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resident-gay-bitch · 21 days ago

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🦇 Stranger Saturdays 🦇

Will x Mike (Byler) cute getting together (3k words)

“Hey, what are you drawing?” Mike asked, almost falling out of the chair he was swinging on to get a good look at the page Will was entirely focused on.

“None of your business, nosey.” Will scoffed, turning his page even further from Mike's view. But he glanced up, rolling his eyes and shaking his head with a soft look on his face, considering Mike for just a moment before turning back to his drawing.

Mike felt himself blush at the fleeting attention. Mike always feels a little flustered with Will's attention, and it was only recently that he became aware as to why.

It took El dumping him, which was not the best feeling. Getting dumped, whether one actually has feelings for their girlfriend or not, will always be a punch to the gut… and the ego.

It was when Mike was complaining to Lucas about it later that things started clicking into place.

You don’t love me, She said, You spend more time looking at your best friend than you do at me.

Why don’t you call me as much as you call Will?

When we were both hurt, you went to Will first!

It took Lucas actually slapping him around the head to get it. To get why.

And it’s infuriating; knowing that you’re in love with your best friend, that is. Mike was very happy being completely ignorant to the fact, thank you very much. At least then he could be a little bit soppy without feeling like he’s gonna be crowned town pariah.

Besides, it’s agonising, wondering if his feelings could possibly be reciprocated. But he doubts the fact. The chances of Will being queer in this small town too are already slim, and the chance of him loving Mike, out of everyone else? Well, that's even slimmer.

Lucas is a far better option.

Hell, even Dustin!

Even Steve, and that’s really saying something, because Steve is annoying as all hell and a total loser.

But sometimes… sometimes it feels like… Sometimes Mike gets his hopes up, and it’s like a little spark in his chest that's fighting to not blow out. He never wants that spark to die.

He blows a raspberry at Will and brings his chair back down to four feet, playing off his stumble very cool-ly so the teacher doesn’t take his chair away from him again. He gets told about some made up kid that swung on his chair, cracked his head open and died, at least once a week these days.

“You don’t have to see everything I draw.” Will comments after a while, sensing Mike's blatant disappointment with the fact.

He loves how easily Will can read him.

Though, he’s sure his dramatic sighs and groans are obvious enough for anyone to read at this current moment. But in a more general sense, even when Mike is adamant on keeping his emotions on lock. Wills just… he’s got this way about him; an internal compass that points directly at Mike's moody feelings and gives him step by step instructions on how to cheer him up.

“But I like everything you draw.” Mike sighs, leans a hand on his chin as he melts onto the desk, neglecting his work completely.

“Well, you can like everything else. This is just for me.” Will says, attention completely on the page again and Mike has never been jealous of paper, but suddenly, he is.

“I can never see it?” Mike pouts, “Not even when it’s done?”

“Nope.” Will shakes his head, keeps sketching.

“Why not?” Mike asks, nosey, nosey, always nosey when it comes to Will Byers.

“Because…” Will sighs, stops for a moment to glance up at Mike before his attention is gone again, “It’s embarrassing. It’s… it’s stupid, okay, it’s just for my own practice and enjoyment. It’s not even good.”

“I’m sure it’s great–”

“Whatever.” Will rolls his eyes and smiles, “I’m too embarrassed to show you, so leave it alone. Maybe when were thirty.”

“You better keep it ‘till we’re thirty then.” Mike huffed, laying his upper body flat on the desk now in a dramatic display of boredom, “Can’t believe you won’t show me. I thought we were best friends, I saw your butt once, nothings embarrassing–”

“You didn’t mean to see my butt!” Will laughed, “Stop using that as an argument for everything.”

“Sorry.” Mike groaned, poking his tongue out, “I just want to see your art.”

“I’ll draw something else to show you later.”

Mike blew another raspberry, and Will completely ignored him. This feels similar to torture, for Mike. He’s not sure what to do with himself, when Will ignores him. No matter how many fart noises he makes, how many bad jokes he cracks, no matter how much he wails and wiggles around, Will just ignores him. Barely even laughs!

And Mike feels utterly betrayed by this, and maybe a little heartbroken. He lives for Will's attention, and more importantly his happiness, and most importantly his affection. And in this current moment, Will is refusing Mike all of those pleasures.

And he’s too embarrassed to show Mike his drawing. Which is insane, because it’s probably something cool like a freaky weird dragon, or The Party going to battle or something.

Or maybe it’s something creepy and haunted. Will does that sometimes, draws his nightmares, the pictures getting more and more graphic as he ages. And he tends to not show Mike those, so Mike doesn’t have to worry about them. But Mike always finds out, and he worries anyway, because he just wants the best for Will. Wants to make everything better, or as good as he can.

He only hopes to bring Will half as much comfort as Will brings him.

“William.” The teacher calls, peering down her glasses and waving him over with a finger, “I have a question about your essay.”

Will glances over at Mike and pulls a sour face before hopping up. Mike gives him a sympathetic smile, hopes Will doesn’t get detention or anything. Though, it would be funny since he’s the only one out of the Party who hasn’t gotten a detention yet. Somehow.

Mike watches them, as Will pulls up a chair with a little annoyance. And Mike feels that annoyance even more, because that means Will is going to be up there, and away from Mike for a while. And Mike already misses him.

Boredom gets even worse, and Mikes got this bad feeling stirring in his gut. He’s desperate to know what Will's drawing. What he’s so embarrassed about. And he knows it’s bad, knows it’s a boundary to peek, but Will has never kept a drawing from Mike before. Not really.

Sure he’s chosen not to show things to Mike, but if asked, he’ll share. He’s never denied Mike the ability to awe over his best friend's work.

So, when he’s not looking, Mike leans over in his chair until there's only one leg of it on the ground.

He’s wobbling, one hand on the corner of Wills desk to attempt to help support him, his tongue strategically poked out of his mouth, and he’s glancing over at them every couple of seconds to make sure he’s not going to get caught.

And with his middle finger, he’s able to carefully lift the corner of the closed page to catch a tiny peak.

But he can’t quite make it out, so he dares a glance to the front, and lifts the closed page higher.

He furrows his brow, because he’s sure he’s seeing things– Or, he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing at all.

He stretches his arm as far as he can to open the page almost ninety-degrees, and staring up at him, coloured fully in vibrant pencil, is a portrait.

A portrait of Mike.

And it’s… wow, it’s amazing.

Mike has never thought he was all that good looking, but this drawing really does him a good justice. And his hair looks fucking great.

The portraits got every one of his freckles, his dimples, the smiling wrinkles of his eyes. Behind him is golden and warm, cast in beams of light that set him centre stage, making him look almost godly. Makes it seem like he’s actually something worth looking at.

And when his eyes fix on the little hearts floating around his head, and the scribble of “Mr. Will Wheeler” down the bottom, Mike falls out of his chair.

He splats down on the ground with a clatter, his chair somehow bouncing off the ground and landing on his back, ow.

“Mike Wheeler! How many times have I told you not to swing in your chair?” The teacher bellows for probably the millionth time.

Mike just groans in response, this is humiliating. He’s never fallen out of his chair before. And to do so in front of his whole class? Humiliating.

He can hear Max somewhere in the classroom laughing her ass off. Total trator.

“Detention. Now!”

Mike rolled his eyes and got himself to his feet, collected his things and headed towards the front of the class. Not without a sparse glance at the sketchbook again, now closed, thankfully. But Mike knows what’s nestled within.

As he walks to the teacher, to collect his detention slip, Will shakes his head laughing. He seems relaxed, which means he didn’t see Mike peaking, which is good for now, since they can’t talk about it.

Shit.

They have to talk about it.

In haste, Mike collects his detention slip and races out of the room. He obviously doesn’t go to detention, instead he ditches school and skates around town because he’s freaking out and this is the only way he can think to pass the time and calm down. His moms probably gonna kill him, but whatever.

Mr. Will Wheeler.

Mike's heart is in his throat and his hands are trembling and he’s sweating and riddled with nerves. He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

Mr. Will Wheeler.

This is… everything.

He’s spent so long skating around and rambling in his own head about what to do, he didn’t realise school had gotten out. He only realised when the sun began to tint the sky orange and warm, casting Hawkins in a golden glow that made something once drabby into something worth looking at, just for a moment. And Mike thinks about the portrait.

And he thinks about it.

And he thinks about it. All the way to the Byers house. All the way to Will's bedroom window, which he climbs through without knocking.

“What are you doing?” Will asks, a hand to his chest from the spook Mike caused. He almost dropped his cup of soda, sitting it down on his desk, flicking his sketchbook closed before Mike's eyes could pry, he thinks, “Where'd you go after English? Are you okay, you seem off?��

Mike shook his head, sets his skateboard down under the window, drops his backpack, “I saw your drawing.”

Will's face turned ghostly white, “What?”

“I looked.” Mike said plainly, almost lost of breath completely. Who knew talking to the guy he loved, knowing he felt somewhat the same, would be so breathtaking, “I’m sorry, but I looked. I saw what you drew… what you wrote.”

“Fuck– Mike, I’m– I–” Will began to stutter, slowly trying to back away before he collided hip to his desk, “I’m so sorry, please don’t–”

“I’m gonna kiss you.” Mike said, very still in place, “That okay?”

“That– What?” Will asked, cherry red now, clearly as terrified as Mike was.

“I’m gonna kiss you.” Mike said again, nodding to help convince himself to actually do it. To kiss him. To kiss Will.

“You’re…”

Mike nodded one more time before charging forward, grabbing Will by the face, and kissing him.

Will definitely didn’t pull away.

In fact, he grabbed Mike back, pulling him closer and closer. And this… this is that fairytale shit in all of Holly's story books. This has got to be true love, or something.

It’s gotta be.

“Honey, I’ve got– Oh!”

The both of them split apart all too fast as the door swung wide open, Joyce standing in it, staring at them both. Mike is about to freak out.

“I’ve been waiting for this to happen– keep the door open, please. Are you staying for dinner, honey? We're having meatloaf.”

Neither of the boys answered for a long while. Clearly just as confused as the other. It took Joyce shaking her head at them, confused, to jolt Mike into action.

“What?” He asked, stuttering it out.

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“Uh… S-sure.” Mike said, because he’s not very good at saying no to Joyce these days.

“Okay, can you two set the table for me then?”

Mike and Will were still stuck standing in place, each a little worried to move. Mikes a little worried that the moment he does move, Will will take all of that back.

“Hello?” Joyce said, now standing with her hands on her hips, “What is with you two today– is it because I walked in on you kissing, because I’ve seen worse, you don’t wanna know the things I’ve walked in on Jon doing–”

“Ew, mom.” Will scoffed.

Joyce laughed, walking over into the room to tidy up Will's bed, “Don’t worry about me. Anyway, dinner will be ready in ten, so come out quickly.”

“Okay, mom, can you please…”

“You’re okay with it?” Mike asked, terribly pale in the face.

Joyce froze, turning her head to look at him for a moment, considering the pair. With a sigh she wandered over, her soft hand on his cheek, and she has to look up at him now– at both of them. She keeps going on about how they have to stop growing so fast.

“Honey, all I want for my boys is happiness.” She smiled, leant up to press a little kiss to his cheek, “I’ve known about this for a long time, longer than you, I’m guessing. I’m surprised Will didn’t tell you that we’re okay with this around here. And don’t worry, I won’t tell your mom anything you don’t want me to.” She said with a wink, turning and leaving the room.

“Ten minutes.” She called, as if she hadn’t just said the most meaningful thing she’s ever said to Mike, “Jon, El! Dinner’s almost ready, come help your brother and his boyfriend set the table.”

Mikes heart is in his throat.

“Boyfriend?” Came three consecutive shouts throughout the house.

Beside him, Will groaned, shuffled over to his bed where he flopped down face first into it, “This is mortifying.”

“Mortifying?” Mike scoffed, “Your mom just told your whole family we were in a relationship before we even agreed on a relationship!”

Will turned his head, peaking one eye up at Mike, “But… we’re… we’re in a relationship?”

Mike could feel his cheeks burning up, and he’s sure he looks stupid, blushing this much. But it can’t really be helped after kissing the boy he loves, and with the prospect of more.

Mike nodded his head, and Will turned back into his bedsheets. The two of them stayed like that for a moment, equally as nervous, equally as awkward. They were only torn out of the best new seconds of the rest of Mike's life when they heard Hopper shout out from the kitchen.

“Not Mike again!”

On the bed, Will broke out in hysterics.

“He hates me.” Mike muttered.

Rolling onto his back, Will smiled, reaching a hand out for Mike. And when he took it, his hand felt like it was burning, sparks flying everywhere. Will's hand is so soft and warm, and Mike doesn’t want to ever let go. He lets himself be dragged over towards the bed.

“Yes, he does.” Will says through laughter, “But he's just gonna have to put up with that.”

Before Mike could get another word in, Will yanked him down onto the bed, Mike toppling over on top of him. And they were kissing again.

And Mike never wants to leave this moment. He’s sure this is the best thing he’s ever done, other than asking Will to be his friend that day on the swing sets.

He can’t wait for the rest of their lives.

ive never written byler before so this was fun yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy i think they're so sweet and i cant wait for them to become cannon in season 5 :)

ive been rooting for them sincei was 14 and watching season 1 when it first came out and thinking oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck they remind me of myself and my best friend oh fuck does this make me gay too?

#jay writes #byler #fluff #mike wheeler #will byers #epic joyce moment #i love her #mentions of hop being okay with will being gay but not okay with him being in a relationship with mike #mike x will #will x mike #stranger things #byler fluff #byler ficlet #one shot #byler endgame #byler nation

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its-actually-minicika · 2 years ago

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so, feel free totally ignore this if it makes you feel uncomfortable, but I can't stop thinking about a jace x reader fic where reader is sort of dealing with the aftermath of the battle of the gullet.

her and jacerys were involved romantically and when he dies, reader goes berserk and out for blood with the greens: she gets captured eventually and is left to rot in a cell in harrenhall or something, where she talks smack to aemond and reminisces about her time spent with jace...

idk maybe she breaks out and aemond falls in love with her in a reverse-stockholmly way?? it's more like he becomes obsessed and starts taunting her with Vhagar like he did with luke.

or maybe she ends up dying in the cell from exhaustion and all her untreated wounds (because there's no way canon book aemond would ever help the lover of an enemy lmao) and meets jace again in their weird version of westerosi heaven

idk i just need them both so bad lol

The Harshest Winters (!18+!)

Pairing(s): Jacaerys x Reader, somewhat implied Aemond x Reader ??? it's just really fucked up, man;

Warnings: major character death, strong language, mentions of SA, some spoilers for Fire&Blood, book canon Aemond, blood and gore, psychological horror, manipulation, manhandling, mentions and descriptions of sex;

Author's Note: whiew, this was definitely something! Thank you so much for the request, Nonny - I loved diving into this one :") I hope that this is to your liking!!

Part 2 is out now!

She was sentenced to forever remember him by name only - Jacaerys' face would dim with time across her memory, leaving only a distant face in the back of her mind.

As she rots in the coldest pits of Harrenhal, (Y/N) remembers him, day after day and night after night.

"Promise me you'll come back alive." The girl hushed into the quiet war room. Her eyes scanned over the firelit table, traveling to Jace's sprawled out hands and broad form.

His eyes lit up. Brilliant brown hues, filled with so much love for her. His calloused fingers, still trailing over the waters of the Steptstones, that versed well into the Gullet.

"I promise." Jacaerys spoke to her, tone serious and somewhat strained. "My love..." He mused at the notice of her furrowed brows, and took three wide steps towards her.

As his hands reached for her, she leaned into his warm touch, so palpable and real.

The two hugged for what felt like an eternity. The Prince of Dragonstone kissed the crown of her head tenderly, his heart beating in a calming tune, that could have once lulled the woman into the deepest of sleeps.

"You've never lied to me before." She sniffed into his wide chest, pressing herself against him with renowed ferocity. "Do not let this be the first time."

Jace only smiled and cupped her jaw soothingly.

The nights without him were the toughest.

(Y/N) was irritated, on the verge of frenezy - the ghosts of her past played cruel jokes on her health of mind, making her see red before her - his face, whenever she closed her eyes to sleep.

In the three weeks that she spent in the prison cell, after having been captured and enslaved by Aemond, not once had she seen his face apart from their first fated meeting.

How stupid she was, drawing her sword to him, engaging him in a field of falling men.

How could she not see his flock of Green Loyalists, who suddenly came behind her back?

The heavy wound in her lower abdomen and the numbness of her left foot were all her fault. The puss that was dripping from her daft fingers, as well.

At least she had beat the shivers, she told herself insistently. But how long will it be, until she meets the Stranger due to her horrid wounds?

Left all alone, trapped well within those four walls of damp stone, the girl could do nothing but mumble and think to herself:

Aemond Targaryen had fought bravely, she had to at least give him that. Although she too would have had balls of steel atop a dragon - and one not even close to Vhagar's size.

He had granted her the courtesy of letting her die in the pains of cold and hunger - flesh eaten away by the ghastly infection, rotting to a point that had one's stomach churn and wail.

A small tear rolled from her shut eyes, and her jaw clenched tight - no one would come to rescue her, and it was clear as day that even the soldiers who came to guard her cell at night stopped bothering to show up. Perhaps the reek of death proved to be too much for them.

Perhaps they preferred to sit outside, and bask themselves in the fine light and smell of putrid ash.

Perhaps.

Slowly, yet surely, (Y/N) tried to sit up straight, but a blinding pain sent her right on her exposed back again. She hissed from the pressure that her inexperienced bandage applied on her closing wound, but relentlessly tired to get up again and again.

Eventually, she stilled as she got up on her right foot, and leaned into the wall for help in supporting her raw weight.

"Fucking shit, fucking assholes, fucking Greens, nasty cock-suckers, fucking die...!" She sobbed into the breached wall, gripping the stone edges with all her might and heaving out one pained breath after the other.

"I didn't know I was keeping a whore alive, in the stead of a respected Lady." A croaky, albeit mellow voice rang out.

(Y/N) could feel her knee wobble in fear.

She bit her tongue in an attempt to stop her snarl, and steadied herself with her hands still clinging to the wall.

"Kinslayer." She spoke in a brittle voice, and cursed herself for the undeniable softness that was laced in her tone - she was far too weakened to talk to him. And much less to fight once more.

Aemond's nostrils flared, in a weird concucsion of both anger and grief. His jaw tightened as his hand curled into a fist.

"Traitor." He grates out in retaliation, but lets a bemused expression to curl up his lips. His face narrows, and a flicker, a spark of fury dances in his remaining eye.

"You grace me with your presence, Prince Aemond. You really shouldn't have." (Y/N)'s eyes trail to the sword that rests upon his hip, and she can feel her blood turn cold once his feet carry him so awfully close to her defenseless form.

Her chest rises and falls in pent up frustration. Even if she tried to, she couldn't kill him now. But maybe she could gouge out his good eye.

Before her thoughts can come to a close, Aemond cruelly smirks to himself, and unsheats his sword to lower it to (Y/N)'s face. "It's a pity. You've never been a beauty, but now you're rendered to almost completely useless." He tuts lightly, turning her face with each languid movement of his sharp blade.

"I had in mind to let my men fuck you." He remarks dryly, but lets out a disappointed sigh. "But I don't think any of them would get it up to your whorish face."

His words startle the woman, and her eyes widen in disgust, as her throat tightens in and over itself.

"No... A look so wild and a grisly body such as this are better suited for dogs than men."

(Y/N) is shaking with fear and rage alike. She takes in a deep breath, and closes her eyes to listen.

He's bluffing. This is a test. This is a challenge. And either way, he has a sword. He could cut you up in a thousand little red ribbons of flesh if you uttered the wrong word.

The girl repeats the same mantra in her head, and swallows thickly. Soon, very soon he will get bored of taunting her.

But why? Why, why come now? Why pay her a visit after weeks of captivity?

He wants you to do something for him, in exchange for fresh air and a clean set of clothes, a small voice inside her head whispers to her.

Aemond hums wistfully and brings a hand to play with her house's crest, that rests atop her caved chest in a twisted necklace.

