#the first drawing is meant to express the feeling of pain coming from one place in your body. and feeling like a conduit

[lunarharp]

some illustrations/vibes from my uhh 29k memory trauma/disability focus orufrey fic, into the deep end.

[ps-cactus]

HO 🎄HO ☃️ HO 🎁 it's your Secret Santa in town🎅🤶🔔🎶 coming down your chimney with questions about your MC ⬇️⬇️⬇️

I'm so excited to learn more about Alyn! I just got started on one of your fics but I'm dying to know what the dynamics are between Alyn and Ominis?? What do they do when they spend time together? Who's the more affectionate one? Do they argue a lot? Who apologizes first? I would love to know if you don't mind sharing ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hellooo! Thank you for reading 🥹💖 and for the questions, Santa! 💖✨ HERE COMES THE BIG POST! ~800 words👇🏻

To not make it extremely big I marked with * places where there are some extra headcanons behind the statement and I can elaborate additionally if needed.

Amberlyn x Ominis

⋆˚⋆⌜ Dynamics ⌟⋆˚⋆

The only one who'd understand. Recognition of each other's complexities. Mutual respect. Quiet support. Nevertheless, push and pull of varying intensity. Something from their Pinterest board:

Their bond unfolds slowly, built on trust (since Scriptorium, Alyn always sided with Ominis*) and, much later, subtle expressions of affection. They find common ground in shared struggles (family issues among them*) and the guilt and grief lingering after the events of the fifth year.

Alyn has a knack for finding the right words to soften Ominis' sharp edges and gently coax him into vulnerability. Though both are reserved in their own ways, they provide each other a sense of safety and understanding. (exceptions in Conflicts below)

Alyn is more open with affection—small, casual touches like brushing her hand against his (or her knee against his, because yes, she would; she’s, lost, traumatised and overcaffeinated teen). She completes his notes sometimes, drawing schemes from the board for him, describes things that catch her attention in and out of the class—all this happens naturally and easily.

Ominis is more reserved but deeply enjoys her presence and is grateful for her small gestures of help and appreciation. At first, he starts to subconsciously lean just a little closer than necessary during conversations. Over months time, he becomes braver about returning her gestures—a hand brushing hers deliberately, his voice softens noticeably when he speaks to her.

⋆˚⋆⌜ Time together ⌟⋆˚⋆

✨Studying: Since around the end of the fifth year, they often sit together at classes, at the library, or meet in common areas of the castle. Ominis becomes attuned to Alyn's steps, her scent, her presence. He’s startled to realise one day the sound of her voice reading aloud calms him.

✨Spells and Dueling Practice: Ominis’ magic is powerful, and his wand never misses. Alyn learns new spells quickly, and is excellent in explaining. Their training sessions are focused yet competitive and somewhat playful, filled with mutual encouragement and a bit of teasing. Alyn would brush the dust from a shattered dummy off his shoulder, and Ominis, whether he admitted it or not, would think that if the entire castle crumbled into dust around him, he wouldn’t mind—as long as it meant she’d be this close again, brushing it away with her hand.

✨Walks: Both enjoy long walks through the castle or by Black Lake. In the sixth year, they always visit Hogsmeade together. Sometimes they are just walking or sitting in silence. They don't normally talk in big emotional outbursts but instead share small, meaningful pieces of themselves over time.

⋆˚⋆⌜ Conflicts ⌟⋆˚⋆

They feel connection because they understand each other’s pain and offer emotional safety, but that very depth makes them vulnerable to fear, mistakes, and misunderstandings.

⚡️Curiosity vs protectiveness: Alyn is still new to the magical world. It makes her eager to learn everything—seemingly dangerous or not—out of wonder, fascination, and a desire to understand and catch up. Ominis, however, sees such curiosity as naivety and feels an urge to protect her, especially from anything risky. Alyn grows frustrated when she feels he’s infantilising her.

✨ Resolution: Alyn may prove her curiosity is tempered by caution, reassuring Ominis that she won’t put herself recklessly in harm’s way. Ominis, in turn, may learn to trust her judgment while remaining a protective figure she can rely on.

⚡️Miscommunication: Both Ominis and Alyn struggle with communication. Ominis often needs time alone to process his thoughts, but Alyn interprets his silence as distance or blame and tries to pull him out of it. If she doesn't succeed, she can rapidly go to 'Oh, it's now me not talking to you.'

✨ Resolution: They need to compromise—Alyn has to learns to give Ominis the time he needs, trusting that he will come back to her. Ominis, in turn, has to learn to communicate when he needs space instead of leaving her guessing.

⚡️SeBaStIaN isn’t even at school during their sixth year. But, whenever he’s brought up, Ominis subtly redirects or shuts the topic down, even though he's not as mad at him as he used to be and still considers him a friend. Among other feelings, Ominis is unsettled by the thought of Alyn reconnecting with Sebastian and leaving him behind. Again. His worry isn’t just jealousy (though it is that too). He fears Sebastian might pull her into something dark and dangerous. Again.

Ominis might: a) Withdraw—not to punish Alyn, but to protect himself emotionally. b) Overcompensate—offer her small gestures of affection, lingering touches, or closeness during homework sessions as a subconscious reassurance of their bond. c) Act stupid and say something he'll regret.

Alyn, in turn, gets irritated by his lack of trust, and such an attack on her judgment.

✨ Resolution: Alyn may reassure Ominis that she was never anything more than friends with Sebastian, and that she’s not under anyone’s influence. Ominis needs to learn to differentiate between jealousy and genuine worry and to communicate his fears in a healthier way.

⋆˚⋆⌜ Apologies ⌟⋆˚⋆

Ominis apologises after angry outbursts, guilt-ridden over losing control—something he fears makes him like his family. His apologies are slow and a bit awkward but deeply sincere. Alyn, on the other hand, apologises gently when she feels she’s misunderstood his intentions or pushed too hard.

Some of these 👆🏻bring them to this 👇🏻

⋆ Christmas 1891 ⋆

...and the aftermath. The second half of the sixth year.

Extra overcompensating for his insecurities while being not entirely sober, Ominis actually kissed Alyn. It happened after an argument following the Christmas party, but as Christmas magic would have it, that time both sides felt heard and satisfied. Eventually, they found themselves sitting together on the windowsill, sharing a quiet conversation. Aaand the first kiss happened.

Afterwards, Ominis apologised so many times they almost had another argument. Alyn reassured him that he didn’t need to apologise—that she didn’t mind them trying this new relationship. But of course, they have to make sure no one finds out.

And here the 'Shades' story begins

[ Thank you for reading all this! Now the little side note and rambling (sobbing on the floor) I don't think I actually succeeded at writing their friends to lovers trope in 'Darkness' I wasn't ever even going to post it and it shows. Well, anyway, I figured I'm rather more interested in writing adventure/action and seasoning it with romance than the other way around. That's what I'm trying to do better in 'Shades'. At the same time, now I have clearer understanding of how to deepen and write their relationship and again, it will all be covered in 'Shades' . You are very welcome to read 🤍]

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 5-6

Prompt: “This is gonna hurt.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; description and treatment of injury; blood.

There weren’t a lot of things you could say were worse than trying to survive in a dystopian world with walking corpses that want nothing other than to eat you alive. Seeing Daryl in pain though? That ranks almost at the top of the list. 

Currently, you were trapped in a warehouse, surrounded by the dead, and your partner had a piece of bone protruding from the lower part of his left leg. It would have to be set and soon. He would barely be able to walk after you handled it, but definitely not before. 

Still, you were hidden in a small square of pallets. All it would take was one walker wandering off and rounding the end. You had no choice but to act fast. 

“Daryl.” You whispered as loudly as you dared, patting the side of his face to rouse him. His face scrunched, eyes clenching shut before fluttering open. His expression remained pinched and heavily lined with pain. You already had your finger to your lips when his eyes focused and found your face. “Your leg’s broken.”

“No shit.” He whispered sharply, immediately muttering an apology. “Gotta set it. Can’ walk on it like this.”

“I know.” Your expression radiated sympathy. “This is gonna hurt.” The moment he bit back a snarky retort did not go unnoticed. He decided to simply nod instead. You needed to be strategic but thorough. The leg was a mess, blood steadily oozing from around the bone. 

“Get on with it, woman.” Daryl was panting, visibly steeling his resolve for the pain that was to come. You swallowed hard, knowing for certain that it would take little effort for him to buck you off in an automatic reflex. It was a risk you’d have to take. 

Pressing a knee onto his thigh, you reached to grasp his ankle. When you forced the first move, your body lifted with the rigid tension of the muscles under your knee. To his credit, the archer didn’t make a sound, merely pulling deep breaths through clenched teeth. You couldn’t stop now. It needed to be like ripping off a bandaid. A large, shifting of bone, bloody bandaid. 

Your free hand came to rest just above the protrusion. Biting your own lip, you shifted his ankle and placed gentle but firm pressure against the bone, feeling the grind beneath your palm. Daryl’s breaths were becoming harsher behind you but you persevered. Blood was spilling onto the concrete. It was only a matter of time before the walkers picked up the scent. With only the dim light of the moon through the windows far overhead, you made sure the bones were aligned and gave one last twist and push, the audible adjustment finally enough to draw a scream from your hunter. 

You released his leg and twisted around to press both of your bloody palms against his mouth, your forehead against his. “I’m sorry. I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Ssh.” You soothed, looking over his shoulder and through the spaces between pallets. The dead had frozen, their heads moving robotically to try and pin down the origin of the sound. 

Daryl’s eyes were wide, clouded, and frenzied. The pain being severe enough to overload the archer’s senses meant that it was bad. 

“I know, ssh.” You kept one hand over his mouth and let the other pet over his hair, rising enough to press your lips to his damp forehead while you kept your eyes on the walkers. They were still on alert but beginning to shuffle along. You just needed to guide Daryl through the worst of the discomfort and get him on his feet. 

Slowly and carefully, you maneuvered from the awkward position you had found yourself in while trying to silence him. Your hand still over his mouth, you now straddled his thighs, keeping your boots away from the injury on his shin. His breathing was beginning to return to normal, eyelids heavy over a dazed set of electric blue irises. 

“Daryl, are you with me?” 

A cool hand wrapped around your wrist and moved your palm away from his mouth. “M’here.” He whispered tiredly. Before you could rethink the urge, you pressed your mouth to his, hard and desperate, as well as apologetic. When you separated, your foreheads still touching, he thumbed away the blood on your mouth with a weak smirk. His mouth looked horrible though the blood had come from your hands. You tried and failed to smile, using your sleeve to wipe the mess from his face as best you could. “Le’s get outta here, sunshine.”

You stubbornly refused to cry, sniffing as you pulled away and rose to your feet as slowly as possible. There was a slim chance the movement could be noticed through the spaces between the pallets. “I’ll splint your leg once we get far enough away. They can handle the rest at the infirmary.” You offered your hand, the other gripping beneath his arm to help him to his feet. Daryl nodded once, leaning on you as you led the way. 

The journey was slow, shifting and ducking to stay out of sight until you could reach the door. A few stragglers lingered there. Shit. The only option was to make a run for the bike. 

“Daryl—”

“I know.” He knew what you were thinking. Of course he did. The two of you were a well oiled machine, becoming a force to be reckoned with over the years. You dipped your chin and mouthed a countdown. When you hit one, you moved together, his arm over your shoulders and yours around his back. His limp was pronounced but he didn’t slow down. Walker after walker reached for the two of you as you passed, signaling the others with their eager snarls and increased pace. 

