this had never been on the list. All she saw in her mind’s eye was Rolan, sweating and panting and desperate. And that thought filled her with overwhelming want in response.

Tav pushed herself back from the door with a jolt. She turned and ran, not knowing or caring whether the ring of her footsteps on tile carried past the door. Her pulse pounded against her ears as she rushed out of the room and back for the staircase. 

Even before Tav’s foot hit the third stair, she knew she was headed for the Elfsong. And a very stiff fucking drink.

—

Day passed to night and back to day again in a feverish jumble. Like a vessel adrift in a vast ocean, Rolan was passed along wave after wave of searing impulse.

Had his ruts always been this overwhelming, and he’d just forgotten? Or was there something different about the drives this time around? 

Even the little dignities were stripped away, one by one. He began by conjuring mage hands at first, but his concentration faltered too many times at the cusp. He finally just settled for his own grip. Desperate sounds rose in his chest each time he neared his next finish, the likes of which he’d never utter voluntarily.

And he quickly gave up on clothes altogether. He lay naked and spread-eagle on his sheets and tried to sleep when he could, before his demanding cock inevitably twitched back to life again. The fever turned his dreams shockingly lewd whenever he did manage to drift off.

By sunset, another strong wave of need was pulsing through his core, demanding his attention. Rolan lay back against his pillows and groaned open-mouthed as he stroked himself.

Even slick with oil, the friction between his hand and the raw, overstimulated ridges of his cock bordered on painful. His finish danced out of reach to the back of his mind.

With an impatient growl, he flipped over to his knees and snatched up a feather pillow, folding it into a sleeve for his cock. A crude solution—but with his first few thrusts, the cool softness of the silk caused a moan of relief to rise in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut as he fucked his own pillow in a desperate chase for relief.

And behind his eyelids, there she was again.

Tav appeared there so easily now. He’d tried to fight it at first—ashamed to be using her like this, without her knowledge or consent—but he found that nothing satisfied his urges so well as when he pictured her on his cock.

So he closed his eyes and imagined Tav…pliant, eager, hungry. Legs spread and center dripping with desire for him. The shameful depth of his need faded away as he fantasized her own. How her eyes might shine as she panted and gasped under him, calling him by name and begging him to fuck her and fill her and mark her as his—

What would she sound like as he took her? He conjured the timbre of her voice, always warm and musical, now canting to a whine as the ridges at his base slammed against her with each thrust.

Pressure coiled rapid and hot at his loins. Rolan slid off the mattress with legs braced, the pillow cast aside, and tugged frantically at his stiff length again. His tail arched and flicked behind him.

Through clenched eyelids he saw Tav laid at the foot of his bed, hair splayed in a messy crown against his sheets as she cried out his name. Her legs crossed behind his flanks to hold him deep inside her tight wet heat—

‘Rolan—’ She moaned louder, her heels digging into his lower back as he took her. Tav gripped two handfuls of the bedding underneath as he thrust relentlessly, chasing more of her heat around his cock, more of the delicious scent at her throat and between her legs—

“Rolan!”

“Fuck—” With a strangled gasp, Rolan’s hips stuttered one last time as his come spilled in ropes to the floor. Panting and shaking, he caught hold of the bed post with one hand as he frantically worked out the rest of his finish with the other. His head spun with the force of it.

But as he opened his eyes and his vision cleared, so did that cottony feeling in his ears. Someone was rapping insistently on the door to his room.

“Rolan, we need to talk—” Even muffled by the heavy wood, Tav’s voice was unmistakable.

“Fuck,” Rolan hissed again, this time with enough wits about him to panic. How much of that last performance could she hear through the door? He snatched up the nearest towel to wipe himself, then tripped away toward the pile of clothes on the floor that had lain untouched since yesterday.

“Go away,” he called tersely, nevertheless yanking the trousers up over his hips. Thank hells that last round had left him soft enough he could do up the laces for now.

On the other side of the door, she was undeterred. “I’m not leaving till I’ve seen you.”

Rolan cursed as one of his horns snagged the ties at the neck of his shirt. Once the fabric dropped over his torso, he whirled around to take in the state of his room. 

Bedsheets pulled sideways from the mattress; pillows strewn across the floorboards; air thick with the smell of him. Absolute filthy shambles.

Using a rush of energy he couldn't afford, he cast a mass prestidigitation spell on the space. The improvement in the air was immediate. But the resulting light-headedness caused him to stumble forward; he caught himself with a hand braced on the door frame.

“I'm not joking,” Tav called loudly, unaware he was now much closer.

He could have yelled at her to wait outside for another week, then, if he wasn't so sure she was stubborn enough to actually do so. After all, this was the person who’d defeated an Elder Brain and taken on several gods in the process.

That…and he found he badly wanted to see Tav in the flesh. Hearing her voice from just beyond his bedroom door only increased that desire. Rolan’s tail lashed behind him in helpless frustration.

“What do you want?” He asked instead, lowering his voice. No use broadcasting any more of this conversation to the whole Tower.

There was a pause on the other side of the oak paneling. “I’ve barely seen you since I got here,” Tav’s voice replied, matching his volume.

“And?” 

“And I'm worried about you…obviously,” she added. “Cal and Lia said you’re sick. But I’d feel better if we could talk face to face.” Even through the barrier between them, he could hear a strain in her voice. She wasn't lying. 

Rolan rested his horns against his braced forearm with a sigh. “Tav, I swear I'm perfectly fine.”

“Then just open the door a moment. Please, Rolan?”

It was far too pleasant to hear her say his name outside of his own imaginings. Rolan glanced down at himself. Barefoot, shirt untucked, but technically presentable. And not pitching a tent for once in the past twenty-four hours. 

“If I do, will you leave?” 

There was another pause. “If you want me to,” came the reply. He unbolted the latch and drew it open to shoulder width.

The wave of Tav’s scent hit him almost before he registered her face in front of him. The sweetness of it overwhelmed his other senses for a moment. It tested all Rolan’s limited reserves of sanity not to grab her by the waist and pull her body against him.

Unaware of the silent struggle raging in his chest, Tav stood with face tilted up toward his. Her eyes had traveled over his figure immediately, checking him over with a worried little crease between her brows. Something at the side of his head caught her eye; Rolan realized his hair hung loose and rather sweaty, exposing the slender tips of his ears.

Her demeanor changed at the sight. Tav sighed, leaning her head against the flat of the door.

“You’re even handsome with a fever,” she told him softly.

Rolan blinked at her. Perhaps exhaustion and hormones were driving him to hallucinations. “What are you—”

Faster than he could react, her palms landed on either side of his face, and Tav pulled his mouth down to hers.

A burst of colors exploded behind his eyes; the sensation of her lips moving on his kindled the dormant heat in his body to wild blaze. She notched her hands upward as she kissed him, and her fingers slid up along the sensitive tapers of both his ears.

Rolan let out a hungry, animal sound against her mouth. Both hands landed on her back and crushed the line of her body forward into his, leaving no space between them. He could feel the soft hills of her breasts pressing against his chest through clothing. The warm scent rolling off her skin and hair surrounded him with dizzying force.

The higher part of his mind was screaming at him. Rolan desperately tried to focus on what it was saying; as he did, he caught the tang of wine on her lips. The discovery gave him just enough will to pull back from her.

And he did, with one jerking step back into his chambers. “You can’t be here.”

Tav stood panting through parted lips, eyes half-lidded as they traveled over him. Rolan felt flames lick his skin everywhere they moved.

“Why not?” She breathed. “I wanted to see you.”

“You’re drunk,” he told her. He rather felt that way himself, still reeling from the electricity of kissing her.

Tav pouted at that, and Rolan wished to bite that lower lip firmly between his teeth. “I’m not drunk,” she corrected. “I’ve had a drink. There’s a difference.”

“You wouldn’t be here if—”

“If what?” Tav watched him as she took a step closer. Rolan stepped back in tandem, reflexive. She was well over the threshold now. “If I knew what was really happening to you?”

Those words sounded much more knowing than he liked. Rolan stared at her, trying to read into her face. He swallowed against the dry lump of his tongue and went out on a limb. “Which one of them told you?”

Tav shook her head. “Cal and Lia have been nothing but discreet.” 

“Then how could you possibly understand?” He demanded. The very recent discovery of how soft Tav’s lips were was making it very difficult to maintain this conversation. He could still feel the way her body had pressed into him.

One corner of her mouth twitched. “Rolan, I’d like to think I’m not completely oblivious. There have been…signs. And I’ve had a lot of time to think about them. I’ve been at the Elfsong all afternoon, just—thinking.”

At that, Rolan felt his tail twitching nervously behind him. “I see,” he replied. Pivoting, like an idiot, trying to pretend this was a perfectly acceptable conversation to have with the woman who occupied most of his thoughts when he was pleasuring himself. “And you think that I—that my—”

Tav made a quick twisting motion to get around the door. She latched it and drew the bolt closed behind them, then turned back to him.

“A lot of humans have heard rumors about Tieflings,” she confessed. “Some stupid, but some credible. I’m saying this is maybe not the secret that you think it is.” As he watched, a much deeper blush spread over Tav’s cheeks. She glanced away to the side. 

“Rolan…I grew up in the Dales, remember? Around rabbits, and cattle, and oxen. Half my friends lived on farms.”

Her analogy couldn’t be clearer. To hear her lay it out so plainly—Rolan felt the last dregs of his pride shrivel up and die. He gripped two palms over his eyes and let out a groan of abject humiliation, turning away to the middle of the room. 

How early had she connected the dots? The moment she felt him brazenly place a hand around her? Had she known all along that he was locked up here, rutting into every one of his pillows?

“Look, Rolan, I’m sorry—I didn’t know how else to say it—” 

Completely overwhelmed by his embarrassment, he hadn’t heard her follow. When Rolan finally dropped his hands from his face, he turned to find Tav standing very close to his chest.

“And I’m sorry for kissing you before,” she blurted out. “I mean, I’m not sorry for it…I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, to be honest. But it wasn’t fair. I just…wanted to know how you’d react.”

Rolan watched as her chest rose and fell heavily where she stood. The look in her eyes made his blood pound through his veins. He felt an urge to reach out and smooth back her hair to bring her in for another kiss, one he resisted.

“I care about you,” Rolan told her, before he could lose his nerve. “Our friendship. I respect you, Tav, it’s not worth—muddying things with this.” 

He felt fingers lacing through the ones that hung at his side, and despite his words Rolan tightened his grip automatically. Her hand was so pleasantly cool against the heat of his skin.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Tav answered earnestly. “I care about you, too. If I can help, I want to. Please—”

She was so close to him; Rolan breathed shallowly, but the warm scent rolling off her skin and hair nevertheless swept past him with dizzying force.

“You don’t know what you’re offering,” he managed hoarsely.

She didn’t falter. “Then tell me what else you think I should know.”

His senses were growing clouded with her; the offer that had tumbled so easily from her rang in his ears. It made the thread of Rolan’s control stretch dangerously taut.

“I won’t be gentle,” he warned. 

His inadvertent shift in tone changed something in the air between them. There was a crackling energy that hadn't been there a second before.

Tav licked her lips as she watched him. “Good.”

Rolan thought he might melt from the heat that spread across his skin. His tail snapped against the mattress behind him. If she moved a step closer, she’d feel how hard he was in his pants.

“Mating bites,” he went on hoarsely. “I’ll mark you. Quite a lot. I’ll try not to draw blood, but…I can’t promise it.”

Tav nodded. “What else?” She asked, encouraging him to go on. 

Rolan swallowed against the embarrassment. But this was important for her to know. “This time for us, it’s all about…reproduction. We become quite virile.” He nearly choked, but there was simply no other way to put it. “For the urges to pass quicker, I need to come in you.”

Tav let out a throaty hum of approval. His cock twitched in his pants at the sound. “That’s fine, I take preventatives—it’s safe.”

They stood looking at each other for another moment. That shivery, electric feeling buzzed in the air around them. Rolan wondered if she could hear the way his heart drummed against his ribs.

Tav leaned in slightly. “Well…” She said, and her wet tongue passed nervously between her lips again.

That taut thread in his chest snapped in two. Rolan crushed her up against him with a whimper. Arms circling around her waist, he nudged a thigh between her legs and firmly ground their hips together.

Tav matched his eagerness. Their lips crashed together; at the back of his mind, he felt her grip cradling under each of his ears. Her fingertips licked like flame against his scalp.