"You are Elmo Tully's only daughter." He asserts calmly, and reaches to twirl around her darkened strands of hair. "The Lord of Riverrun pledged his banners to that withered cunt because of you."

His eyebrows raised in mock surprise, and his sword came to a halt below her jaw. Attentively, he grazed her skin with the hilt of it, paying attention not to break in a single cut.

"But now... there's no reason for them to fight on her side, is it? You're ours to spare or kill, and your bastard lover boy is rotting in the sea."

His words sparked a fire inside the girl's soul. Without thinking, she took a step forward, and gripped her hand atop his over the hilt of the sword. In just a second, her free hand had found a way to his pale face.

The aftermath of the loud slap echoed throughout the dark room, and Aemond grabbed the lady by the hair, bringing her to her knees with a strong, downward pull.

"I will put a muzzle on you if you don't behave, tie you down and feed you to Vhagar, but not before I berate you in front of everyone still alive from the Twins to Harrenhal."

A small whimper escapes her lips, and the One Eyed prince gives her one last harsh tug, before freeing her dirty locks.

"Look at the mess you've made." He chastises with a click of his tongue, bringing his grimy hand to her face again. "You dirty fucking whore, I should make you lick me clean."

His furious stare melts into an amused one, and Aemond the Kinslayer laughs.

"I bet you would love that, wouldn't you?" He cooed while glancing down at her, forcing a finger into her resisting mouth. "You've been Jacaerys' slut for so long, haven't you? Wouldn't you like to be fucked by a real man, too?"

Aggravated by his running mouth and exherted by all her remaining patience, (Y/N) bit down on his fingers, hard, drawing a metallic taste in her mouth and a guttural groan from Aemond.

"I thank you for your gentle offer. But I heard you're already busy enough with that - fucking a bastard of your own in the darkness of these cursed halls."

The Targaryen prince clasped her by the arms tightly, pulling the girl up on her feet and snarling in her face.

"For that, I will give you your brothers' heads."

"Mayhaps they will give me yours."

Aemond's hands would leave her bruised. Of that much, she was certain.

Another permanent reminder of his abuse on her, she mused, letting out a pained sigh.

She grazed the bottom of her lower lip, immersed in deep thought.

Aemond wouldn't kill her. At least, not until the last of her purpose ran up. He might have had Harrenhal secured, but that meant little to his usurper brother and the capital, especially when the Reach provided them with no other allies.

Aegon's cause needed her. They desperately needed her alive, to strike up a deal with her sickly grandfather, and convert both houses Frey and Tully to their side.

Family.

Duty.

Honour.

Her grandfather would do anything to ensure her safety - that much was, again, for certain.

And if Aemond wanted to win this thing, he wouldn't touch a single hair on her delicate head - he couldn't afford to set off the Riverlords.

Having said that, (Y/N) wasn't surprised when the maesters came flooding in, or when her clothes were changed and her bed replaced.

What did surprise her were Aemond's visits - after their initial clash, he came by her cell more and more often.

Sometimes he would speak to her. Ask her about the gravity of her wounds, if she found the lack of light scary. If any soldier made to guard her had talked to her or made her uncomfortable.

Those were what (Y/N) grew to call his "good days".

Most of the time, Aemond would come to her well into the dead of night, scaring her and making her lose sleep for days at a time.

He would apologize with a small quirk of his head, and simply stare at her. Stare for what felt like hours, until he would hum, satisfied, and make his leave.

It was during one of those latter visits that (Y/N) finally spoke:

"Has my grandfather turned his banners? Did he send any lease for me?"

Her question, although innocent enough, angered Aemond. He rose to his feet, eye wide in ire, and he punched the wall of the prison cell - hard.

"From this day onward, you'll sleep in a chamber more fit for a Lady." He hoarsely muttered over his shoulder, as he made his way up the twisted set of stairs. "Soldiers will escort you tonight. Tomorrow, a maid will bathe you."

Although hid from her field of vision, the Tully girl heard how his footsteps came to a halt. The One Eyed Prince clasped his fists painfully, and gritted lowly:

"If you try to escape, you'll meet your end by the way of my blade, My Lady."

The night Lady Tully stepped outside of her prison cell was supposed to be one of the happiest of her entire life.

At the very least, the girl found the night sky to be of a comforting beauty - and the lack of sunrays would be good for her eyes, that got so used to the engulfing darkness of the Dungeons.

Still, she couldn't wait to see the sun.

... Her contentment was short lived - as soon as the smell of ash and blood had hit her nose, the girl almost collapsed.

No matter where she looked, she saw only the bites of fire. Where it spread - over the fertile lands she loved so well -, it left dust and cinder in it's wake.

Her home was ruined.

The fields she used to play in... gone.

The grief and anger replaced the sadness and despair. (Y/N) felt herself shake to the core, and, as she was dragged to the highest tower in the Harrenhal Keep, she swore to kill Aemond for what he'd done.

Yet, a much merrier resolve was going on back and forth in Aemond's chamber, who, after his interaction with (Y/N), was left very wanting and more than frustrated.

Alys was writhing beneath him, mewling in pleasure at his rough touch and merciless pace. Her dark hair was sprawled all over the goose feather pillows, covering her face and lustful stare.

"Mmhh, faster... faster!" She urged him with a breathless moan, moving her hips in unison with his, meeting his thrusts half-way.

Aemond groaned, holding her firmly by the nape of her neck, and closing his lilac eye tightly. His loins were begging for release - a release that was coming very hard to him.

Thoughts that disassociated him from what was happening at present surged through his mind: what he would have to do tomorrow, where he would have to take Vhagar.

Did (Y/N) reach her room yet?

The latter of them sent a pleasant shiver down his spine - with renewed vigour, Aemond pounded into the woman under him. He had found the lead towards his release, and he was not about to let it go.

Images of (y/h/c) replace the dark whisks of hair on Alys' head - her soft skin, her beautiful (y/e/c).

(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N)...

His member twitches urgently inside of Alys, and Aemond continues to defile the Tully girl in his mind, imagining how her face would twist in pleasure as he slowly entered her.

He would be gentle. So, so gentle - he would make her into a babbling mess, so numb from bliss, that her legs would shake around him. He could be selfless with her, find his high only after he was satisfied with the orgasms he pulled from her.

Aemond moaned loudly once he felt Alys tighten around him, and soon spilled out his seed, panting wildly.

Finally, he opened up his eye, and felt the disgust and dissatisfaction that came after his mind-blowing release.

How could he, the Prince Protector of the Realm, think of his nephiew's lover during sex? That ugly, headstrong and frogish looking girl - making the Crown Prince lose his mind in want and lust.

Shit.

He had to see her.

He had to touch her.

He had to have her.

He craved to feel her - even if she were to slap him as she did months ago; he would take anything she gave him. And he would enjoy it tremendously.

Aemond sighed, still planted deep above Alys - he peeled himself from her lean arms, and rolled his shirt back and over his head. Next were his trousers, shoes and leather tunic.

"Where are you going, my love...?" Alys whispered, pressing her naked body on his working back.

Aemond hums expectantly, and turns his body to trap the woman in between the cold wall and his budging arms. He brings his hand out to caress her skin, toying with one of her breasts, until he pushes her roughly against the wall and pulls her by the hair.

"I told you not to call me that" He muses coldly, letting go of the fistful he grabbed mere seconds ago. "We talked about our arrangement, Alys." He tuts lightly, grazing her jaw with his long index finger.

Aemond sighs and lets go of the caged woman, as he straightens his back and begins walking towards the door.

"I want you on the bed, with your legs spread waiting for me. I won't be too long."

Curse Aemond and his meticulosity, the young lady chastised inside her head. The tower in which she was supposed to spend the rest of the war - or however long Aemond wished her to, really - was at the highest level possible. There was no way for her to jump out the window and survive the fall.

But, should there be a need for it... death by falling wasn't the worst of fates. If you managed to break your neck, that is.

A shuddering thought, (Y/N) scorned herself, and not one she could afford at the moment.

Jacaerys was dead - and part of her would be lost with him forever. Above all else, she wanted to feel his soft kiss again, his strong arms protecting her, his gentle caress that never failed to give her butterflies.

One day, she would find him again. One day, they'll reunite, and be back together - as the Gods intended to.

But that day was still far away.

She prayed her grandfather hadn't turned his banners against Rhaenyra's cause. She hoped that her family was safe, and that Riverrun didn't suffer the same fate the fields near Harrenhall had.

Jacaerys was dead. But above all else, she had to stay alive. Fulfil his wish, take care of both their families, until she could allow herself to rest.

Her shaky hand reached for her eyes. She had been crying.

The dirt on her cheeks must have washed away, leaving streaks of her paling skin to poke behind.

She would avenge him. She would avenge them all. Even if that was the last thing she ever did.

The brisk opening of her chamber door made the girl jump in place and turn rapidly on her heel.

Behind the oak aperture, a head of shoulder-lenght silver hair could be seen, followed by a pair of untrusting violet eyes.

"Didn't your mother teach you never to enter a lady's room without knocking first?"

The reprimantion left her lips before (Y/N) could catch herself.

She had to remember that no matter how much Aemond needed her, he was still quick to anger - a true prince of the Blood of the Dragon. Brazen, relentless, cruel.

She was a first daughter, yes. But a third child, coming after two strong boys, that hence secured the Tully line from before she was even born.

He was a man. She was a weakened woman. They were near a window at a plenty ample height, and even she had heard what happened to Queen Helaena.

His footsteps approached her slowly, like a predator would it's prey. It took everything inside the girl to stay put in place, fighting his empty stare with her own.

"It's cold outside." Is all Aemond said, before he strutted towards the open window and closed it back up again.

A myrriad of questions were on her mind. But 'Why are you here?' was replaying the most.

Her back was turned on Aemond. (Y/N) was frozen in place and, although she knew how dangerous it was not to look at him, she feared that a singular look of the man who played a part in killing the love of her life would be far too much.

Seconds turned to minutes. And minutes felt like they were turning to hours.

Before long, Aemond let out a low hum and grabbed a piece of her modest gown with two of his fingers.

"I'll have a nightgown be made for you tomorrow." The Targaryen prince concluded, gingerly letting go of her sleeve.

Without another word, he turned his body stiffly, and walked towards the doors that separated her from the outside world. As they closed and clicked with the turning of a key, the girl let out a relieved sigh, and quickly glanced upon the floor.

"Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit, you Gods' damned fucking asshole." She hissed in utter resentment, snarling at the place the one eyed prince once stood.

At least the promise of the morrow could bring forth a better day.

If she ever wanted freedom, she had to make Aemond trust her. But that was easier said than done. And it would take time.

So far, he had taken her outside twice - both times, during nighttime. To not be seen by anyone, and to be able to walk with the Prince without being perturbed or interrupted by keen eyes and weary mouths.

They walked in silence: neither knowledgeable enough in the other to know what to converse about.

And as they made their third and final round of the garden, the girl took in a deep breath, and whisked her skirts gently to one side.

Aemond, like all the other nights before that, escorted her himself back to her secluded chambers, but stopped abruptly at her door.

"Where is your bretheren?" Aemond demanded to the knight assigned to watch over (Y/N) coldly.

His body stiffened momentarily, until a muffled voice could be heard past his helmet. "He went outside to take a piss." Sensing Aemond's stillness at his words, he added hurriedly, "Your Grace."

Unconvinced, yet unwilling to press the matter further, Aemond hummed, and opened the door, to allow the woman to step inside.

Like all the other nights before that, he stepped inside as well, to stare at her and later leave himself to rest in his own right.

(Y/N)'s hands were tightened in fists, and the woman strutted to her bed to play with the silk bedding.

"Thank you for bringing me here. You're... so very kind." She forced herself to say the words that left such a bitter taste in her parted mouth.

For a while, Aemond seemed stunned. He felt his jaw clench in anticipation for her next words. His eyes trailed over her, mesmerised by her tempting form, so meek and small and perfect.

Had she always been so beautiful?

"Hmm." He purrs from deep inside his throat, unable to form any other sentence. His lilac orb being glossed over with something akin to fear and lust - how could such a lowly girl spark such a consuming feeling within him?

The tightness inside his trousers becomes unbearable, and Aemond can feel his palms gripping over his thighs.

"Well..." (Y/N) finally turns to face him, biting her inner cheek. "G... Good night, Prince Aemond."

He takes in a sudden breath, and has to restrain everything inside him not to walk towards her and take her over the mattress.

But she was still a Lady. And he had to be patient. There will be more than enough time for that, he told himself pleasingly.

Still, his cock twitched into the confining space, and the girl had to stop herself from gagging at the sight.

Men were really just mindless beasts, after all. Yet she had to at least be thankful - she now knew for certain she wasn't indifferent to him. There were worse things to be working with than lust.

Lust was better than ire. Lust was better than... nothing.

"Good night, Lady (Y/N)." Aemond's groggy voice echoed through the empty room.

Seemingly satisfied with what he told her, the Targaryen Prince shot her body one last hungry gaze, before leaving to hold her under lock and key.

A minute, maybe two pass, until the girl's body can relax into the soft bed. Her eyes go over the ceiling, and she starts recounting her steps.

A sudden click of armour alerts her of what is going on outside - she shifts and turns, eyes fully on the door.

Had Aemond come to her again?

Dread seeped into her veins. Had he come to rape her? Use her? Or perhaps he grew tired of playing host, and was ready to kill her.

Not sparing another second, she swiftly jumped back on her feet, and reached for a candle holder, clasping it tightly within her hand.

Her breathing accelerated, until... the shining helmet of the knight outside greeted her tentatively, instead of the terrifying white hair she'd grown accustomed to.

"My Lady!" He breathed out, relieved, and hurriedly showed her his face.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and hot drops of tears suddenly threatened to escape them.

"Ser... Ser Cain? Is that really you?"

"Aye, my Lady, in the flesh." He remarked happily, closing the door, before (Y/N) surprised him by running towards her sworn protector, with an embrace that could shatter stone.

"I thought you dead after the battle at Tumbletown...!" She hushed into his chest, swaying him from side to side.

"It should take them more than usurping bastards to kill me!" Cain Waters assured her. His body pulled away from hers, and he spoke back in a more serious tone. "I'm here on order of your father. I'll take you to a safe place. But we must leave now."

"How...?" The girl questioned hopelessly, "The Kinslayer is ruthless, and he keeps a close watch on every corner of the keep at all times."

"Not all the time." Cain offered her a reassuring squeeze, smirking slightly. "I have reason to believe he's occupied in his chambers right now."

His attitude turns somber, and he reveals a hood tucked in his breastplate. "Wear this, my Lady. I'll keep guard outside until you're ready - but be quick about it. We'll have plenty of time to talk after we're out of this horrid place."

(Y/N) didn't need to be told that twice - she made great haste dressing up, and, before she could realise it, she was running down the stairs with her heart hammering out of her chest.

She felt as though she was in a trance. Ser Cain knew the castle like the back of his hand - no doubt, her father had been planning her escape for a very long time -, and, by the will of the Gods, the two traveled unspotted to the burnt forest behind the Gates of Harrenhall.

"Our horses are tied here." Cain huffed at the heaviness of his armour. "My Lady, give me your hand."

He mounted the woman on a tiny black horse, and secured her belts in place. He then turned to his own mare, and ensured to tie their bridles together. Before long, both horses broke into a dizzying gallop.

Thus (Y/N) Tully and Cain Waters managed to get lost into the night, right from under Aemond's nose.

The rays of sunlight shone over Aemond's bare form, still entangled with the one of Alys Rivers.

His limbs felt heavy - though none of match to the uneasiness he felt in his heart.

Wordlessly, he peeled himself off the warm body that laid next to him, and dressed up to pay his cherished captive a morning visit.

His dull footsteps bounced in the echo of the war keep, as Aemond's marching came to an abrupt end.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

Nothing, save to say for the unguarded door to the girl's chamber.

His blood ran cold, and his hand jerked open the entry to her resting place, only to find it... empty.

There is a scream from deep within that forces it's way from out of his chest. An anger so blinding, that it threatened to burn and extinguish any and all who would dare come his way.

Anger isn't a good look an anyone. But on Aemond One Eye, it looked downright terrifying.

A punch is thrown on the nearest wall to his trembling form. Then another. And another. And another.

Vhagar's mighty roar all but breaks the sky in two - and those who lived to tell the tale swore it echoed throughout all the Seven Kingdoms.

An exaggeration, no doubt, though not the most far fetched one in their bloody story.

The tearing skin of his knuckles lets a numbing feeling wash over Aemond. With his eyes upon the rattled fields, he lets out a low chuckle.

"I'll find her. I'll find her if I have to burn down all of the Riverlands."

They say that everytime a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin.

#jacaerys strong #jacaerys valaryon #jacaerys x reader #yandere aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #dark aemond #this one is really fucked up lolz #the harshest winters

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explorevenus · 2 years ago

Note

Feeling absolutely devastated because of uni and grades all I’d want is the Leon that you write shower me in love and reassuring words :((((

awww honey :(

i’m so sorry you’re having a hard time. it means a lot to me that something i’ve written has brought you comfort during a tough time.

here’s a blurb to hopefully cheer u up ;~; it’s not specific to either canon!leon or yandere!leon, it can be read as either 💗

(writing this on mobile so i’m sorry if the formatting is shit)

leon had been away on assignment for a few days— the timing couldn’t have possibly been more inopportune. not only was he already apprehensive about leaving you to your own devices for any length of time due to pure paranoia, but you were currently being crushed under the weight of finals season.

you were barely sleeping, barely eating, barely blinking. you weren’t as gracious with yourself as he wished you’d be— you hardly allowed yourself any breaks despite how obvious it was that you’d needed one. on one hand, he understands. leon has always been one to absorb himself in his work that way. but you? he could hardly stomach watching you fold in on yourself more and more as the weeks dragged on.

still, duty calls, so away he went.

leon returned home on the cusp of 4 am and was pained to see the dull light of your laptop screen shining through the bedroom window. he didn’t even bother taking his bags out of the car as he headed inside and up the stairs to check on you.

you were practically right where he’d left you days ago, hunched over your laptop at your desk, hair thrown carelessly into a claw clip hanging loose at the nape of your neck, bundled up in one of his old hoodies that swallowed your body whole. you had your forehead rested on the desk before you— he almost thought you were sleeping until he heard a soft hiccup followed by a sniffle.

you were crying.

“oh, sweetheart…” he gasped, approaching you gently so as not to spook you. leon wasn’t even sure if you’d noticed him yet. “what’s the matter? why are you still awake?” he asked, resting a hand on your shoulder, feeling your body quiver beneath his touch as you sobbed.

you peeked your head up to look at him, bleary eyes shot red and overflowing with fat tears. your bottom lip wobbled as you drank in the sight of him, clearly trying to find the words to describe your situation, but once you did, it was like you’d unleashed a rushing waterfall of word vomit that you’d clearly been stewing on since he’d left.

“i put everything i had into this essay, i’ve barely slept, i studied the material until it was printed on the backs of my eyelids and my professor won’t accept it because i turned it in one minute after midnight,” you rambled, pausing to inhale a breath before you continued, “it’s ridiculous and unfair and now i’m gonna have to retake the entire course over one stupid essay, one fucking minute. and now my gpa is probably fucked too and i don’t know what to do because i tried talking to him and he won’t hear it, he won’t give me an extension, and i’m still not even done because i have another final due at 6 pm tomorrow—“

leon listened carefully, occasionally wiping away your tears as he tried to follow your rant. you were firing off so quick he wasn’t sure you were breathing.

“okay, hey, hey… shh… come here,” he interrupted you, opening his arms to draw you out of your chair and into his embrace. you clearly hesitated but ultimately gave in, in sore need of comfort. you couldn’t stop crying, soaking his shirt with tears as you curled into his arms and bawled. he rubbed your back, pressing soft kisses against the crown of your head.