There was no time to argue once you reached the bike. One second would be enough for either of you to be in danger of being grabbed. Daryl knew he couldn’t drive, but that didn’t stop him from cursing a blue streak when he had to climb on behind you. Only a portion of the vulgarity was due to pain. 

“Don’t worry!” You called over the rumbling engine. “I won’t tell anyone I finally got you to ride bitch for me.” Toeing up the kickstand, you urged the motorcycle into motion, decaying fingers only inches away from finding purchase. 

His leg was a pulsing, painful disaster but Daryl couldn’t resist holding tighter around your waist and brushing his lips over the side of your neck to lean in close to your ear. “Guess it ain’t so bad if s’you m’ doin’ it fer.”

“Don’t distract me!” You laughed. He could just picture your beaming smile. “I’ll crash and fuck up your other leg!”

“Nah, wouldn’ wan’ all tha’.” He smirked, resting his chin on your shoulder as you handled the bike like a pro, eating up the miles toward home. 

Taglist:

@thegeorgiahuntsman @livingdeadblondequeen @feral4daryl @deansapplepie @walker-bait-1973 @lazyneonrabbitt @bizquake @littlelovingideas @ririi-3 @ankhmutes @blackvelveteen1339 @sokkasimp101 @lehhos @loganlostitall @callmeyn @she-who-writes-for-multi-fandoms @gutsby @isakyakiisak @in-this-minute @eljaynosine_triphosphate @abbyreedus @wifeof-barnes @bigbaldheadname @bananafire11 @graciepies @georgiadixon @esgoraths @hutchersonsgurl @she-could-never @Kenzimae67 @nessa-mayfield @ilovedilfs4eversthings @KatelynAngel @richardsamboramylove55 @m0ss-g0blin @annhells @abi67sblog @nessieart @imgeorgeclooney @brinteylovesaliens @eduardast4rgirl @ass-butt-themusical @daryldixmedown @willowaftxn83-87 @ashtonbabe @atyourmomshouse01 @dixonzzgirl @unhingedbiatch @bultamer @lumimon47

[yuseirra]

At least Ai and Hikaru have stuff going on in canon like Ai having said she really wanted to live forever with him... That she wanted to share his burdens and wanted to raise their kids together, have a future with her guy.. Isn't that so loving? Isn't that so sweet. She did everything for him.

I wouldn't have drawn them in the first place if those words didn't come straight from Ai's mouth. For me, it's Ai's say on this that's really sold it for me because it meant so much. To realize she really loved him so much.

And her guy thinks he was only alive when he had Ai with him and he's willing to sacrifice his life for her... That he can't live without her, yeah there is NO WAY I wouldn't have had a heart for a relationship like that. I'll never regret having found good things about them. I'm always nuts about characters who care deeply about one another and share an unseverable bond. They did a really wonderful job formulating their character and I still appreciate it a lot... That's how I've been able to draw so many of them in the first place. They're so confusing.. But I still could/can find so many things about them. It's great.

But the authors better do them justice. They're also victims of child abuse and reflect the real pains of what people actually go through in an industry, I want them to handle them with care because what they carry is heavy.

And I see it. I know they can do it. I know how they can take away a meaningful message regarding these guys, I can do it, so I know they can, they're way more capable and skilled than I am. They can write a good story, so they should just do it.

But there's so little left. Late, too. Even a real god may not be able to save this work, who knows. I wish something happens so I'll willingly buy the final volume of this piece. I want that to happen so I keep expressing my feelings about it, if I had none left, I'd have just moved on. I know what it's capable of. It's right there...I see it. So I hope they do it.

If they don't...then, I've studied this piece pretty hard so I'll probably be able to think of something. It won't be comparable or nearly as good but, that's also something I can do. The bright side is that since there's only a single chapter left- that'd mean.. Things won't flip that drastically within the remaining pages(idk if that's a good or bad thing but for hikaru fans ehh...I doubt things would get any worse than it is because they're STILL keeping that stance that what he's contributed is STILL pretty vague. It's STILL speculations?? So what the heck did he do. Like...why make him say he "didn't do anything" and "didn't want anyone to get hurt" before they dunk him in the waters. What was the point in that. Call me stubborn but nothing about this guy is STILL CLEAR...)

It's really interesting how I still haven't given up on them but who knows... I'd love to start working on my own stories too soon! I wish to complete at least 5 before I die, I want to make 10+ and more!! This work helped me draw so much and so willingly and eagerly, I AM grateful for it.. I really want it to end well. Because I liked it. I want to wish it well...

Oh please just don't make Ryosuke and Nino out of all people be Kamiki's victim I think I know why it appears like it that way rn but THAT has to be overturned before this series has to go. That's what I want in the last chapter, I want them to do that in the very least. That's the BARE minimum for this work to remain meaningful and decent in my eyes I hope I'm not asking for much. I am not.

[fujii-draws]

Regrets

Summary: As golden orbs of light brought an end to Dusknoir’s existence; he’s confronted with a thought. One he’d long been avoiding since the day he arrived in the world of the past, and came in contact with two young, small Pokémon. The same two he’d eventually come to grow fond of, only to betray as part of his mission. As he’s forced to finally confront it in his isolation, Dusknoir finds himself coming to an epiphany. One he’d been denying for a very, very long time.

[Word count: 2130]

–––––––––––––––––––––

‘Aimilios... Ribbons...’ The ghost type melancholically lamented to himself. ‘They… did it….’

The black, paralyzed skies had begun to shift as the morning came. Rays of light hit the ghost type’s body; although numb, even he’d felt the warmth of the sun course through him. Time was finally moving again… and all Dusknoir could do was helplessly watch as his body faded; the light bringing an end to his existence.

Dusknoir cannot describe the emotions he’s feeling. Proud…? Accomplished…? Fearful….?

Damn it all. Arceus… if only he’d realized the mistake he was making. If only he’d defied Primal Dialga and had his change of heart sooner… perhaps those two would’ve still…. The three of them could’ve been-

No.

It’s over.

He ruined it.

…Dusknoir turns his head slowly, his gaze falling on to Grovyle; the reason he decided to go against Primal Dialga’s wishes in the first place. The reason he lived; for what would perhaps be the first time in ages… Had it not been for his speech back at the icicle pillars…Dusknoir doesn’t even want to think of the calamity that would’ve ensued. He continues to stare at the slowly disappearing grass-type, almost thoughtful.

“Grovyle…”

The grass-type’s eyes meet the black specter’s pained expression.

“My M-my life… Did it shine….?”

Dusknoir wanted to hear it from Grovyle. He wouldn’t feel satisfied, or even happy hearing it from himself. The ghost’s self-hatred was deep rooted enough as it was. Especially after all of what he had done. He needed a second opinion.

“…Yes.” The lizard Pokémon smiles, softly reassuring Dusknoir in what would be his final moments. “…Extraordinarily.”

…Dusknoir, despite not believing Grovyle, chooses to do so. Offering a small smile back at his old friend. “Grovyle… Thanks to you…..”

He pauses.

“…I have no regrets.”

…Dusknoir starts to feel himself slipping away completely; his physical form fading into illuminated lights in the sky as he draws his final breath… His death is almost comforting... At least- it would’ve been, had he made peace with his unspoken feelings… towards them. Even when he’s disappearing. Even when he’s dying…

He still couldn’t tell the truth.

One regret.

He had all but one.

…And now, he’ll never see them again. Never be able to tell them how sorry he was. Never be able to tell those two how much they meant to him… what they actually meant to him.

How foolish was he…? To get attached like this…? To care so much about their futures as well as his…? ..He couldn’t even admit how much they mattered to him in his final moments… Dusknoir grunts. really is just a liar, isn’t he? And that’s all the two will remember him for. Their scornful expressions when he’d laughed at their misery during their confrontation in the future. Their looks of betrayal. Tears rolled down the eevee and riolu’s faces as they unhinged their claws and teeth at Dusknoir. To think at the time, he found their reactions simply hysterical…

——————

“YOU LIAR..!”

“W-WE TRUSTED YOU..!”

“Pray tell… who’s fault is that?” Dusknoir sneered. “Not once had I asked for your background, or your names.”

Dusknoir began to float menacingly towards Aimilios. “Last I recall, you were responsible for your own partner’s downfall.”

“I-I….”

“LEAVE HIM ALONE…!!”

——————

…Now all he feels is a sharp pain stabbing through his chest recalling that horrible memory.

If there was a heaven or hell; the latter would be awaiting him right about now.

Speaking of…

Dusknoir opens his eye, attempting to browse his uncanny surroundings. What meets the ghost-type is… emptiness?

“…What on earth..?” His eye wanders down to his body.

…He appears in what looks like a pitch-black void. Dusknoir himself would’ve blended right in with the endless abyss had it not been for the yellow outlines distinguishing the features of his silhouette-like shadow… the same exact hue of yellow lights that’d been responsible for his disappearance moments ago… it’s almost as if he’d become a ghost all over again... He’d find the circumstances slightly amusing had it not been for his current dilemma. Dusknoir stares at his golden-laced hand, before contemplating something.

‘…Perhaps..’ Dusknoir thinks to himself. ‘Perhaps… it’s better this way…’ He knows it’s selfish. He knows he’s being a coward. But… now he doesn’t have to face Ribbons and Aimilios. He doesn’t have to look at those same faces that once revered him with such adoration; now fear, in the eyes… And yet… The thought of never seeing those two again… why does the thought bring him so much unnecessary pain? They were only means to an end to begin with- so why does he even CARE?!

“…GWOOH.. GWOOOOH..!!!” The ghost-type’s head begins to throb uncontrollably; Dusknoir clutches his head; nearly identical to how he did when breaking down in the midst of Grovyle’s speech. He clutches his temple harder in a feeble attempt to satiate the pain. Why couldn’t he just stop…? He’d tried so hard to detach himself from Ribbons and Aimilios once he realized who they were... Yet like a complete and utter fool; he stayed close. So close to an eevee and riolu he was ordered to execute. Why couldn’t he just forget about those two…? It would hurt so much less. They were means to an end to begin with- so WHY?!

“B-BLAST IT..!”

He slams both of his fists on the onyx colored ground beneath him in frustration. The yellow outlines of his body begin to glow violently as he draws heavy, shallow breaths.

…Dusknoir is suddenly plagued with a memory- of those two. He… remembers the eevee and riolu smiling widely; at him no less. It was… around the time when he’d referred to them as his ‘friends’. A mere front to gain their trust. Dusknoir recounts just how overjoyed they looked… and how that happiness made something in his chest hurt for a split second. He didn’t have to give them false hope. He didn’t have to play this ruse as far as he did… and yet. There was a small, foolish part of him that genuinely enjoyed it; and an even smaller part of him that knew he’d regret it.

————————

“You mean it?!” The riolu beamed. “You’ll really help us?!”

“But of course!” Dusknoir smiled, placing a hand on his chest. “I offer you two, my full cooperation!”

Dusknoir watched as the two Pokémon whip their heads towards eachother; almost trying to confirm the other’s disbelief. They look back at him; tails wagging rapidly in unison— before Ribbons excitedly jumps onto the ghost-type. Dusknoir nearly stumbles from just how sudden it was. Despite this, he catches her with his quick reflexes.