Even through layers of clothing, he could feel the heat of her. Rolan jerked her hips forward harder against his thigh; the swelling length of his cock pressed against her soft, yielding center. Tav dipped her head back from the kiss, arching into him with a moan, and her fingertips laced at the nape of his neck. 

It offered an irresistible angle at the column of her throat. Rolan’s claws raked back in her hair, pulling it to a tight ponytail. Then he tugged firmly, holding her open as his mouth descended on her neck.

He kissed and sucked along the band of muscle from her ear to the curve of her shoulder, then parted his lips to bite down firmly on her soft flesh. 

“Yes,” Tav moaned in approval above him. Her hips rolled into his, grinding herself against the hard cock straining in his pants. Rolan felt her pulse skip against his mouth. Only when he tasted sweet copper did he pull away, laving his tongue over the crimson pin-pricks of his teeth into her skin.

He took only a moment to admire the trail of marks blooming along her neck. Tav was already pulling him in for another kiss. Their lips crashed together with bruising force; her tongue explored, tasting, searching for proof of her blood against his tongue and moaning against him when she found it.

Her scent filled his mind. Without breaking from her mouth, he plucked open the laces of her pants. Rolan slipped his hand under the waistband, beneath her smalls, and slid two fingers to dip down between her legs. Her folds were shining-slick; as he nudged her in circles, a trickle of her arousal rolled down his fingers. She shivered prettily under his touch.

“You’re soaked,” Rolan groaned against her neck. 

“All because of you,” she breathed without hesitation. “Been wanting this, gods, wanting you for months. Your hands on me—cock in me—”

At the words he withdrew his fingers from her impatiently, then sucked them clean. Her sweet taste on his tongue made his cock ache. She scarcely had time to curse at the sight before Rolan gripped both arms around her waist to lift her into him.

With one quick pivot, he landed her down on the bed with his frame pressed into her. Her legs hung off the edge from the hip down, and he used the position to grind the stiff length in his pants against her cleft.

Even fully clothed, it was maddening. He could feel the wet patch between her legs, and when she arched further into him, a primal growl rumbled in his chest. 

Tav’s fingers were brushing at his sides, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Off,” she panted impatiently.

Rolan tilted back to rip the garment up over his horns, immediately reaching for her own once his was free. He stripped her frantically, ripping her smallclothes in two before he could work them down her thighs.

When she lay bare beneath him, moaning and arching into everywhere he touched, he was overcome with hunger for more of her taste. 

Rolan gripped her hips, dragging her with a jerk to the edge of the bed. With her glistening folds displayed before him, all he could do was drop to his knees and bury his tongue between them.

The sounds she made were like sweet music as he explored her. He sucked and massaged her slit with his tongue, then plunged it as deep within her walls as he could. His eyes rolled back in his head. Her taste surrounded him; his nose brushed her clit as he ate her, further overwhelming his senses with the scent of her arousal.

“Gods, yes, Rolan—” Tav moaned above him as her hands flew to grip each of his horns. She alternately tugged them and arched into his mouth, grinding her clit against his face.

He wanted to hear her say his name like that another thousand times. Rolan curled his tongue against her walls, determined to taste her even deeper, but to no avail. Without his sharp nails, he would have sunk two fingers into her.

Instead, as his mouth left her, the ridged end of his tail looped around to brush over her slit.

“Ah—” Tav gasped from the bed. One of her hands left him to prop up on an elbow to look. 

He watched her face in adoration as his tail slid between her soaked lips, coating itself in a mixture of her arousal and his saliva. Once it was thoroughly wet, he let the heart-shaped tip push experimentally into her.

Whatever hesitation he had evaporated at the way she arched and keened. He pushed in further, inch by inch, hissing in breath at how tight and wet her walls squeezed around him. Rolan felt his cock leaking between his legs at the sight of his tail disappearing into her plush cunt.

“Taking my tail so well,” Rolan praised without thinking, then groaned. “Fuck, Tav, you’re so tight—”

“Don’t stop,” she demanded, breathless.

When he felt the tip brush the limits of her insides, he held it steady as she panted down at him. Her mouth hung open in anticipation as she watched him lean in again for her center.

But instead of landing on her clit, his mouth met with the soft skin of her inner thigh and sucked it firmly between his teeth.

Tav gave a little yelp of pain, but her walls constricted around his tail so hard he moaned against her flesh. He left two more lovely red marks against her thigh before withdrawing his tail from her, leaving only the tip inside her silk.

Then he thrust back into her and took up a forceful rhythm of stretching her open on his tail.

“Fucking gods,” she gasped, gripping both his horns again. He felt her use them as leverage as she bounced her hips down to meet him. 

“Like this, don’t you?” Rolan urged her on, drunk off her desire. “Fucking yourself on my tail—” He leaned down to take another taste of her clit, swirling and sucking as the ridges on his tail dragged more wetness out of her with each thrust.

“Yes,” Tav moaned, shaking under him as his tongue worked over her clit. “Feels so perfect in me, so—ngh—!”

When he flicked the tip of it up inside her, Tav’s words stuttered to incoherence. He felt her inner walls clench and flutter, and repeated the motion over and over with each thrust.

“I’m—oh, oh ohohoh—”

She dissolved into soft cries. The muscles at her core tensed and shuddered as she climaxed against his tongue. Rolan withdrew his tail from her with a slick release, instead clasping his mouth over her to lap down the sweet taste that poured from her. His pants were so wet he was nearly convinced he’d already come, but he felt his cock straining against the fabric just as firmly.

When her thighs collapsed limp to either side, Rolan pushed himself to his feet for a look at her. Tav’s eyes were bright, cheeks flushed with arousal, her hair coiled out in wild tendrils that framed her like a crown. Their eyes met; with both hands on his arms, she pulled him down for a kiss.

Rolan landed braced on his forearms. Their tongues slid and pushed together, trading the taste of her release. When he felt her reaching between them to undo his laces, he pulled away to loose them and strip off the rest of his clothes. 

Tav reached for his erection, and before he’d steadied himself, she gripped his length to drag the generous droplets of precum around his tip with her thumb. His hips bucked into her.

“Eager, aren’t you?” She teased softly.

“Yes,” Rolan groaned. Tav’s soft hand was around his cock for the first time; it was all he could do to locate words. He knew his face was flushed and tense with arousal, but Tav only looked up at him with appreciation from where she lay back on his bed. 

When she guided his length across the wet of her core, he rocked his hips to drag his ridges across her. She shivered slightly, still sensitive, but rolled into him.

“Need you,” Rolan panted, not sure whether he was asking her or begging. “Tav—please—”

Tav’s hand lined him up with her entrance. When his leaking tip nudged inside her, Rolan pushed forward with one slow, determined cant of his hips.

The cool slick of her walls clutched each inch of him so perfectly. A low groan rose in Rolan’s throat—this was the closest thing to real satisfaction that he’d gotten in days, and he hadn't even started moving yet.

“So good,” Tav said under him, voice sweet and husky. “Keep going—”

Rolan braced his hands against her hips. He pulled out slowly, legs shaking beneath him, then pushed back into the tight plush of her. 

His hips took up a firm pace, and Rolan couldn't bite back his whines as he plunged his cock inside her. Whatever his fevered imagination had conjured, it was nothing compared to this—he fell over her again, fangs skating against her breast as her body rocked under him with each thrust.

“Yes, yes, fuck—” Tav was just as breathless as her fingers gripped the infernal ridges on his shoulder blades. She tugged, egging him on.

Rolan took the invitation with enthusiasm. He nipped and sucked around the swell of her breast, breathing in lungfuls of the sweetness rolling off her skin.

“Harder,” Tav begged, the words vibrating against his lips. The hunger inside him surged in agreement.

Rolan’s lips fastened over one nipple. He sucked, hard, letting his tongue roll her against his teeth. Tav let out a whimper, but he felt her legs crossing around his hips as he continued to bury himself in her.

Rolan pulled away to look at her face. A mist of sweat dusted her brow; Tav’s lips were parted and twitching with silent words. 

“Look at me,” Rolan ordered, still filling her with his cock in a steady rhythm.

Tav obeyed, her eyes shining and pupils blown wide. He straightened away from her, never breaking, and laid a hand each on her calves. Then he pushed up, folding her legs to her chest and opening up her cunt even deeper for him.

“You look so beautiful like this, Tav,” he told her, thighs trembling with the effort of keeping his pace slow and steady. “Folded in half in my bed. Stretched around my cock so perfectly.”

In response, Tav’s hands grabbed her knees, pulling herself open even further to each side. “Is this how you imagined it?” She asked wickedly. “All alone—wishing it was me and not your own hand—”

Heat prickled across his neck and shoulders, but Rolan was too far gone to feel shame. He couldn't resist breaking eye contact, however, watching the way his cock stretched open her dripping cunt.

“Just like this,” he panted in answer. She took in breath to respond, but he was already slamming back into her at a reckless pace.

The lewd, wet sounds of his thrusts filled the room, layered with their chorus of whines and moans. Rolan shuddered at how slick and tight she was around him, perfectly gripping each inch of his needy length. His cock throbbed in anticipation of a satisfying release, finally, after all these times of not quite enough—

“I’m close,” he panted, gripping her hips to pull her down deeper onto his cock. The tip of him nudged against the limits of her walls. “Where should—”

“Inside,” Tav insisted, still holding herself wide for him. “Only inside, Rolan, want you to fill me up—fuck—”

The imagery pushed him over the edge, and he did just that. With a throb of release, he felt his cock pulsing and filling her deepest walls with his seed. His hips stuttered into her as he pushed his spend as far into her as he could reach.

Tav clutched his shoulders as he came, humming and moaning out praises for him. Their hips rocked together, nudging his coated length back against her deep center. 

Tav went tense under him. He forced his eyes open and saw her lips parted in surprise.

“I’m—oh—!” 

She gasped in shock as her own climax gripped her. Rolan hissed in breath at the way she clenched and fluttered so suddenly around him. His length was still hard, and his ridges pulsed against her.

As she drifted back down, Tav’s eyes finally lit on him in a daze. “What…what was that?”

Rolan was abruptly reminded of how many ruts he’d spent without a partner. “I'm sorry, I should've warned you,” he confessed. It was hard to form his thoughts while still inside her. “During the cycle…infernal traits get stronger. Like incubi. Helps attract a partner.” Somehow this explanation was more embarrassing than any of the other filth he’d just spoken to her.

Tav stared up at him. “You're saying your come is going to make me come?”

“Essentially.” Rolan shifted inside her slightly, still not confident he was done. “I apologize—I didn't think to tell you. Is that a problem?”

“Rolan—” Tav let out a breathless laugh, and the sound went straight to his chest. “This is the exact opposite of a problem. Just a bit of a shock, that's all.”

The lovely sight of her happy and satisfied under him was too much to resist. Rolan leaned forward on his arms to kiss her, trapping her legs between their chests.

As her hand stroked softly under his jaw, Rolan felt a second ache settling in his loins. He released her lips for just long enough to push her legs out over his hips, then ducked back down for her mouth.

He rolled his hips into her slower this time, but it was somehow more intense. Their lips stayed connected as he drove into her deep. Her walls were slippery with arousal and his own seed, and they gripped like pure silk around his cock. Her opening slid over the sensitive ridges at his base with each thrust.

When he dipped a thumb between their bodies to rub circles over her clit, Tav broke away with a little gasp.

“I can’t again,” she said, panting.

“You can,” he told her simply. “Hold on to me—” 

She did, wrapping both arms and legs firmly around him as if he was her anchor. Rolan dipped his head to her neck as he doubled his pace, their hips slotting together with each brisk slide into her. He breathed deep against the curve of her shoulder.

Still so hungry for release, it wasn't long before he came again hard. This time he just barely pumped his spend into her before he pulled out to look down.

Sticky white seed dribbled out of her slit, running down toward her hole. He dipped the thumb circling her clit down to swipe it back up across her cunt, painting his come across the bundle of nerves at her peak.

Tav’s thighs twitched under him, and she gripped his arm tight with one hand. She swore as he continued flicking across her clit with the wet pad of his thumb, then whined out his name.

While her next orgasm nearly doubled her in half, Rolan tilted his head to watch the sight between her legs. She was soaked, twitching, utterly intoxicating. Her contracting walls pushed more of his spend out of her; it flowed generously from her slit and soaked down into the bedding below.

Finding himself now utterly spent, Rolan collapsed on his back next to her. As he did, he realized his legs had grown fatigued to the point of buckling from the exertions. He let his body sink heavy into the mattress. 