“i-i don’t have time to take a break,” you wept, though you were still clutching him like you’d die if you let go. “i need to finish this paper…”

leon shook his head, tightening his arms around you. “no, sweetheart, you need to take a breather, okay? there’s no way you’re getting that paper done until you relax. everything’s going to be fine, i promise. i’ll make sure of it.”

he rocked you back and forth in his arms as you cried, wishing he had the power to just award you your degree himself. you had been so excited when you first began higher education and it pained him to see how much of a toll it had taken on you over the months.

after a while your hiccups and sobs had subsided and he was prepared to help you back to your desk… that is until he realized you were finally sleeping. he didn’t have the heart to wake you, and it was evident you needed a nap anyway.

instead he helped you over to the bed, tucking you under the plush covers with a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“you’re gonna be just fine, pretty girl,” he whispered, although he was doubtful you were conscious enough to hear him. “just get some rest.”

leon made sure to set an alarm for you that would hopefully give you enough time to rest and finish your paper before it was due.

exhausted from his assignment, leon snuggled in next to you and pulled you into his arms, drifting off alongside you in minutes.

your education could wait— your well-being could not.

#goddess on the mountain top #venustext #flufftext #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #yandere!leon kennedy #yandere!leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff

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koifly · 5 months ago

Text

German crp headcanons

Nina:

Nina the Killer would listen to SXTN. She'd blast 'Von Party zu Party' in her pink, leopard print, maximalist room every day. She knows all of their songs by heart and introduces everyone who doesn't know them (very few) to SXTN.

Had a fat crush on the Kaulitz brothers (Tokio Hotel), Peter Shaw (Die ???), Julien Bam and Taddl (TJ_beastboy) when she was younger.

Watched Rebekah Wing's horror yt vids religiously. Tbh, she watched every German youtuber's horror vlogs.

Was a victim of the "Scheiss Grufti" and "Zieh dich mal vernünftig an" comments in her school.

Since she's Turkish in my AU, she had an accent when she spoke German, especially when she was younger. It's still there but not as noticeable.

Early and uncontrolled internet access kid.

CRO hater in public, secretly loved his songs.

Didn't go outside often when she was younger, she rather played at home or in her backyard.

Was that kid that went to primary school with a princess crown.

Wanted to go to the Longboard tour SO badly but wasn't allowed to.

Listens to Hobbylos. (Nett hier, aber haben Sie schon Hobbylos mit 5 Sternen bewertet?)

Toby:

Probably grew up in a small village on the countryside.

Was an outside kid, he hated being at home. Not only because of the abuse but also because he got bored too quickly.

Parents somehow convinced him to be an altar boy, he quit when he was 14 or something.

LOVED Die Ärzte and Pisse, his dad listened to Rammstein so he didn't listen to them as some form of protest. (I don't support the actions of Till Lindemann in any way btw)

Went everywhere with his bicycle until 13, then he just walked everywhere or took public transport.

Says 'Digga' in every sentence, doesn't even know how he picked it up but he did. (Digga is a German slang word, comparable to bro, dude etc...)

Toggo kid who actively hated on KiKa kids. Mainly because he once fell asleep while watching KiKa in the evening and woke up while Berndt das Brot was on. He got jumpscared basically. (Please google Berndt das Brot, that thing was every German kid's nightmare and biggest fear istg.)

Always got candy too when he went to the bakery. Loved Esspapier and Schlümpfe.

Absolutely despises AfD voters. (Which is good, don't vote right wing parties kids, be like Toby)

When the first Bibi und Tina movie came out, his sister forced him to go to the cinema with him.

Regularly falls into a bush of nettles. (Not that he cares or feels it)

Ate every god damn berry he found in the wild when he was a kid. An absolute miracle that he's still alive.

Has always been a Marvel boy.

Met Nat in primary school. They even lived close to one another. Thought Nat was weird at first but somehow ended up crushing really hard on her in 8th grade or something. Is still crushing.

Natalie:

Was a victim of the "Oui, oui baguette" comments at her school.

Was the weird girl at her school, no one really talked to her, was always drawing something and only wore black.

Absolutely loved Stutenkerle and St. Martins Brezeln.

Always had the prettiest lantern at St. Martin.

LOVED Bibi und Tina. Had everything from them, dvds, cds, posters, friendship bracelets, everything.

Had a big fat crush on Toby in 7th grade. (Nothing really changed about that lol)

Lived on a farm, had her own little pony and named her Sabrina as a reference to Bibi und Tina.

Lived in a small village on the countryside. (Same that Toby lived in obviously)

Ruhrpott dialect despite her French roots. I'm not gonna explain why, she just has it.

Had a crush on Beni from Woozlegoozle when she was a kid.

Even though her parents are french, they loved Schlager music. Nat has a love-hate relationship with it.

Was at EVERY Schützenfest in her village and those around it. Had no particular reason for it, she always went alone anyways. She just found it amusing to see people get drunk and do stupid shit.

Was a Die Ärzte girl.

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #joy talking more than he should #creepypasta au #nina the killer headcanons #nina the killer #nina hopkins #creepypasta headcanon #natalie oulette #natalie oulette headcanons #ticci toby hc #ticci toby #ticciwork #toby erin rogers #toby rogers headcanons #german #my headcanons #turkish #french

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thetomorrowshow · 8 months ago

Text

for a light

okay I PROMISE that comfort is coming I PROMISE

Scott stares Xornoth down from across the plateau, wind whipping the demon's hair and robes, black streaking out from him like some decaying flag.

They're alone, just the two of them, so far away (ndisu ndikitá'ána).

He's here.

It's time.

He sets the crown of antlers upon his head.

His fingers tighten on the thin grip of his sword.

Scott hisses as his finger bumps the pot, drops his hold and sticks the finger in his mouth. He was just trying to shift it to settle it better in the coals. Stupid cloth slipping.

Right. There's literally snow right there.

Scott removes his finger from his mouth, digs it into the snow beside him. The burn cools, eventually going numb.

That's one upside to living in a permanent winter. There's snow everywhere.

This little clearing in the woods that he took used to have a tent pitched in the center, grass and trees and wildflowers all around.

The tent is long gone, having collapsed under the weight of the snow and ice that collected upon it. Scott replaced it with an ice hut of sorts, which he thinks he created while asleep because he's not exactly sure how he did it. It's kind of ugly, but it has four walls and a roof and a little hole for a door, and it works.

The grass and plants aren't really visible anymore, the ground covered in a thick blanket of snow. Scott's not sure how, but someone had managed to get him a good pair of elven work boots, insulated and sturdy, so that he can tromp through the six or seven inches of snow without much issue. He's cold, this old, patched coat not quite enough to block out the chill, but the gloves keep his fingers from feeling too much like ice and the hand-knit hat prevents a majority of the headaches that his frozen ears cause. He's not too badly off, to be honest. There's just so much . . . cold.

And if he could get it to melt, that would be great.

He can make ice and snow appear just fine. There's plenty of snow, and he can point and ice spikes will shoot up out of the ground, and he can picture a cube of ice and watch as it forms in front of him, but that just means that now he has a little pile of ice cubes and a ludicrous amount of spikes the size of a tree. He can't get rid of anything.

And sure, he has a modicum of control. He can form ice cubes, and spikes, or whatever. But he can't turn off the way ice and snow just grows around him, or the freeze that blasts from him when he waves his arms.

He's been here for two weeks, figuring absolutely nothing out, and he doesn't have much hope for the future.

It feels like there's a wall in his head, a literal barrier keeping him from finding the way to draw back the ice. He's spent hours, days, even, pushing and shoving and just sitting against this wall, trying to force it to work.

It won't give. It's exhausting, day-in and day-out, to try again and again and again as the ice and snow just build up around him.

"Scott!"

Jimmy.

They haven't really . . . talked. Of course, Jimmy turns up every day without fail, bringing with him food and supplies. He always stands on the fringe of the clearing, shares news of the camp, of their latest excursion, of the fight they have planned.

Scott never really says much. He doesn't know how to respond, and Jimmy always leaves with his shoulders sagging the slightest bit.

What is he supposed to say?

I mourned you. I cried for you every day, because I knew I'd never see you again. I attended your funeral. I comforted your sister. I wore a depressing mimicry of what we once wore together, covering myself in the same darkness that took you. I lost you.

You didn't die, you survived, and I still lost you.

How is he supposed to tell Jimmy that what hurts more than anything about this situation is that he never tried to disabuse Scott of the notion that he was dead?

He thinks he still loves Jimmy. Their hearts were made for each other. They've been through too much together to just let go of everything they had.

But there were forty-two of the worst days of Scott's life, in which Scott believed his betrothed to be dead. He can't forget that. He can't pretend that Jimmy even attempted to contact him.

His mind always returns to that. Why didn't he? What reasons has he given, other than his ominous “it wasn't time yet”? Why?

And now they're here, in this horribly awkward phase where they haven't even discussed whether or not they're still an item (Scott's desperately in love with Jimmy but he isn't sure he can even stand to see him it hurts so much) or if that's even something they want to pursue right now (Scott wants so badly just to hold his hand but he can't let himself hurt Jimmy).

"Hey, Scott!"

Scott straightens (his wings shudder under the weight of the ice coating them, but none of it cracks), shakes the snow off his hands, and turns, stomach twisting.

Jimmy is standing there, a good ten feet away, leaning out from between the trees.

It's just Jimmy. Hair still too long, beard still obstinately there, an anxious smile on his pockmarked face.

Doesn't he have anything better to do, rather than visit Scott every day?

Jimmy holds up a bundle of cloth.

"I brought some bread and . . . venison, I think? I forgot to ask what it was. Does that sound good?"

Scott tugs his scarf up a bit higher on his cheeks. "Sounds fine," he calls back, voice muffled by the fabric.

Jimmy tosses it; Scott catches the bundle, grimaces when it frosts over the moment it touches his hands.

"What are you cooking?" Jimmy asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Scott glances back at his little pot on the dying coals.

"Just porridge," he says. That's all Jimmy gave him yesterday, after all. The grain for whatever chunky porridge it is that they eat at the camp all the time.

"That's . . . that's cool," says Jimmy. Dear Aeor, he looks so unbearably awkward. What does he want?

Thankfully, Jimmy gets straight to the point, no more hobbling around small talk.

"We're going on a mission," he says, the words coming out in puffs of frozen air. "There's a village about a day's walk from here, the largest we've gone for yet. They're going to be a huge asset to our rebellion."

Scott nods a couple of times. "Okay. How long until you're back?"

Jimmy chews on his lip—the way he always does when he's anxious, or isn't sure how to approach a problem. "That's . . . well, I wanted to see if you would come, actually."

It takes Scott a few seconds to process that, but when he does, he almost laughs out loud.

He's out of his mind if he thinks Scott will risk something like that. He can't control this! He's had to separate himself from the rest of the camp because there's a ten foot radius of winter wonderland that appears around him!

He has to be joking.

"You have to be joking," Scott says.

Jimmy shrugs. "I talked about it with the others that are coming on the mission, and they're all fine with it. If it makes you feel better—"

"No, I'm dangerous—"

"—we can walk apart from you, and—"

"—you don't understand, I hurt Gem, I'll—"

"—was just thinking that it can't be good for you to—"

"Jimmy, I said no!"

And childishly, to emphasize his point, Scott stamps his foot.

Ice crackles along the ground like a whip, shooting up in little spikes, a ten-inch wall down the middle of his little clearing.

It stops just short of Jimmy, the last little spike rising just inches from his boots, and Scott almost wants to go and shove him out of the way because Jimmy doesn't even move!

Doesn't he have any sense of self-preservation?

Jimmy doesn't seem scared when he looks up at Scott. He just seems sad.

"That's why I can't," Scott bites out, wrapping his arms around himself. His scarf is slipping, nose exposed to the cold. "I'm not safe. I don't want to hurt someone."

"Okay. Can I explain myself, though?"

Before Scott can give an answer, Jimmy takes a small step forward, boot crunching on snow.

Scott takes a step back.

"We know how to keep ourselves safe," he says. "Most of the people here escaped terrible conditions where one wrong move could kill them. They know how to recognize threats and keep a safe distance. It wouldn't even be an issue to travel with you."

Scott wants to argue, but Jimmy takes another step. Scott quickly steps back, swallowing down the fear that rises in his throat, burning like bile.

"We would travel kind of separately, and it wouldn't even be a long journey. Two days at most, I think. So the main group would stick together, and you would stay within sight off to the side. We usually move quietly, so you wouldn't miss out on conversation or anything."

Okay, that's probably what Scott would do if they were forced to travel. He's pretty sure that he can cause ice issues outside of the ten foot radius, if he tries, but it doesn't automatically happen. Travel plans like that might actually work.

Which doesn't mean they're good. They aren't. They just might work.

"This village has a lot of soldiers, from what we can tell. Way more than there ought to be. They're beginning to figure out our game. We usually wouldn't go for someplace so risky, but there's so many people there. If we freed them, we could easily add two hundred to our able fighters."

Is Jimmy stupid?

"It's a trap," Scott says, pointing out what seems obvious. "Why would they have so many Mythlanders there if not to wait for you?"

Jimmy scoffs. "We know it's a trap," he says. "That's why we want you. We want to avoid fights if possible—and if you were there, we would have a really decent chance of getting in and out without losing anyone."

"You're forgetting that I can't really control this," Scott says icily, and as if to match his tone, it spontaneously begins to snow. "I'm just as likely to hurt one of you."

"We just need you to make it as cold as possible. The Cod will survive—we're pretty good with cold temperatures. But humans are a bit more sensitive to that kind of thing. So we thought—if you could freeze over the village, then all the guards would go inside and we could sneak everyone out!"

That. . . .

That is a monumentally idiotic plan.

Scott blinks several times, just to make sure it really is Jimmy in front of him and not some hallucination induced by so much time alone.

"Or we could not do that," he says. "Just a suggestion."

Jimmy laughs a little. "I kind of figured you'd say that," he says. "But it's worth a shot, right? And if it doesn't work, we can go back to camp and figure out something else. No harm done, right?"

"Other than the possible harm that my very presence could cause," Scott says. "Do you really think that staying ten feet away while traveling would work? Just because that's my snowglobe radius doesn't mean anyone is safe outside of it."

He re-crosses his arms, waits for Jimmy to meet his eyes.

Jimmy's quiet for a long time, looking around at the unintentional ice spikes and piles of snow. Long enough that Scott turns away, tosses the sack from Jimmy into his ice hut.

That's that, then. He and Jimmy aren't going to talk about any of their real issues. Jimmy's so focused on this inconsequential rebellion of his that he won't even think about the fact that Xornoth may be controlling the world by now. Gem might be dead—literally any of them could be dead, Lizzie or Shubble or Joel all could have fallen—and Xornoth has control of half of the empires or all of them. And the only way to stop him didn't work.

Yet all Jimmy will even give thought to is his stupid little rebellion.

"I know it's hard," Jimmy says, voice awkwardly too-loud, rousing Scott from his thoughts. "It's really, really hard. I know that you don't trust yourself, and that you're hurting, and there's so much tangled up between us that I don't really understand but I know isn't making any of this easier for you. But I know you want to get better. I know you, Scott. And I know you will do everything in your power to keep those people safe."

Scott doesn't say anything, blinks back the sudden tears. He doesn't need this. He doesn't need Jimmy telling him what he feels.

Even if he's right.

He would do everything to keep the others safe.

He just can't guarantee that it would work.

"I trust you," Jimmy says firmly. "We trust you. I wouldn't have even brought it up if I hadn't cleared it with everyone else. And if it doesn't work, I'll never ask you to do it again. But please, Scott. If not for the people suffering, do it for me."

He doesn't owe Jimmy anything.

As a ruler, he pledged to defend his people, and he failed. What about when he fails again? Will he even be able to live with himself?

Will he be able to live with himself if he doesn't try?

In the grand scheme of things, a rebel attack to evacuate citizens of a small town in the Codlands is absolutely nothing. It will likely not contribute at all to the ending of the war.

But it's somewhere to start. Jimmy's always talking about how if they're still alive after everything, they ought to be doing something good with it. If he wants to eventually try to launch some sort of hopeless attack on Xornoth, he has to start somewhere. He has to figure this ice stuff out.

"Okay," he says eventually, reluctantly. "I don't . . . I don't want to. I don't think it will go well."

"If you can't trust yourself, you can trust me," offers Jimmy, and Scott grimaces at the hope in his voice.

He doesn't respond.

He wants to trust Jimmy. He wishes nothing had ever broken the trust that was there.

He isn't sure what did break it. He can't exactly blame Jimmy for not dying.

"I'll come get you tomorrow around midmorning, okay? We're hoping to arrive when it's dark the next day, then just have you freeze it overnight and get the Cod out before sunrise. Sound good?"

Scott shrugs. "It's your plan," he says. "Does it sound good to you?"

Jimmy doesn't respond, glancing over his shoulder. "I need to go finish prepping," he says when he turns back. "Take care. I . . . I'll see you tomorrow."

Scott doesn't move (frozen to the spot, he thinks idly), just watches Jimmy go, picking his way back between the trees.

What has he agreed to?

The journey goes exactly as Jimmy had laid out. Jimmy travels in a band of thirty-two people (Scott counts them during one of their fifteen minute rests), all able young Cod, some with cobbled-together armor or swords, others with nothing but the clothes on their back and improvised weapons. Scott sees two hand-made slings, one little hunting bow, and a couple of large branches shaped into clubs. All from afar, of course.

Scott walks a good thirty or forty feet away from the group, shying away whenever someone accidentally veers a little close. They always hurry back to the others, shivering and rubbing their arms.

Jimmy, of course, comes close on purpose. He keeps trailing along on the edges of the group, giving Scott terribly hopeful glances.

Scott just keeps his eyes on the snowy ground before him and wishes he could figure out how to talk to him.

Does he even want to talk to him?

Of course he does. Of course he wants to talk to his . . . to Jimmy.

He just can't. He can't risk hurting him. He can't risk getting hurt.

And soon enough, they've arrived at the town.

Scott has somehow managed to avoid hurting anyone, though one Cod only narrowly avoids getting stabbed by a flying ice spike when Scott gets startled by a bee.

He isn't sure how powerful he is, just that he's managed to tie it down and lash it to himself. But Scott, more often than not, feels like there's a thin door being battered and blown by a terrible snowstorm, ice seeping in through the cracks, and soon enough he'll have to try to open the door just a little bit. He can only imagine it blasting it open and sending bursts of unstoppable power out, forever unable to be closed.

Jimmy approaches him as Scott finishes up eating a cold supper, and even though it's dark Scott knows it's Jimmy because he knows Jimmy, he knows his habits and his tendencies and just weeks ago that had been painful, precious knowledge and now it means nothing significant.

"We're about ready," Jimmy says, not looking at Scott. He's looking out over the ridge that they're hidden behind, toward the town below. Scott wants to shake him, scream at him, drag him down to the ground. Doesn't he know he'll be seen? That his outline against the darkening sky will be obstinately visible?

"I'll take you down there in about a half hour. Then you just need to drop the temperatures to about freezing, all right? We'll do everything from there."

Scott doesn't answer. He doesn't have anything to say.

You left me you died to me I lost you and you were here. You were here this whole time and I've been hurting, and I'm still hurting and you just don't care. Why didn't you comfort me? Why aren't you helping me? Why won't you listen to everything I can't say?

Jimmy doesn't say anything, either, despite Scott's silent cries. He just stands there awkwardly, then gives Scott a nod and jogs back over to the main group.

Scott flexes his fingers in their gloves, blows on his hands, relishes the momentary warmth that brings him. He's always so cold these days. For good reason, of course—and despite all that, elves naturally run colder than humans, with the climate of their dwelling—, but he doesn't have to like it.

How is he meant to freeze an entire town without accidentally doing more damage than intended?

At this point, Scott has absolutely zero doubt that he'll be able to freeze the town. Piece of cake. The problem is drawing back the power after it's been extended.

It doesn't help that he doesn't know what he's doing. It doesn't help that all he's done for the past two weeks is try to not explode. He hasn't actually learned anything about control, or using the magic to his advantage.

And now he has to save a town. Use this untamable magic in moderation.

He's going to fail so badly.

And yet, when Jimmy returns not long later, Scott readjusts the little knapsack that hangs off his shoulder and sets off around the ridge, following Jimmy from a safe distance.

They skirt around their little camp on the side of the ridge, giving the refugees a wide berth so as to avoid getting any of them mixed up in Scott's personal snowstorm. That wouldn't help anything about this situation.