“Thank you thank you thank you!!!” Ribbons cheered. “You have no idea how much this means to us!”

Dusknoir recollected himself; before putting a hand on each of the overjoyous Pokémon’s heads.

“I’m… glad to hear. Truly.” A lie, obviously…but even he couldn’t help but smile a little at their shared enthusiasm.

“By golly..! Huff… huff…”

All three of the Pokémon had turned their heads to the out-of-breath Bidoof. Dusknoir immediately put Ribbons and Aimilios down; a slightly embarrassed blush crossing the ghost’s face as he brushed himself off coughing, returning to his more professional, stoic-like persona.

———————————

…He didn’t have to play with their emotions. He could’ve just as easily stayed acquaintances- kept his distance- but no. He just had to enjoy spending time with them. He had to get closer to them. He had to remember their favorite foods. To enjoy laughing with them until his stomach became sore, protecting them, watching over them, loving them as if they were…

Were…

…Dusknoir can’t help but hold his hand under his eye. He… he really did care those two... As if they were his own… his own…

“….Hoh…”

His train of thought comes to a complete halt. The idea of those two? Seeing him that way? After what he had done? After the horrible things he’s said…?

“Ho..Hohohaha..! HOHOHOHA-HA-HA-HA!”

His laughter becomes more and more erratic; holding one hand under his eye as the other grips his head- his cackles echoing into the never ending void.

“HAH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAhahaa…!“

Dusknoir’s broken laughter echoes throughout the void; until there’s nothing left but silence. Both of Dusknoir’s hands now cover his face as he crumbles to the ground. A shell of what was once the ‘Great Dusknoir’… was nothing more but the husk of a broken ghost. Too selfish and weak to do the right thing; and stand by the only two Pokémon who were willing to trust him with their lives… He wishes the endless abyss he was in would just swallow him already.

��Aimilios…Ribbons…” Dusknoir’s voice cracks; calling out for the ones he’d hurt.

…They deserved so much better than him. He didn’t deserve them. And to think in the beginning, they’d been the ones who were trying to prove themselves to be worthy of him... When it’d been the other way around this entire time. How ironic.

How absolutely ironic.

…Which reminds him-

“Ribbons…!” His head shoots up in a panic; his eye filled with worry.

She had already disappeared at this point, didn’t she..? In front of Aimilios no less..? He can’t even begin to fathom how horrible it must’ve been for both of them… at such young ages… maybe if he’d assisted them on their perilous journey to Temporal Tower…. he could’ve been there to remedy the weight of their situation… but of course instead, he used it in a pathetic attempt to beg for his life. Dumping everything onto Ribbons in a last ditch effort to save his own ghostly skin… in the small desperate hope she’d finally understand why he…

…Selfish.

So selfish.

Of course his train of thought immediately went straight back to him. He can’t think about anyone’s wellbeing except for his own. His ‘self preservation’. His ‘life’. Nevermind all of the Pokémon he was going to deny the futures of. He was at risk. So they all had to pay for it. Because of his cowardice.

This was his atonement.

He deserved this.

Dusknoir closes his eye. Maybe in his next life he’ll be a decent Pokémon. One worthy of respect. Of adoration.

Of love.

.

.

.

“Gah...”

Dusknoir groans. Why does it feel so cold all of a sudden..?

Wait.. cold?

He sees… ice… and feels… wind?

‘…What..?’

He slowly gets up; using his hands to suspend himself in the air. He looks around- only to see himself back.

Back on the mountain.

He stares at his hands for an indeterminate amount of time before they begin to tremble. His expression contorted into one of self-loathing and confusion.

“W-we’re still here…” His fingers curl into fists.

“I didn’t disappear…! Wh-Why?!”

Dusknoir shouts; almost disgusted by the fact he was revived- rather than questioning how it was even possible in the first place. No. He doesn’t- He shouldn’t be here. It must’ve been some kind of mistake… That’s it. There’s no other logical explanation for why he should be still here. Perhaps the higher being that brought him back into this world will immediately realize their error, and make swift work of him.

“We… we truly are still here…” Grovyle lamented, breathing a sigh of what would be an overwhelming rush relief. Celebi begins to flutter her wings happily around the grass-type.

“Wonderful!! I don’t know why we were fading and didn’t disappear…” She twirls, overjoyous now having gained all her strength back. “…But everyone is safe!! Oh my beloved..! Isn’t this just an amazing wonderful thing?!”

Grovyle chuckles heartedly. “It is.”

Unfortunately among the three; the ghost type was not experiencing the same joy as the grass type pokemon. Dusknoir had been drowning out half of their words of cheer and relief with thoughts of contempt. Self-depricational thoughts clouded the ghost-type’s mind as he kept searching for logical answers for his revival… Everyone else made sense. But why him of all Pokémon..?!

“Why..? Wh-Why me..?” Dusknoir whispered to himself dejectedly; mirroring his words from when his Sableye ‘betrayed’ him.

The only difference being how genuine it was.

Pr- Dialga had appeared to explain the whole situation to the trio. Once that had been done, Grovyle, and Celebi walked and flew individually near the edge of the mountain to feel the sun on their skins; their accomplishments finally having been paid off, soaking in the sun…

……Dusknoir, however; had stayed in the exact spot he’d been revived. His thoughts plagued him. This was not his victory. This was not for him to enjoy. What was he to do now..? Live his life as if nothing happened..? As if he didn’t hurt countless Pokémon..? Guilt had almost immediately begun to eat away at the ghost-type. He looks down at his hands one last time... Perhaps death would’ve been too good for a despicable Pokémon such as himself. The torment of being alive, and living with what he had done seemed like a fitting and ironic enough punishment… but that wasn’t what truly scared him.

Far from it, in fact.

Without a doubt in Dusknoir’s mind; Grovyle and Celebi would want to return back to the past… perhaps not this very instant; but at a given point. And when that time finally arrives…

Dusknoir stares at the Passage of Time facing him. Almost mocking him.

…He’d have to face them.

“…” Dusknoir clenches his fists tightly; his brow furrowing.

…The mere thought of confronting those two again- No no no no no. He- he should have disappeared. Death would’ve been a mercy. He can’t face them- not again. Looking at the same two children he tried to slaughter with his bare hands mere hours ago face-to-face..? Dusknoir’s fists tremble as his terror consumes him. What would they say..? Let alone think..? They’d run at the mere sight of him. He…

He doesn’t want to scare them.

He doesn’t want to hurt them.

He..

…Now he has something else to be afraid of.

[tabswrites]

ToL Rewrite Excerpt (Ch. 4)

I love this scene too much not to share it, so I’m going to combine some tags: @lychhiker-writes here and @ahordeofwasps here.

This interrogation scene takes place in Ch. 4 (formerly Ch. 2) of ToL, after Oliver has been arrested for treason. It was originally meant to be kind of whumpy but this dialogue really swept me away.

WC: 752 (feel no need to read the entire thing)

CW: Very mild violence.

Captain Hollowar stepped forward, revealing his scabbard being cradled by her wiry arms. 

“You foolish boy,” she spat. “So spoiled.” The hilt of his sword glistened beneath the dim light. She rested the scabbard on the floor and leaned against it as she glowered at him. “I put this sword in your hands. I trained you to wield it. That uniform you wear–I put you in it. I made you.”

Her hand reached for the edge of his cape and pulled it hard, until the silk ties were tight against his throat. She let the scabbard fall and loosened the cape. It fell to the ground, and she turned her attention to his armor. “All you ever had to do was obey me!”

With each shrill word, she tore more from him until he was stripped of protection and left shivering. The armor lay at his feet, taunting him. Her eyes twitched as he raised his head.

“Come off it, Moire. Whose name do we all swear fealty to–yours, or mine?”

She chuckled through a mask of cool indifference. “A rather shrewd observation, coming from you. And…” She let the word dangle from her lips, drawing him in. “You have identified the poison that has been rotting this city’s roots for decades.”

He closed his eyes and let his head fall to his chest, hoping she would cease her rambling.

“Legacy,” she continued. “And never the ones that deserve to be eternal.”

His eyes opened. “Are you testing me?”

She strode forward and gripped his chin. Her nails, cracked and brittle, dug into him with their uneven edges.

“Did you let the exile back into our city?” 

“No.”

“Did you give her access to the archives?”

“No.”

Her nails dug in deeper. “What caused you to commit treason? What use do you have for forbidden knowledge?” The stoic expression on her face did not change–only her voice betrayed her rage. 

He raised a brow as he met her beady gaze. “Ennui, mead, morbid curiosity–you tell me.”

She had indulged his blitheness once, but no more. A fist rammed into his stomach, and as his lungs gasped for their stolen air, she looked deep into his eyes. She waited patiently for him to find his words.

“I wanted to know what I was expected to kill for.”

Her upper lip curled. “You know what you have been told. The elders-”

“Those old bastards didn’t decide a thing,” he snorted. “They’re forcing the same tired ideas down our throats because they can’t figure out how to move forward. They’re pathetic.” It amused him to watch spots of his saliva settle on her face.

She let her nails slice a jagged line along his cheek before dropping her hand. Her boots scuffed the dirt floor as she turned on her heel. 

“Words you say with such passion, as if they are your own. We both know who said them first.” Her hands came together behind her back and she spun to face him again. “Was it all an act, then? Miss Wilkes, safely exiled to the villages to gather allies while you rotted our city from within?”

He tilted his head to the side and considered the thought. “Honestly, no. That would have been a brilliant strategy, though. Wish I had thought of it.”

“Do you know what it is you risk with your arrogance, boy?” She shook her head. “Of course not. I am the first to teach you of consequence, and like everyone else in your sorry life, I was far too lenient.”

“Then do what I couldn’t three years ago,” he suggested. “Let me bleed.”

At last, he seemed to have stunned her into silence. She turned to watch the lantern for a moment, as if the answers were at the center of its orange flame. He watched her instead, fascinated by the way the shadows settled around her sharp features. The pain in his wrists cried for acknowledgement, and his thoughts turned inward, to Mara. Were the words of a dead man enough to comfort her, or was she in her own cell, weeping? The journals that he had pored through, desperate for insight into her labyrinthian mind, were filled with nonsense. Notions of colorful trees, talking creatures–madness, and it drove him mad too, as he wondered why Mara could trust that but not him.

“Tell me,” Hollowar whispered, breaking the silence. “Was she worth it?”

“She would have been,” he replied with a sour grin. “If you let her live.”

Tagging: @winterandwords @revenantlore @theprissythumbelina @oh-no-another-idea @acertainmoshke @sarahlizziewrites if any of want to share any snippets/excerpts.

ToL tag list: @outpost51 @writernopal @avrablake @writingrosesonneptune @theroseempress (please ask to be +/-)

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

A Mouse in a Lion’s Den Pt.18 Finale

Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

Warnings: mentions of a dead body

Words:2509

Summary: A mouse no longer.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17 

Book One of Heir of Ash and Fire

Book Two of Heir of Ash and Fire 

It still hurt.

You place your hands over your abdomen. Remembering the immense pain you had gone through.

The poison had failed to kill you but it took your baby. Someone so innocent that they hadn’t even been able to take their first breath.