“I made a mess on your sheets,” Tav panted from beside him. 

Rolan groaned at her descriptive language. The fact that his length continued softening was a sign his urges were finally giving him a reprieve, however. “It was mostly my fault.”

She only let out a weak breath of laughter.

Too tired to trust his shaking legs, he reached an arm blind over the side of the bed and snatched up the first fabric it touched. His discarded shirt.

Pushing himself seated, he gently reached to dry between Tav’s legs. One of her hands traced the ridges on his back as he quietly tended to her.

“How long before the next?” She asked him.

“An hour or two.” Rolan didn't look at her. “Tav, you've done more than enough for m—”

The mattress shifted as she sat up and turned his face into a waiting kiss. It was soft, just a chorus of little presses across his lips.

When Tav pulled away, she tucked the damp curtain of his hair behind one ear. “Rolan, unless you want me to go, I'm staying until it’s over.”

Rolan cast a glance over her. Despite the fact that she was naked in his bed and covered in blooming bruises from his mouth, she was very much the same Tav as ever. “Thank you,” he told her quietly.

She pushed him onto his back with a sudden laugh, landing with her chest pressed to his. “What an utterly Rolan thing to say,” she mused. “Need I remind you I just came three times?”

Tav was teasing him, and was of a mind to put her in her place—only he found that none of his limbs wanted to move at the moment. Instead, his only response was a deep hum as his eyelids drooped shut.

He felt the mattress shift as she rose and wished he could reach out to stop her. But a moment later she curled up next to him again, dragging a soft quilt over their bodies. 

Rolan turned inward to rest his head on Tav’s chest—and fell into his first real slumber in days.

[variety-fangirl]

Thinking about bodyguard!tsf141 x rich daughter reader. I'm imagining that Taskforce 141 has come back from their missions and decided to retire early after having many conversations about being done and just wanting to relax. They've done their fair share of time and sacrificed so much that, let's be honest, they fucking deserve it. Eventually, they leave and settle down in a nice home built to house the four behemoth sized men, out in the middle of nowhere and away from society. They have trucks to go grocery shopping when needed and use their spare time to pick up a hobby of interest to them each. But let's face it, they would all go stir crazy after so many years of being in wars and doing the unthinkable. Quiet is not something their used to.

So, they decided to pick up a job suited to them all that wouldn't get boring. They decide on being bodyguards, special trained bodyguards for the elites, and rich snobs. Do they like the rich? No, no, they do not. But, it's a familiar ground of some kind, and they'll feel most comfortable in familiarity. Hey, at least the pay will be good. Not that they need it, but every little helps.

So, they get everything set up and make a name for themselves. A big name at that. Where the top dogs notice and they become popular and sought after in the field. I mean, it really didn't take long or a lot of hard work. Their good at what they do, and they know it, too. So good, in fact, that one of the richest men in the country hears word of them and requests a meeting. After all, being as rich as he is, you make enemies. Powerful enemies that are not afraid to go to the extreme to get what they want, your empire that you've built on drugs, money, and the blood of said enemies and others.

They were, of course, expecting the security detail to be for himself, but when they turn up at said meeting, the guy is surrounded by guards. Big ones at that. Not as big as them but close. He's secured to the nine, as is his home. So naturally their confused. If its not for him, then for whom?

That's when your father explains about you. The prize of his life, his beautiful and single (unprotected as he put it), daughter. One who is headstrong, stubborn, and stands her ground. Only agreeing to have a security detail if you get to choose them. Naturally, when your father had shown you lists upon lists of potential bodyguards, you snided at them all. None of them had the experience you were looking for, ones that you could genuinely trust with your life. And wouldn't try to control you like your fathers choices had or reported your every little move to him. So when you stumbled upon their profiles, you immediately knew they were the right choice.

Upon hearing your name called by your father, you entered the room. You were pleasantly surprised by the sheer size of them all, overpowering and swallowing the expensive sofa they sat upon. You didn't try to hide your smile. Instead, you kept your eyes on them and studied their every move. You were entranced by them. Their big, burly, and rough exteriors of pure muscles and scars. Men who'd been through and seen things that people should not, their eyes haunted by the ghosts of those they had killed or had been killed from their mistakes. They were everything you wanted and didn't know you needed.

And they were not expecting you to walk into the room. You whose face was like a beautiful angel, soft and gentle, and a presence that commanded the room, but eyes that held such horrors. Eyes of a soul who had suffered and witnessed things you should not have. Someone who, from the moment they set their sights upon you, gave them an overwhelming rush and need to protect you.

"We'll take the job."

[ramlightly]

Does Soots get along with Fig. Do they get along with Malady. The public needs answers

Not Fig oh my God that's Lapis. This is the second time I've switched Lapis' names for something else entirely. He'd scam me so easily like this

Yeah, Lapis would definitely scam the shit out of you outta spite for that lol. But I understand, he and Fig have a lot of similaries (might also be time to update Lapis' outfit maybe lol)

Either way, Malady and Lapis get along very well with Soots for different reasons. See, Soot is a familar, created from nature and a bit of Cinder's soul to make a new being. Because he's silent, it's easy to assume that he's just an unthinking tool for Cinder's magic, but that's very much not the case. Where he begins and Cinder ends is not always clear, but he clearly has his own thoughts and personality.

Despite their bickering, Lapis and Cinder are friends, or at least trust each other, thus Soots is pretty chill with Lapis. He even likes lounging on him, though Lapis suspects it's more about him being attracted to other magical beings rather than purely affection.

Meanwhile Malady (on Lapis' advice) shamelessly bribes Soots with food, so Soot gets very excited with Malady lol. One of Soot's favorite food is burnt ham. He wiggles when he's happy.

[bellaveux]

kiss of a vampire | w. maximoff

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: injured and alone, wanda finds herself out in the middle of the night, searching for the one person she can trust to help her. on that night, you find out what she truly is.

content warnings: 18+ minors dni. vampire!wanda, human!reader, victorian era, blood, very tiny mentions of homophobia, loss of virginity (?), smut! making out, biting, marking?, soft sex, fingering and oral (r receiving), praising

wc: 3.9k

note: surprise this is my singular contribution for kinktober hehe, happy halloween everyone!

Fall of 1863 in New York was more or less an uneventful time of the year for you. Your mother insists you read as many books as you can find in the manor’s library, and your father insists you go out and attend all those fancy balls and infernal tea parties—all in an effort to make you more presentable for any of your future suitors. It made sense for them to do so. Your mother was a respectable woman in the town, and she married your father, a man of riches, all thanks to that company he founded many years ago. You could honestly care less, not really having to do anything but read your books all day. Occasionally, in the evening when the sun has already set and you got too fed up with turning pages, you went out for a walk down that nice, pebbled trail through the woods, leading you down to that stone bridge over the river.

That’s where you met her. Wanda.

The moon was out. The sun was gone. She didn’t wear a fancy dress like you did the first time you saw her. She wore an unbuttoned vest over her white, well-made dress shirt, black pants, and riding boots to match. Her hair was red, and for a moment, you thought her eyes were the same color. It went away when you blinked, and suddenly, her eyes were green. You had never seen a woman like her before, much less someone similar in town. All the ladies and their voluminous skirts really only had boys, and gossip filled their daily conversations. It was tiring to be around them, but being with Wanda was relieving.

She told stories. Of adventures. Of distant lands you could barely imagine. She’d tell you about the sea, the moon, and the world beyond this little town you lived in. You found solace during your time with her, and you began to look forward to your walks through the woods every evening you could. She’s always there. Like she knows everything… She was your friend. And each time you met her, your heart beat faster than you’d like to admit, and your stomach fluttered whenever you thought about her. You always wondered, does she feel the same? You supposed you’d never find out, because who in their right mind would confess to having feelings for another woman?

Forbidden. Unthinkable. Criminal. That’s what they would say about you. So, you stayed quiet.

During the latest hours of the night, sometimes you’d see the glow of torches outside your window. You hear the noises first. A woman screaming. Pitchforks and shovels thrown up in the air, metal and iron clinking against each other. The sounds of arrows cracking through wood. Monsters, your father would say. They lurk out in the night, waiting and waiting until they come up to their prey and kill… You’ve heard the stories of those vampires, wolves, demons or whatever it is they are. You found it hard to believe. Even more so that so many people are afraid of what they probably haven’t even seen.

But then you see Wanda again. Not on your walk through the woods. Not on the bridge. A quiet knock is what you hear first. You look up from your book in surprise, then see her outside your window, clutching her shoulder in pain. She’s seated on the edge of your window on the other side of the glass, giving you a weak smile despite seeing how confused and worried you were. You rushed over and opened the window immediately, telling her to get in—of course, after you yelled—or whispered, really—at her for showing up at this ungodly hour.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” You exclaimed as you pulled her into your room.

But the moment she winced in pain, you immediately pulled your hands back, afraid that you might have hurt her. You watch her move to lean against the wall underneath the window. She sighs in relief, still clutching her shoulder. Your gaze falls to her hand, right where you see the stains of red seeping through her dress shirt.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she says through gritted teeth.

“You’re bleeding…” You think out loud, carefully watching her as you hold your breath.

The faint glow of torches outside your window shows up in the corner of your eye—people bustling loudly in your street. You could see Wanda duck even further beneath your window, staring up at the ceiling as you began to put two and two together.

“No…” You shake your head and take a few steps back. “You’re the one they’re looking for, aren’t you?”

Wanda’s gaze softened as she turned to you. Her mouth opened for a moment to say something, but she sighed and laughed sheepishly to herself as she shook her head. Then, you see it in her smile.

She looked up at you again, with those kind and caring eyes you’ve seen on her from the moment you met her, “Please, don’t be afraid of me.”

“Your teeth…”

“I know,” she nodded. “But, I need your help. Please. I’m begging you.”

You didn’t know what to do. “Wanda.”

“They’ll come after me if you tell me to leave, (Y/n),” she reasoned, leaning up to show you she was telling the truth.

“Did you… Have you killed someone?” You could barely get it out.

“No!” She said, “I-I haven’t hurt anyone, I promise you! I-It’s my brother. I’ve been looking for him. He’s…”

“He’s what?”

Wanda sighs and turns away from you in shame. “He’s hungry. We… We haven’t eaten in weeks. He’s got a bigger appetite than I do… I-It’s harder to control him. I think he might’ve hurt someone tonight.”

You stare at her. Her eyes were red now. Her breathing was heavy. Her fangs darted out slightly past her parted lips. You take a second to process what she had just told you. And in truth, you should’ve been scared. You should have been throwing her out of the manor, calling for your father to deal with such a monster.

But to you, she was still… just Wanda. If she wanted to kill you, you’d imagine she’d already done it by now.

You left for a moment to head into your washroom in the corner your room where you tried to find all of the medical supplies you currently had. It wasn’t much—a wet rag, a few bandage wraps, and a kit for stitches. You returned with all the items in your arms, and Wanda looked up at you with a thankful smile.

You sat on the floor with her, your white nightgown bunching up against the wooden paneling. “I… I have bandages—”

Wanda shook her head, looking down to avoid your eyes. “Thank you… But, that won’t help.”

“What will?”

Her eyes bore into yours, but her mouth doesn’t move. She has that look on her face that tells you she's too embarrassed to say or ask for it. Her hands squeezed her shoulder in pain, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Tell me, Wanda.” You say firmly, your gaze unwavering, and for a second, you thought she was intimidated by you. She was, in truth, because of her feelings for you.

“Blood.”

You pause. Then, she repeats it again.

“Blood will… replenish my energy. I haven’t eaten, so I’m weak. On a good day, this wound would not even phase me.”

“My blood?”

Wanda nods. Your prolonged silence tells her that there is no way in hell you’d allow her. Her love for you has her hoping for the best outcome—that you’d have mercy on her and help her relieve the pain. But then again, you don’t owe her anything, and this was a lot to ask. The idea of asking felt impossible even though Wanda had already mentioned it, worried that you might refuse or be horrified by the notion.

“Okay.”

She blinks at you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. As long as you don’t turn me into a vampire or anything. I don’t mean it to offend you, but it would... complicate things.”

She nods once again, more eagerly this time. “You don’t have to worry about that. That’s, um… That’s a completely different process.”

“Okay,” you repeat, scooting closer to her, looking down at your dress and your hands as you begin to wonder if you should get a knife. “I-I’m not sure how to… do this.”