The ice hasn't been unfreezing behind him, either. That's been kind of concerning. He'd assumed, back in his little patch of the forest, that the ice hadn't gone away because he hadn't gone away. But now there's just a path of frost and snow through the long grasses of the outer Codlands, a trail leading directly to the rebel camp.

Scott really hopes it melts with time. It wouldn't be good to have one of fWhip's flying fish spies follow it and discover the camp.

He gets pulled from his thoughts by necessity as they approach the town, Jimmy making sure to keep them to the shadows, out of range of the torchlight from the perimeter guards. They crouch down behind some bushes (Jimmy beckons Scott closer, miming something about talking, and Scott reluctantly settles down close enough beside him—about five feet away, the closest to anyone he's been in weeks), peering between the brambles. Sure enough, there's more guards than a small border town ought to have—Scott counts at least four that patrol by the edge of town in the five minutes that they sit there and watch.

"We need to give my people a few more minutes, probably," Jimmy whispers, glancing up at the sky. The moon hasn't risen yet, so Scott's really not sure what he's checking. "But if you want to start the freeze, you can."

Right. Freezing an entire town.

Scott reaches inside himself for . . . for something. He isn't sure what. It's not like there's anything in there. Just his aching heart.

He legitimately feels fatigued from holding back the magic the best he can, but he doesn't know how to let go. He doesn't have any sort of point of reference for this. What is he supposed to do?

After several long minutes of indecision, of pulling at different parts of his mind to see if something just releases the switch, Scott gives up on figuring it out and just pushes.

He's not sure if the dam is broken, but a little flurry of snowflakes shoots out of his hands and he imagines the town, water in barrels and canals slowly freezing over, the temperatures dropping, the night air becoming frigid and biting.

Why does it have to be him?

"Nice," Jimmy whispers beside him. Scott blinks, looks up.

It's snowing. All across the town is snowing.

He didn't mean to make it snow. He only wanted to make it cold.

And it is cold. His fingers through their gloves are aching, the exposed skin on his face burns as a gust of freezing wind blows past.

"Was that too much?" he whispers, twisting his hands together. "I didn't mean for—"

Jimmy breathes out a near-silent laugh, gives him a grin. "I knew you could do it. I knew it!"

He made Jimmy happy.

Despite all the confusing hurt keeping them apart, that still makes Scott's heart squeeze in the best way possible.

The guards glance around at the fat flakes of snow, clearly confused. There's some shouting person to person, and within torchlight on the edge of town, a cluster of guards gather, rubbing their hands together and stamping their feet and pointing back to the center of town as they talk.

There's no way this will work. If his guards at Rivendell left their posts because it got a little cold, they would be in severe trouble with their captain.

But as Scott watches, one by one, the guards begin to trail away, heading toward what Scott assumes to be the inn.

There's no way. There's no way this is actually working. This can't be real.

Jimmy takes in a near-silent breath, lets it out in a low, loud, whoop/whistle. It sounds strikingly like the call of an owl that Scott has heard occasionally in these parts, late at night.

When did Jimmy learn bird calls?

It's a small thing. It's not even anything that matters. It's tiny and unimportant and Scott really shouldn't be close to tears right now.

It's like he doesn't even know Jimmy. He doesn't want to be upset, but he can't seem to stop it.

Jimmy still loves him and wants him; Jimmy wants them to be in love again.

How is it so hard?

Every guard has gone inside now, the town quiet.

The snow continues to fall, slow, drifting gently onto a peaceful street, becoming a picturesque winter scene.

Yet staring at it doesn't bring Scott peace. He only grows more and more anxious, eyes scanning from point to point, as though he might miss the operation entirely if he only watches the snow.

And after five or so minutes of waiting, Scott sees, past the falling snow, camouflaged people stealing through the streets, peering in windows, tapping lightly on doors.

The Cod residents are quick and quiet to answer, which is absolutely absurd.

It's actually working.

The other day, this was the most ridiculous plan Scott had ever heard. He never would have believed that any part of it would actually come to any sort of fruition.

And here they are.

He continues to watch as entire families sneak out of houses, glancing left and right before stepping out into the street, some bundled up in layers of clothing and others with nothing but a thin tunic protecting them from the weather.

The rebels move in phases, ushering out first this side street, then that one, making sure each sector of the town doesn't leave without instruction.

Scott watches, and something within him marvels.

This is the work. This had seemed so inconsequential to him just days ago—there are much larger things to worry about, after all—but now he can see how this had become Jimmy's whole world.

There's so many of them. They're moving house-by-house, sending one group before beckoning the next, but the streets are still close to packed.

There's a woman, hands covering her mouth as tears stream down her face, following a group into an alley. A shirtless man, carrying two children at once, his shirt draped over the both of them. A child—a tiny slip of a girl, surely not older than eight, clinging to her parent's leg, the torchlight from the abandoned guard posts illuminating her face just enough that Scott can see a hand-shaped bruise spanning her cheek.

The people are malnourished, injured, terrified. They’ve been desperately praying that someone will rescue them, someone will come along and deliver them from this darkness.

And here Jimmy is, a shining light, their once-dead king returned to save them specifically, as unimportant as they feel they are.

It makes sense. Jimmy's forces aren't strong enough to take on Xornoth, so why should he even focus on something so unattainable?

This, while not easy, is doable, and something that both strengthens his numbers and helps his people.

Scott gets it. It's about hope. It's about remembering the lost. It's about finding strength and life in this world of corruption.

"Scott," Jimmy whispers, pulling him from his realization.

Scott blinks, looks over at him. Jimmy's teeth are chattering, his nose pink, his lips pale of color. His arms are clutched around himself, doing nothing to hide the way his entire body trembles.

"You can reel it back in, a bit," Jimmy says, clearly going for humor, but the words fall flat when his lips can't even twitch up in some semblance of a smile.

Oh.

Scott looks back to the town, and now, he doesn't just see the wonder of it all. He sees how slowly everyone is moving, the way the rebels look up fearfully at the quickening snow, the way none of them are wearing any proper winter gear.

It's cold out. It's very, very cold out. It's definitely far below freezing, icicles already hanging from buildings, a thick layer of snow blanketing the ground.

It's too cold. He sees, all at once, three children collapse, and their caretakers pick them up but can barely keep going.

It's too much. It's too cold, so cold that a man stumbles and falls, and those around him are too cold to stop and help.

"Scott, make it stop," Jimmy whispers with increasing urgency. "It's too cold. Scott, stop."

He can't stop.

The door has been opened, and Scott doesn't know how to close it.

He can't make it warm up, he can't even stop it from getting colder. The night sky is growing steadily darker as more clouds roll in, the snow falling harder and faster—there's actual ice spreading, visibly spreading, crawling out from the bushes where he and Jimmy are crouched, heading toward the town and Scott can't stop it—

"Scott—"

"I can't stop it," breathes Scott, and it's nothing but the truth. He can't just turn it off, that isn't something he knows how to do—he doesn't know how to do anything, this is a curse and he hates it and nothing will ever be right again!

"I can't stop it," he says again, louder, voice shaking. "I can't—I can't do it, I told you I can't, I don't know how—"

"Just try," Jimmy says over him, hands held up. "I know you can do it, I trust you—"

"Just—just stop!" Scott bursts out, finally, all those terrible emotions rising to his tongue. "You keep saying—you keep—you were dead, you left me and you don't get to—you can't tell me what I can and can't do, I don't—"

"Scott," Jimmy says, something horribly placating in his voice, and it sounds just like the old Jimmy, just like the one who died—

Scott stumbles up, backing away from Jimmy. He can't—he doesn't want—this is all too much, too much, he's ruined everything and it's too much—

Jimmy stands as well, taking a couple of steps toward him. "Scott, I'm going to touch you, okay?"

"No!" Scott bites out. The wind is whistling in his ears, he can barely hear Jimmy over it—he can barely see Jimmy through the snow, there's so much of it, and Scott can't make it stop! He can't fix this! "Don't touch me, I don't—I don't even know you, I'll hurt you!"

"Scott—"

"Get—away—" Jimmy's just coming closer, one step at a time, and Scott doesn't want him, that's not his Jimmy, he doesn't want to hurt him—

The storm is rapidly getting worse, the snow beating down on his face with little pellets of ice, he had never meant to make it snow let alone storm, he's cursed, he's forever cursed, there's no way he can make things right, there's no way anything will ever be right again—!

And then there are arms around him.

Jimmy squeezes him tightly, good pressure and tightly enough that his brain is forced to settle into a more peaceful state, despite his surroundings.

His lover is warm against him, and Scott instinctively buries his face in the crook of Jimmy's shoulder where it belongs and perfectly fits.

Something inside doesn't really click into place. It doesn't quite work. It's close, but it's just not where it needs to be.

But it does slide together nicely, and Scott somehow finds a slippery grasp on the cold and tugs it back in.

He hadn't even been able to have this before. He hadn't even been able to feel a way to control it, let alone actually take hold.

But there's some kind of power positively radiating from Jimmy, something that Scott can feel and recognize in this entirely new world of magic that he never even knew existed.

It's got to be Jimmy's love.

Jimmy loves him so so much that it overpowers the curse.

And Scott, for the first time in weeks, feels warm.

He feels warm. Jimmy's here, his arms wrapped around Scott, and he feels warm.

A sob rises in his chest.

This is his Jimmy.

His Jimmy is holding him, and loves him, and is so very warm.

"There we go," Jimmy whispers into his hair, voice slightly muffled. "Not too much, now. We still need a little bit of snow coming down."

Right.

Scott doesn't think he has the emotional capacity to pay attention to anything but Jimmy, but he loosens his grip on the ice just a little, enough that the snow doesn't stop.

The sob bursts out of his mouth, and Scott clutches Jimmy as close to him as possible.

His Jimmy is here. He's actually here.

And Scott can feel his fingers again, warmth washing over every part of his body.

They don't move for a long time. Jimmy watches the exodus over his shoulder as Scott cries into his chest, letting all of the emotions that he's been feeling for the past two months pour out onto Jimmy's coat.

They stand there, and Scott sobs.

After too long, long enough that the tears on Scott's face become more sticky than wet (they aren't freezing on his cheeks, like they've been doing, and isn't that just a miracle), Jimmy pulls away.

Scott feels his tenuous control slip from his grasp—too cold again, too cold—and he launches himself back into Jimmy's arms.

"Don't go," he chokes out.

"Okay."

"Please . . . I can't—I can't do this without you."

"Okay."

Scott takes in a shuddering breath. He's stronger than this. He can do this.

"Do you think you can stop the snow?"

Scott nods, his nose wiping across Jimmy's coat. Then, with a mustering of what little strength he has, he shuts that imaginary door.

It almost doesn't shut. Scott strains against it in his mind, inch by inch, but eventually it clicks shut.

He can't lock it. But holding to Jimmy keeps it shut, and Scott doesn't plan on letting go.

Jimmy's right here.

Jimmy is real.

He's alive.

"You died," Scott sniffles, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. "You died!"

"I know," Jimmy murmurs, sounding absolutely heartbroken. "I know. I'm here."

"You weren't there, though. You—you left me! I was so—so alone!"

"I know," Jimmy says again. "I'm so sorry, Scott. I'm so sorry."

Jimmy's crying too, Scott realizes. They're in snow up to their knees, in full view of the town, and they're both just standing here crying.

Scott. . . .

Scott doesn't really care.

His heart, broken by the weight of the grief hanging so heavily on it, is finally beginning to heal.

That's more important than anything else around.

Scott doesn't let go of Jimmy's hand the entire trip back.

They walk back to the camp, bringing up the rear of a long crowd of refugees. Scott's trail of frost is barely-there, and he never feels like he's a danger to anyone while Jimmy is at his side.

They arrive back at the camp almost three days later, the group slower-moving with the addition of a good three hundred people. The camp is thrown into chaos, more than doubled in size, and Jimmy's pulled every which way by every person possible as they try to make arrangements and adjustments on such a large scale.

Scott stays with him through it all. He presses himself into Jimmy's side during a hurried meeting about leadership for splitting into several camps; he clings to him while Jimmy directs new refugees to food; he holds his hand through long hours of pointing people this way and that.

Jimmy doesn't end up being forced to bed until past midnight, a young Cod practically pushing him and Scott to his tent. Jimmy goes reluctantly, walk stumbling and eyes bloodshot. Scott can't imagine that he looks any better—he can feel how oily his hair is, limp after being literally frozen for so long, his wings unkempt and dragging. He can barely stay upright, and relief floods him when they finally reach Jimmy's tent.

Jimmy collapses onto his bedroll without even taking off his boots or unbuckling the enchanted sword on his back, and Scott is just able to manage loosening the laces of his own boots and kicking them off before he falls down beside him.

"There's still so much to do," mumbles Jimmy, and instinctively, they wrap around each other, knees slotting perfectly and arms weaving just right.

It's like nothing changed.

It's like everything is right again.

"I missed you," Scott whispers, though his throat threatens to choke on the words.

He lost Jimmy. Forty-two days of mourning, of the worst torture he's ever been subjected to.

He lost him, and it still hurts. Everything still feels so terribly hopeless, so dark, and Jimmy forsook him for so long.

But he's back. He's here, and alive, and through his thin tunic under the hilt of the sword Scott can feel a new scar just below the nape of his neck (Jimmy shudders as his fingers trace it, but doesn't pull away) but he's alive and in Scott's arms.

He died. Jimmy died, and it must have been terribly traumatic for him in ways that Scott hasn't even considered.

But by some miracle, he's here. He's okay.

He is, isn't he?

"Are you all right?" Scott asks quietly, seized by the need to know that his love is well. He doesn't know the specifics, not really—but Jimmy said he'd been stabbed several times, and that can't have been easy to recover from—and Scott had made it awfully cold earlier, and he knows that some of the refugees suffered because of it, and Jimmy only had that thin coat on.

Jimmy doesn't respond, though, breathing slow and even, and Scott eventually relaxes, assuming that he's asleep. He can get his answer tomorrow, after all. He can fuss over him all he wants.

Scott honestly can't believe that he let himself drift so far from Jimmy. He let his feelings of abandonment and despair and everything else get in the way of being here, holding his beloved, giving him comfort and receiving it in bucketloads.

He was so wrapped up in losing Jimmy the first time, he almost lost him again.

Then Jimmy shifts in his arms, sighs a little bit. "I'm okay," he finally replies. "That's what you asked, right?"

Scott nods against his shoulder, and Jimmy lets out a low chuckle. "My good ear is pressed to the pillow, sorry," he says by way of explanation. "Couldn't quite hear you. Are you okay?"

Is he okay?

He's not physically injured. And he's not quite so cold—with Jimmy's love warming him, he can keep a lid on the ice magic, stopping it from spreading beyond his fingertips.

Everything about this situation still hurts. Everything's still so terrible, and there's no way to overcome it.

But Jimmy's here now, and he loves Scott.

And Scott loves him.

"I'm all right," he says eventually, before burying his face deeper into Jimmy's shoulder.

And he thinks, for the moment, that it's true.

Scott dreams that night.

He dreams of a plateau, ice, wind whipping dark robes every which way.

He dreams of his hand tightening around a sword hilt.

He dreams of a crown upon his head.

Inka kuuna ndikitá'ána.

It's just barely past dawn, and a young girl with mousy brown hair and scales smattered across her face like freckles is wandering down to the river to collect water.

It's a bit of a long walk, but Lithi doesn't mind—it's preferable to the walk back, when the empty waterskin strapped to her back will be filled with water.

She's a girl forced to grow up too fast, barely in her teens, yet made to take up her mother's armor and flee into exile.

But she doesn't cry. Lithi never cries, and it's a point of pride for her. Her peers seem to be constantly crying, after all. She isn't going to let herself be perceived as a weak little girl. Not after everything her people have been through.

The ground beneath her bare feet becomes squishy, pockmarked with little puddles of water, and she veers right. Her course has taken her too near the slow, swampy portion of the river, and while she longs to go splash about in the swamp, she knows that the water there isn't clear enough to use back at camp. Not to mention, the Codfather wants them to avoid the swamps, for some reason.

She misses the marshes of home. They all do—Cod aren't made to spend all their lives on land.

She knows the swamp misses them, too.

And that reminds her of the folk song that her mother taught her, and her mother's parents taught her, and their parents taught them.

So, while the girl walks, she sings.

The sun is brighting,

Children, come home!

The grass is sighing,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The frogs are croaking,

Children, come home!

The critters woken,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The birds are singing,

Children, come home!

The trees are ringing

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The fries are playing,

Children, come home!

The wind is saying,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The night is falling,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is crying,

Children, come home!

She reaches the riverbank as the song comes to a close, singing the last line over and over again, in a myriad of styles and keys.

She shrugs the waterskin off her shoulders, clumsily dips it into the water. The riverbank is uncomfortably dry and sandy between her toes, which long for the mud of home.

Why can't they go to the swamp? Not that she would ever rebel against their Codfather, but she just wants to feel at peace again.

The waterskin isn't totally full, but she draws it up out of the water and ties it closed, arms shaking, straining to hold it up. And now she has to make the long walk back to camp with this heavy load, the leather straps cutting into her shoulder blades with every step.

So maybe she dawdles by the river. Maybe she dips her fingers into the water, swishes it around.

It's that distraction, perhaps, that changes everything.

Because had Lithi not lingered, she wouldn't have seen the glimpse of bright green caught under a rock in the water. She wouldn't have levied up the rock, pulled loose the thing. She wouldn't have held up the sodden leather bag, beautifully embroidered with a bright green cod and a sky blue stag.

And most importantly of all, she wouldn't have opened the bag to find a thin, Oceanic book, nor caught a glimpse of gold shimmering in the silty mud beneath where the bag had lain.

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seenoversundown · 4 months ago

Text

Amongst The Stars: Chapter Three

Josh x Quinn (Nonbinary OC)

Warnings: Misgendering of a nonbinary character, Men (that’s it. That’s the warning), Wallet chains, Jake being Sweet. Word Count: 4.1k Summary: Josh has always loved love, and he's finally found it. Buuuut, he can't exactly tell anyone. Join him as he navigates the ins and outs of his sweet, secret romance. Author's Note: We are officially on our regularly scheduled programming. Every monday, babies. I hope you all enjoy this one and the little dual POV action. I just had to get quinn back in there for a little bit at the end :)

Can't Take My Eyes off You - Frankie Valli “Pardon the way that I stare There's nothin' else to compare The sight of you leaves me weak There are no words left to speak”

I can’t stop thinking about Quinn after they leave. Every little thing I do draws my mind back to them. I know it’s wrong, and I shouldn’t be, but I am jealous of their partner. God, Josh, you sound insane. Pining for a person you’ve met one time, being jealous of their partner. Their partner doesn’t respect them, so their partner doesn’t factor in. Sometimes, I wish brains functioned like an etch-a-sketch because I try shaking my head to clear those thoughts, but it doesn’t quite work, and I end up with a minor headache. Oh well. I walk back up to the front of the store, disinterested in actually working now that my day has been positively derailed by a lovely and mysterious person in a pair of beat-up Doc Martens.

I stand by the front registers, waiting to greet customers as they walk in. Hobby Lobby has never been my favorite place to work, but it really isn't so bad when you're a manager and can choose to fuck off on the clock if you want to.Which I do. I want to fuck off on the clock badly. I look down at my watch, noting that I only have 20 minutes until I can clock out for the day. There's no sense in starting a new task, I smile to myself. I'm pleased I've managed to time my “greeting responsibilities” so well with the end of my shift. I stand around for a minute, bouncing back and forth on the balls of my feet, and I let my mind drift back to Quinn. Their lips looked so plush and biteable. It should be illegal that they nibbled their lips in front of me while I didn't have the option to offer my assistance.

I ponder their lips for another moment before my mind slips back to their concerning comment. “He’d done a lot worse for less…” My eyebrows furrow as I try to imagine a situation in which I would be anything short of sweet and kind to Quinn.