As if to remind you every once in a while you would feel a sharp stab from where your baby had once been growing. Many times it kept you up at night. Especially through nightmares where your child had gone on to live. He would look exactly like Rhaegar. You had named him Jaehaerys even though Rhaegar wanted to name him Aegon. Out of all the Valyrian names you liked Jaehaerys the best. It sounded regal, as a Targaryen should be. Such sweet moments that could have been. You couldn’t take that it would never become real. That’s why when the maester had visited you you had requested them to prescribe you milk of the poppy to dilute it while you slept. It was a godsend but Thalina warned you that it could become addictive if you were not careful with how you took it. You knew. All you wanted it to do was make you forget about the scar from losing your baby. You missed the baby bump. Missed the feeling of your unborn child kick against your hand or even against Rhaegar’s lips when he would kiss your stomach lovingly. He would laugh and claim that the dragon was strong.

“Alright my lady. Here’s your milk for the night.” Thalina smiles warmly, the fire behind her cast an orange light on her figure as she hands you a chalice. She was already in her nightgown, ready to join you in sleep.

You thank your, taking it from her grasp and slowly sipping on it. Immediately you feel the numbing effects that dull everything in your body. Back resting against your pillow, you slump into bed with a sigh. In moments you would be fast asleep.

A gentle touch to your cheek draws you to Thalina. Her fingers caress your face, an expression of worry glowing on her features. “Sleep well my lady.”

With slurred speech you ask her “Why do you look so sad?”

Her smile is solemn as she kisses your forehead. “This might very well be the last time we see each other. You have given me such joy (y/n). I pray for nothing but the best for you and your beloved prince.”

You struggled to grasp words but you were slipping from reality.

*

“FIRE!!”

“Fire in the east tower!!”

It had been such a tranquil night. Stars bright as mini suns, the air cool against Jaime’s face. It was a perfect night. The shouting of the guards was piercing and had a jolt running up Jaime’s spine.

The east tower. . . That’s where (y/n)’s rooms was.

Jaime immediately abandoned his post and made a run for it even if his other Gold Cloaks were calling after him. To hell with them. There was a fire blazing near his sister. He had to go see if she was okay.

Glass was raining down on everyone as they watched from outside the tower. They cowered from the shower, flames bursting from the broken window.

Was. . . was that the window from (y/n)’s room? His heart sank. No. Gods no it couldn’t be coming from her room. Green eyes flick over the crowd that was gathered. No one possessed the sweet face of (y/n). That meant she was still in her room if he didn’t see her there.

Grabbing someone nearby he asks “Where’s my sister? Where is Princess (y/n)?!!”

The older man flinched, fear in his eyes as they dart from the tower to the knight in gold. “S-She must still be in there Ser. . .”

Agitated he shakes the man and grits through his teeth “Why did no one get her out?”

He starts to tremble. “I. . . I don’t know. Please Ser Jaime, have mercy.”

Jaime throws him aside and marches to the door of the east tower. There was no time to waste in asking questions.

Just stepping foot inside, Jaime immediately felt like he was being boiled alive in his armor. It was incredibly suffocating in there as he covered his eyes to navigate through his burning surroundings. He knew the way by heart. After all, he had been visiting her more frequently the past few days.

He didn’t need his eyes to guide him.

Sweat pooled on his upper lip and soaked his hair so that it stuck to his head. Beams above him creaked as they were beginning to bow under the strength and fury of the blazing fire. The dry air stung at his eyes and throat as Jaime continued to tear through to (y/n)’s room. Underneath him the floorboards began to grow unreliable, a few times they collapsed under his foot.

How would he get her out? Every step he took made the foundations even more weak. The fire was eating away at everything. He wouldn’t allow it to get his sister though.

Adrenaline pulsed through him as he neared her room. That’s where the fire was unbearable. The doorframe was charred, black edging around it. It didn’t take much strength to open it as Jaime simply shouldered it aside.

Her room was engulfed in flames. On the ground next to her bed was Thalina, sprawled out with a pool of blood collecting around her head and face down.

What the hell was going on?

The maid’s body already showed signs of serious burns. There was no saving her.

(y/n) was still fast asleep, unaware of the immense danger she was in. Her blankets were charred yet to Jaime’s shock, (y/n) wasn’t burned. She was still perfect. Untouched by the flames.

He hefts his sister over his shoulder, casting one last glance at Thalina. Remembering her plea. The maid somehow knew that this would happen. She wasn’t crazy after all.

Now it was clear. She wasn’t safe in King’s Landing. This was obviously another attempt on her life. Jaime couldn’t risk a third.

*

Something wasn’t right.

Groggily, you stir awake already knowing that something was strange. The comfiness of your bed underneath you was gone.

With a dry mouth and your eyes still closed you croak out “Thalina?”

A hand goes to move your bangs away from your forehead. Even the hand felt off. It was too rough to belong to your maid. Slowly you flutter your eyes open. First all you were able to see were branches stretching over you, offering you protection from the sun above. That definitely didn’t seem right.

Taking in the rest of your surroundings you register Jaime sitting next to you. His face covered in black soot much like his armor. He looked exhausted but he still smiled at you.

“Jaime? Where are we? What’s going on?” When you move to sit up your brother assists you the rest of the way. Your eyes flicker around you; plenty of trees to hide you, quiet and still. But where was Thalina? What was going on? You had no recollection after you had fallen asleep. The milk of the poppy often made you sleep heavy. Even the loudest of noises couldn’t wake you when you were under it’s influence.

Face falling, Jaime runs a hand over his face. “I don’t want to upset you when you’re already weak. Last night there was a fire in your room. Thalina’s dead. I was able to save you. And here we are. Out of King’s Landing.”

There was so much to process and it didn’t help that your brain was still slightly laced with the drug. Thalina was dead? But you had just spoken to her last night. And there was a fire? Then why didn’t you have any burns? True your clothes smelled like smoke and even the hem of your nightgown was blackened.

“Slower, please Jaime. Start from the beginning. . .” *

Everyone was afraid to enter his room.

Griff had tried quite a few times to no avail. Rhaegar would immediately threaten his life if the knight didn’t leave and the crazy look in the prince’s eyes showed that he wasn’t lying. That he would keep well to his word. It was the first time anyone had seen the gentle prince act so savagely. The beauty of the Water Gardens was disrupted by Rhaegar’s wails and the sound of furniture breaking.

Brandon should have felt a smug satisfaction, but there was only pity for Rhaegar. Pity and regret.

His wife was dead.

A fire had taken her life as well as that of her maid’s. A mysterious fire that no one in King’s Landing could explain. It happened in the dead of night. The very next morning when it had been controlled and there was nothing but charred remains left did they discover that the fire had originated in the young lady’s room.

His confidants knew that their prince must have blamed them a little bit. After all they had been the ones to insist that he leave while his wife was on her death bed.

“Someone needs to speak with him. . .”

“Do you want to be the one?”

No. Nobody wanted to be in the same room with the grieving Targaryen prince. Especially not in the state he was in where he wasn’t able to make rational decisions. Varys had warned to leave him be until he pulled himself together. There was no need to have another irrational royal on their hands to deal with. That was why everyone wanted Rhaegar to be king. He was put together and thought of the people unlike his crazy father. Now they were growing slightly concerned however. What if Rhaegar would become crazy like his father? Like many other Targaryen rulers? What if this is what he needed to unhinge and become unstable?

There were plenty of things that needed to be done though. They needed Rhaegar if they were to bring upon a rebellion upon Aerys. They needed a level headed Rhaegar.

“Your prince is distressed.” Oberyn Martell, the brother of Doran Martell, casually saunters over to the perplexed young lords. He seemed completely at ease despite the wails that had haunted the Water Gardens which had been generally a calming place that Prince Doran often escaped to. There was no calm now. Just Rhaegar’s mourning.

Oberyn’s dark eyes however reveal the sympathy he felt for him. “I can’t imagine how it must feel, losing the one you most cherish in the world. How terrible it is to love something that death can touch.” He whispers thoughtfully. “And to know that they died in such a terrible way. Fire and blood indeed.”

Griff didn’t like that last comment, feeling that it was a jest toward Rhaegar. “What business do you have here?”

“Jon.” Arthur reminds him. They were the guests of the Martells. Most of their army was composed of the noble houses of Dorne thanks to Arthur Dayne and the willing help of the Martells.

The olive skinned prince shrugs off the knight with fiery red hair. “I came to speak with your Silver Prince. Dorne is putting it’s neck out for him. And while I understand he is grieving, we must move our armies if we are to gain the upper hand on Aerys. I require another offer.”

Frowning Brandon inquires as to what he meant by that. There had already been an agreement. Dorne helps Rhaegar overthrow his father and become king while allowing Dorne to stay a sovereign country. What more could they want?

Hands on his hips, he grins at them. “I want Rhaegar to marry my sister.”

“Have you no decency?” Snapped Brandon. He took a step forward, pupils dilated at the gull that Oberyn possessed to request such a thing. True that Rhaegar had broken Lyanna’s heart and shamed both the Starks and Baratheons by such a stunt, but this was something entirely different. He had never met (y/n), but everyone that had always had the most kind things to say about her. That she wasn’t like the rest of her family. That she was sweetness incarnate. He wasn’t about to let her memory be tarnished by Oberyn’s proposal. “Rhaegar has just lost his wife! He is in no mindset to take another.”

“As I have stated before it is a tragedy, but he will eventually need another queen if he wishes for the Targaryens to continue to rule Westeros.” As if to make up for his brashness, Oberyn does happen to show a bit of humility as he looks at the ground. “It was a terrible fate that (y/n) suffered at the hand of Aerys. I mean no disrespect to her but I am merely stating a fact. And Elia is already a princess in her own right. When the war is over, Rhaegar and Elia should marry.”

The door to Rhaegar’s chambers creaked open making the other four men jump. Griff had never seen his beautiful prince look so. . . so broken beyond repair. His armor was off, instead Rhaegar donned a Dornish robe that emphasized his broad shoulders and showed off a bit of his pale chest. His eyes were rimmed red and hollow along with a gauntness that had infected his lovely face.

His voice cracks as he speaks, hoarse from hours of screaming. “You want me to marry Elia?”

“Rhaegar, you don’t need to-” Jon Connington begins but Rhaegar holds up a hand to silence him.

Oberyn purses his lips before nodded. “Yes, you’ll need a queen your grace when all is done.”

They held their breath as Rhaegar stood there quietly. His eyes refusing to lift up.

“Very well.” Breathed out Rhaegar, tired and defeated. “I’ll marry Elia once I take the crown.”

Not even bothering to say anything else, Rhaegar retreats back into his room. *

You cling to Jaime’s cape that he had draped around you to keep off the chilly breeze from the ocean. All around you was water; you could barely make out the dock from where the ship had set sail from. It was but a dark blur in the distance.

The last time you had been on a ship was when Rhaegar had called upon you from Dragonstone to come to King’s Landing. That seemed like so long ago. You felt like an entirely different person now. Older. More tired. You had lived through two assassination attempts and two heartbreaks. Learning so many secrets along the way that you felt much like the Master of Whisperers.

“Are you nervous?” Jaime asks as he takes his spot next to you.

“A little. I’m also a little scared too.” You whisper then look up at your brother. “But it’s okay to be scared.”

He grins down at you. “Look at you. You’re not a little mouse anymore, are you?”

Shaking your head you look back out to the sea. “No. I’m a dragon now.”