“Your neck.” She tells you. Of course.

You don’t ignore the way her red eyes darken and the way her ears perk up in excitement as you move your hair carefully to one side.

“Is it going to hurt?”

Wanda’s gaze softened at your words, “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

She watches you nod and holds her breath as she inches closer to you. Your sweet scent fills her nose with a much stronger fragrance than ever before. She has always loved the way you smelled. It soothed her in ways many other things couldn’t. It was divine, enveloping her senses each time she was near you, and she found herself utterly addicted. She had never been this close before tonight, her breath tickling the side of your neck. She could hear your heart beating fast as she moved closer.

You braced yourself, your heart pounding in anticipation for the expected pain of a vampire’s hungry bite. But it didn’t come. Instead, you felt Wanda’s soft, warm lips meet your skin, kissing it so gently in a way that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel her other hand, resting itself on the curve of your waist. Your breath caught in your throat, and your lips parted slightly as Wanda continued to press her mouth to your skin, littering your neck with the softest kisses she could possibly give you. You couldn’t help but notice the frailty and gentleness of her touches and her kisses, as if they were delicate and almost fragile.

Wanda was lost in the feeling of your skin. Every kiss left her craving for more, and she found herself losing control of the overwhelming desire she had been suppressing for so long.

You were so distracted by the soft kisses she left on you that you barely noticed the faint, almost imperceptible sensation of Wanda’s fangs piercing your skin. She was so gentle, and you expected much less when she had promised, but this… It felt too good. A moan slips past your lips as Wanda bites into you. Her first taste of your blood was nothing short of divine. So sweet. So warm. The most delicious thing she had ever put her mouth on. The flavor of you was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and it sent shivers of pleasure coursing through Wanda’s body. Every second that passed as she drank from you, Wanda began to feel her weakened body begin to mend itself. It was as if your blood had breathed life back into her. Wanda’s senses sharpened, and she felt a profound sense of rejuvenation. The pain in her shoulder began to fade away.

Wanda pulled away from your neck, running her tongue softly against the bite, before turning to look at you. The prettiest thing she ever laid her eyes on.

And Wanda couldn’t resist. She pressed her lips gently against yours and sighed against you. You gasp at the feeling as she places her hands over your waist, then down to your hips, pulling you closer against her. A soft moan falls from your mouth and into hers, and Wanda can’t help but groan. She swiped her tongue on your bottom lip, and naturally, you opened up for her, letting her in to explore the expanse of your mouth, the slight taste of iron on her tongue.

Your lips were parted slightly, and your eyelids felt heavy. But you started to feel weak and lightheaded. You found yourself leaning towards Wanda’s touch, unable to hold yourself up without tipping over, and the next thing you knew, she gently scooped you up and carried you to her bed with her mouth still pressed against yours. Kissing you became the next addicting thing for her. Wanda hovered over you as she laid you down on your back.

She pulled away from the kiss and smiled softly, “You’re so beautiful.”

Her lips traveled down to your neck once more, kissing your skin softly as she felt your arms wrap around her neck. This time, you feel it when she bites you again, unable to stop the moan that escapes your mouth. Wanda smiled as she continued to drink softly from you, her hand reaching up behind your dress to pull at the string that was holding your nightgown together as you arch your back and pressed your front against her. Your dress comes loose with a simple tug, and your cheeks flush, a deep shade of red donning your face as you feel Wanda’s hand cupping and groping your breast over the fabric.

After she pulls away, Wanda kisses your skin again, her lips traveling further south and her face coming up in between your plush breasts. She moans against you, your scent filling her nose in the most addicting way. She could smell you. How aroused you were. How wet you were. And tonight, despite all that you’ve given her, she was feeling a little greedy.

“I want you. I want to make you feel good,” she tells you, her voice all breathy against your skin. “I want to touch you.”

“Please,” you begged her, running your hands in her hair as she began to pull the dress off of you, agonizingly slowly.

When your body comes into full view, Wanda can’t help but stare. She mutters a curse under her breath before letting her fingertips run along your stomach, your nipples, your hips, and your thighs, and Wanda feels like she’s in heaven.

“Stop staring,” you say, pouting shyly as the vampire continues to ogle you.

She only smiles, fangs darting past her lips, “I can’t, angel. You look so pretty like this.”

Wanda leans down to litter your skin with wet kisses and small bruises. She eventually makes her way down to your legs, holding your plush thighs in her hands, and she kisses you, running her tongue over each part that she kisses. You allowed her to spread your knees apart, exposing your glistening sex to her shyly as she leans over, her kisses traveling closer and closer to your wet core.

“Spread your legs wider,” she said, unable to take her eyes off of you.

You do as she says, your hands now gripping your bedsheets slightly. Her fingers make their way in between your folds, softly touching your opening. She lets them move up and down, collecting your slick and spreading it all over, down in between and up to your clit, where she presses slightly harder against your bundle of nerves. She sees you when you bite your lip to stop a moan from falling past your lips. Wanda smiled at the sight. Her love bites are littered all over your skin; the bite on your neck looked more delicious than ever, and your pretty face looked up at her like she was the only one who could ever make you feel like this. Hell, it drives her crazy.

With a new sense of determination, Wanda finally slips her cold finger into you, your tight and warm walls wrapping around her digit. She sighs and leans forward to lay her head against your tummy, watching closely as she pushes her finger in, then pulling out with a squelch.

“You’re so wet for me,” she thinks aloud.

She groans, listening to the delicious sounds of your softest whimpers as she fingers you. Another finger slips inside of you, pulling them in and out of your pussy at a faster pace. Your breathing got heavy. You could feel your stomach getting tighter, but before you could come undone, Wanda pressed her thumb to your clit, working you up to your orgasm. Her fingers are long, and she can’t help but add another one into your tight, dripping sex. Her other hand holds your quivering thigh down as you tremble against her.

“W-Wanda, I’m—”

Your mouth falls open at the feeling of being filled up with her fingers. She’s much faster now, curling her fingers into your walls sloppily as she continues to press your clit, pushing you closer and closer to your high. And then, it comes. Wanda travels up and kisses you, swallowing your moans as you fall apart on her fingers, cumming all over her hand. Your back arched and your legs jerked closed as she pushed your legs back open.

Wanda carefully pulls her fingers out of you, but she doesn’t stop rubbing your clit, making you shiver against her. She rubs it in tight circles as her kisses travel back down to your neck, where she takes another greedy bite into your skin, welcoming the taste of your divine blood into her mouth once again. She groans when you pull her hair slightly, getting drunk off of your essence and the way your hands feel on her head.

When she pulls away, she kisses you again. And when she pulls away for a third time, she makes her way down your body, traveling through the valley of your breasts, over your stomach, and then her destination—back in between your legs. Her nose nuzzles against your clit, your scent filling her senses all over again.

“W-Wait, Wanda this is…”

You had never done this before. And now that Wanda was face to face with your glistening pussy, you got shy. Wanda only looks up at you and smiles, pressing gentle kisses along your inner thigh.

“I want you,” she reminds you, pulling you closer to her face. “I want to be the first one that makes you feel good. I want it to be me. Only me. Inside of you. I want to see how pretty you’ll look when I have my mouth on you.”

She says it so absentmindedly, her eyes not leaving the sight of your pussy as she spreads your lips apart with her thumbs. You couldn’t help but blush at her words, your face getting hotter each time you felt her breath on your pussy. You felt like time was ticking so slowly, with Wanda staring at you for what felt like hours. You grew tense with anticipation, waiting and waiting for her to do something. And when she finally does, your jaw drops, and a silent moan falls from your mouth. Wanda memorizes every little noise you make, the way you arch your back, or the twitch of your thigh.

She was in heaven. Your inner thighs glistened with arousal as she held you down against your bed, noting the way your hands made their way back to her red hair. Your body was a hot, trembling mess right underneath her as she devoured you, licking every space she could reach with her tongue.

When Wanda looks up and sees your mouth wide open in silent screams, arching your back off of the mattress, your soft hand tugging at her locks in a pitiful attempt to slow her down, she knows you’re close. She grew desperate. She keeps licking you, eager to get you closer and closer to your climax. You’re chanting her name as quietly as you can, eyes closed shut as the pleasure keeps building and building inside of you.

“Wanda, I-I’m about to—”

You whimpered, your legs closing around Wanda’s head. She hummed into your pussy and continued to eat you out right as you came into her mouth. She ran her tongue through your folds and over your clit softly, easing you through your orgasm with a satisfied moan. Wanda practically forced herself away from your sex, wishing for nothing but more time with you. She pulled back and sat on her legs to stare at the beauty right in front of her. She rubbed your soft thighs in soothing circles with her hands as she smiled down at you. You trembled slightly, still shaking from the orgasm she had given you.

You reached out to her, your weak arms lifting from the bed, wanting to be in her embrace again. She obliged happily, leaning down to hover over you once again. Wanda kissed you up your neck, to your jaw, and, lastly, to your lips, the taste of you still lingering on her tongue. She moaned against you and smiled into the kiss when she felt your hands slide from her neck to cup her face.

Then, you remembered.

You pushed her away softly, just so you could look at the blood stain on her shirt, where an arrow had struck her earlier tonight.

“I’m okay, now,” you heard her say.

Running a slow and gentle hand over her shoulder, you took a peek, pulling the fabric down a little bit to see her wound, but nothing was there.

“It’s gone,” you said in awe.

Wanda smiled softly at you as you continued to inspect her shoulder. You looked so beautiful. So unafraid of her. And it made her the happiest woman on Earth. She sighs and leans down to pepper a few kisses on your cheek, still surprised by her healing abilities. But you got distracted again, feeling her soft lips against your skin. The light of a candle on your night table danced across the room as she kissed you. Wanda was so gentle. Like she promised.

After a moment, Wanda turned to look out your bedroom window, where she had come in. Her senses immediately took notice of how quiet it was and how dark it was outside. The night embraced the world outside of your bedroom, blackness stretching as far as her eye could see. It was different from the warmth she felt in this sim room—a room with you, her love. It reminded her of the world and now, the secrets you both carried together.

Your voice pulled her out of your thoughts. “You have to go, don’t you?”

Wanda smiled, knowing you already knew the answer to your own question. “Your mother would throw a fit if they found me here.”

You shake your head and roll your eyes at the thought, smiling sadly as you begin to play with the fabric of her shirt.

“I’ll come see you again, angel. I promise you.”

“Tomorrow?” You ask, looking up at her with hopeful eyes.

Wanda turned her attention back to you, and her heart skipped a beat. You were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Unable to stop herself, she leaned down and kissed you once more.

“Tomorrow,” she said firmly.

With one final, lingering kiss on your lips, Wanda whispered three little words. Then, with a graceful and silent movement, she made her way over to the window through which she had entered. Wanda disappeared into the night, leaving the room she made love to you in. You lay in bed, contentment washing over you as a soft smile played on your lips. She was different from the stories you’d hear about vampires. People called them monsters, and even though you only knew Wanda, she was miles and miles away from being one.

You missed her already.

But just as she promised, you saw her again the next day. This time, with more kisses and closer encounters.

— navigation!

[rottenpumpkin13]

Ignoring Crisis Core's plot, how do you think a falling out would go between AGS? Not anything to do with Degradation, a serious falling out that threatens to shatter their friendship? How would each react? What would happen? Would they resolve it?

Hurt/comfort it is!

Like all stupid friendship fallouts, it should start with a poorly-timed joke or a careless remark—a spark that ignites a raging wildfire because no one bothered to put it out. An insolent tongue, a stray jab, or a well-meaning but tactless comment. Something that on another day might've been brushed off or laughed away, but in the moment hits like a blade to the ribs.

In the case of Angeal, Sephiroth, and Genesis, the stakes are as delicate as they are explosive. Angeal and Genesis have the advantage of years behind them—shared memories, countless arguments weathered and resolved, an unshakable bond forged in their childhood and nursed until adulthood. They've built their friendship on the basis of trust, even when tempers flare. But Sephiroth is newer to their bond, less familiar with the invisible lines they've drawn, not used to friendship, not used to other humans, and more prone to crossing them unknowingly.

That's why it's so easy, in their eyes, to see him as the villain when his pragmatism cuts too close to their pride. A passing comment about the upcoming mission—clinical, realistic, and with no malice: They're not competent enough for it. Sephiroth doesn't mean to insult, he doesn't want to endanger them. But the implication is enough to crack the fragile understanding between them, and what follows is as fiery as it is inevitable.