I meander out of the first set of sliding doors and step into the area where only the ugliest furniture goes to die. Goin’ to the Hobby Lobby lobby, I sing to myself as I take stock of the atrocious seasonal items that no customer would ever think to purchase. That's a lie; old women exist. I walk the area and make a mental note to bring the feather duster out tomorrow to tackle the growing piles of dust that inhabit the, reasonably, rejected items. I run my finger along the gilded frame of one of the paintings that’s propped up atop one of the fucking ugliest baby pink chalk-painted tables I've ever seen. Of course, it's chalk paint, I shudder. My thoughts return to the painting; it’s massive, at least two and a half feet long—a highland cow with fluffy hair covering its eyes and an inexplicable crown of leaves resting upon its stupid little horns.

“Oh, Bessie,” I whisper, pulling my finger back from the frame and examining the dust that came with it. “They could never make me hate you. I may hate everything in this sad room, but never you.” I decide to check the markdown schedule tomorrow because, as much as I love this goofy little cow, I will never take her home at full price. I do have some standards.

As I'm about to turn around and head back into the store proper, I hear the entrance door slide open as a man about my age, give or take, walks through.

“Oh! Hey, man. Welcome to Hobby Lobby,” I greet him. “Lookin' for a dude named Josh.” Me? I take a second to look him over. Curly, blonde hair that sits a bit too close to his eyes. Nondescript black tee with baggy jeans. A wallet chain attached to his belt loop. A fucking wallet chain. What year is this? Well-worn Adidas sneakers. He seems safe enough. A bit worse for wear, but he doesn't seem scary.

“Ah, yep,” I stick my hand out, offering it in greeting, “that’d be me!” He looks at my outstretched hand and scoffs. Okayyyyyyy, maybe I misjudged. “I just wanted to talk with you, man to man.” “About…” “About you flirting with my girlfriend,” he cocks an eyebrow. “Not sure what you mean, champ,” I let out an awkward chuckle.“Don’t pull that shit with me, man.” “I’m afraid I really don't know what you're talking about. I haven't said more than ‘hi, welcome to Hobby Lobby’ to a girl in weeks.” “So, you're gonna act like you have no idea who Quinn is?” I narrow my eyes, putting two and two together. This is Quinn’s shithead partner. “I don't think they’d appreciate you calling them your girlf—” “I don't exactly care what she’d appreciate right now,” he cuts me off, “I'm here to talk to you.”

Oh, so he reallyyyyyyyy doesn't respect them. Noted.

“Yeah, so,” I roll my eyes, “you can talk at me, but you're not talking to me until you show some respect.” I watch his face contort in confusion, quickly morphing into anger. “Why should I respect you?” He spits out quickly. “Are you delusional? Just stupid?” I can't help but laugh at the look on his face “I’m not asking you to respect me,” I continue, “I'm asking you to respect your partner. It’s ridiculous that you're in here, trying to talk to me ‘man to man’ while you're misgendering them.” I watch as realization dawns on his face. “Come on, you know I didn't mean that.” “I’m assuming you’ve been with them long enough to know better,” I watch his eyes slowly shift away from mine, “not that length of time has anything to do with respect.”

His eyes fall to the floor, properly chastised.

“I—” “For what it’s worth,” I cut him off, “from the few minutes that I talked to Quinn today, in a purely professional capacity, I think they deserve better than whatever it is you have to offer.” “Hey—” “AND, don't forget that they’ll realize that one day. And when they do, someone will be waiting to treat them better.”

I check my watch. Time to gooooooo!

“Anyway,” I pause, narrowing my eyes at him in a silent gesture to get his name. “Craig.” “Anyway, Greg, my shift is over. I don't intend to mention this to Quinn the next time I see them, and I’d suggest you don't either.”

I turn on my heel and book it to the break room, practically sprinting by the time I make it to the double doors. I push through, throw my smock on one of the hooks above the time clock, and punch out. Finally, finally, I sit on the worn-out leather couch across from the lockers and let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding in.

“What the FUUUUUUUUUUCK,” I lean my head back and groan.

I didn't have “getting accosted by a fucking freak” on today’s bingo card, but I suppose I'll have to tick it off regardless. Who does he think he is? Who do I think I am? I don't talk to people like that. I pull out my phone and send a text to Jake, chuckling at his nickname in my phone. I'm five minutes older, and I will never let him live it down.

Me: I think I messed up Kiddo: Elaborate on that? Me: No

I slide my phone into my pocket and stand up from the couch, shaking some of the nervous energy from my limbs. I’ll explain everything to Jake when I get home; I just need him to know I may be in a mood.

I let out a long sigh and slowly made my way out to the front of the store, praying to whatever gods existed that Craig would be gone by the time I got there. I thank all my lucky stars as I walk out of the first set of sliding doors and find myself alone. I glance once more at my girl Bessie, then head out to the parking lot. I glance in every which direction, ensuring that Craig isn’t hiding anywhere, waiting to pop out and murder me. Perhaps I am being dramatic, but my gut tells me you cannot trust someone who wears a wallet chain unironically. And I always follow my gut.

I make it to my Jeep truck and sigh as I plant myself in the driver's seat, connecting my phone to Bluetooth and clicking into my Apple Music Discover Station. Occasionally, I find something new that I enjoy. The opening notes of a pop song filter over the speakers as I back out of my parking spot and pull through the parking lot. Sam would hate this; I’ll have to add it to the bar playlist.

I bob my head to the music, driving down the road back to my apartment “I’m your dream come true when it's on a platter for you…” For some reason that brings Quinn to the forefront of my mind, I can’t help but think about what a piece of shit Craig was to me today. I hope he’s better to them, but something tells me he isn’t. The things they said about him today…My stomach clenches thinking about it. Someone like Quinn deserves the world, and Craig is obviously not giving it to them. I could. Okay, no, that’s crazy.

I sigh, pulling up to the stop sign next to the bar that Jake owns. We’ve lived in the apartment above it for years, but the prior owner finally decided to sell it, and Jake took him up on the offer. Jake got a job down at the docks when we were freshly graduated from high school; he decided he didn’t care about college and just wanted to set himself up with a good job that would pay him enough to put money back in savings and have a little spending money on top, and in Portland… That’s the docks. Not that he ever needed spending money; he didn’t (and still doesn’t) ever do anything for himself. He’s always been too busy taking care of everyone else. I can’t even remember the last time he took a nice girl out for dinner.

I pull into the back side of the parking lot and slam my car into park, practically jerking my key out of the ignition and running through the backdoor of the bar, ready to see my twin after the horrendously long day I’ve had.

“Uh, hey, bub,” Jake greets me from behind the bar with a confused wave. “Hey, kiddo,” I sigh, sitting at the bar top, “can I get a salty dog?”“Sure thing, gin or vodka?” I raise an eyebrow at him, signaling he doesn't need to be in customer mode with me. “Surprise me.”

I watch as he takes a bottle of Tanqueray gin from the top shelf, pours a measure of it into his cocktail shaker, and then adds grapefruit juice, lime juice, and ice. He shakes it, then strains it into a highball glass rimmed with salt and slides it over to me.

I take a sip, and, of course, it's delicious. Jake indeed found his calling here — no one on this earth can make a cocktail like he can.

“Perfect as always, Jake.” “I don't make them any other way,” he starts, “now, wanna tell me about how you ‘think you messed up?’” I slam back the rest of my drink and shake my glass, asking for another. “Slow down, you're gonna drink me out of house and home,” Jake scolds, but prepares another one, nonetheless. “I need a little help loosening my lips.” “Get real, you've never had an issue talking in your life. If anything, you're too good at it.” I roll my eyes but secretly know he’s correct. I'm a known yapper. “I resent that, you know.” “And I don't care, stop changing the subject.” “Fine,” I huff, “I got into a fight with a customer today.” “Physical or…” “Verbal, obviously. Do I look like a scrapper?” He chuckles, wiping non-existent dust off of the spotless bar top.

“Anyway, some crazy dude wearing a wallet chain, of all things, came in and yelled at me for hitting on his partner.” “What?” “Yes, Jake. A wallet chain. In 2024. I was baffled, too.” “No! Not that, you weirdo. He yelled at you for what?!” “Oh, he thought I was hitting on his partner.” “Well, were you?” I sit and think for a moment. I wasn't not flirting with them, but it wasn't my initial intent. “Maybe a little,” I sigh, “I didn't realize they were in a relationship. And I do have eyes. They were too cute. I had to try and shoot my shot or whatever the kids say.” “You’d ‘shoot your shot’ with a wall. I’m honestly shocked this is the first time this has happened.” “I resent that, too.” “Add it to the list.” “Anyway, I think the guy was just insecure. But I may have been rude to him.” Jake slowly blinks at me. “You were rude?” “I know,” I laugh, “he just brought it out in me.” “How rude were you?” “Well, I jumped his ass for misgendering his partner.” “That's not exactly rude,” Jake jumps in, “it’s quite the opposite, I'd say.” “I’m sure he didn't feel that way.” “Why do you care? You did what was right; plus, it’s not like you'll ever see this dude again. Hell, you probably won't even see his partner again. No harm, no foul.” My stomach flips at the thought of not seeing Quinn again. We don't have time to unpack that.

“Yeah, you're probably right. I’ll never see either of them again and, as of right now, he hasn't reported me to corporate. So, no need to stress.” “Exactly right, bub.”

I finish up my drink and set the glass down.

“Thank you, Jake.” “You don't have to thank me, I’ll always be on your side.”

I reach out and pat his arm.

“Also,” Jake starts, “I don't know the situation, but it’s pretty serious if you actually act rude to someone else. So, don't discount those feelings.” What is he saying? I fix him with a confused look. “I don't understand.” “Look, Josh,” he sighs like he’s preparing to explain physics to a five-year-old, “I’m not telling you to get in the way of their relationship. But, if the opportunity to explore this arises, don't let that opportunity go to waste. It’s no small thing that you felt connected enough to this person to do what you did today.”

“You know, I did tell the guy today that if he doesn't treat them right, someone else will be there waiting. Maybe I’m that someone.” “You could be, if that's what you wanted.”

I simply hum a response. Jake has given me too much to think about.

“I appreciate you lending me an ear, brother,” I shove my stool back from the bar and stand, “but I have chores to take care of upstairs. Text me if you need a hand down here.” “Will do.”

I open the door to the apartment that Jake and I share above the bar. Home sweet home, finally. I kick my shoes off and walk into the living room, planting myself on the couch, thinking about Quinn the whole time. Something about them piqued my interest. I can't help but feel that if we’d met at a different point in time, we’d be together right now. That's ridiculous. You've spoken to them for a total of 3 minutes.

It is true that I've only spoken to them for a few moments, but I noticed them the first time they ever came in while I was working. I've watched them from afar, hoping to find a way to actually converse with them. I was shocked when they found a way to converse with me first. Jake may joke about how I’d hit on anyone, but that's not true. I’m nice to everyone, and I'm flirty with a lot of them. But Quinn is different. And it's unbelievable that I feel that way. I don't wink at every single person I see, nor do I tell them how important their work is. I certainly don't get into verbal altercations defending other people. Verbal altercations are reserved for when someone is talking shit about my family. So, what makes Quinn different? I keep replaying our interaction in my mind. I got butterflies when they complimented my tattoo. I was practically shaking when they pulled me in for a hug. I was angry on their behalf when they insinuated that they don't have people who support them.

What. Makes. Quinn. Different.

I never act this way about strangers, but it's as if their soul called out to mine, and mine answered. It's the only way I can explain the way I handled Craig. I called him GREG just to piss him off. I never do shit like that. But he was an absolute chode. He kind of deserved it. I can internally debate whether he sucks or not all night, but it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t speak like that to people, and if Quinn, sweet, curious Quinn, weren’t involved, I likely wouldn’t have spoken to him that way either. Regardless, I really need to find a way to get closer to Quinn. Good job; that sounds so creepy. What I mean is that I feel a soul-deep need to know this person. I don’t know in what capacity because it seems as though I’m entering their life a little late for it to be romantic. Which is what I want. But I could be just in time for friendship. I’ll take it if they truly want to extend the offer, but only time will tell.

When Craig makes it back home, shopping bags in tow, Willa and I are roughly two and a half sheets to the wind.

“Well, well, well,” Willa points an accusatory finger at him as he walks through the door, “The prodigal Greg returns.” I can’t help but snicker, knowing how much it pisses him off when: 1) Willa is here without warning 2) Someone calls him by the wrong name.

“Hey, Willa,” He plastered on a pained smile. Willa turns to look at me, shock written on her face. That may be the nicest he’s been to Willa in months. Craig walks into the kitchen and places his bags on the counter.

“Didn’t realize you were going to be here,” He half shouts from the other room, “But you’re welcome to stay for dinner if you want.” “Does he even know how to cook?!” She whispers. “He knows how to heat food up,” I shrug. “I’m making Eggplant Parm.” My eyes light up. It’s my favorite meal. “Maybe this is his way of apologizing,” I whisper to Willa. She rolls her eyes but cuts me a devious look. “That sounds great, Craig. I’d love to stay if you’ll have me.”

“You girls just stay in there, and I’ll have it out in a jiffy.” “Jiffy?” Willa mouths, fighting back a laugh. “Girls?” I mouth back, shaking my head, and Willa’s face instantly sours. She knows that Craig has a hard time with my pronouns and prefers to ignore my identity. This is a regular point of contention in my relationship with Craig and, by extension, my relationship with Willa. I don’t understand why he does it, and she doesn’t understand why I let him get away with it. I don’t understand why I let him get away with it. He is quite literally just a man.

Willa and I fall into silence for a moment before she grabs my hand and stage whispers just loud enough that Craig may hear. “I bet Stock Boy wouldn’t misgender you.” I hear a small crash from the kitchen, and I clap one of my hands over her mouth. “Stop!!”

I feel her tongue dart out and lick between my fingers, and I let out a squeal. I pull my hand back from her mouth and wipe it on her shirt. “You are an absolute monster. I’m not sure why I allow you to call yourself my friend.” “Oh, Quincy,” she lets out a cackle, “You wouldn’t know what to do without me.”

I roll my eyes, but it’s true. She is the only thing that has kept me sane since we moved to Maine. She’s my rock. Kind of sad that your own partner isn’t your rock, Quinn. Willa picks up our empty wine glasses from the coffee table and shoots me a wink before heading into the kitchen. Surely, this will be fine. Willa trapping Craig in a room could not possibly cause anything terrible to occur.

I can hear their muffled voices just enough to make out their conversation. ‘So, Craig. What did you get up to after Gamestop?’ I wince, waiting for his response to that emphasis. Willa has always been phenomenal at telling him that she knows precisely when he’s messed something up. ‘Oh, uh. I just stopped by the grocery. Wanted to make it up to Quinn.’ Interesting. ‘You were gone an awful long time to have just stopped at the grocery.’ ‘Mmm, yeah, well. I had to figure out what to make and how to make it. I’m not exactly a chef over here.’ ‘That’s an understatement,’ I wince again. What is she playing at? This situation is already precarious. ‘But, I suppose you get half of a point for trying. We’ll see.’

Willa walks back into the living room with two more glasses of wine for us.

“He’s–” She starts at full volume before I shush her, connecting my phone to the Bluetooth speaker in the corner. Once the music starts playing at an acceptable volume to cover our conversation, I motion for her to continue. “He’s lying. I can smell it on him. He didn’t just nip over to Hannaford and come home.” “I mean, obviously. He was gone for like three hours.” “You don’t care that he’s literally lying to your face.” “Technically,” I poke her side, “he lied to your face. And no, not really. If he came home and decided to be sweet for once, I’m not gonna question what it took to get him there.” “Quinn,” She says softly, reaching a hand out to pat my leg. “I know, Wills. But, just let me have this for the moment.”

She hums a non-response and drops the conversation.

I should have questions. I should care. But, if he’s going to be sweet, I’ll take it where I can get it because these moments are becoming fewer and further between.

“Dinner’s done,” Craig pops his head into the living room, “Y’all’s plates are already on the table.” Willa and I scramble to the kitchen table. “Thanks, babe.” I kiss Craig's cheek before sitting down. “It looks great.” “Anything for you, babe,” He beams.

I see Willa’s lips quirk up in a slight grin and brace myself for whatever she’s about to do.

“So, Quincy. I’ve got a photography project I’m working on, but I need some supplies. Wanna come to Hobby Lobby with me tomorrow?” I let out a massive sigh as the color drains from Craig’s face, and I begin mentally preparing myself to do damage control, but Craig impresses me. “That would be nice, Quinn. Y’all can get out of the house for a little bit. I’ll stay behind to clean up around here.”

Willa sits in shock, clearly not expecting that response.

“Oh, and Willa,” Craig smiles at her, “If you want to stay over tonight, I’ll take the couch. Don’t want you to drive home after you’ve had all that wine.”

Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf.

Even if Craig has decided to be a bit nicer after his moment earlier; I still can’t help the little shock of excitement that rushes through me at the thought of being able to see Josh again so soon. I’m not sure what it is about him, but I want to learn more about him. He’s the most compelling person I’ve met in a long time, and perhaps he feels the same about me.

I’m excited to see if our friendship may blossom.

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walkingaftermidnight07 · 2 years ago

Text

Chain of Thorns: all my main thoughts

yes hello, i wanna make a large post abt this bc i just need to list everything out since i have A LOT of thoughts

MAJOR SPOILER WARNING

SERIOUSLY

DONT READ FURTHER UNLESS YOUVE READ THE BOOK

Things I Liked:

basically every moment where we got to see Will. I was laughing at so many things that Will said and I missed having that, since I will never get enough of Will's humor.

Seeing Jesse interact with the Merry Thieves. It made me so happy and I love seeing Jesse's dry humor mixed in with the Merry Thieves; he fits in with them so well.

Just human Jesse in general. Everything about him made me so happy. He was so kind and brave and quite funny.

Getting to see more of Anna/Ari. During the first book we got almost nothing of them, partially because of Ari being poisoned but also because Anna was kind of not in the main circle yet.

Christopher visiting Grace and them getting to know each other. It made me so happy that there was someone who could see past what Grace had done and could give her a second chance, and their bond over science was so sweet.

Thomastair. That's it. No explanation needed.

Ghostwriter I thought was pretty well done, but the whole "them kissing would cause Lucie to see demon stuff" was kind of unnecessary.

Jem being there for Grace and talking to her to help her through

The Watchers were a really cool plot twist I wasn't expecting

honestly the james turning on the lamp on pg 127 caused a lot of pterodactyl screeching which was fun

the Herondaisy scene in chapter 23 hehe

Effie every time she opens her mouth

Also Bridget who is my queen. she is my love, my life, my star.

Eugenia Lightwood just existing was fabulous.

Esme being the most random plot thread ever which caused a lot of unexpected laughter

"Alastair why are you so stupid I brush my teeth dont tell anyone" LMAO

Alastair with the baby

Again, Thomastair.

Matthew's eventual acceptance of Alastair into the group

Cordelia outsmarting Lilith with her deal

Belial having a weird obsession with being crowned prince of London or whatever

Also Belial's weird bird demon friend made me CACKLE

Bridgestock blackmailing Charles. if i'm honest, i think it was a great part of the plot bc it did kind of give Charles a slight redemption (but also him being kind of outted is also really bad) but i think it was great in kind of allowing Flora be able to accept Ari without fear of Maurice

Lucie and Cordelia talking abt Cordelia's boobs lmaooo/The Wicked Queen Cordelia

Grace's entire arc through this book

the different meanings behind "cordelia ran"

Things that made me sobbbb:

Will becoming a sort of father figure to Jesse

The Merry Thieves helping Matthew with his drinking

Cordelia and James when they finally confessed for real

Matthew's entire arc with his drinking and telling the truth

Christopher's death

"you are my unfinished business" IM SOBBING STILL

Christopher's death

The scene where they see that Kit's dead

Kit being dead

Intermission: Grief

the fact that kit was in fact dead and not going to come back at the end (i was in denial for the entire second half)

Matthew and James while in Edom

Thomas coming out to his family

Alastair telling Cordelia that he's always afraid for her with her being the wielder of Cortana

Again. Kit's death. (i cried a lot ok its been an emotional couple of days)

Things I didn't like:

The whole love triangle. I still don't think that Matthew truly loved Cordelia and i never believed it would be an actual love triangle

the fact that the truth about the bracelet had to be kept secret for so long. it felt kind of unnecessary. there were other ways to draw out the plot than that.

the fact that tatiana exists

Kit's death. I feel like it's so unfair that of all people, he's the one to die. it didn't feel well written, it felt like it had to happen bc she couldn't kill the queer characters and Kit was the only main character left that she COULD kill.