---

TAGLIST:

@esposadomd​

@ladybug0095​

@marytargaryen @madislayyy​ @deltamoon666​

[jukebox-arts]

New chapter excerpt

Have another tidbit of the next chapter of "Free Runner", a short flashback to the first moment Sun and Moon came online. God knows we need some fluff before the pain:

A lot of life was dark. Or it felt that way so far to the pair who stood patiently in the atrium, only their eyes alight in the dimness. ‘Keep your radials down’ the Sunrise had been told, as they would draw too much attention otherwise and ruin the surprise. The inner flurry of codes and systems inside him buzzed excitedly to finally be allowed to fulfill his purpose after the long journey from the facility; he so wanted to reach out through the dark and take hold of the other unit standing nearby, to remind himself he wasn’t alone in this chamber, but he couldn’t.

Wait.

The yellow glint in the dark was enough for now, he told himself. The other unit–Moondrop, his Tidally Locked partner–was there with him, just as quiet and, if his inner hum meant anything, just as eager. They were never far from each other, not in the short time they’d been active, so there was no reason to believe now was any different. It was even dark, like the first time they became aware of each other.

Coming online for the first time was a slow process; awareness of one’s limbs always came before any sense of space or outside assessment. File after file opened and ran in quick succession, demanding fingers and toes be moved, passive processes being read for anomalies, systems cycled through checkmark after checkmark to ensure they cooperated properly. Somewhere between this initial calibration and opening his eyes, something else rippled through like an echo.

Sunrise.

That was him! A sunrise. A star.

Happiness flashed in his system at knowing himself. Then a tickle followed his elation, a quiet repetition of his joy that felt just a bit different. Feeling that extra nudge of emotion took his attention from his waking process for just a moment, drawing him deeper into himself. What was it? He wanted to know! Mustering the sensation as best he could, Sunrise pressed his emotional code to run again; the echo answered faintly, urging another wave of happiness that it mirrored. Each pass made Sunrise want to skip and laugh! To stay in this place with the little echo of his own happiness forever!

“Hello?”

Startled by the feeling of his own voice, Sunrise waited for the echo to respond. For a long moment, there was nothing. Fretting he’d scared it off, the robot tried to summon his joy again, to share it into the void and see if that brought an answer–but he couldn’t. Afraid his echo had vanished left him empty, too much to be able to express that fleeting feeling of light and positivity.

Then it answered.

“It’s alright.”

The echo sounded nothing like him, to his surprise. While his own voice was high and light, with clear notes that felt like they could reach deep into the darkness and find the corners easily, this one was lower, soft but creaky as if someone had just woken up.

“I’m here.”

Sunrise peered around, unsure where ‘here’ was. “Where?”

“Next to you.”

There was no one, though. Pulling himself from the deep depths of himself, Sunrise reeled as his systems continued their processes around him–breathing, cycling, flexing–but he found what he felt he needed by clinging to his dex-system. Just enough to move his fingers. Turn his hand.

A cool sensation flickered through his system check, his hand coming into contact with something outside of himself that was not part of the flurry of self-diagnostics he was dealing with. The feeling grew as the thing also moved, his fingers being laced into something firm and, inexplicably, familiar.

“Is that you?” Sunrise wondered, not fully expecting an answer.

One still came though, more of an impression than true words. “Yes.”

Joy washed through him again. He wanted these checks to finish so he could wake up! “I’m Sunrise!” he cheered, squeezing the cool thing between his fingers.

The pressure matched his as his hand was squeezed back. While the feelings weren’t as intensely directed as his, Sunrise still knew this echo was as pleased as he felt. “I’m Moondrop,” they replied. “I’m your brother.”

Since then, they hadn’t been apart, even when the lights went off and they were told to conduct a sleep cycle. Moondrop was there, only an arm’s length away.

But this time, they’d been told not to cling to each other, to stand presentably and behave.

Sunrise trusted in the familiar, yellow eyes of his brother that he was there, within reach in the dark, and he would still be there when the light returned and they finally got to meet their mistress. Finally, they could dance. Bring her joy. Sate this nagging urge to be with a human, at their side to make their life more colorful!

He was so excited he could hardly contain himself!

[zbphotography]

Mostar territorial defence soldiers provide cover for a girl and an elderly woman to run into shelter across the sniper alley in downtown Mostar, Bosnia Herzegovina, April 1992. The two were trapped between the houses, pinned in by sniper fire and called for help. Both made it safely to a shelter near by.

On a calm day in war-torn downtown Mostar I was chatting with a group of Territorial Defence soldiers, standing in passage which went though a building at the very edge of the old town. I have just arrived with a friend photographer and we were trying to get the feel of the situation. Sporadic gunshots echoed in irregular intervals through mostly empty streets, but no one paid them much attention. Suddenly, screams for help reverberated following a series of shots. They were very loud, which meant they were coming from somewhere near by. A soldier from our group risked a dive across the street for a better look. He called back saying there are people trapped between the houses just down the street. The rest of the group tossed their cigarettes, brandished their AK-47s and without much fuss slid along the walls toward the voices, hurrying only when exposed to the upper end of the street. Without even asking, we went along, hugging the wall on the side. Just as we were nearing the gap between the houses where people were trapped, a few gunshots rang followed by the ominous angry buzz of a bullet flying by. I jumped in the nearest doorframe and flattened myself on the threshold. My friend did the same one door down from me.

A game of cat and mouse - or, rather, mice - ensued. At first the soldiers we came with couldn’t locate the position of the sniper, so they decided to move around and draw fire. This risky game paid off. After a few rounds ricocheted from the pavement near a large soldier who stood an arm’s length from my hiding place, he pointed ahead and shouted the description of the house to the others. A soldier standing with the civilians, which we now saw were a young girl and a woman, warned them to run on his sign. Someone fired a few rounds toward the sniper’s position and soldier gave the sign. The girl went first running to the house behind my hiding place. I leaned out long enough for a few quick photos. As the girl passed, a few more shots rang and I pulled back. The old woman shuffled after the girl, swearing under her breath.

With them safely sheltered, we ran back the way we came. For a while the sniper amused himself shooting at the wall behind which we sat chatting with soldiers. We were waiting for the bullets to stop, so we could run back down the street and around the corner where we left our car. We were going to wait the sniper out, or stay until dark, but he had other plans. A louder shot was followed by an explosion in the middle of the street right in front of our hiding passage. Rocks and dust peppered us. A man sitting closest to the street cried with pain and clutched an arm bleeding with a shrapnel wound.

“Tromblon!” soldiers yelled and pulled farther back from the street. Tromblon was a rifle grenade launcher, which meant the frustrated sniper was now lobbing grenades at us. Another grenade exploded somewhere on the street, then the bullets continued their angry toc-toc at the other side of the wall. Almost an hour later it still went on, but the pause between the shots was getting longer. I was antsy to get back to the hotel and transmit my pictures. Finally, two soldiers who also had enough, offered to take me and friend back to our car. Well, “take” is a deceiving expression. What they suggested was to follow them. One of the soldiers was going to run first, the other last. When he goes, he said, the sniper will know we are moving and will expect another. He told us not to run in the same interval one after another, but to keep him guessing. Also, not to run in the straight line. Then he smiled, winked and disappeared down the street. Nothing happened. My friend went next. Again, all was quiet. The second soldier put a hand on my shoulder and made me pause for a few minutes. Then I got the “good to go” pat and off I went.

I don’t remember if I ran in straight line. I only know that this 50-ish meters were the longest run in my life. Even though everybody who saw me said I was flying, my legs felt made of concrete and slow like hell. As I rounded the corner, my buddy snapped a picture of me coming into safety. That’s the picture below, with obvious terror on my face.

Only when the second soldier also rounded the corner did the sniper wake up and fired a shot down empty street.

[deathswcrn]

"Ah ha!" Gale grinned triumphantly as his Thunderwave spell sent two goblins hurtling over a ledge to the road below, where he still stood precariously close. Though he didn't relish the act of killing, each enemy dispatched meant one less threat to himself and his companions. Plus, it afforded him the opportunity to display his wizarding prowess to Breina.

Feeling a bit smug, he turned around to flash her his award-winning smile, but his expression faltered when he saw the concern etched on her face. Her mouth moved as if to speak, but before any words could form, an impressively large arrow pierced the centre of Gale's chest.

Downed.

The pain was excruciating, rivalling that of the orb's consumption, but this time accompanied by the chilling whisper of impending death, growing louder with every passing moment. Shock immobilized him. Was this it? Would an arrow be the end of the great Gale of Waterdeep?

He attempted to draw a final breath but failed, the air escaping him in a slow exhale as his body stumbled backward. Forgetting the terrain around him, his gaze fixated on Breina. His dying thought was of her safety, his hand instinctively reaching out to her one last time before his legs gave way, and he tumbled over the ledge.

Dead.

(I was thinking, they'll have to experience their first death in the game in order to have their first need to talk to Withers or use a scroll.)

Thine oath demands thy life to be taken before the life of a loved one.

When she was raising her rebellion against Magnus, she'd watched her lover die. The experience of holding Aleksander in her arms, watching his life slip away was the worst thing she'd ever gone through - pain she still couldn't look in the eye, even now, even as she fell in love again and put her heart to the same risk. If she hadn't been forced by pure survival to get up and keep going, she wasn't sure how she'd have put herself back together the first time - she'd definitely put herself back together crooked, and she was lucky that Gale loved all her crookedness regardless, but she knew the wound was still raw.

For all her nightmares of losing her past lover, for all the pain of the orb and Mystra's command, she'd never imagined battle taking Gale down. Why would she? She'd promised to be his shield, after all, and during battle, she positioned herself just so, learned abjuration for the power provided by shields and wards. So long as her love had her to protect him, he'd never go down, as she swore after Aleksander's death.

And then, in a moment of distraction, he was gone. A shield dropped when she lost concentration and one arrow in the right place was all it had taken to kill Gale Dekarios.

The desecration of thine oath demands retribution. Thou must answer for thyself.

His name ripped from her throat, a howl of shock and grief that was more animal than man. There was a blur of blood and shock and blade, particularly as the heat of her oath began to fade and the fire that fuelled her guttered out in her chest. At some point, she made her way to the base of the ledge, to where his body was crumpled and sprawled out. But she didn't remember much of it, particularly not the details of how and when. She remembered her eyes burning hot with tears, her vision mercifully too misted to absorb the image of Gale, dead, because the last thing that she needed was a second image of a lover broken in her head.

Withers. Withers had promised, for a fee, to bring any of them back. Fearing if she waited too long, Gale would be unrecoverable, she ripped the arrow from his chest (Gods, she had never been squeamish in her life, but it was a very un-Galelike noise to be coming from him and her stomach flipped) and hoisted him over her back in a fireman's lift. He was still so damn easy to lift, too easy - Gods, she had to make sure he was giving himself enough food. His body (no, not body, body implies death, and he will come back) she wasted no time in taking back to camp, barely holding herself together long enough to avoid collapsing over Withers and howling with grief.

This is not a punishment. But steps must be taken. We must speak and thou must accept the path thou hast chosen to walk.

The wizened sage did his work - took the gold she shoved unceremoniously into his brittle hand and melted it to dust, taking the offering of wealth and turning it into an act of justice, a miracle too precious to name - he plucked Gale's soul from the Fugue Plane and cleaved it back to his body, barely alive, but alive. And she finally allowed herself to break and sob when those brown eyes stared back up at her, when she felt his hand flex in hers, somehow trying to reconcile grief and relief.

For even though Gale Dekarios was alive once more, he should have never died.