The room was quiet, completely quiet, which should've been unnerving enough on its own had Sephiroth's enhanced hearing not picked up the sound of two erratically beating hearts and a muffled grunt in Genesis' throat. 

They had been discussing strategy for hours, debating the best approach for an upcoming mission into Wutai territory. The air was heavy, they were exhausted, and the tension was tighter than a drawn bowstring, ready to snap—three minds, three egos, all colliding clumsily in the face of high stakes.

Genesis leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers, smiling in a way Sephiroth knew was not genuine. "Then perhaps we should let our dear General handle it all himself. He's practically perfect, after all. What need has he for canon fodder?"

Angeal groaned softly, his head dropping to his lap. "Genesis…"

But Sephiroth continued, with a sharp edge to his voice that held more reason than malice behind it. "If you're suggesting you wouldn't be useful, then yes. I'd rather not carry dead weight."

The room froze over. The pen slipped from Genesis' hand, clattering onto the table. Angeal sat up straighter, a deep frown etching into his face as he looked back up. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Genesis spat. 

Sephiroth's expression remained neutral. "It means what it sounds like. This mission is critical, and I need people who can keep up. Your presence would only endanger yourselves and compromise the assignment."

Angeal's voice cut through, not a hint of understanding in its inflection. "Sephiroth, that's out of line."

Sephiroth's green eyes flicked to Angeal, unreadable. "It's not a matter of pride, Angeal. It's a matter of survival. I don't intend to put either of you in unnecessary danger…. losing you would be unthinkable—"

"You don't intend to put us in danger! Yes, that makes sense!" Genesis snapped, standing now, his chair screeching against the floor. "You arrogant bastard. You don't get to decide what risks we take. You're not our keeper."

"I'm your superior," Sephiroth replied, calm but unyielding despite the feeling that his words were failing him. "It's my job to ensure success. If that means excluding those who would jeopardize it—"

"Jeopardize it?" Genesis' laughter was hollow, biting, making Sephiroth flinch. "Coming from you? That's rich. Do you hear yourself? You've been insufferable since day one, looking down on everyone as if you're some god. Well here's some news, Sephiroth: you're not."

Sephiroth stared at him, opening his mouth.

"You're not!"

He flinched, closing it again.

Angeal stood then. "Enough, both of you. Genesis, sit down. Sephiroth…" He looked at the younger SOLDIER, disappointment heavy in his tone. "You could've handled this better, Seph. I don't know what to tell you."

Sephiroth's jaw tightened, the only visible sign that Angeal's words had struck a nerve. They were not privy to the panic gripping his heart as he formulated the right words in his mind. "If I'm wrong, prove it in the field. But don't ask me to trust you when I know you'll hurt yourselves."

Genesis stormed out first, throwing open the door with the steel toe of his boot. Angeal followed moments later, sparing one last glance at Sephiroth—one of clear hurt, before sighing and following the redhead before slamming the door shut behind him.

Sephiroth sat alone for an hour after it, gaze fixed on his hands in his lap, flexing them over and over, remind himself that they were, at the end of the day, human hands. 

The days that followed were worse. Genesis refused to acknowledge Sephiroth's presence, and Angeal, though more restrained, was distant, his usual warmth replaced by basic professionalism. They spoke in clipped tones during briefings, ignored him in the training room, and shared quiet conversations with Genesis that stopped the moment he entered.

For Sephiroth, the isolation was a slow, festering wound. He told himself it was for the best. Had he put friendship—and dare he call it love—over reason, it would endanger them. It was better this way. Still, he couldn't stop the ache that settled in his chest when he saw them laughing together, the bond from which he was now excluded from. 

When the mission came, Sephiroth went alone.

The aftermath was bloody. Sephiroth had succeeded in the objective, but it came at a cost. He returned battered, shredded, not on his own feet carrying him, but a medical team. The blood seeping through his silver hair was more his own than the enemy's. 

Hojo oversaw Sephiroth's treatment, suturing torn flesh and monitoring his recovery under strict observation. The injuries weren't especially concerning—Sephiroth had returned in worse condition before, and Hojo himself had inflicted worse during experiments. Physically, Sephiroth was healing as expected, but his weakness this time was more psychological than physical.

When the door to the holding room slammed open, Angeal and Genesis bursting in, Hojo immediately understood the root of the issue.

Genesis looked furious, his eyes blazing, but it was Angeal who spoke first, his voice uncharacteristically sharp as they ignored Hojo's barks of protest and strode to Sephiroth's side. "What the hell were you thinking, going alone?" Angeal demanded.

Sephiroth looked at them from the bed, pale and exhausted but steady. "I thought it was for the best. I didn't want to endanger anyone else unnecessarily. I told you that."

Genesis' earlier anger was now edged with something raw, desperation bleeding through his scowl as his blue eyes welled with hot tears. "We didn't want you to get yourself killed, you bastard! Do you even realize—damn it—" He broke off, his voice cracking as he looked away.

Angeal placed a firm but gentle hand on Sephiroth's. "We were angry, yes. But you…you're one of us, Sephiroth. Don't you get that? You're part of this team, this family. You're not better, you're not worse. Families fight, but they don't abandon each other."

Sephiroth said nothing, his gaze flickering between them, uncharacteristically uncertain. Genesis seized the moment, his voice trembling: "That's why we wanted to come, you idiot," he said. "Glory be damned, Sephiroth. You may act like some insufferable god who always knows best, but you're flesh and—" his gaze swept over Sephiroth's bandaged, broken arm—"surprisingly brittle bone."

The weight of their reprimand should have kept him stoic, but a faint, unpracticed smile tugged at Sephiroth's lips. He missed them.

When he spoke, his voice was softer, hesitant, and painfully deliberate. "I… didn't mean to push you away. I thought…" He trailed off, carefully choosing his words, replaying them in his mind. "I thought it was better than dragging you down."

Genesis exhaled sharply, rubbing his face before throwing Angeal a quick glance. Then, turning back to Sephiroth, he said: "You're an idiot. A brilliant idiot, but still an idiot."

Sephiroth's faint smile twitched at the edges, but his next words came fearful and quiet. "Have I been forgiven?"

Angeal and Genesis exchanged another look, and the pause that followed cut deeper than Sephiroth expected. Then Angeal huffed, crossing his arms. "I think we're three parts of a whole by now," he told Genesis. "I can't handle you on my own."

Genesis' mouth fell open, affronted. "How dare—"

"Look," Angeal interrupted, turning his attention back to Sephiroth. "I understand you wanted to protect us. I even understand your intentions. But Sephiroth, you don't protect us by cutting us out. You protect us by letting us fight beside you."

Sephiroth's gaze shifted between them—these two who, against all odds, had become the anchor of his world—and the something heavy in his chest finally began to ease.

"I… may have miscalculated," he admitted.

Genesis rolled his eyes so dramatically it bordered on theatrical. "He may have miscalculated, he says. Angeal, our fearless leader has finally mastered the art of an understatement."

Sephiroth huffed a weak laugh as he struggled to sit up, biting back a grimace of pain. "The fates are cruel," he said.

And this time, Genesis' laughter carried no bitterness.

The only bitterness in the room came from Hojo's growled order to "release my specimen at once," but the SOLDIERs ignored him entirely. Angeal and Genesis leaned into the bed, wrapping Sephiroth in a careful embrace. Sephiroth winced but smiled, the pain a small price for their presence.

[aphroditelovesu]

Awake

❝commission: a oneshot that explores the relationship between y/n and some of the generals and or soldiers. I'm personally torn between a 'Cleitus wakes up' fic. — requested by 💻 anon.

❝ 📜 — lady l: I can't tell if I find this cute or distressing, maybe both? I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! 🩶

❝tw: slight angst.

❝word count: 1,670.

It was noisy outside. The soldiers’ voices mingled in a hubbub of conversation, loud laughter, and the sound of clinking glasses; the celebration seemed to grow longer with each passing second, like a wave of rising energy. The tumult could be heard for miles around, for this was a night of celebration — a rare occasion in wartime when everyone had a common reason to celebrate.

Cleitus was alive. Against all odds, even after Alexander's merciless attack, the man had held on. Wounded and exhausted, he now lay in the shadows of the medical tent, the smell of medicinal herbs and aged fabrics permeating the heavy air. It was there, under the care of the King’s own trusted physician, under your care, that he was recovering, his body still vulnerable but his spirit preserved — and, even though unconscious, life pulsed faintly but presently through his veins.

And it was all thanks to you. No one understood exactly how it had happened; how, amidst the chaos and bloodshed, you had managed to save Cleitus. Murmurs of your daring and skill circulated among the soldiers and servants, shrouded in awe and distrust. But the fact was undeniable: he was alive, despite the dire predictions. Although he had not yet regained consciousness, the mere fact that he was breathing was cause enough for celebration.

But while the others celebrated, you remained motionless, sitting in the shadows of the tent, facing the cot where Cleitus rested. The darkness seemed to taper around you, filled only by the regular, fragile sound of his breathing. It was as if a current of anguish was rising through your body, slow and relentless, squeezing your heart with invisible fingers.

He was safe, yes. You had saved him and you knew it. But then, why was there that weight on your conscience, that nagging feeling that something terrible had been done? The memories of history hammered at your mind, insistent. From what you knew, Cleitus should have died at the hands of Alexander. His fate was death that night, a tragic and inevitable part of history. But now everything was changed. You had interfered, diverted the course of time — the natural balance of things had been disrupted.

And it wasn’t just any life you had spared. It was Cleitus, a man who, despite his outward toughness, carried an immense loyalty to the king and, in a way, to you as well. He had stood up for you, protecting you in a situation that would undoubtedly cost you dearly. For that reason, you simply couldn’t allow them to let him die. He was more than just a historical figure to you; he was someone you had learned to respect and consider a friend.

The dilemma seemed to pierce your soul. How could you allow history to take its course, letting someone who was important to you be killed in such a brutal and cruel way?

You couldn't.

It was strange to think about it: history itself had already begun to distort itself before you saved Cleitus, before each of your interventions. Alexander shouldn't have cared about you, much less "proposed" a union that would seal your presence with him forever. It was an unthinkable, dangerous idea that was already altering the course of things.

So where was the real weight of your guilt? Was there any point in questioning your interference now, when that whole era was far from how you knew it from the books? Perhaps Cleitus's destiny had already been changed from the first moment you arrived, from the first look Alexander had given you with an indomitable gleam in his eyes. Perhaps he was saved not only by your hands, but by a new destiny that both of you were creating every day.

Or perhaps it was the work of some sadistic god.

It was no secret that there were rumors in the camp. Whispers ran through the hallways of the tents, escaped from the campfires, were whispered among the soldiers, servants, and slaves. They admired what you had done. In their eyes, you were no longer a foreigner, a barbarian, who had appeared out of nowhere; you were the woman who had faced your own fate to save Cleitus. A feat worthy of honor, worthy of respect.

These men, so accustomed to the brutality of battle, who saw death as an inevitable companion, now looked at you with a mixture of awe and reverence. It was as if, in a single action, you had earned everyone's respect, an almost heroic figure to those who, not long ago, didn't even know your name.

But this admiration only deepened the knot in your chest. What they saw as heroism, you saw as a mistake, a misstep that could trigger unimaginable consequences.

"(Y/N)?" The hoarse, slurred voice cut through the silence, bringing you back to the present like a blow of reality. Your heart skipped a beat, and your eyes widened as they fixed on Cleitus's figure.

He was awake.

Still pale and visibly weak, Cleitus half-opened his eyes with effort, blinking a few times as if trying to adjust to the soft light that filtered through the sides of the tent. There was a vague confusion in his gaze, a mixture of pain and astonishment. It was clear that he was still recovering, the features of his face carrying the exhaustion of someone who had fought between life and death.

For a moment, you stood paralyzed, unable to find words, while he tried to focus his vision on you. Each second seemed like an entire universe, filled with emotions that you could barely name.

"I..." Your mouth went dry and you shook your head. You didn’t know what to say, what to feel.

Cleitus, his expression grim, tried to stand up, but the movement made his entire body protest. A low groan escaped his lips, his face contorting as he pressed a hand to the wound. Still closed and bandaged, but far from healed, the pain was still a vivid reminder of the attack by the man he admired.

"Don't strain yourself, Cleitus." You murmured, almost without realizing it, instinctively reaching out to grab his shoulder and stop him from moving any further. Your touch seemed to calm him, and he relaxed back against the cot, the muscles in his face softening slightly as he tried to catch his breath.