Grace's entire plot being kind of left without an ending.

The lack of mourning/a funeral for kit. (since we didnt get enough mourning, i think im going to write it bc i want to suffer for the purpose of completing the loose ends)

the pacing. the entire plot felt so oddly paced, and it wasn't as much of a mystery like choi or chog.

again, why christopher? i feel like matthew would've been a better choice, or perhaps sona.

magnus kind of getting written out so early

though i love our gay couples and their accepting families, it is a little bit unrealistic. i get that the point is that this particular batch of the families are very kind people in comparison to what their families become a little farther down the road(ie Robert, maryse, etc), but it still feels a little bit unrealistic.

i felt like the whole lucie and cordelia struggling with their friendship thing was a little bit too much to add into this already very full book. (although i loved the wicked cordelia reveal that was fun)

i feel like we didn't fully get the wrap up at the end that we needed. we didn't see enough of them after the battle, as they came to terms with their losses and their wins and how they would continue their lives.

also we never really got to see jesse meeting his cousins/aunts and uncles and i wish we'd gotten that.

Questions I still have:

bridget? whats going on with her? theres a throwaway line in the coda mentioning something is odd abt her, but thats it??

grace. what is going to happen to grace? i wish we could perhaps see her and figure out if she's alright.

im still confused abt the lightwood line. i guess they're trying to say that alexander is going to continue it? (that actually kind of makes sense, genetics wise tho, cuz alexander looks like cecily and alec and izzy are supposed to inherit that)

will we ever get a revised family tree?

blackthorn line???

Rupert's ghost?

fairchild line? am i correct to assume that its going to tie into charlotte's pregnancy reveal at the end?

I'm sure I have more thoughts but I can't remember them at this present moment and I didn't write them down but these are all the ones I wrote down.

lmk what y'all think abt this book

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randomnameless · 11 months ago

Note

Scrolling through some old posts on a whim and found this, in response to an anon pointing out how stupid it was for Claude to not know about poverty in Almyra:

To be fair, that's also something I ranted about in Birthrout when Ryoma went all "i never knew people in Nohr were starving" because there's no way a crown prince and future heir of a nation doesn't know basic things about his immediate neighbours -

While you went on to point out that it's worse in Three Houses' case because it's a prince not knowing about basic details of his own nation instead of a prince not knowing about basic details of his neighbouring nation, i'd like to add that it's even more justified in Fates' case due to one of the biggest and most consistent issues with Hoshido being it's isolationism and lack of care for the issues of other countries, made even worse by the fact that it's general populace despises Nohrians due to the war:

Azura, in her C-Support with Corrin in Revelation: I suppose the carefree attitude of Hoshido might look like indifference to others. It could give people the impression that Hoshidans are very self-centered. So long as there is peace, the people in Hoshido seem uninterested in the world.

Shura, chapter 19 of Birthright: The day Kohga fell to Mokushu, almost all of my people were slaughtered. I was a child... Chased from my homeland and separated from the other survivors. Even as a refugee, I was denied entry to Hoshido. So I wound up in Nohr. I was exiled and alone. My only choice was to steal or die. You can guess what I chose. I've been here ever since, searching for others like me and trying to stay afloat...

Azura, in a line that was removed during localization and changed into her being the only person to suffer suspicion from the general populace, Chapter 9 of Conquest: But ever since the war started, everyone has changed. After you, a Hoshido princess, defected to Nohr… Anyone who had even a little involvement with the enemy could not be trusted, and a movement to eliminate them began. And the brunt of it… Was directed at me, because I was born in Nohr.

With all that in mind, i actually find it pretty reasonable for Ryoma to not know about Nohr's food shortage; he was born and raised in a country that's, at best, willfully ignorant and uncaring of the issues other countries face and, at worst, actively murderous towards anyone with even the slightest involvement with the enemy nation it's at war with. While his own prejudice against Nohr doesn't go quite that far, it's very consistent throughout Conquest that he doesn't think very highly of it either, calling it's ways treacherous, automatically assuming they tricked Corrin just because she chose to go back to Nohr, and assuming that Corrin was lying to him and trying to trick him to win their duel due to what they were taught while in Nohr (using fateswartable's translations here since Treehouse massively exaggerated Ryoma's grudge against Nohr):

Ryoma, Chapter 6 of Conquest: Like hell I’d give up…! I have to make Kamui come to her senses. Anyway it was you, the Nohr royal family, that seduced her, right!?

Xander: Bullshit…We did no such thing. Kamui, of her own free will, chose us.

Ryoma: Damn…! I know your way of doing things. You always use dirty tricks to torment the people of Hoshido! Defeat me fair and square in a fight and then you can speak of victory!

Corrin, boss convo in chapter 25 of CQ while Ryoma still wrongly believes that they killed Hinoka: Ryouma- please stop fighting! I want to speak with you! There’s more to what happened to Hinoka, so please listen, brother!

Ryoma: Hou…Are you trying to catch me off guard? By seeing the face of the sister that killed Hinoka? Nohr’s ways are treacherous…but it’s a shame. No matter what you say, my heart shall remain steadfast. I can no longer think of you as my little sister! Draw your sword!!! Kamui!!!!!!

Given his own initial prejudice against Nohr, coupled with the isolationist culture of Hoshido, i find it reasonable for him to only bother learning about important military strongholds in Nohr and not bother investigating what life's like for the peasants there, especially since he doesn't hold the country in high regard at the start of Birthright and only softens up to it and vows to help it with it's resource problem once he finds out that most of the people there are starving, meaning he wouldn't have bothered spending any more time researching Nohr than was helpful for the war effort.

Hahaha,

I hope my 2014 -5 ramblings weren't completely nonsensical, I haven't revisited them in a while lol

I still think Ryoma, who's not a random but the crown Prince, should at least have known a bit, even if his country is marked by extreme prejudice and isolationism, about Nohr - especially since Nohr is the country who has tried to invade them since Garon (or Gooron?) was king, and they're fighting since, well, forever.

But taking his prejudice into account, and Ryoma's own faults (he's very impulsive, not unlike his own son?), it sort of makes sense, even if I still think that's not an optimal situation for the next heir to only have the "bcs they're evil/norhians it's in their nature" answer to the usual question "why are Nohrians attacking us".

Granted, 2014-2015 was part of my Jugdral period, where both games took care to have their Lord be explained why the frick they are fighting - it's mostly important regarding Leif, who gets told by August that if Thracians are bandits and targeted the Mansterian lands, it's because they are starving and cannot import food from the North bcs Leif's forefathers and the Mansterians nobles don't want to share food.

So Leif's journey from "Thracian Hyenas!" to "Gods why are those people starving why aren't we trading food with them" to being the King of the unified peninsula, aka both Thracians and Mansterians, felt a regular, normal journey.

Ryoma being blocked at the "Nohrian hyenas" step felt a bit underwhelming in comparison, especially since, unlike Leif, he supposedly received all the education befitting a heir and hasn't been on the run for 10 years.

But ultimately everything boils down to "different games, different situations", and more over, different characters. Ryoma is biased, arrogant and impulsive - and there's no FE8!Seth, FE5!August, hell, even FE13!Fredo to tell him to stop and start being a King or acting as the leader of a State.

#sealofreconciliation #it has been years since I've serioulsy thought about Fates lol #FE14 #it'd make sense though for Ryoma to only become 'Lord' material at the end of BR or in Rev #since they are his best routes? he grows from a dude to a King?#but i was expecting a lot more from a FE Lord back then #and with time we got Supreme Leader and pals so I'm not expecting anything lol

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incorrect-mordet-quotes · 1 year ago

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Best SAO Abridged Lines As RP Starters Pt.3

“Sheeptar the Sheep King, your reign is at an end.”

“If that thing hadn’t already killed seven of us, I’d say this was a really stupid boss/enemy.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, we can’t just go around sacrificing NPCs! Some of my best friends have been NPCs!”

“That makes way too much sense.”

“Choke on it! Choke on my vengeance! How does it taste?!”

“Yeeeah. You know what? Maybe he has a point. This is super uncomfortable.”

“Sooooo… how’s your day goin’? You’re looking pretty relaxed there, buddy.”

“This grass feels amazing.”

“I suspect that wasn’t a real question–”

“It was great! You should’ve been there! He was climbing the walls, spitting acid…”

“We’re still talking about a sheep, right? Not like a… fluffy Xenomorph?”

“Its a really stupid boss!”

“Apparently not that stupid if it killed seven of you.”

“…twelve now, actually…”

“I mean, you survived, so hey. Silver lining.”

“Okay, what the hell is wrong with you? You’re way too… mellow.”

“Well, I had some time to kill before the raid, so I figured I’d power level my alchemy a bit by eating some weird plants, and now everything’s…. just… great…”

“Look, okay? I get it. You had a really bad day. You’re stressed out, seven people died…”

“TWELVE PEOPLE.”

“Not the point. Look, they’re dead now. And really? Whose fault is that? That’s right. No one’s.”

“So why don’t you lie down, relax, and watch the stars with me?”

“Its two in the afternoon! There are no stars!”

“Only if you’re looking with your eyes.”

“You’d better come down soon so I can kick your teeth in…”

“Huh… those dudebros make an interesting point.”

“I mean… as a man, there’s really only one option here.”

“I drew cat whiskers on you because I thought it would be funny, and it was!”

“Vhew eh pfftff Well… tff I… I dfff I-I mean… jju uu You know…! jj–… You- you could’ve… like… tjj ahu…”

“Yeah, remind me to draw on your face more often. I’ll eat like a king. Or at least a very wealthy janitor.”

“This coming from the guy who ate random plants off the ground?”

“Oh really? Well who’s dumber? Me, or the one who takes a nap next to some crazed drug fiend?”

“Need I remind you that YOU were that crazed drug fiend?”

“I can’t be held responsible for stoned _______. That guy’s an idiot.”

“Oh, looks like we are out of time! We’ll have to continue this next week, but in the meantime, please enjoy these lovely consolation prizes from the ________ Is Always Right Foundation.”

“Oh my god, you’re insufferable.”

“Huh… look. A human pinata.”

“He’s dying!”

“Uh… correction: he’s suffering. Probably hurts like a bitch, but he’s not gonna die.”

“Hey man! When you pop, could you try to send the candy over this way?!”

“I’m gonna go cut him down, you jackass.”

“Hey, anyone got like a thirty foot stick? I wanna take a crack at this thing.”

“So did anyone see where the candy went, or…?”

“For christ’s sake, a man just died!”

“Ah, yesss… but that just raises an even bigger question. Why do you care?!”

“I’m sorry, are you asking me why I care that a man was killed?”

“No, I’m asking why YOU care that a man was killed!”

“Welll… let’s see… most people would - charitably - refer to you as the crown prince of douchebags, long may he reign!”

“Your usual reaction to human suffering is to pull up a chair and crack out the popcorn! What’s your angle?!”

“I am shocked and appalled that that is your opinion of me!”

“Starts with an A---… right, Y. Starts with a Y. I mean its close, they’re basically neighbors, you can understand my mistake.”

“Its uh… Yo… Yo… Yo… Ya… Yoooooga pants?”

“Oh, spare me, Wonder Woman. You’re only doing this to prove I was wrong.”

“Hey! At least I PRETEND to be nice to people!”

“Yeah, whatever, uh—wait, ‘pretend’?”

“Well if its not my least favorite customer.”

“Aw, you just say that because I’m not dumb enough to buy any of your crap.”

“Yeah, well if there’s one upside to being trapped with these idiots, its that they’ll buy pretty much anything.”

“What’s the matter with you?! Why would you bring her here?! I thought we were friends!”

“What is up in dis… hizouse?”

“There’s just so much beauty in the world, you know?!”

“So dat’s da sitch. Think ya can scope da deets on dis gat for us, homey?”

“Um, but I’m da one dat asked you.”

“Why you ignoring me bro? You got cotton in your ears?”

“OH GOD! I-I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Grand Wizard _______ here’s not what you’d call a ‘people person’.”

“Um, excuse me?! Mr. Kettle? Mr. Pot called. He said you’re black!”

“What? Its a turn of phrase. It has nothing to do with race.”

“Okay, now you see dat? DAT was racist.”

“Well CLEARLY, I’m stabbing myself with this sword to see if it kills me– Oh god, what AM I doing?”

“Ah… handing the black man a murder weapon. Tale as old as time.”

“Do you really hate this place that much, or do you just love the sound of your own voice?”

“Its my gift to the world.”

“Hate to break it to you sweetie, but the world wants a gift receipt.”

“No refunds or exchanges. Only store credit.”

“Shhhhh. The grown-ups are talking.”

“Really? Then show me the body.”

“There is no body!”

“You can’t prove that he’s dead. Let me give this poor girl some hope.”

“Oh, don’t even PRETEND that’s what you’re doing!”

“________, why would ________ have wanted to make sweet love to your friend’s chest with the business end of a broadsword?”

“Meh, I’ve killed for less.”

“I knew it! They’re finally coming for me! It was only a matter of time! The walls are closing in!”

“Ever since he got trapped in here, he’s been terrified that his more… 'verbose’ commenters are going to make good on their threats.”

“I used to laugh at their comments! You hear me?! LAUGH! But now?! What if they actually DO chop off my limbs, rip out my intestines, and ride me like some sort of meat toboggan?!”

“You hear that? 'Meat Toboggan’. Try getting THAT image out of your head. Grippin’ his entrails like the reins of Santa’s sleigh. Streaking through the fresh morning snow on a trail of bile and gore, as his eyes beg the same question as the horrified children in his wake. 'Why…?’ ”

“This… may have been a mistake.”

“I disagree. I think you’ve got a real flair for this.”

“Did I say 'reason’? Sorry, I meant the screaming monkeys that live in her brain.”

“I don’t know about you, but I have a duty to my fans to survive this! …I mean, to the ones who AREN’T threatening to use my spine as a pitching wedge.”

“I think we can safely assume a ghost is not the culprit here!”

“Of course not. Obviously it was a Hit by the Mermaid Mafia paid in Leprechaun gold! But who was the puppet master? The Unicorns? No… they’ve had a feud going with the Mermaids for years.”

“Damn it, this is serious!”

“Weeellllll… I’m not a doctor… but I don’t like her chances.”

"Ah! Ah! Ow! Ah! Ugh! Ah.... aaaugh..."

"Really? I figured some random perp would be no match for the world's greatest detective. Oh-ho wait, no... THAT'S BATMAN. And you're not Batman, are you? You will NEVER be Batman."

"That, uh... cut surprisingly deep. Well played."

"I can't believe you just left me with that guy!"

"Really? What part of that was out of character for me?"

"If you say '_______', I'm going to stab you in the eye."

"So anyway, I think we should go over what we know so far."

"Why? I figured the whole thing out hours ago."

"My sandwich! It was innocent...!"

"SHHH! I must grieve."

"What do you want?! Scalps?! I can get you scalps!"

"Oh, I see. You're an orphan blood man! Do you prefer your victims pre-drained, or do you like to get your hands dirty?"

"Oh, so you like them crucified! Well, that'll be a bit trickier, but I'm sure I can work something out!"

"...so, where are we on the whole orphan blood thing? We talking heads or liters?"

"For the love of-- We're not ghosts! We faked our deaths!"

"Seriously, ________? How many people would you have killed if we'd asked you to?"

"Thaaaaat's... not important."

"I DISAGREE."

"With an asses jawbone, I have made asses of them. With an asses jawbone, I have killed a thousand men."

"No no! You sighed! That's not nothing!"

"Boss... I get what you're going for. Bible quoting serial killer... its a great motif. Classic. But... its a big book. They're not all gonna be gems."

"Okay, bigshot! Name one verse that's scarier than that."

"Oh, I don't know. How about 'no flesh shall be spared'? Mark 13:20?"

"Holy shit! That's in the Bible...?"

"Have... you ever actually READ the Bible?"

"Look, we're getting off-track. I'm the guild leader, and I say my verse was better."

"Don't you think the whole 'Jesus tells me to kill' thing is... holding us back? Plus... you're not even all that good at it."

"How DARE you! The J-man's teachings inform everything I do!"

"That's not even a word! Much less--- ugh. Forget it. Let's just kill these guys and go."

"Stupid horse! That entrance was almost perfect!"

"Don't patronize me, Yoga Pants!"

"I'm afraid that's impossible, officer.”

“The Lord has ordered these sinners dead, in the form of a guy who pays fifty bucks..."

"Fifty bucks? Selling yourselves a bit cheap, don't'cha think?”

“You guys provide an essential, in-demand service, and you're DEFINITELY the leaders in your field. I mean, you GOTTA cash in on that name recognition."

"THAT'S WHAT I KEEP TELLING HIM.”

“The high-paying clients won't touch us. They take ONE LOOK at Reverend Killjoy over here, and think we're a bunch of crazy people!"

"You could reach a much wider demo if you just tone down the religious theme."

"What you guys need is a total rebranding. Ad campaign! PR blast! Get your faces out there! Let people know you're not just about the fire and brimstone!”

“You are multifaceted, three-dimensional killing machines, and you have got a little something for everyone, because contract killing... is a beat we can all dance to."

"As payment, the lives of these sinners are now yours to command."

"Thanks! Jesus told me to say it."

"Huh... so I own you guys now. That's cool."

"Serves one per conspirator, may contain trace amounts of 'caaaaalllled iiiiit'."

"How did you realize I was lying?"

"Ah, well, that part was quite simple. You see: I'm not an idiot."

"Yeah, that'd do it."

"Of course... I do have some evidence. If you're into that sort of thing."

"My first thought was ___________. My second thought was 'Oh shit, window.'”

“And with that, much like that window, the cracks in your facade started to form."

"As if anyone would let that moron in on a conspiracy. A friggin' landmine deals with pressure better than him, and would kill fewer people."

"You seem to have put a lot of thought into this..."

"Well, someone had to."

"BUT. This whole thing still leaves me with one question... WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

"Oh, right. Totally forgot. I should probably mention that he didn't do it."

"What? I just thought you guys might like to know. You seemed pretty interested in the subject."

"Well, I'm sorry. SHOCKINGLY, he wasn't very COOPERATIVE."

"How big is this web?! You're catching school buses in this thing!"

"Hey! We just gift-wrapped your friend's killer for you! You maybe wanna react here?"

"Ah! A valid point! But tell me. Do you think ______ would've trusted a stranger to do the job? Well then, you must think _______ was skilled enough to kill _______ one-on-one. Or perhaps smart enough to catch them unawares?"

"Oh my god, _______'s not the killer."

"Hey, people threatened to kill me for giving Pokemon: V&R a seven out of ten! At this point, I've learned to just assume the position."

"Hold it, I've got something I've been holding in for a while...”

“That hat makes you look like a HIPSTER!"

"What? No! Bullshit! I had to go to a dark place to pull out that masterpiece! It was full of emotions that scare and confuse me.”

“Now come on, get up! We're doing this again!”

“And this time, you're not gonna fold just cause that hat makes you look like John Lennon joined the mafia!"

"See? There's no challenge in it!”

“Verbal abuse, man. Its a lost art."

"You guys were the best slaves a boy could have."

"Fuck it! I tried! You all saw it!"

"We're gonna make sure you get the help you need, buddy. Behind this tree."

"Look, if this is about me being right about everything, I forgive you, okay?"

"Damn it, I'm trying to be nice and have a moment here, which isn't easy with SOME people being so LOUD!"