I will await thee, Oathbreaker. When thou are ready, find me.

[songsofadelaide]

cw/tw: sickfic, fluff, reader has she/her pronouns, gojo being a little silly. wc: 666

"She's down with a fever, so don't get any ideas, Gojo."

"Wh— You talk as if I'm going to do something nefarious to her, Shoko!"

"Nefarious, no, but idiotic, probably. Do all of us a favour and steer clear of her in the meantime. We don't want others catching this bug."

They say fever dreams are usually unpleasant, but why was this some kind of replay of one of your favourite high school memories instead? Favourite except for the fact that you were sick. 

"Y'know I've never really actually gotten sick before because of my infinity and all…"

A cool hand is pressed to your burning forehead, a sigh of relief leaving your lips as you come into contact with it. 

"Yikes, she's actually burning up!" 

"That's why I told you to stay away. If you or anyone else catches this, I am going to lock you all in the morgue for all I care."

"You'd do that to her?!"

"Not her, of course!"

Getting sick is probably one of the worst things that could ever happen to you. Some days, you can't seem to sweep your condition under the rug, no matter how hard you try to be normal about it. A cold was starkly different from being cursed and it was such a normal thing that Shoko had no other choice but to treat it normally— by telling you to drink your meds and get some rest. 

Nanami said he'd handle your pending mission, so rest you did. 

There was nothing at all restful about having to stay on campus, though, with Shoko saying she could keep a better eye on your condition there. You felt like the walls and the halls already knew so much. The happiness of your youth, the sadness and anguish of having friends perish before your very eyes, and the bittersweetness of your first love. 

"Pain, pain, go away…"

Your first love that seemed to stalk the halls of the magic college, for some reason. 

"Come again another day…"

The humming sounded far too real now to be a dream, even more so when the same cool touch was pressed to your forehead again. "Ah…"

"It's okay, you can sleep some more."

In fear you may be in delirium, you opened your eyes and found Satoru seated right by your bedside, a wet towel and a basin of water right next to him. "Satoru?…"

"Sorry. Did I wake ya?" He asked, though you couldn't get a read on his expression with that ridiculous blindfold over his eyes. "Heard from Shoko that you were sick, so…"

"Didn't she tell you not to come over?" You said with a sigh. 

"No need to be so worried about me. I've never really actually gotten sick before because of my infinity."

"I know, I know. You've always been too invincible."

He brushed his cold knuckles over your forehead once more, finally drawing out a tired smile from you. "Do you want me to grab you some ice water or something?"

"No, I'm good…" You told him, gently holding him back from moving away from you. When he realised what you meant, he placed his hand over your forehead again. "You're like a popsicle."

It was his turn to chuckle this time. "Ramune flavour?"

"Exactly."

Satoru slightly moved to reach for your hand, clammy as it was, his cold fingers curling around your warmer ones, and somehow, you can't really tell if all of this is real. 

"Satoru…"

"Yeah, sweets?"

"Can you pinch my hand or something? I feel like I'm in high school again and I'm dreaming all of this up. After all, I like you so much that I might even be hallucinating."

He squeezed your hand with just enough force as if asking, is it real enough yet?

"…Real," you sighed and nodded to yourself. "Sorry…"

"Whatever are you apologising for?" He grinned at you. "You think I don't like hearing about how much you like me, even from before?"

[devinabechtel]

Devina was forced to look at him, then. But there was no real expression on her face besides the slight raise of her brows, as she did. There was not much more to see beyond a body writhing in pain, a man reduced to the simplicity of pure agony. 

The absence of the usual sharpest of tugs on her heartstrings, was most noticeable of all. Devina found herself briefly wondering where it had gone off to, her empathy and care — the core of her Healer soul. At which part during this dark and unforgiving night had she lost it?

She felt herself move, not making a sound as she slipped out of Amycus’ Carrow bed. Her hands didn’t feel like her own as they wrapped themselves around wooden posts, fingers gliding over their intricate carvings as she rounded the bed, almost like an animal would circle its prey.

He had ceased trashing around when she reached his bedside table. Devina’s eyes fell on him then, as he lay breathless on his pillow facing her. The look she gave him was one that conveyed not even the slightest trace of pity as her hands found the bottle of pain potion and poured him much, much more than the recommended amount.

It would be her final act of mercy for the man that had never deserved any in the first place.

—

They were still cleaning the floors — Devina realized in horror as she reached the landing. Seven house-elves were on their knees, their little hands strained from scrubbing at the dried up blood for hours. The faint glow of the wardstoneshone dangerously underneath, as if it wanted to warn them that this house would never be rid of the stain. That a part of her would always be etched between the creases of the marble.

Murky blood is a bitch to clean, she remembered him saying. Apparently it was.

“Vee?” Alecto’s voice found her through the haze. Devina vaguely felt the girl’s slender fingers intertwine them with her own. If it hadn’t been for that, Devina would’ve crumbled to the ground right then and there.

“Breakfast is this way, Vee.”

—

For the rest of the day, Alecto had refused to leave her side, despite Devina practically finding herself begging to be left alone at multiple moments. It was late in the afternoon now, and the women of Carrow House had situated themselves in the drawing room for tea and silent contemplation.

Katrina Carrow was poised on the furthest edge of the soft blue sofa, her fingers massasing her temples as she stared at the minutes ticking away on the grand clock in the corner of the room. The only thing that was on her mind was how to get Devina Bechtel home safely, and if her own son would ever forgive her for such a betrayal.

Alecto was on the floor in front of them, her fingers tangled in a ball of yarn of one of Devina’s knitting work that she had long since left alone. The dark-haired witch had stopped talking a while ago, after Devina stopped answering and Katrina had petted her head with a knowing look on her face.

And Devina, well — she had to focus on the rise and fall of her chest as she curled herself further into the opposite end of the sofa. Her eyes were wet, filled to the brim, looming, threatening tears waiting at the edges of her lashes. She couldn’t be more aware that the simplest disturbance could make her cry.

Like the sight of Amycus appearing in the doorway, for instance.

It would’ve made for a beautiful painting, the way the three women all looked up in unison, each holding in a breath for different reasons. They could all feel it brewing in the air, the omen of bad news. Whatever his arrival here this afternoon meant, it couldn’t be good, each of them knew as much. 

Devina was the first of the three to move, straightening her back as if to brace whatever was coming. And instead of breaking, she found her face hardening, her brow creasing and her eyes narrowing as she took in his stature.

For Devina, nothing concerning him had ever been good.

Devina Bechtel didn’t bat so much as an eye when Amycus expelled the contents of his stomach onto one of his beloved rugs. Not even as she looked at the splatters of diluted red now coating her dressing gown. She had seen worse, much worse.

Her hands, however, told a different story. They tensed, flexing and unflexing as she contemplated since when they had possessed the strength to mend a grown man’s shoulder. She vaguely registered the sound of her knuckles cracking, though she couldn’t quite place why they hurt her so much. Devina exhaled, then took a steadying breath as she watched Amycus’ mother fawn over him like a swan that had just recovered her lost cygnet.

“I know, moy malysh.” Katrina spoke into Amycus’ hair as she cradled his broken and bloodied frame. “I know.”

Devina watched the struggle unfold on the woman’s face as she grasped at things to say to comfort the son she had sent off to war. Strangely, Devina found herself almost wishing she could whisper the words that she was sure he needed to hear into Katrina’s ear.

You’re safe.

It’s over. 

I will never let you go again.

—

It had taken the two women quite some time to get Amycus settled when every movement felt like a beating to him. And despite his earlier transgressions against her, Devina found herself resigning to forgiveness. Especially because she could clearly remember what the aftermath of the Cruciatus felt like, after most of the adrenaline had worn off and she was left alone in that cellar.

That is why Devina had argued that a bath could come later, when Katrina had ordered Deedy to run the water. The sensation of that would be an entirely different form of torture. A simple cleaning spell would suffice, for now.

—

Hours later, the dawn had followed. And with it, Katrina had left to wake Alecto with the news that her brother had returned alive. 

Devina stayed behind, her back upright against the headboard of his bed, her legs tucked firmly against her as she stared at the faint beginnings of daylight beaming their way through the room. As she sat on top of the same linen covers she had once found refuge in, Devina couldn’t quite escape the darkness of the narrative she had found herself in again.

Her fingers drifted absentmindedly to her collarbone, the delicate skin rubbed raw from her attempts to scrape the last of the evidence off of her flesh. She had been crying at some point throughout the night, she knew, the left-over salt on her cheeks was proof of that. But Devina wasn’t quite sure when she had stopped. Perhaps it was when she had realized that it was only fitting that the Death Eaters had resulted to torturing each other.

One day, she thought, when her body had slowly began to wither and her hair had long gone gray, she would regret finding out that human beings were capable of such cruelty at such a young age. Everyone was killing each other, and she already hated the memory of that. She hated the blood, the guts and the sheer violence of it all. But most of all she hated the way she could feel sorry for the one that had introduced her to the most deprived and despicable ways of humanity when he flung her over her shoulder that night. 

Damn this war, damn this house and this family. And damn her stupid, naive little heart.

Her head was spinning, a viscous throbbing ensuing beneath her temples as her mind got lost in elaborate escape plans and the notion that she shouldn’t still be here watching over the man that had stolen her from her peaceful and painless life.

Until she felt the body of that same man stir next to her. Devina herself did not move as she heard him moan in discomfort, his body being crudely reminded of the onslaught of pain in his nervous system as his awakening robbed him of sweet, restful oblivion. She didn’t even grant him a look as she softly scraped her throat. The young and usually caring witch never felt more removed from herself when her cold and monotone voice sounded throughout the room.

“There’s a bottle of pain potion on your nightstand.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

How about some dating headcanons for Weather Report?

A/n: ugh this was kinda shit but whatever, I tried to be as in character as possible but probs gotten more occ as I went along.

Being forcefully dragged into the ghost room by the likes of Emporio or Joylene where you met Weather Report was the catalyst of your relationship believe it or not.

Intimidated by him at first you soon learnt that Weather was in fact a sweetheart for a man of few words. For starters his habit of standing on his tippy toes was absolutely adorable to you yet you sometimes wondered how he could stand on them for so long without straining a muscle or otherwise. His piercing blue eyes whilst seemingly all knowing were also as unbearably lost due to his amnesia. So whenever he rested he head against your shoulder or within you lap as your laying down, peering up at you like a cat awaiting long overdue affection, you found yourself caving quite quickly to his silent demands of your love.

His love languages would be quality time and slight physical touch, though the second one was more or less behind closed doors rather then explicitly in public. Such as snuggling up against one another in the Ghost Room where’d you listen intently as he read novels with his deep, baritone voice, sending you adrift in sleep in a matter of seconds. Not that he’s ashamed or anything but more so out of his concern that it would disrupt your comfortability; he has a tendency to put your well being and safety before his own which you feared would become his Achilles heel

Weather reassured those worries with hushed sweet words and reassuring squeezes all the while remaining firm eye contact with you as if trying to convey his every emotion into them so you’d understand that if he were to die knowing he had succeeded in protecting you from harm, he’d be happy to subsume to his wounds.

Obviously not getting the point of your concerns, you’d lightly smack his bicep telling him that wasn’t what you meant before going into a tangent on who was gonna read TV guides with you and such. All the while not noticing how his stormy blue eyes seemed to lighten in colour and a smile spread across his lips the longer you went on, touched at the impact his presence had on you during a short amount of time into dating him.