Cleitus's dark eyes locked with yours, a silent, contemplative weight in his gaze. He sighed, a long, weary sound, as the fragments of the past rearranged themselves in his mind, forming the painful mosaic of that fateful night. The banquet, the laughter, the lively conversations, the rich and fragrant food, the unexpected announcement of the wedding... And then, the chaos. The violent attack, the betrayal that had almost cost him his life.

Cleitus frowned, his eyebrows drawing together in an expression of sincere concern as he studied your face. "Are you okay?" His voice, still weak, carried a concern that made him ignore his own pain for a moment. Even after everything he had suffered, there he was, worrying about you.

The question took you by surprise. He, who had almost lost his life, was there asking if you were okay. For a moment, you wanted to laugh, perhaps to ease the weight of the situation, but the sound got stuck in your throat.

"I..." You hesitated, trying to find an answer that didn’t sound absurd. It was a simple question, but it seemed to carry all the weight of the guilt and doubts that hammered in your mind. You had defied fate, broken the lines of what was supposed to happen and, in a way, you were feeling lost amidst the whirlwind of consequences. And now, with Cleitus looking directly into your eyes, this barrier of defense seemed increasingly fragile.

"I... Just wanted to make sure you were okay." You finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at you for a few more moments, absorbing your words, and then nodded slightly, as if he understood something that not even you had fully understood.

Cleitus took your hand in his and squeezed it lightly, your fingers gently touching. Cleitus touch was warm and firm, despite the evident weakness. He wrapped his hand around yours, his fingers squeezing yours gently, almost reverently. The warmth that radiated from his touch seemed to dissolve, even if only for a brief moment, all the tension you had been carrying since that chaotic night.

Cleitus smiled, a genuine smile full of gratitude, which lit up your tired face, softening the lines of pain and fatigue. It was a smile that spoke more than any words could. He didn't need to know everything that moved you to thank him — all the fears, the doubts, and the guilt you still carried for having interfered.

"Thank you." He said, and that was enough.

A soft laugh escaped your lips, and you smiled back at him, feeling the tension slowly dissolve from your body. For the first time in so long, you felt light, a sense of peace and happiness nestling in your chest. Amidst the chaos, the battles, and the uncertainties of being lost in a time that wasn't yours, there was finally a safe haven.

"That's what friends are for, isn't it?" You murmured, your smile widening. The word seemed to vibrate with a special meaning, something rare and precious in that place. Friends.

Amidst a time full of uncertainty, distrust, and danger, you had found something as simple and profound as friendship. He smiled in response, and in that moment, all the confusion, the weight of decisions, and the uncertainties about the future seemed to disappear. Cleitus was more than a warrior or a character from a distant story; he was your friend, someone who cared, who had risked everything for you.

And now, in the midst of all this madness, you had done the same for him. And, you knew now, you would do it all again.

[foundtherightwords]

Fallen Empires - Chapter 6

Pairing: Geta x OFC

Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

Chapter warnings: none (just a brief mention of arousal... things are heating up between Daphne and Geta!)

Chapter word count: 3.6k

Prologue + Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Chapter 6

It was almost the ides of June. The weather grew unbearably hot. Geta had toured extensively in the Eastern provinces, but it had always been in the comfort of an imperial convoy, with litters and tents for stops along the way and marble palaces to rest in once he reached his destination. Even when marching with the army, he'd never had to deal with such blistering heat. The elevation of the hill did little to help. The sun beat down so relentlessly that the rocky ground became quite literally baked and remained warm even long after the sun had set.

Due to the heat, Daphne now did all her work at dawn and in the evening, when the heat was more tolerable. During the day, she retreated inside the hut, where the mud-brick walls provided some relief. This meant she was a constant presence around Geta these days, and he was rather uneasy about it. Why he should feel uneasy about her, he didn't know. He no longer suspected her of duplicity and betrayal. If anything, he'd grown to trust her. Yet her presence put him on edge, and he found himself watching her while she moved about the hut, working on her potions and poultices or practicing her lettering. She had made some labels for the garden by scratching plant names on thin, flat pieces of pine board, and was now working on the labels for her medicine by stitching letters onto long ribbons to be wrapped around the jars.

When he offered to teach her to read and write, he'd only wanted something to occupy his mind, something to divert him from the tiring thought of retribution and punishment. To his surprise, he had rather enjoyed it, perhaps because it was the only time he could tell her what to do. He had enjoyed teaching her to play draughts as well, even though she was annoyingly good at it. In the army, the soldiers would sometimes challenge each other or place bets on games of draughts, to make them more exciting. Daphne could've cleaned out any of them.

He told himself he enjoyed her company simply because it was the only company to be had for miles around, other than the goats and the donkey. It was true that she was nothing special. She was only a peasant woman, with simple thoughts and simple feelings. And she wasn't even attractive. Her chin was too pointy, her nose too long, her mouth too large. Her figure—what he could see of it, swathed in layers of voluminous linen to combat against the sun—was too thin, all sharp bones and hard muscles developed from her trek up and down the hill, with none of the soft curves Roman women often boasted about. Only those green eyes promised some beauty, but they were so frank, so displeasing in their open stare that Geta sometimes had to turn away from them, afraid they could see to his very core and lay bare all the lies and the guilt, wriggling there like maggots.

The only time her eyes had looked at him with some softness was after the encounter with that odious father of hers, and even then it had only been briefly.

Perhaps that was why he enjoyed teaching her. She wasn't looking at him then. Instead, he could watch her frowning in concentration under the lamplight, her long lashes lowering as she bent over the wax tablet. He didn't have to worry about catching her eyes.

Damnation. For someone who didn't like her eyes, he certainly spent a lot of time thinking about them.

But what else was there to think about? Thinking about his would-be assassin and the conspirators got him nowhere, and thinking about Rome and the constant grumbling of the Senate only exhausted him. Even the possibility of conquering Parthia no longer held much appeal. He might have managed to sack Arbela, but the Parthians had proved to be formidable adversaries, and in his current state, he could never face them. He'd never realized before how tiring and tired it all was, this constant warring and conquest and ruling. So he turned away from them and thought of something else, something more pleasant.

One morning, he was up before his usual time. He went outside, intending to make the best of the cooler air by putting in some hours of sparring at the pine grove, when he spied movements in the garden. It was very early—only a border of pale pink snaked along the horizon, while the sky and the rest of the world were still covered in a bluish-gray veil, and some remnant of the night air was still lingering amongst the stones, not yet melted away under the sun—too early for anyone else to be about. His hand immediately went to the hilt of the dagger that had never left his side, a reminder of how close he'd come to death. He crept around the side of the hut to come up to the garden from the back, so whoever was there would not see him.

It was a woman, dressed in a short saffron tunic. She was moving between the garden rows, shaking the branches of the olive trees above them. Dewdrops fell from the branches, glittering around her like diamonds, splashing on the plants below. At the end of a row, she turned around and saw him.

"Kalimera," she said, using the usual Greek morning greeting. "You're up early."'

It was Daphne. She must have gotten up before him, and he hadn't noticed her empty cot in the front room when he went out.

For a moment, he stood transfixed. It was Daphne and yet not Daphne. Without her usual stole and mantle, she was no longer the dour woman always hurrying from one place to another, worry permanently etched on her brow. Standing before him was a fresh-faced girl, skin rosy and eyes sparkling in the light of the breaking dawn, disarmingly, magically smiling.

"So are you," he said, once he'd found his voice again. "What are you doing?"

"Watering the garden. Out here we have to make use of every bit of moisture we can get." She shook another olive tree as she spoke, and ducked away from the ensuing sprinkle.

"Why don't you just let the dew fall on its own?"

"No, it'll disappear when the sun rises. You must catch it at the right time, when the air is warm enough for the dewdrops to form, but not too warm that they melt away." She glanced at him. "Want to help?"

Geta was no gardener, but he had to admit this was rather sensible. He shrugged, put the dagger back into its sheath, and joined Daphne. Grabbing hold of one of the olive trees, he gave it a vigorous shake, bringing down a shower of not just dewdrops but old leaves and dead branches as well. Daphne laughed.

"Not so hard," she admonished. "Stay away from the branch, or all of the dew will fall on you and none on the garden. And shake it gently, like shaking ripe fruits from a tree." She gave the tree a firm but quick shake. Geta, who had never shaken ripe fruits from any tree, followed suit. "That's the way."

Nodding in approval, Daphne plucked the leaves out of his curls and brushed the dew from his forehead, her gesture natural as if she wasn't even thinking about it. Only when her fingers grazed his skin and their eyes met that she seemed to realize what she was doing. She dropped her hand and turned away, coloring slightly.

As they went down the garden path side by side, working together in silence, Geta kept glancing at Daphne. Something about her was different. It wasn't just because she had left off her usual covering and was showing a body that was unexpectedly lithe and elegant, with long, slender limbs and rounded shoulders. It wasn't just because her hair had caught on a branch and come loose from its usual tight knot, and was now framing her face like a soft cloud. It wasn't just because she, too, was stealing glances at him, her eyes no longer staring and critical, but with a curiosity that matched his own, and a gentleness that made him think of peaceful green hills and calming rivers again. It wasn't just because the rising sun was making her skin glow, reminding him of the rosy-fingered Aurora in her robe of saffron, hastening from the streams of Okeanos to bring light to mortals and immortals, just like Homer had written.

Confound the woman. Why did she always turn him into a bloody poet?

It wasn't because of any of those things, or perhaps it was because of all of them. He'd thought her just a simple peasant woman, but perhaps there was something confounding in her after all. She was like these rocky hills where she grew up, harsh and forbidding at first glance, but soft and nurturing to those who knew what to search for and where to look.

He didn't get any sparring done that morning, but he didn't mind.

The heat continued relentlessly and showed no sign of letting up. One evening, Geta could take it no more and went into the garden, intending to have a swim in the cistern.

"Where are you going?" Daphne asked, looking up from the wax tablet.

He told her. She looked appalled.

"You can't!" she exclaimed. "We must save the water for cooking and drinking. Not to mention that your lungs cannot stand being in such cold, they may get inflamed again—"

"Fine, fine," he said impatiently. He'd learned that when Daphne put her healer's voice on, it was best not to argue with her. "I only want a bath, is that too much to ask?" Daphne had never given him more than a basin of water, which sufficed for washing but not enough to cool him down in this infernal heat. He didn't know how Daphne could stand it. Even in her layers and layers of linen, she always appeared cool and fresh.

Now she got to her feet. "All right, I suppose you can have a bath. But inside, mind."

She dragged into the hut a wooden washtub, just large enough for a grown man to sit in, and set it by the fire, where the embers were still glowing weakly after cooking their supper. Geta expected her to fill the tub and was greatly disappointed when she only set down two buckets.

"That's all?" he said glumly.

"You have to get used to it. We're on the edge of a desert, you know," said Daphne sternly, as she set a pot of water on the fire and added a handful of dried herb to it. The water boiled, and the herb gave off a pleasant scent, so clean and fresh that it seemed to chase the heat away despite the boiling pot. With a start, Geta recognized it as the scent he'd always smelled on Daphne.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Soapwort," said Daphne, pouring the fragrant concoction into one of the buckets, and the water immediately started to froth. "We have no bath oils here, so this is what we use for washing." She put down a washcloth and a towel on a stool next to the tub. "Right. That's everything you need. I'll just be outside if you want anything." She picked up her wax tablet and a lamp and went out, tactfully closing the door behind her.

Geta had bathed this way while on active campaign with the army, so despite his grumbling, he managed to acquit himself quite well. Sitting in the tub, he used a dipper to pour the soapwort water over his body then scrubbed himself with the washcloth as best he could. There wasn't nearly as much water as he'd like, but it felt good to get thoroughly clean for the first time in months. As he lifted his arm to reach behind his back, however, a groan escaped him. The wound on his shoulder was still sore, the skin and muscles stiffened despite his exercising, and he couldn't reach far enough behind him to scrub his own back.

After a few tries and grumbles of frustration, he gave up and called out for Daphne.

She came in at once. "What do you need?"

"My back—I can't reach—" he mumbled, awkwardly covering himself with the towel. It was ridiculous. He'd never had any qualms about appearing naked in front of others—indeed, in his youth in Rome, he had attended many feasts and orgies where nudity was the accepted uniform—so why was he suddenly uncomfortable about being unclothed in front of this woman?