"Wait-- nononoNONONO---"

#RP Prompt #Meme #RP Meme

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amber-lucca44 · 2 years ago

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Most Played Songs 2022 💖💖💖

A Candlelit Dinner With Inamorta (Asking Alexandria)

Ungrateful (Escape The Fate)

In Between (Beartooth)

Reach (Eyes Set To Kill)

Tragic Magic (Falling In Reverse)

Young Blood Spills Tonight (Eyes Set To Kill)

World Of Sacrifice (Black Veil Brides)

Drinking From The Fountain (Saosin)

I'm Content With Losing (Underoath)

New Jersey Makes, The World Takes (Senses Fail)

Red Is The New Black (Funeral For A Friend)

Tally It Up, Settle The Score (Sleeping With Sirens)

Beaten In Lips (Beartooth)

Hell Or High Water (Before Their Eyes)

You Eclipsed By Me (Atreyu)

Captain Blood (Chunk! No, Captain Chunk!)

Juneau (Funeral For A Friend)

Throw The First Stone (Black Veil Brides)

Bend Your Arms To Look Like Wings (Funeral For A Friend)

Welcome To The Black Parade (My Chemical Romance)

It Must Really Suck To Be Four Year Strong Right Now (Four Year Strong)

The Death Of Me (Asking Alexandria)

If You Run (You Me At Six)

A Lesson Never Learned (Asking Alexandria)

New Demons (I See Stars)

My Sharona (The Number Twelve Looks Like You)

Wormholes (Volumes)

Ambrosia (Alesana)

Bulimic (The Used)

State Of Love And Trust (Pearl Jam)

Mr. Highway's Thinking About The End (A Day To Remember)

Promise Promise (You Me At Six)

Rookie Of The Year (Funeral For A Friend)

Kingslayer (Bring Me The Horizon ft. BABYMETAL)

Wasteland (Against The Current)

The Bomb Dot Com V2.0 (Sleeping With Sirens)

Smells Like Teen Spirit (Nirvana)

Puppets (The First Snow) (Motionless In White)

YKTV (Nas ft. A Boogie Wit A Hoodie & YG)

When I Get Home, You're So Dead (Mayday Parade)

Tell Slater Not To Wash His Dick (Bring Me The Horizon)

Daddy's Falling Angel (In This Moment)

Not A Single Word About This (Alesana)

I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me (Fall Out Boy)

Perfect Weapon (Black Veil Brides)

The Royal Crown Vs. Blue Duchess (From Autumn To Ashes)

Bottomfeeder (Blessthefall)

Embryonic Anomaly (Rings Of Saturn)

Big Machine (The Goo Goo Dolls)

Down, Set, Go (Underoath)

Never Lose Sight Of The Goals (For Today)

In Friends We Trust (Chunk! No, Captain Chunk!)

Happy (Pink Fly)

Damage (Fit For Rivals)

If These Bullets Could Talk (The Number Twelve Looks Like You)

Darling (Eyes Set To Kill)

Seven Years (Saosin)

Timberwolves At New Jersey (Taking Back Sunday)

Angela Baker And My Obsession With Fire (Senses Fail)

Still Fly (The Devil Wears Prada)

Affirmation Of Ascension (Volumes)

The Carpal Tunnel Of Love (Fall Out Boy)

Cubicles (My Chemical Romance)

Better Than Revenge (Taylor Swift)

Featuring Some Of Your Favorite Words (From First To Last

Not The American Average (Asking Alexandria)

Stick Stickly (Attack Attack!)

Drowning Lessons (My Chemical Romance)

Jet Black New Year (Thursday ft. Gerard Way)

HUMBLE. (Kendrick Lamar)

This Calling (All That Remains)

Knives And Pens (Black Veil Brides)

Rosemary Had An Accident (The Devil Wears Prada)

Shatter Me (Lindsey Stirling ft. Lzzy Hale)

Born To Lead (Falling In Reverse)

Where Do You Draw The Line? (From Autumn To Ashes)

Calm Before The Storm (Fall Out Boy)

Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough For The Two Of Us (My Chemical Romance)

Heroes Get Remembered, Legends Never Die (Four Year Strong)

Congratulations, I Hate You (Alesana)

Beautiful Remains (Black Veil Brides)

Beautiful In Blue (Alesana)

And The Sentence Trails On... (The Devil Wears Prada)

Emergency (Paramore)

Tell That Mick He Just Made My List Of Things To Do Today (Fall Out Boy)

American Love (Haste The Day)

Champion (Falling In Reverse)

The Story Of Us (Taylor Swift)

Hatebreeders (Hatebreed)

Girl In A Coma (Fit For Rivals)

Liar In The Glass (Eyes Set To Kill)

Alright (Kendrick Lamar)

Can't Be Saved (Senses Fail)

Those In Glass Houses (Of Mice & Men)

And I Told Them I Invented Times New Roman (Dance Gavin Dance)

Faithless (Black Veil Brides)

Monument (A Day To Remember)

Guillotine IV (The Final Chapter) (Falling In Reverse)

I Have A Problem (Beartooth)

Sweetness (Jimmy Eat World)

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

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black magic [01]

REQUEST. arranged marriage + enemies to lovers (sukuna is a simp and lowkey a housewife)

CONTENT/WARNINGS. some suggestive scenes, but overall fluff and romance! slight crack fic, I guess? I was laughing when I wrote this lol

NOTES. I NEED A HUSBAND! SUKUNA I’M GOING TO CRY GOODBYE THIS HAS ME SOFT. also anon i’m not sure if you wanted something with more ~sexual tension~ since this is kind of just comedic, but I hope you like it anyway!

part one | part two (nsfw)

“This is new,” you comment with a glare, your ankle propped on Sukuna’s knee.

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes, pushing your skirt aside to clean the wounds you attained through exorcising curses. You’ve taken a particularly strong curse today and you’re caught off guard, barely finishing the mission unscathed. Limping all the way back home isn’t easy especially since you live on top of the darned mountain, but if Sukuna’s going to kneel in front of you like this...maybe it wasn’t too tough a journey. “You should stop going to missions you’re not ready for. Look at you, all wounded and bloody.”

“You sound like you care.”

“You’re my wife,” he huffs while dropping the bloody towel on the floor. Sukuna wraps the bandage around your ankle and carries you bridal style even though you’re perfectly capable of walking, but he shoots you a silencing glare. You’d have knocked him in the face any other day, but he’s particularly warm and smells nice today – plus you’re beat – that you bury your face in his chest, ignoring that stupid fluttering in your stomach. “Of course I do.”

You snicker, mind tracing back to your earlier years of this dreaded marriage.

It definitely wasn’t the best – the memories blurring between strangling each other to making out as if breathing was never a thing – and it felt like forever ago when you first met him.

You’d never say it out loud, but... you don’t regret this arranged marriage. Not when Sukuna is tucking himself beside you on the bed, your head above his muscular chest a place similar to home. He covers both your bodies over with a blanket, pulling your body closer to him with a strong arm, his lips pressing onto the crown of your head.

Ugh, you think to yourself, giving in to the need to cuddle your husband after a long day of work. You still refuse to say it out loud, though, and you irk him further by muttering, “That’s not what you said two years ago.”

“I wasn’t in love with you then.”

“I refuse to be married to you!”

Sukuna fights back the urge to cover his ears. Ever since your clan decided to visit his land and started exorcising curses one by one, his life has been nothing but hell. Not only are your relatives the most arrogant people ever with a consistent god complex, they just had to let their little mortal child be in charge of taking on the stronger curses. Seriously, what were they thinking, sending you – who’s barely even out of their training bra years – to deal with curses like him?

Everyone knows Sukuna is a no bullshit man. He won’t hesitate to cut your head off the moment you came raging at him, but then he sees how young you are and decides to send you back to your family.

Expecting that everyone would just call it a day and he’d get offerings for his unexpected mercy, Sukuna is beyond stupefied when they send you back to his temple, all dressed pretty with a basket of fruits and flowers braided in your hair. He remembers growling because you look adorable, but that’s easily wiped away when you open your mouth, your voice scratchy against his ears as you stomp your feet like the young mortal you are.

Sukuna pushes a thumb to his forehead to ease the impending headache, and that’s just from your presence. Something inside him tells that you’re going to be a bigger pain than you look.

“You don’t have much of a choice. You should’ve thought of that before deciding to run rampage over my land,” he reminds, turning boredly to his lone servant from above his throne. Sukuna isn’t impressed, to say the least, especially with your clan’s audacious proposition to gain his favour just this once. “Is this really the woman you bring me – the one they insist to be my wife?”

“She is their best fighter, my Lord.”

Well, he can’t disagree to that. You did, after all, single-handedly give him a cut on the cheek. “She’s feisty indeed.”

“Don’t talk as if I’m not here!”

“Mouthy too,” he mumbles to himself, but your sorcerer senses are sharp and easily picks up on it. He sees you flush angry again, looking immensely adorable with your tiny fists clenched like that and he snorts, waving a hand in the air. “Whatever. Get the wedding over with,” he nods to his servant, his sigh loud and tired as he makes his way to you.

You don’t stiffen at each haunting step, his eyes only glimmering harder with entertainment. It’s rare to find a mortal that doesn’t quiver at the sight of him, the urge to break you only growing stronger.

Even as he cups your face, making sure to not let his claws dig into your precious skin, Sukuna smirks. You’ll be entertaining indeed.

So Sukuna makes a promise, four eyes surveying the way your body is starting to fill in curves at the right places, the swell of your flesh just perfect in his hands... He chuckles to himself, daunting you further as he leans down to your ear, taking pleasure in the slight way your breath hitches. “Maybe then I’ll get to teach you a lesson or two.”

You’re definitely something else, taking advantage of each presented opportunity and not wasting any time before you make your move. Right after the wedding and everyone’s left, leaving you alone with your new husband behind closed doors; you push him until he’s on the ground, legs straddling each side of his hips while you growl above him – the sound similar to a battle cry.

Sukuna merely smirks, barely moving a muscle as his large hands come up to rest on your hips to steady you. “I’ve imagined countless ways you’d be on top of me like this,” his eyes light up with humour upon feeling the cold blade on his skin, “None of them included a knife on my neck though.”

“Shut your mouth. I will kill you myself,” you warn, pressing your knife harder until it draws a slight tinge of blood.

You hardly look threatening above him like this, dolled up to look the best in your wedding with this cursed being. If anything, you look more divine than deadly, and Sukuna thinks that perhaps your beauty could be your best weapon. You are bewitching, after all.

“I refuse to be your Queen and sit next to your throne.”

“Then why didn’t you stop the wedding?”

“I—”

Sukuna’s teasing grin grows wider when you pull back, trying so hard to not trip over your words. It takes all of his self-restraint to not take you right then and there, but he does a good job of holding back, enjoying this view above him instead. “Could it be you’re attracted to me after all, hm, little one?”

“Do not test me, Curse. I’m more than capable of exorcising you myself.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’re the strongest in the Gojo clan, are you not?” he prompts to appease you, “I don’t even want to see what you’re capable of, but maybe, just maybe...” just as his eyes darken, the edges of his lips turning up into a smirk, Sukuna digs his claws into your thigh in a possessive show of ownership, a painful reminder that you’re his now. “...You could put on a little show for me?”

“I hate you!”

Experienced and strong as you are, you’re nothing compared to a thousand year old curse who’s killed a lot more people faster than you could blink. Sukuna immediately notices the animalistic way you draw your blade, arm swung back with rage written all over your face. Before you could so much as bat an eye, he easily switches the positions until you’re under him, using only one hand to pin your arms above your head, your blade effortlessly thrown to the other side of the room.

“As I thought, you’re a lot prettier under me like this,” he observes, roaming his eyes shamelessly over the fabric clinging prettily to your body. You’ve fallen silent at his unconcealed attention, your compliance enticing him to lean closer just to inhale your intoxicating scent.

“Not so feisty now, little one? Where’d all your hatred for me go?” Sukuna pulls back with widened eyes, “Oh? Am I hearing it wrong or is your pathetic human heart beating so loud right now?” You refuse to look at him, wriggling your hips in an attempt to leave, completely unaware that the mere movement is hypnotizing the curse above you. Sukuna grips your hips in warning, not wanting to destroy you – not now, anyway. “You know all you need to do is say it. I’d gladly take you right here and then.” His words spoken with that deep, throaty voice immediately sends a wave of heat down your core, but you turn away from him, breathing hard and nervously; something Sukuna picks up on in an instant. “Little one...have you never had a man hold you like this before?”

“N-no...”

“I see. Pure and innocent behind that ferocity, huh?” He surprises you by pulling away, smoothening his white robes down as he leaves you panting still on the floor. “Fine. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

“I’d rather die before that ever comes out from my mouth.”

“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, winking at you before he shuts the door. “Little one.”

There’s a lot of weird – and utterly inconvenient things – about being Sukuna’s wife. The man eats everything, absolutely everything, and it doesn’t help that he sucks at hunting too. For a man so huge and burly, he sure is lazy, preferring to do the laundry in the riverside instead while you go out every day to prepare your meals.

You actually don’t mind, but it’s very fun to complain around him.

You’re on your way back to the temple when Sukuna grabs at you, making you drop the freshly caught birds onto the ground. Your brows furrow, about to scold him for being too eager again when Sukuna stares at your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Following his line of sight, your lips form an ‘o’ shape. There’s blood trickling down your forearm from his claws accidentally cutting you, guilt written all over his face. Another weird thing about Sukuna is that he babbles a lot when he’s emotional, and you’re too tired to hear him beat himself over it that you just drag him inside your room, sitting his ass down before taking a clipper.

Sukuna scoffs when you start cutting his nails. It irks him that you don’t even bother wiping the blood off first and he tsks, eyes narrowed at you. “You should have thicker skin.”

You roll your eyes as you file his nails; you’ve been married to him long enough to know it’s his way of saying sorry. Not wanting to let him wallow in guilt any louder, you pad kisses over his knuckles before swiping the black ink off your desk, using a pen brush to colour your nails instead. Sukuna hovers behind you, head tilted to the side as he watched you. “Are you painting your nails black?” he utters in disbelief, trying to ignore the fact he feels...proud and even a little smug. “Not so fitting for the angelic sorcerer now, isn’t it?”

“I’m only doing this so you don’t feel left out.”

“Maybe I’ll add markings to your pretty face too,” he cups your jaw to make you turn to him, landing a solid kiss flat to your lips which makes you sigh, pretending to be annoyed but leaning over for another peck anyway. Sukuna laughs and pulls you onto his lap, kissing your neck this time around, a little annoyed that you don’t stop in brandishing your nails. “Wife, what do you think?”

“I have work, Sukuna. You flirting with me doesn’t change the fact I need to go.”

“Come home safe for me, at least?” he breathes down your neck, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You’ve definitely changed since the first time he’s met you, starting from a mean (although he stands strong that you are still mean to him sometimes) temperamental little one to a mature, stronger sorcerer who’s secretly weak for his wife.

Unable to resist him as always, you turn around once you’ve finished painting your nails, rubbing your nose over his until your strong, scary husband is turning into putty at your hands. “Of course I will,” you peck his lips one last time, Sukuna’s eyes closing as he dives in for a deeper kiss. “I’ll always come back home to my handsome husband.”

If anyone were to ask how it’s possible that the King of Curses is actually very soft for his sorcerer wife, everyone would claim it’s impossible and a heresy – but if you ask Sukuna, it’s probably just black magic doing its wonders.

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slasherstories123 · 3 years ago

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•°hello°• I saw your requests were open and I was winding if I could as for RZ Micheal, Jason, Thomas, and Vincent with a s/o who has powers that grow/control flowers? 🥀 (I saw the new Encanto and I've never related more to a character the one im referencing to,) 🦋💜

Sorry if it's a stupid ask but I would enjoy reading what the slasher boys would think about it, please and thank you🤗

Slasher’s reaction to their S/O having the power to grow flowers

A/N: I actually liked this one and had fun making it, now I haven’t seen the movie so bare with me😓

Tagslist: @early20sfailingplenty @callmemeelah @dootys @brxwrvth

RZ! Michael Myers

How come you can grow flowers but he can’t? He wants powers too! He finds it fascinating that you can do this just with your hands

One time you caught him trying to do it by himself, you just laughed at him while he was struggling

Sometimes he’ll be surprised when you just grow them out of nowhere

Michael will literally sit there and will watch you grow them, he thinks it’s cool and could watch you do it for HOURS

He’s never seen a person like you in the Sanitarium, actually, throughout half of his life there, he doesn’t think ANYONE has powers there

He likes to see you grow blue rare Lilly and roses, he thinks they’re pretty

Jason Voorhees

This man LOVES it! Before you came along, he really didn’t see that many flowers in the forest

He likes to see you grow daises and sunflowers around the cabin, it reminds him of his mother, he loves it when you grow flowers around the cabin

Jason will worry about you if he sees you using it too much thinking you’ll pass out, he doesn’t want that!

Sometimes he’ll use the flowers to make flower crowns! Or will put them in a vase to go on a table, he loves flowers!

Like I said before the flowers remind him of his mother and he’ll cherish them… until they die and you’ll have to grow new ones 😓

Jason will also throw the flowers up in the air and will pretend like it’s raining flowers🥺, and he will also be the type to struggle to try to make the flowers grow as you did😂

Thomas Hewitt

Just like RZ Michael, he’s never seen a person like you, no victim has ever had powers,

He likes your powers, he thinks they’ll go well if you make a garden, like Ben Luda Mae approves!

if Hoyt says something mean about it Thomas will send him the deadliest glare in history, he is confused about how you do it though

He’s really amazed in how you can grow flowers with just your hands, he likes it when you grow tulips around the house

if Hoyt tries to step on them he will either get hit by Luda Mae or will get pushed my Thomas, either way that’s not good Hoyt! Knock it off!

He thinks you’re like some type of Garden angel, he thinks about making you a flower crown but he doesn’t want to mess up the garden, he will melt if you put a flower in his hair!

Vincent Sinclair

He’s amazed and confused at the same time, how do you do that?! He wants to know!

He’ll laugh if you both hear Bo practically yelling about why were there flowers in his room, Vincent will be happy if you make him a flower crown out of white roses

You will sometimes see his drawings of you laying in flowers or will see you with flowers on the palm of your hands, don’t tell him you saw them or he’ll get flustered!

Vincent will be the type to study what your power is like, he thinks that your power is interesting and wants to learn about it

Just like Thomas, he’ll get flustered if you put a flower in his hair, he’ll be more flusters if you make him keep it in for the whole day too

If Bo tries to make fun of you for your power he will get a stern look from Vincent!

#jason voorhees #vincent sinclair #rz michael myers #thomas hewitt #vincent x reader #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair headcanons #rz michael x reader #RZ Michael Myers headcannons #thomas hewitt imagine #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt headcanon #jason voorhees headcanons #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees x you

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ackerfics · 3 years ago

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Hi Rory it's me again! How do you think Levi would react when watching horror movie with his s/o?

Hope ur doing well! ❤️

hey hey hey, dove !! i'm doing fine here --- i hope you're taking care of yourself there <3 now onward with levi watching a horror movie with his s/o ^^

levi can't be easily scared, especially of horror movies that are sometimes too cliche for his liking. the most a horror movie can get from him is the slight raise of his eyebrows when a good jumpscare comes on the screen. if there's none of that, levi will sit in front of the television or his laptop with his arms crossed as if he's waiting for something good to pop up. the only thing that he's scared of though is knowing that you, his dumbass of a lover, gets hurt physically, emotionally, or mentally. the rest of the scary shit --- he's undeterred by that.

it's adorable and dumb at the same time, how you always put on a brave face while watching these things. why are you watching these when you get scared easily? your answer comes so fast, it's the fucking adrenaline rush. he had to roll his eyes at that. oh yeah, he can't forget that time when you needed motivation so you watched paranormal activity to have a surge of productivity. you finished three of your schoolwork that day. even levi was astounded at your speed.

with a popcorn-filled bowl on your lap, you start the first movie.

one word: stoic.

levi's face never betrays his emotions nor his thoughts (most of the time, at least). his arm is around your shoulders, you snuggled up against his side. he's relishing the times when you yelp from a random sound effect, further burying your face in the crook of his neck. his smile is so small; and if it weren't for the heart attack-inducing movie playing in the television, you'd see it. at some point, his arm around your shoulders go to your waist, his thumb slowly drawing circles over the fabric of your shirt --- a little gesture to let you know that he's beside you.

there are scenes where he's amused at the characters' decisions, snorting and throwing random comments about their so-called stupidity. he does this to distract you from suffering in a heart attack.