He’s protective, insanely so when it comes to you that anyone he believes poses a threat to your safety is being glared down as he walks besides you, placing a arm by your side, drawing you into his side all without letting his eyes leave the person for a single second. It may or may not also be an excuse for him to hold you so closely under the eyes of other inmates, will he admit to it? Yeah just solely for the fact that he’d watch your expression change into a flustered one within a blink of an eye.

Touch starved to hell and back so at first when you laid a hand against his shoulder or brush up against his side, he stiffens like stone before relaxing into it until sooner or later he craves it like a drug and would find and matriculate ways where he’d be able to feel your touch once more. He’s slick with it but you’d always tell him that he doesn’t have to put such effort for something he could’ve just asked for but Weather likes the reaction they get.

During times of stress you always knew you could count on Weather to bring you back to reality. It pains him to see you so lost in hard times, feeling as though you were being pushed closer to the edge by your own two hands and in times like these weather would take you to a less populated room and just hold you against his chest, allowing you to hear his heart as he held your hand against his chest to remind you that he was there to brave this with you before pressing kisses into your skin.

He has a way with words i believe that I wouldn’t put it past him to write cute little well written letters and get them to you somehow. They would consist of things that reminded the man of you, right down to the littlest detail, and how he longed to hold you in his arms as you both drift off to sleep within each other’s presence after particularly rough moments, that left you a little more loved with each and every re-read.

Don’t contradict me but I firmly believe that he smells like how grass would smell after rain with some hints of natural musk. It’s relaxing that when in a sleepy mood you would cling to him, head buried deep into his neck as you breathed him in slowly to linger on this feeling for as long as you could before you were forced to separate.

[shycoconutt]

I Need You (Kakashi x Reader Smut)

A/n: Oh boy do I got some smutty smut for you. This is my first time writing smut and I think I did okay! Please let me know what you think and, as always, feel free to send some requests my way! 🤍

Summary: You find yourself unbelievably horny waiting for Kakashi to get home from work. The night goes exactly as planned.

Word Count: 4200

Warnings: NSFW ( minors, there's the door -> 🚪), fem!reader, vaginal sex, rough sex, doggy style, cunnilingus

Gods, why am I so horny?

Sat in the reading chair in the corner of your and Kakashi’s bedroom, you find yourself unable to focus on the new novel you picked up at the bookstore this morning. Each time you try to focus on the words in front of you, your eyes start to drift off the page and fall on your bed across the room. The bed where Kakashi and you have had sex now maybe a dozen times. You two have been platonic partners for years, but it wasn’t until recently where you both allowed your feelings to blossom into romance. Some would say that your relationship with Kakashi came on fast, but those who say that don’t truly know either of you.

After the war, and after keeping your feelings for each other bottled down for years, Kakashi took you on a vacation to a quaint village on the outskirts of Konoha. During your stay, you two could finally relax and find comfort in each other. The future seemed less uncertain, and you allowed yourself to open up in ways you never had before. You both knew you loved each other, that you were meant for each other, but the stress of war and the lack of knowledge that either of you would come out alive prevented anything from happening. The last thing either of you wanted to do was take the other’s heart six feet under.

It was the third night on the trip when he proposed to you. Kakashi and you were naked together in the natural hot spring, embracing each other in the water. The words he spoke to you that night are etched in your brain, never to be forgotten.

“My whole life I’ve been fighting; fighting for Konoha, fighting for my team, fighting for our friends, fighting my demons, fighting the truth, and fighting the feelings I have for you. I never understood why it was so hard to escape you, but it isn’t until now where I finally understand. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do. Our love is so natural, so pure. It pains me to know that our reality has muddled it for so long. You are the best thing that’s ever come into my life, and the gods only know how thankful I am that you have been by my side through it all. Everything I’ve ever gone through, every challenge I’ve had to overcome, you’ve guided me along the way. I used to think I was undeserving of your love, but now that we both are standing here, bruised and battered by our past, I realize that it was always supposed to be this way. You and me. Forever.”

That was the night you and Kakashi shared your first kiss. The night you first held each other in a naked embrace. The night you touched the skin normally concealed under each other's clothes. The night you trailed kisses down his chest, to his stomach, his hip, and up his shaft. The night you grabbed him in your hand and stroked him while looking into his eyes. The night you felt his tongue draw across your nipples. The night you felt him suck and nibble at your neck. The night you felt his fingers, god his fingers, trace up your wet heat to rub onto your most sensitive spot. The night he held onto your hip and slid into your tenderness. The night you whispered sweet nothings in each other's ears while he pumped into you. The night you made love, four times.

It’s been a week since your mini-vacation of ultimate bliss. Immediately after arriving back to the village, you both moved out of your individual apartments and moved into the Hatake estate, per Kakashi’s request. When you asked him if this is truly what he wanted, he assured you that this was the place he wanted to make a home with you and your future children. He also liked that the estate is largely removed from the Hokage tower, where he will be spending the majority of his time in the future. Renovations are far from over, but your bedroom was the first area of the house to be set up. It’s your shared sanctuary, and to be completely honest, you’ve never felt more at home.

The only word to describe this week between you and Kakashi is passionate. Even with opposite schedules, you both make time for one another every day. You’ve been insanely busy at your new job that you acquired post-war, spearheading the mental health resource center for war veterans and shinobi still in active duty. Kakashi is busy shadowing Tsunade while she sorts out post-war rehabilitation plans for the village. This is your first day off and, unfortunately, Kakashi is out doing future Hokage duties. Though frustrating, both of you are super understanding of each other's roles in this village and you respect that time with each other may be limited in the coming years. That’s why any chance you get, you both check in on each other throughout your day. Whether it’s offering to take his ninken on a walk while he’s in the office, or him bringing you breakfast when you get to work, you find opportunities to be present in each other’s daily lives.

The evenings, however, are a whole other story. Both of you are usually home a little after eight, and you’ve adapted to having late dinners with each other. After cleaning up, the rest of the evening is spent wrapped up in each other. One thing you weren’t expecting about being with Kakashi is that he is constantly touching you when you are alone together. His hands are either on your thighs, wrapped in your hair, caressing your face, squeezing your arms, massaging your shoulders, touching your lips, or any other way he can get them on you. You crave his touch, so to say that you enjoy this side of him is an understatement. Not only does Kakashi adore touching you, he also adores being touched.

Touching leads to caressing, caressing leads to groping, and groping leads to passionate lovemaking.

Well, geez (y/n), maybe if you stopped daydreaming about Kakashi’s hands all over you then you wouldn’t be this goddamn horny.

Here’s the thing with you and Kakashi’s newfound sex life. You are in the early stages. All the sex you have is all about romance, making up for the lost time, and finally expressing your feelings with your body. It’s amazing and you wouldn’t change your lovemaking for the world.

But right now, you don’t desire lovemaking. You desire rough, animalistic, dirty, dirty sex.

The kind of sex that makes you shudder in desire and fear.

The kind of sex that makes in between your legs sore the next day.

Realizing you’ve been daydreaming for the past fifteen minutes, you close your novel shut and toss it aside. You look over at the clock on your nightstand to find that it’s almost time for Kakashi to be home. Usually, you would already be cooking something up for dinner, but you have a feeling that any food you make would just get cold. Eating is not your priority right now, Kakashi is.

A devious smile forms at your lips when you consider what you plan on doing with him when he walks through the front door. Should you take him right there? Get down on your knees and beg for him? Run a warm, candle-lit bath? Put whip cream on your tits and tell him that you’re his dinner? All great options, but none are really representative of how much you need him.

In one swift movement, you are up off your chair and running towards your closet. He could be here any minute and there’s no time to waste. Once there, you take in how disorganized your closet is. You have yet to unpack any of your clothes, as all you’ve worn the past week is your jonin uniform and your pajamas. Rummaging through the boxes sprawled out on the floor, you finally find which box you are looking for. The box looks like any other box, but written on the side in marker is the word intimates.

Bingo.

One might think you are a sex fiend with all the lingerie you own, but that is far from reality. The truth is, lingerie has always made you feel sexy. Most of all, it’s just so pretty. You love the power it gives you. You love the fact that no one knows that some days you are wearing the world’s skimpiest lingerie underneath your uniform. It’s like you have an edge on someone that they don't even realize. Also, when you did happen to end up in bed with a man, you were over-prepared. The look on their faces when you stripped off your clothes was priceless. It was your way of telling them that you expected them to want you.

There are way too many options to choose from, and you find yourself starting to panic as time passes on. You know you’re overthinking this as, honestly, Kakashi would love anything you put on. Some things you know about Kakashi are that his favorite color is blue, he loves your thighs and is obsessed with how soft your skin is. Therefore, you should obviously go for the baby blue lace and silk set. It includes a lace balconette bra, a thong connected to thigh garters, and a silk robe to go over the top. After putting it on and taking a look at yourself in the mirror, you knew you made the right choice.

Before finding a comfortable spot on the bed, you quickly grab some baby oil and rub it all over your body. The oil will allow Kakashi to slide his hands all over you effortlessly, which is exactly what you need. Satisfied, you grab your book and lay on top of your made bed. You weren’t planning on actually reading, but you think your casualness while wearing such a sexy outfit will have Kakashi’s head spinning.

So there you were, belly down, ass out, feet intertwined, book in hand, when you heard the lock click and the front door open. Perfect timing.

You could hear Kakashi kick off his shoes and take off his vest as he walked into your home. Usually, you would be standing in the kitchen where he would come and give you a warm embrace and kiss you until you told him that he has to eat dinner. But, you're not there, and you can sense his confusion.

“Where’s my babygirl?” Kakashi’s voice projects throughout the house, a hint of concern in his voice. You smile at the thought of the pout that’s probably on his face right now.

“Sorry sweetheart, I’ve been caught up in my new book. I’m in the bedroom,” you call back to him.

You hear what sounds like a sigh of relief as his footsteps make their way down your hallway in the direction of your bedroom, the sounds of pieces of his uniform dropping off of him every few steps. You make sure to keep your head turned to the door so you can take in his reaction to your state.

“Oh, the new book you got this morning? How is it? Let me guess, you already finished-”

An indescribable feeling shoots through your whole body as Kakashi enters your bedroom. He just finished pulling his mask down his face, as his hand is still caught to the fabric pooling around his neck. With a smile on your face, you soak in his expression as he’s stood in the entrance of your room, a deep blush forming on his cheeks and his mouth still agape in mid-sentence. His eyes dart back and forth from your face to the bottom of your ass that’s hanging out of your silk robe.

Damn, you really did that (y/n).

“What’s wrong, Kashi?” You say in the most innocent voice you can muster. You bat your eyelashes and flip over to sit up so he can get a good look at you. You let your book drop off the bed and land on the floor.

There’s another pause before Kakashi slowly walks towards you on the bed. Without speaking, he reaches a hand out to you. You take it and he pulls you up so you're kneeling on the bed as he stands in front of you. His dark eyes bore into yours as both of his hands drop to your thighs. Slowly, he grazes them up over your hips, your waist, up the sides of your breasts, to wrap around the back of your neck. You can feel the hairs on your skin stand in anticipation. With his hands still wrapped around you, he brings his head down to you and grazes his mouth on your jawline. From there he plants small kisses up the side of your face until he reaches your ear where he nibbles before speaking to you in a strained, low tone.

“You’re a very dangerous woman, (y/n).”