Daphne seemed to have noticed his discomfort. "Don't worry," she said, chuckling. "It's nothing that I haven't seen. Who do you think washed you while you were delirious with fever?" Her lighthearted tone did nothing to set him at ease.

She took the washcloth he put on the edge of the tub and started scrubbing his back in vigorous, practiced movements. No maidenly blushing, no modest lowering of the eye. At such a complete lack of bashfulness, Geta's own embarrassment subsided.

"You're probably used to a more civilized form of bathing than this, I imagine," she said.

Geta thought of the bathhouses of Rome with their many rooms and pools of various temperatures, with their masseuses and strigil-wielding slaves. One of those had been built in his name just shortly before he left for the East. They had their uses, but like most things in Rome, they were also temples to hedonism and excesses, where people came to do much more than just bathing. He wouldn't exactly call them civilized.

"I'm in the army," now he said with a shrug. "We're lucky if we get to bathe at all."

"Where were you before Parthia?" Daphne asked. Then she quickly added, "I didn't mean to pry. You don't have to tell me."

"It's all right." He was sick of keeping secrets. "I was in Germania. And Caledonia before that."

The washcloth stopped moving on his back. "You were in Caledonia?" Daphne asked, her voice hushed.

 He cursed under his breath. She probably had an acquaintance in the army. A brother, a sweetheart, or a husband? But if she did, it would have been—what, eight, ten years ago? Her acquaintance would likely have been in the auxiliaries, one of the troops offered up by King Abgar VIII to prove his loyalty to Rome, back when Osroene still had some form of independence and was not yet a province.

To confirm his suspicion, Daphne continued, "Do you know anyone from the auxiliary forces there at all?"

"No, not really," replied Geta. It was the truth. His father had dragged him and his brother to Caledonia to take them away from the decadence of Rome, in the hope of mending their dissolute ways and teaching them how to rule. It hadn't worked. Even when Geta became sole Emperor, though he tried to mingle with the troops and marched and ate and fought with them, he could never be one of them. The soldiers always viewed him with a certain suspicion, more fear than respect. He didn't mind, as long as they didn't question his authority. And that was with the legions. The provincial auxiliaries were essentially strangers to him.

"Why do you ask?" now he said to Daphne.

"My husband," she replied in an expressionless voice.

Her husband? Geta thought of the tunics he'd been wearing, of her strange behavior the day he first got out of bed. That explained it. He found himself wondering what the man had been like. Must have been a good one, since Daphne obviously still mourned him.

The thought of mourning reminded Geta of his predicament. Who would mourn him? Had they given him up for dead and mourned already? Had he been replaced? No, he couldn't believe that. At least his mother would never, not until she saw his body with her own eyes. Unless the army informed her of his disappearance, she may believe that he was still Edessa. He hoped it was true. Knowing his mother, she would've torn the Earth apart searching for him if she'd known. Macrinus must be keeping the truth from her. He felt the old anger flaring up again. What in Hades was Macrinus doing, sitting about twiddling his thumbs? Why hadn't they found him by now?

"He was killed in Caledonia, eight years ago," Daphne continued in that same flat tone, though he thought he could detect a trembling touch in it, like she was trying not to cry. "Or so I was told."

"We lost a lot of men in Caledonia," he said, as if that could be any comfort. The Caledonian campaign had been a success at first, but then the barbarian tribes, with their primitive but devastating tactics, had driven the Roman force behind Hadrian's Walls. Then his father had died in Eboracum, and Geta had no longer seen a point in pursuing the tribes. He'd had more pressing matters, such as his brother's presence and growing ambition like a thorn in his side. He'd hurried back to Rome to secure his power, leaving the Caledonians to their cold and misty land, thinking nothing about the lives that had been wasted in a campaign that led nowhere.

"I never find out what happened to him," Daphne said. She began scrubbing again, so hard it almost hurt him, but he made no sound. "Just a message saying he was killed. I don't even know when he was killed, or how long that message took to reach me. That's why I asked. I was hoping you could tell me something. Anything."

He didn't turn around, but he could hear the grief, despair, and resignation in her voice, and feel a strange little twinge in his heart. When his father decided to lift the ban on marriage for soldiers, Geta had gone along with it, believing it would raise morale and make them more popular with the army. But now, listening to Daphne, he was no longer so certain. Let the men have their fun with the camp followers and the local women of the garrison towns, but allow them to marry and leave behind wives to grieve and wonder for the rest of their lives like this? It was cruel.

Daphne dropped her hand on the edge of the tub. It looked small, vulnerable, like the wing of a wounded bird, so unlike the strong, capable hands he was used to. Without thinking, he reached out and placed his hand on top, his fingers fitting perfectly in the dips between hers.

She took in a small, sharp breath. Her hand flexed gently under his, as if she was trying to feel its grasp more thoroughly. Before he could stop himself, he was caressing her hand, running his fingertips over her knuckles. Something smooth—her forehead, or perhaps her cheek—came to rest on his bare back, and a slow, shuddering breath, like a quiet, choked-back sob, escaped her lips, blowing hot against his skin.

His heart thumped. She had never sat so close to him, had never touched him in any way other than medically; yet here she was, practically embracing him, her hand in his, her face pressed into his back, her hair tickling his shoulder blades, and that earthy, enchanting fragrant was everywhere, until he didn't know if it was coming from him or her or the very air around them.

One thing he did know: he was becoming aroused. And it wasn't the purely physical type of arousal he usually got upon waking up in the morning. He was aroused by her.

Even though she was behind and could not see him, he froze, not daring to move a muscle lest the traitorous towel chose that moment to shift and reveal his condition to her.

Hades. What was the matter with him? He, who used to think nothing about pulling a serving girl out of a banquet and having his way with her in the anteroom before sauntering back in time for the second course, he who had had camp followers fighting for a place in his tent at night while on campaign, was now blushing and squirming in the presence of a woman, like a boy still wearing a bulla around his neck!

Daphne seemed to have noticed his tension, for she lifted her head from his back—much to his regret—and leaned down. "Is everything all right?" she asked with professional concern. "The water's not too cold for you, is it?"

Her mouth was right by his ear, close enough to touch. Hades. This was more than a man could endure.

"Everything's fine," he said, snatching the washcloth from her. "I can manage now."

She sat back, clearly put out by his brusque tone, but when he started scrubbing his chest with rather too much force than necessary, she only said, "Careful, or you may tear your wounds open again," in the same wry tone she often used with him, and went out again, taking along the pot of leftover soapwort.

Chapter 7

A bulla is an amulet worn by Ancient Roman boys before they came of age.

Soldiers in Ancient Rome were forbidden to marry while on active duty (though this didn't apply to centurions and higher-ups), but Severus Septimius did lift that ban in 197.

Taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92, @justnobodynothingmore, @barcelonaloverf1life, @myotakureprieve, @flawssy-227, @itsrainingbisexualfrogs (if you want to be tagged or removed, let me know!)

[astralcentralstation]

Worldbuilding H/C: Soulmates

So this will be just be the general head-canons about how the different cultures in HSR would be structures in a soulmate AU (alias how soulmates influenced laws and cultures), and how the playable characters view them. I will later add a image for each character. When we are induced to new cultures in the game i might add a part 2 to this.

Soulmates are general confirmed and accepted, nobody is really denying that they exist. But depending on who your soulmate is you might find stark differences in how they will view you and what is expected of you. For given that soulmates are confirmed for centuries, this knowledge shaped societies -some in culture, some even in law. Each planet has they own way of doing this.

Overall it is believed that the soulmate marks where blessing send out by the Aeons, a gift that all of them send out in junction. These soulmates have three parts; The first is Sign -a physical mark on the body -each match have a tattoo that both of them have since birth, absolute matching one-another in shape and placement. Second is Recognition -there is a instinctive bond between soulmates to protect and trust. Not enough to control once actions, but enough to sway the undecided. Hereby it doesn't matter if they even know their soulmate is involved -if for example a ship is in danger, and a soulmate has a match on that ship without knowing or any indications, the soulmate will lean towards protecting the ship. The last is different for each race; Protection will give what a match needs to stay together. If one soulmate ages slower than the other, their match will age normally till they reach the physical age of their soulmate, then have their aging slow down to the same space. If a soulmates race has a special ability like breathing under water or immunity to fire, then that will carry over.

In Belebog soulmates rarely found each other, what with the Eternal Freeze and later even with the ban between Under- and Overworld. Therefore people will be pretty open to marry somebody who is not their soulmate. That is if you haven't meet or have already lost their soulmate. If someone were to pursue someone else while their match is right next to them it would still turn some confused heads. But it isn't unheard of. Still, finding your match is considered special. The Landau Siblings, Gepard and Serval are a bit out the norm, wanting to wait for their soulmates. They haven't mentioned it to their parents, neither wanting to deal with the backlash and pressure to continue the family line -in fact they haven't even told each other. As for Bronya a romantic partner had not even been on the table till her soulmate shows up. From there on she feels lost, she doesn't want to let go of this possibility, but she also have no idea what to do with a soulmate. Others who would be blindsided by a match showing up where Natasha and Seele. Nat doesn't think she deserves a soulmate, her match has to convince her to give them a chance. Seele meanwhile had regarded finding a match as a fairy tale scenario, highly unlikely -even if she claimed to wait for them to stop her admirers. It was only a line, you know. Sampo is open-minded to finding a soulmate, but isn't searching or waiting. Pela used to believe she would find her soulmate and was ready to fight for that. Then she was sent to the frontlines of the Eternal Freeze and decided to give up and focus on reality.

(Characters: Gepard Serval Bronya Natasha Seele Sampo)

People of the Xianzhou Alliance are the complete opposite. They believe that matches are scared and married from birth. It is not only outlawed, but unthinkable to be with anyone outside the Bond. Soulmates are often refers to as Kindreds. Found matches will usually move together that very same day. Exceptions are made for kids, in which case they will have constantly alternating sleepovers. Xianzhou and Foxians share they longevity with they matches, while Vidyadhara share they reincarnation-cycle ability. One would think that make it easier to find their match, and really each ship has they citizens register their Signs and there is open communications to help everyone find their spouse. But there is also a danger in that; matches are thought to be one of mind. Which means if a crime is committed, both soulmates receive the sentence. So if your aging acts up be careful, you don't know what your soulmate was up to. 'You didn't know' will not hold in front of their laws. However if you are the soulmate of Jing Yuan, Fu Xuan or Yukong, it's up to school with you. As their Kindred you are considered their second in command and must learn their people's law and train in combat. Yanqing's soulmate will face similar, but as he is still in training himself, it will be more relaxed. Each of them will of course be with you every step of the way. Sushang is currently searching for you. Tingyun is content to wait for you, she collets trinkets over the years to gift you when you finally meet. Qingque has only just returned from a Search so she is currently focusing on her own life, but she has diaries about her searches she plans to gift her soulmate. Loucha is more a nomad, so he doesn't consider you his spouse yet and fully plans to woe you off your feet, but he has high regard for the soulmate traditions of the Xianzhou and might be quickly influenced by them. Just keep in mind to set boundaries early with any of them, they respect you to much to overstep even if those boundaries are things they are unfamiliar with.

(Characters: Jing Yuan Fu Xuan Yukong Yanqing Sushang Tingyun Qingque Loucha)

Space-Nomads have an interesting case where either each member of the group stays true to their home world's culture or a group has developed their own soulmate culture while traveling together. Other space nomads go with a mix of the two. But overall they experienced enough other cultures that they will have no problem adjusting to their soulmate's culture.

The Nameless mostly go by their home-world's culture, mainly since the culture that Pom-Pom says used to exist on the Express died before Himeko rediscovered said train. Still there are things they picked up from the conductor. Like calling Soulmates 'Soulcompasses' or just one's 'Compass'. Also, Pom-Pom considers each Nameless' match another guest of the Express and will cry if they don't board and travel with them. March 7 pretty much adopted his approach since she has no homeworld-culture to fall back on; in her mind a couple could take as long as they wanted to get together, as long both trailblazed together. Himeko is close to this ideal as well, but she wouldn't pressure someone into coming along. She can always visit with stories and souvenirs in tow. Her homeworld-culture teaches that no relationship is to be taken for granted, you don't own your soulmate, and sometimes they don't work out and that is okay. Welt is undecided on the tropic of soulmates, he has seen a lot. A soulmate is kind of unreal, but he won't push you away. The people of his world believe soulmates always work, but sometimes they don't work out right away. People are shaped by experiences. This means that at times matches can know each other for before they klick or even like each other. That being said he would never let anything happen to you if he could prevent it. Dan Heng has no problem connecting his heritage with the Express traditions, but from his experience traveling different worlds decides to give his 'Kindred Compass' the control on how fast the relationship goes. That said he is desperately hunting for his soulmate. Who knows what happen if they go to Loufu searching for him? He has to find them to at least warn them. The Trailblazer meanwhile, having no culture to remember, just adopts everybody's culture. Soulmates confuse them, but finding one's compass is good, yes?