"what a fucking idiot," levi scoffs at one of the main characters who follows the sound coming from the basement. you two are now on the second movie and he's proud of you for going through the first one. with his hand still rubbing little constellations on your waist, he tilts his head until he feels the crown of yours against his temple. levi snorts when the lights went out in the movie. "okay, he's the first person who's going to die."

"hmm, i'm starting to believe that, too," you reply behind the pillow you're hugging close to you.

he notices that your voice is muffled. a small half-smile lights up his face. gingerly lifting his free hand, levi slowly pulls down the pillow until the upper half of your face becomes visible again. the moment your eyes are in view, the grotesque demon in the film reaches their hand in the screen, eliciting a scream from you.

"holy shit! fucking hell, get away!" you curse, making levi laugh for the first time this night. you put your hands over your eyes, voice lamenting, "i hate this movie." you don't notice levi moving closer to you, mouth right by your ear.

his voice goes to a lower register (if that's even possible) --- the devious smile is present in his tone. "boo."

you jump an inch. the mirth in levi's eyes won't be mistaken as you glare at the sight of it, your heart still pounding. "and i hate you."

levi chuckled darkly while moving back. "good luck sleeping tonight, i guess."

"hey, now that's being plain rude! ... you're not planning on leaving in the witching hour to scare me, right?"

"of course, not, you baby."

"that doesn't sound convincing. and take away the you."

"hmm," levi laughs through his nose at your pout, "okay, baby, i won't leave you alone in bed, dress up in that all white ensemble, and crawl towards you like a madman."

"... i hate you."

"i love you, too, babe."

levi sometimes asks you what stupid thought comes to your mind to watch any media involving the horror genre, knowing that you're scared of these movies and series. heck, you got scared during the one of the insidious movies. ("the second part is terrifying, levi. have you seen the abomination there?!" you once said with enough conviction to convince him. the abomination meaning the make-up, was what he told you. you sulked for fifteen minutes before levi pulled you to the bed for some good lazy-day cuddles.) but truth be told, whatever shit you're planning on doing, expect to have him lingering close behind. if you tell him you want to binge horror movies, say no more --- he'll ask you to scoot over the couch so that you're not alone. he'll even make the snacks for you two.

besides, you know that you won't last two and a half hours of pure jump scares and exorcisms without levi and his quips --- something that he's thankful for because it means more cuddles with you.

#rorytalks #beautiful hoomans ✨✨✨#this gave me butterflies 🦋 ✨🦋✨#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi x you #aot x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan headcanons #attack on titan imagines #shingeki no kyoujin levi #shingeki no kyoujin x reader

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anarchiststories · 3 years ago

Text

"the newlywed couple."

CHAPTER 4 - BRUISED HEARTS & BRUISED LIPS c!technoblade x gn!reader

summary: technoblade wants a domestic life with you, so he finally seals the deal. wc: 4k note: and that's a wrap! thank you all for reading this story, i really appreciate it <3 and stay tuned, i have more things written that are coming out eventually :)

masterlist bruised hearts & bruised lips masterlist

“Sweetheart?”

“Mhm?”

“I love you so much, I’d say it rivals the love of Hades and Persephone.”

You snorted a laugh, smiling warmly at him. “My love, don’t say that, you’ll get in trouble.” He grinned sleepily, kissing your forehead. If it’s for you, I’d traverse the underworld a trillion times.” You giggled, cuddling up against him.

“Promise?”

“For you? Piglin promise.”

It’s been a week since you saw Dream.

Well, in all honesty, it’s been a week since you’ve seen anyone. Phil dropped off supplies whenever he had the chance, Niki often left you flowers and plants tied together as well as spices, and Ranboo left drawings Michael had made and notes from Tubbo.

Techno, on the other hand, kept himself locked away, reforging weapons, enchanting them. To him, he was simply just keeping you safe. He was the protector of your shared home and it was his job to keep you safe. He wasn’t going to let Dream anywhere near you again, and that went for the rest of your family and those to come.

You were too precious to him – too sacred – and the thought of you disappearing scared him into oblivion. He couldn’t have another one of the people that he loved more than life itself die, much less fall into the cold grip of evil once again.

The only time you truly got to see was when you had to force him to eat, knowing that he’d starve himself if it meant he could continue work. You brought him three hearty meals every day that kept him motivated, that kept telling him that this was why he was doing all of this work.

It hurt you to see him do this to himself but you knew he only cared for your wellbeing. His goal was to keep you safe in the end, and safe you were. Technoblade was not a stupid man; in fact, he was the smartest man you ever knew and you truly believed every single word he ever said.

You didn’t even know if he slept anymore. The heavy bags under his eyes gave light to the thought that maybe he didn’t, but kept trying to convince you that maybe he did. You didn’t know how long it had been since he had even entered the bedroom. If he did, did he fall asleep beside you and wake up at gods know what hour just to continue his work?

It was Monday, the start of a new week. It’d been an entire week since the two of you had built this routine and you were not the biggest fan of it. Inside the kitchen you stood, preparing lunch for the day. Admittedly, it was too early for lunch, but you didn’t feel like making breakfast food. You were focused on making the food, so you didn’t notice the fact that Techno had come up the steps.

You hummed the melody of a song that Techno had taught you one day – a traditional piglin love song is what you remember him calling it – as you spread condiments against the bread. While you were busy and distracted, he sat down and unlaced his heavy work boots, tossing them to the place they normally sat. He tugged off his thick gloves that he’d promised you he would wear because you got worried that he would scar his hands from the combination of hot water and boiling lava.

He pushed himself to stand, walking behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He rested his head above yours, swaying back and forth with the song. You smiled as he mumbled out a question, kissing the crown of your skull.

“Lunch?”

“Mhm. PB&J’s.”

He hummed happily as he watched you. You cut the sandwiches in half before whispering to him that you were done. You lifted the plate to him, kissing his cheek as he whispered his thanks. “Darlin’, c’mere. I’ve barely seen you recently and I wanna spend the rest of today with you.”

Oh, how could you not comply with his request?

You took your plate and hopped beside him on the couch, cuddling into his side as the two of you ate. He wrapped his arm around you, warming you up with just the little bit of skin-to-skin contact he offered at the current moment.

Once you both finished, he set the plates in front of the two of you and pulled you into his lap. He rested his head against yours, holding you against his chest. He was thinking: thinking of what to say to you to make up for what he’d done.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry. For this past week. For, yknow, shutting myself away while I worked, not sleeping with you, barely talking when you brought me food. All of it – I’m so sorry, darlin’.”

You shook your head, simply cuddling closer to him. You mumbled out into his chest.

“I know you just want me to be safe, but promise you won’t shut me out. I don’t like seeing you. Promise?”

“Promise.”

And he kept his word for the next two months.

On the dawn of the third day, he was gone. No note, no warm, lingering kiss left on the side of your head to let you know that he still cared about you; nothing. Just the cold emptiness that was your arctic bedroom. The fire hadn’t been lit, and there was no traces of him in the kitchen. Nothing at all.

Technoblade had gone missing.

You scrambled for your transponder, pressing Phils name with an exasperated gasp. You typed in your message as quickly as you could, ignoring the typos and grammar mistakes. Tossing the transponder to the other side of the couch, you sat in front of a window, biting your nails with anticipation as you awaited Phils answer.

You refused to move until you saw him again. Waiting, hoping, that he would just appear and tell you that everything was okay.

You sat there for the entire day, refusing to eat just in case he appeared and needed your assistance.

By nightfall, the house had grown dark asides from the little lantern that illuminated the nearby area with it’s soft orangey-yellow glow. Techno had never been gone this long, and you were starting to worry about his life.

There was no message that he’d died in the logs, so you still had that forcing your brain to stay awake and hope for him.

He always wrote a letter telling you where he’d been and when he’d get back and how much he loved you.

Always.

So why was this time different?

Could he have been rushing to get out of the home? He was a busy man, so it would make sense.

You were too exhausted to worry about it, glancing where Steve laid and snored beside the unlit fireplace. The home was freezing, but you refused to move from your spot until you saw him. Normally, Techno would lay with you on the couch, strong arms wrapped around you as he’d hold you against him. It was you and him against the world and nothing could stop you two.

You were each others soulmate, and that’s how it was supposed to be until time stood still.

It’d been nearly 48 hours since you’d first sat at the window, waiting for the familiar head of thick pink hair that sat back in a heavy braid to fall into your line of sight. Before you knew it, your eyes shut and you passed out, falling down and laying on the couch.

At first glimpse, you had just accidentally fallen asleep on the couch, resting beside Steve.

Not even an hour later the front door swung open with heavy boots following behind. The shut of the door was much, much quieter than the opening of it. The piglins eyes fell onto you and he felt his heart practically shatter.

Your eyes had heavy, dark bags underneath them – how long had it been since you’d slept? – and you weren’t wearing warm clothes. The window was open and breathing down on you with it’s harsh winter breath. He leaned over, shutting the window softly before hoisting you onto his lap gently.

He examined your face: your eyes were an angry red and puffy, your nose was stuffy and had been rubbed red – wait a minute, you had been crying. He could see the tear stains on your cheeks and it forced a frown onto his face. He slid you off him, placing his cape on top of you to keep you warm.

He walked over to the kitchen, brow furrowed as he looked for the note with elegant yet simple cursive. To his surprise, there was no note, maybe you had picked it up –

Oh he was such an asshole.

He swore he’d left the note with you but instead he had taken it with him and left you the list of items he was trying to obtain with his departure. His frown grew heavier until he heard you quietly groan at the weight of his cape.

You sat up, staring at the dark red material with confusion. It wasn’t until you continued looking up to see your lover who stared at you with regret and apologies in his dark eyes. You couldn’t tell if your sleepiness was effecting your vision or if he was really there.

You whispered out his name, squinting and trying to see if you could really see him. He stepped towards you, reaching out his hand nervously to prove that he was real to you. With tears in your eyes, you scrambled to your feet and jumping into his arms, burying your face into the crook of his neck with a soft sob.

He clenched his arms around your body, grip tightening at each shake of your shoulders. He wanted to tell you not to cry, that he was here and wasn’t going to leave again, but the bubble of air caught in his throat prevented any comforting words from escaping his mouth. Instead, he pressed a warm kiss against the top of your skull, sighing out quietly. All he could offer you in this moment was just a warm body pressed against yours and a sympathetic hand against your back.

About a week later, Techno sat you down with a serious look dressing his face. Immediately your mind worried: there was a list of things that felt like they could’ve been what he would’ve said – could’ve said – with the past few months still weighing heavily on the both of your shoulders.

He reached over, taking one of your hands into his own. His thumb rubbed across the back of your palm, his nerves scratching at the back of his mind silently. It didn’t dawn on him to double-check if he’d actually left the note.

The flinch of your body at the contact made him frown, hating that he now held this affect on you. It didn't matter how long ago the events had been; he wanted nothing more than to never see you flinch like that again.

"Darlin', I'm still so sorry for everything I've done. My simple sorry won't be enough to suffice your generosity, I'm aware of that, but all I ask is that you stay with me. Stay with me, at least until I can do something that will do good of your generosity and love. Please, say you will."

You bit your lip, glancing around nervously. He loosened his grip on your hand, even thought it was barely tight, just in case you felt uncomfortable. You frowned softly, squeezing his hand as you thought.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. I'll stay. But you better make up for all that trouble somehow, mister."

He sighed out, smiling softly as he kissed your hand. "Actually, I have an idea on how to make up for it." You tilted your head, questioning what he meant until he slid down onto one knee. His face held a soft smile, one that was familiar and warm.

In his pocket sat a small dark red box, the contents hidden from you at the current moment. Your lover pulled the box out of his pocket and opened it, showing you the contents as he spoke.

"Darlin', you have been here beside me for so long, and I can't say anything other than thank you. Even despite our fights, you stay and listen to me and continue to make me happy every day. You make everyday of mine in this wreck of a world we live in a cherishable memory that I look back on with love and warmth. Will you, please, do me the favor of continuing to do it every single day, right beside me?"

You covered your mouth, nodding enthusiastically with a teary smile. His heart warmed, sitting up and placing the ring onto your finger before kissing you softly. He sighed out, holding you against him as he stared at your hand with the ring. His thumb grazed over it gently, admiring the look of it against your soft skin.

“Can you send out ravens? I’ll start getting things to prepare.”

His eyes softened, pressing a kiss to your head and nodding. “Give me about twenty minutes and I’ll be able to help you with preparations.” With a nod, the two of you parted ways. The piglin reached to his desk, pulling out the paper he had used months before as well as the quill. He dipped it into ink, beginning to write the first of many letters.

You, on the otherhand, ran down to the storage room and started checking chests for materials to use. This wasn’t going to be a big wedding since there wasn’t a lot of people either of you knew close enough to invite to an outing like this. Ten to fifteen people were the max of what you two would invite, if you were honest with yourself.

A simple cool neutral color palette seemed to fit the theme of the two of you as well as the wedding best. With a calm mix of gentle browns to soft grays, it fit the home the two of you lived in. It would be held either outside as long as there was no heavy snowfall for the next few days or inside a small barn that was currently halfway through construction.

Either or seemed perfect for the wedding, and you couldn’t help the excited squeal that came from you as you started mapping out the wedding events. While you were busy, Techno was inside, scribbling down invite after invite and sending them off with various animals; crows, ravens, ferrets, and others. He quickly finished the last letter, sending it off with its respected animal and looking out the window to you as you shuffled inside.

With a smile, he quickly rushed to the door, opening it and enveloping you within his warm and tight embrace. You welcomed the newfound warmth gladly, returning the embrace happily. His chest rumbled with a soft laugh at your eagerness, rubbing a hand against your back warmly.

The two of you stood there for a moment before pulling away, reciting the tasks the both of you had gotten done within the short amount of time. Techno smiled, brushing his hand against your cheek as you talked. His tired, weathered eyes admired your expression as you spoke. Once you finished, he told you who he’d invited, listening to your opinion on each one.

It was still a thought you had to wrap your head around: you were getting married to the Technoblade. You were going to be his partner for life, officially! The thought made your cheeks swell with warmth and you shook your head, laughing softly. Your lover kissed the top of your head, leading you to the kitchen as he began preparing dinner for that night.

Within the next two weeks, you had everything gathered and had helped Techno finish building the barn that would house the wedding. You smiled, standing back and admiring all the work that had been done. Now all that was left was to get your outfits - a proper suit for Techno, and a [dress/suit] for yourself.

A quick trip into town would get the two of you your outfits, and even get them tailored to fit each of you so they sat comfortably. You had to continuously remind Techno that he couldn't see you in your outfit, no matter how much he desired to as it would bring bad luck to the marriage.

He frowned at your hand waving him off, reaching over to hold your hand. You let him, watching his thumb rub over the back of your palm lovingly. His eyes softened, thinking about how the two of you would no longer just simply be dating; you'd be married and be recognized as one anothers for the rest of time.

He also recognized the fact that, since he'd been with you, he'd gotten much more domestic. Techno learned to find joy in mundane, household chores like cleaning, doing laundry, cooking, but only when he did them with you. You made them so much fun to do.

The man never saw himself growing domestic in any sense and yet here he was, imagining how your lives would be married. It wasn't the life that he thought was meant for him, which was understandable with his past.

Yet throughout all of the trouble he faced and the difficulties the two of you had, here you stood, standing behind two giant dark oak doors. Your lover, soon to be husband, stood on the other side of this door, with the rest of the attendants of your wedding.

Philza came up beside you, offering his arm to you with a soft smile. "I suppose it's my job to escort you, hm?" You giggled, nodding and slipping your arm betwixt his. The blonde man admired you for a moment, proud of you and his best friend.

"Shall we?"

"I believe we shall."

With a laugh, the two of you began walking forward. The doors were opened, slowly swinging backwards to expose your lover, the Overworld piglin, Technoblade. His smile was so warm and soft, you swore he'd melted and gotten replaced with a gelatin version of himself.

Phil led you forward, walking down the path decorated with camelias, forget-me-nots, and honeysuckles, which was the same combination as the bouquet that sat between your hands. The scents alongside the colors were amazing, blending together in a perfect combination that allured you into a feeling of utter love and adoration for your lover.

You swore you saw a tear ripple down his furry cheek, somewhat darkening the fur that sat beneath it. Happy tears, of course, you had to remind yourself. Sometimes your mind drifted to thoughts that weren't the best for certain occasions, and you were certain it wouldn't happen this time.

The winged man let go of your arm, moving to stand between Techno and yourself behind the altar. You stood in front of him, a warm smile on your features as you stared up at him. "Hi," You whispered, caressing his hands in yours. "Hi." He whispered back, wanting nothing more than to kiss you and leave. Phil cleared his throat, opening the book that laid in front of him.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here on this beautiful day to witness the union of Technoblade and Y/n in holy matrimony. This is a day of great celebration and reverence, on which we come together before the Universe to recognize and commemorate the sacred love and dedication shared between these two. It is wonderful to have family and friends here today. The newlyweds would like to thank their guests for being here, and would like you to know that each of you were invited here on this day because you have played an integral part in their intertwining lives.

Marriage is, truly, a magical gift. As a great writer once noted, "Marriage makes of two fractional lives a whole, and it gives to two purposeless lives a work... it gives to two questioning natures a reason for living, and something to live for; it will give a new gladness to the sunshine, a new fragrance to the flowers, a new beauty to the earth, a new mystery to life."

In the time that Techno and Y/n have spent together, they've built the sturdy foundation for a lifelong relationship. After a great deal of thoughtful consideration, they have decided to bind themselves to one another for the rest of their lives.

May you all remember and cherish this sacred ceremony, for on this day, with love, we will forever bind Techno and Y/n together."

Phil turned to the crowd, looking out for certain faces. "Who gives this newlywed away?" Tubbo and Ranboo stood with proud smiles on their faces. "We do." With a nod, he spoke to the crowd directly once more.

"If there is anyone in attendance who has cause to believe that this couple should not be joined in marriage, you may speak now or forever hold your peace."

You could've sworn there were crickets with how silent it was, and had to stifle a laugh because of it. Seemed like everyone agreed that the two of you should be married.

"Techno and Y/n, the sacred vows that you make to one another today present you with the opportunity to express your love in your own words. I would at this time invite you to publicly declare these vows. Techno, you may begin."

He took a nervous breath, rubbing his hands against his pants to calm his nerves.

"I, Technoblade, take you, Y/n, for my lawfully newlywedded partner, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life, until death do us part. This is my solemn vow."

Phil nodded along as he spoke, telling you to repeat your vows. They were essentially the same, with a few choice words changed. He turned the page of the book, someone in a theatric fashion.

"Techno and Y/n, please face one another and join hands. Techno, do you take Y/n to be your lawfully wedded partner? By making this commitment, you are joining in the sacred covenant of marriage.

Do you promise to honor them in love, to be sensitive to their needs, to comfort them in difficulty, and to put your full and complete trust in them, so long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

Phil turned and repeated the questions to you, watching as you nodded along. The sound of your "I do" made both men smile, causign you to shift your weight of your feet. "Very well."

"To commemorate this union, you may now exchange rings. The circle formed by each ring symbolizes your eternal love and commitment to one another. Let these rings remind you always of that love, and of the promises you have made her on this day. Will each of you please repeat after me as you place the ring on your loved ones hand?"

"I, Technoblade, give you, Y/n, this ring a symbol of my love and commitment. With this ring, I thee wed."

With a grand smile, Phil closed the large book and spread his wings out. "By the power vested in me, by the Prime Church and by my many years of life, I pronounce you, Technoblade and Y/n, as Husband and Partner, lawfully wedded before the Universe."

He looked to Techno and nudged him. "Kiss them, Techno. I know you want to." The piglin blushed at his old friends comment, waving him off as he tugged your body closer to him. He leaned down, connecting your lips together with a giggle.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce Mr. and [Mrs./Mr./Mx.] Blade!"

#stories by soup #bruised hearts & bruised lips #c!technoblade #c!techno #techno x reader #technoblade x reader #c!techno x reader #c!technoblade x reader #dreamsmp #anarchiststories

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