(Characters Himeko Welt Yang March 7 Dan Heng Stelle Caelus)

Then you have the Stellaron Hunters. These guys are okay to play around or even marry prior to meeting their soulmate. But once they do, whatever relationship they had prior is over. No buts. Given how much they deal with the 'script', they will know when they will meet you and be ready a day or two early. They call the day of the meeting Destiny Call. Kafka confused everyone by bringing flowers to a fight the day she was to meet you. Silver Wolf thinks that is coming on too strong, but still makes sure to look her best on her Destiny Call. In contrast Blade will try to get a rise out of his soulmate the first time you meet. In his mind, his Fated One should know what they are getting into. They do take their other half a tad for granted, but that doesn't mean their aren't prepared to woe you for years to come.

(Characters: Kafka Silver Wolf Blade)

Now the crew of Herta's Space-Station all exclusively go by their home-world traditions. Except Herta herself. Herta has a pop-quiz ready that she will jump at you the moment she knows that you are her soulmate and make a plan based on your answers. Asta's world is neutral towards soulmates, but you only ever gift pearls or chocolate to a soulmate. So a relationship with her would be pretty normal. Except she won't stand for anyone giving you chocolate or you giving cholate out, not even to kids. Arlan has a plan on how to woe his soulmate -it goes flying out of the window the second he meets you. At his home planet you place your soulmate first before everything. There are laws against hurting one's soulmate, so he takes this very serious. Also, unlike some planets, Signs are thought as intimate, usually covered up. So if his soulmate were to show them off, he would be a blushing mess.

(Characters: Herta Asta Arlan)

[milliesfishes]

Hii! First I wanted to tell you that I've been reading almost every fic you posted and, omg, I love all of them! I really like your style, your writing is really good! 💖

I was wondering if you are okay with me sharing an idea with you. You don't have to write it if you don't like it!

I was thinking about something where Billy and reader are in a relationship but she struggles with showing affection. She does love Billy, of course, but she just can't show physical affection. Every time they kiss, when they hold hands, when they hug, it is always Billy who initiates the physical contact. Maybe she isn't able to do it because she has a trauma or she was never shown love during her childhood... or maybe she's just a tough girl, idk, it could be anything. Billy understands her and waits for her to learn, that's why he always is kissing her, hugging her, etc (of course she's okay with it, he would never do something she doesn't want him to do) but imagine his surprise when one day she touches his hair and caresses it, then another day she hugs him from behind when he's working on something, then when they're walking down the street she grabs his hand... his heart would be this 👌 close to exploding omg he loves her so much and she's finally learning how to show him she loves him too 😭

꣑ৎ౨ৎOrdinary Things꣑ৎ౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: pure fluff <3 pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: you have a hard time initiating touch and billy shows you how author’s note: anon, this is the sweetest thing, and you’re the sweetest thing and I’ve been thinking about this ever since you sent it <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Easing you in. That's what Billy reminded himself to do with you, always. Ease you in.

He didn’t mean to baby you, not really. It just came so naturally. Like right now, he had you in bed with your head on his chest while he ran his fingers through your hair, soothing you to sleep.

If you’d been dropped on his lap directly from heaven you couldn’t have been more perfect. Achingly sweet with a heart of gold, you brightened his life like nobody else had. No words could properly express his adoration, no description ever seemed to be enough.

He would put you in his pocket if he could. The day you walked into his life, you changed it forever and he had absolutely no desire to go back to whatever baseless existence he’d been floating around in beforehand.

Unfortunately, even though love was perfect, that meant nothing else could be.

As time and trust stacked on top of each other and built you enough courage, you confessed to Billy the nature of your past. Manipulation and less than ideal tactics had ruled your being for a lot longer than he’d been around. You were naturally sweet, and it was a miracle your wonder hadn’t been squashed by the demeaning nature in which you’d been raised.

Truly, you were miraculous. He could never dream of seeing you any other way. The fact that you knew how to love at all was nothing short of amazing. Billy thanked higher powers every day for that, even if there were other things that were difficult.

Due to your rough upbringing, you struggled the most with touching in any capacity. At first it had been harder. He’d reach for you and you’d flinch just a little, which was disheartening, but he knew it wasn’t about him. There were ghosts in front of your eyes.

With patience and coaxing, you were able to move past that. You allowed his touches, even encouraged them, came to be comforted by them. His happiness at this fact could not be understated. Because Billy loved touching you in any way; holding you, kissing you, hugging you. It was his protective nature, but also his way of showing love.

And he never wanted you to doubt that he loved you.

For where you’d been, you’d come a long way. As his fingers brushed through your hair, he was reminded of that. A year ago it would have been unthinkable, having you like this with your head on his chest, his heart beating against your ear.

It was onto the next stage now.

A product of the rejection you’d faced in your childhood, you were never the initiator of any touching. Hand holding, kisses, hugging. Even with how you were right now, he’d pulled you in and you hadn’t resisted. Anything that had happened before had been a result of him reading you and recognizing that you wanted to be touched. But you’d never admit it.

Exhausting his options in his head over and over, Billy resolved that the only right thing to do in this scenario was to love on you. To give you constant affection and get you used to it and show you it was okay.

And that was the easy part. Whenever he had an opportunity to be touching you he was. In public it could be subtle as an arm around your shoulders, or his fingers intertwined with yours. Every little bit helped.

When you were alone, he gave you even more, his arms encircling you nearly always. Gentle kisses were pressed to every inch of you, accompanied by muttered words that made you smile. He was pulling you onto his lap at every chance, showing you that it was okay, that he wanted you to touch him, but also that he was okay with waiting for you to be completely comfortable.

It had taken a lot of build up to be able to get the opportunity to make love to you for the first time, and it was not something he’d taken lightly. Billy knew that it was a privilege he could not mess up for the fear of scaring you away. So he’d taken it as slow as he could, making sure to tell you how beautiful you were, to make his movements careful, to make sex out to be a positive thing. It turned out to be another stepping stone that brought you closer to him, which he was thankful for.

After that first night, you became clingy. Billy was more than happy to accommodate this, enjoying the warm kisses and morning cuddles that came along. But still, it was always him reaching out first, him running his hand along your back and getting you to roll over.

And that was okay. For you, his girl, his baby, his angel, he’d wait a million years and then some. He knew in your heart you were a lover, just like him, and you weren’t withholding this side of you out of cruelty. It just didn’t occur to you. Maybe it was even a way of protecting yourself.

So in the meantime, right here in his bed he relished your presence, the way you were swaddled in his sheets so comfortably, bare underneath and trying to be modest. It was endearing, more adorable than anything in the world. With one arm under you and holding you close and the other still stroking your hair, he kissed your head and whispered, “I love you.”

Time was on the side of all things good and true, and Billy knew that well.

Living an oulaw’s life, he had long given up on the idea of having a girl, let alone one so good as you.

When he met you riding in the rain one day, he’d fallen hard and fast and nearly right away. But he hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Now, a year later, he couldn’t imagine what his life would be without you.

You had enchanted him, captivated his whole being; body, mind, and soul. Nothing he’d experienced had ever come close to the feeling of even being near you.

Until you finally touched him first.

It had been ever so casual. The two of you had been relaxing side by side under one of your favorite spots under a tree in a nearby meadow. He had one arm loosely looped around you, sticking to his idea of keeping you close.

Then he felt your fingers in his hair, touching him hesitantly, then more purposefully. He froze, but didn’t react too much in fear of startling you.

You had never done anything like that before. Since he was touching you on your midsection, normally you would have only touched him there too, a sort of give and take.

But here you were, fingers running contently through his curls, which he was thankful he’d washed recently. He smiled to himself, and nuzzled a little more into you because it felt so good.

That was the first fruit of his labors.

The next happened when he was outside, mending a fence on the property. It was close to sundown, and already he could see the sky starting to turn pink and orange and purple.

Billy heard your soft footsteps behind him, and he was about to say something when suddenly he felt a soft pair of arms wrap around his waist, and then you were pressed to his back. With your head between his shoulder blades he could have sworn he felt a kiss buried there.

He wanted to laugh or cry tears of joy but he didn’t. Determinedly casual, he allowed a smile since you couldn’t see him, and said, “Hey, baby. Doin’ alright?”

You nodded into his back. “Uh huh.”

Right away he finished what he was doing with the fence and turned around, sliding his arms around you and picking you up off your feet so you were at eye level. He pecked your nose, his happiness nearly brimming over. “Hi pretty.”

“Hi,” you smiled shyly and he could have melted.

Shifting you so his hand was under your bottom and your legs were encircling him, he kissed you softly, once. “You hungry? I can make us something.”

That made you smile. “And we can cuddle afterward?”

Oh it was like you were trying to turn him into a stuttering puddle of pure joy. “Yeah honey,” he murmured, giving you another kiss for that. “We’ll cuddle all night.”

You had finally touched him first.

But, ever the realist, he waited a bit before not counting it as a fluke. Of course he trusted you and loved you but he also didn’t want to be unrealistic, wanting to meet you where you were at, not where he wanted you to be.

Then one day when the two of you were walking through town you reached for his hand, holding it firmly once it was in your grasp. And that night in bed after putting your nightdress on, you crawled over to him and fitted your body between his legs so you could rest your head on his chest, knowing he loved holding you that way.

The next morning, when he woke, he started to stroke your hair, the memories of the previous night warming him from the inside out, his heart fuller than ever.

It nearly burst when you looked up sleepily and leaned in to kiss him once, those big baby doll eyes looking up at him almost questioningly after.

Billy wouldn’t have been able to hold back his smile if he wanted to.

He slid his hand to the back of your head and pressed another series of kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your nose; anywhere he could reach.

You giggled a little, keeping your arms around his neck as he took you around the waist and rolled you over so he was hovering over you for better access. “Billy…what’s this for?”

He kissed you once on the mouth, his eyes roving over yours with a tenderness he couldn’t have described. “I love you.”

Softly, you let your hand slide up and tangle in his hair, and in your smile he somehow knew that you knew what he meant. “I love you too, Billy.”

It hadn’t happened overnight, and he wasn’t expecting you to suddenly be all over him. Not right away. But now you had a new way of showing him you loved him. Now he’d made you feel safe enough to touch him, kiss him, caress him when you wanted.

And it brought him nothing but happiness. Because he wanted to give you everything. You deserved everything he was capable of handing to you, and everything more.

Billy leaned down and kissed you with all the love he could summon. “Sweetheart. Baby.” he nudged his nose against yours. “My angel.”

You reached up for another kiss and he knew at that moment he would never get over it. Never get used to this feeling of utter love and adoration every time he was kissed or touched or loved on by you.

And he never wanted to.

[stupidgaybraziliam]

I think a lot about how Sokka would react to the origin of Zuko's scar

Zuko would talk about it with Sokka mainly because he trusts him, and thinks that the two of them have a lot in common, so they understand each other very well, so Sokka ends up being the first to find out how the prince got the scar

"He did that?" Sokka was perplexed, how could someone do such a cruel thing to his own son?

And Zuko just laughed nervously: "You're the first one I've told, not even Aang knows."

"I simply don't have the words to express all the hatred I'm feeling for your father right now, of course he's the monster who tried to wipe out everything I knew... My family and my friends... But this? That's unthinkable!"

And the situation doesn't improve when Zuko reveals why his father did this to him.

"HE DID THIS SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU 'SPOKE OUT OF TURN'...? He banished his fucking son simply because you HAD PASSION AND CONSIDERATION FOR YOUR PEOPLE! Quite unlike him, I must say..." Honestly, it had been a long time since Zuko had seen Sokka so angry; in fact, Zuko didn't know if he had ever seen the water tribe warrior so angry before.

After that day, their relationship changed. Surprisingly for Zuko, Sokka never seemed to treat him differently because of this, although he also knew that Zuko couldn't hear or see properly on the left side of his face. Sokka didn't treat him as if he was fragile or needed excessive care because of this.

And Sokka had no idea how important this was to Zuko.