He must have felt you shudder because you could feel him smile against your cheek. Standing up straight again, Kakashi’s hands drop to the tie of your robe around your waist.

“May I?” he asks, giving you the sexiest look you’ve ever seen. Kakashi has been so effortlessly attractive since you met when you were young. Having these intimate moments with him almost seems surreal.

“Of course, Hatake,” you smile up at him.

Taking the tie in his hands, he starts to unravel the knot keeping your robe together. Once loose, he lets it fall over your shoulders and off your body completely.

After a few moments taking in the sight of you, Kakashi lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head.

“You’re so out of my league,” he confesses to you.

You let out a small giggle.

“Absolutely not,” you protest.

Without missing a beat, Kakashi grabs on to you and tosses you back on the bed so you are laying down underneath him. One of his hands wraps around the back of your head while the other cups your breast. Pulling the fabric of your bra down, he kneads your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. One of his knees lands in between your legs and he brings it up to press on to you. You can’t help the moan that escapes as you feel him all around you.

“So what’s the deal?” Kakashi teases. “I leave you alone in the house for one day and I come back to this?” He looks down at your body and back up again. “Where did you get this outfit, hm?”

“Oh baby,” you start teasing him back, “I guess one thing you don’t know about me yet is that I wear lingerie like this all the time.”

“Oh really?” he questions.

“Yep, all the time.” You smirk at what you’re about to say next. “Actually, remember that one time we were stationed together in the Earth country for a month for that S-rank assassination mission?”

Kakashi nods, confused where you’re going with this story.

“We let our guards down and almost hooked up the last night before we came back to the village.”

“I remember.”

“Well,” you pause for effect, “guess what I was wearing underneath my uniform that night?”

Kakashi remains silent, brows furrowed waiting for you. You smile at him deviously as you say your answer.

“This.”

Kakashi lets out what can only be described as an aroused, defeated groan when you utter your confession. He quickly comes back down and your mouths crash together in a heated frenzy. It isn’t until now when you realize that his bulge is hard against your leg, asking to be broken free from the confinement of his pants. While making out, you reach down and slip your hand under his waistband and grab onto his throbbing cock, stroking it in your hand. Although rock hard, the skin of his cock is soft and velvety.

Kakashi moans in your mouth when you make contact with him, but quickly escapes your grasp and gets up off of you. Sprawled out on the bed, you watch him strip down naked in front of you, starting with his shirt, then his pants and briefs. His body is truly something to marvel at, as decades of being a ninja have carved his body into perfection. You love the way his member slaps against his lower stomach when he pulls it from its confinement, excited and eager for you. He stands for a moment, contemplating what to do with you.

“I don’t want to take that pretty outfit off of you just yet. I guess I’ll just have to work around it for now,” Kakashi says as he stands at the end of the bed. Grabbing your ankles, he pulls you towards him and bends your legs upward until your knees meet your chest. Holding both of your legs up with one hand, he takes the other and spanks your ass cheek with a loud slap. You whimper from the sting while he rubs the mark he left. Kakashi sucks in another loud breath.

“Ugh, (y/n), you look so good for me.”

Before you can respond, Kakashi takes your thong and slides it over so you are exposed to him. Getting down on his knees, he brings his face to your glistening cunt and flattens his tongue against it. There he gives you one long lick up your slit to taste you. A moan erupts from him as your wetness meets his taste buds.

“You’re already so wet for me baby,” Kakashi breathes before going in to suck on you.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you confess through your moans. “I only get this wet for you.”

“That’s because you're mine and mine only.”

Kakashi takes his time with you, almost as if this is his last meal on earth and he wants to savor it. He’s delicate in some moments and fierce in others. Incorporating his fingers, he slides them into you and curves them up to hit your g-spot repeatedly while eating you. Your hand instinctively cradles his face while the other intertwines with his silver locks. You start to feel tightness in your lower stomach as he brings you close to climax. The sound of his moans muffled inside you is enough to send you over the edge.

“Kakashi, baby, I’m gonna-”

“Come for me, baby,” Kakashi nods, giving you permission to let go.

Letting go of Kakashi, you grip onto the sheets around you, feeling the tightness build and drop out of you. Closing your eyes, the waves of ecstasy ripple throughout your body causing you to scream out in pleasure. Riding with you, Kakashi slowly continues to work you through your climax, cleaning up whatever juices spill over.

“Good girl,” He says to you while bringing your legs back down onto the bed. Slowly, he kisses up your thighs while hooking onto your thong, bringing it down off of them. While he does this, you reach around and unclasp your bra, throwing it aside. Once the thong is thrown aside as well, Kakashi lifts himself off the floor and flips you over so you're laying on your stomach, another smack landing on your ass cheek. The high from your orgasm is immediately replaced with anticipation for what he plans on doing to you next.

You feel Kakashi’s naked body slide on top of you until he's flush against your skin, his body completely enveloping yours. Once his face is level with yours, and his cock is hard against your backside, he brushes your hair away from your face.

“Are you ready for me?” Kakashi whispers into your ear.

You nod into the mattress, chest rising and falling with every strained breath.

“You need to use your words, (y/n),” Kakashi scolds you while tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I need you, Kakashi. Please, I need you.” Your words come out as a plea, not being able to take his absence any longer.

You feel Kakashi’s weight lift off of you as he reaches around your waist and lifts it up so your ass is tilted upwards. From there you can feel him position his tip at your entrance, slowly rubbing it up and down to spread your wetness.

“Please, Kashi, I need your cock inside me,” you beg.

Without further hesitation, you feel every inch of him slide into your folds until he’s bottomed out inside you. The feeling of him deep within you sends you into euphoria and you can feel yourself tighten around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Kakashi whispers.

Starting off slow, he pumps into you with control. You feel pleasure and pain as Kakashi kisses your neck while grabbing onto your hair. After each thrust you feel him going faster and harder, your bodies smacking against each other. To gain more leverage, he lifts off of you and brings you up onto your hands and knees. With his hand gripping your shoulder, he pumps into you with ferocity.

“For years I’ve touched myself thinking about getting to fuck you like this baby. You’re so beautiful and so good to me. Everything about your body draws me to you,” Kakashi says in between moans. You feel him start to twitch inside you, his thrusts getting more out of control. You look over your shoulder and meet his gaze.

“We deserve this baby. You deserve this. Give me everything.” You both know your words mean more than just sex, and Kakashi relishes them.

Lifting you up by your neck, Kakashi brings you toward him so you're both kneeling while he continues thrusting inside of you. He brings one hand around your front to circle your clit and the other cups your breast. Your hands lift up behind you to grab onto his face. Turning your head to him, you kiss him with every ounce of passion you have left. This new position is hitting you at your core and you can feel yourself tighten again. Kakashi must have felt it too, as he broke free from your mouth to tilt his head back in pleasure. Without exchanging words, you know you both are at your limit.

With a few last staggering thrusts, both of you reach climax in unison. Feeling yourself go limp, Kakashi wraps his arms around you to keep you steady. You feel streams of his hot semen pool inside of your contracting walls. With Kakashi’s moans singing in your ear, you can’t help but smirk at his vulnerability. With him still inside, you hold onto each other, trying to catch your breaths. After a few beats, you both begin to laugh at your exasperated states.

“Stay here, I’m going to get a towel,” Kakashi says while shifting out of you. After pulling a towel from the cupboard in your bathroom, Kakashi brings it to you and cleans up between your legs. Before you have time to move, Kakashi picks you up bridal style and spins you around in his arms.

You scream and start to laugh as he plants kisses all over your face. “Kakashi!”

“Hm?” he hums in your ear, pretending he didn’t just lift you with little to no effort.

Holding you up with one arm, he grabs a blanket off the bed and carries you to the chair in the corner of your room. There he sits down and places you sideways on his lap so you’re facing each other. He then takes the blanket and wraps it around you both so you can stay warm while cuddling each other. Kakashi has always had a knack for knowing exactly what you want at any given moment.

“I thought we could get some inspiration for our next round,” Kakashi says with a smirk as he pulls out a copy of Icha Icha Tactics from underneath the cushion.

“What? How did that get there?” you laugh.

“Oh, I have multiple copies of these everywhere,” he jokes, waving the book in the air.

You laugh and lightly hit his chest. Tucking the blanket up closer to your face, you lay your head down on Kakashi’s shoulder while he flips open to a page in the book.

Before he starts to read to you, Kakashi lifts your chin to kiss you. Every time your lips touch his, flashes of your joint past enters your mind. Although it was hard, and you faced many difficult trials on the way, you are forever thankful that you were both able to live long enough to experience these moments. You took care of each other, lifted each other up when they were in the dirt, and now you can finally share the love you’ve always held for each other. You wouldn’t change any of it. After your kiss, before pulling away from you, Kakashi looks deep into your eyes.

“I love you, (y/n).”

You smile up at him, tears brimming in your eyes.

“I love you too, Kakashi. Forever.”

-

A/n cont.: Well, whattdaya think? :)

[dailyadventureprompts]

In honor of our late GM. A holiday they had in game was for the local god of strength, and it was a quiet remembrance type holiday. Just a quiet day to remember everyone who ever picked up a weapon then left, never to come back.

Festival: Tolling Day

Today we shed blood and tears for those who’ve fallen on our behalf, not only their loss, but the tragedy that they were forced to leave us in the first place. Today we renew the old pact, to honor their sacrifice by striving for a world where they would never have been asked to make it ,To learn the lesson our history has so painfully taught us. Today we remember, and we pray for a world that will never again have need of war.

Setup: Every culture has its monuments to past victories, and epitaphs commemorating its defeats, but it is only in those places that follow the worship of Tyr, marred god of valor that you find the toll stones, ancient edifices that relate to no one battle or war, but to the enduring martyrdom of those who have fallen in the protection of others.

The Tolling Day is a quiet festival, usually held in late autumn when the raiding season would have ended and before the harvest began, though sometimes its observance is moved to the anniversery of some great local tragedy. Given the practicality of Tyr’s clergy there is little in the way of formal ritual, save an open invitation for those who have lost loved ones to battle to come to the stone and make a small offering of blood as an expression of their grief for the fallen. In addition to allowing those left behind a cathartic means of expressing their loss, this practice communicates a simple but profound message: “These people died for us, we live for them, our sorrow is all one sorrow and we will not forget them so long as there is blood in our veins still”

Adventure Hooks:

The party is invited to participate in Tollingday and remember those that they have lost along the way, a poignant moment to reflect on fallen allies that needs no more drama than asking the heroes what they might feel, regret, and what pains them still.

During drawn out conflicts, it is traidtion for a priest of Tyr to wet the tollstone every day with a new offering of their blood, an ongoing votive meant to call out to those spirits lost in the ongoing conflict and guide them home from far off battlefields. During such time the monument becomes steeped in all manner of magical and emotional energy, and may also attract those sorts of dark spirits that feed on war. Such is the case when the local adherent of Tyr asks the party to help her slay the group of fiendish hounds that’ve come to lap at her monument at night, having been unable to work a full banishment while fending the pack off with just her shield arm.

Ealdormen Galryff  was always envious of his elder brother Gelrynd, who seemed to inherit all of their parents’ love, good fortune and charm, leaving Garlyff with leftover scraps of spite and low cunning. Whatever success Galryff obtained building their family holdings, it was always overshadowed by the outstanding glories his brother won at the point of a spear, hunting down monsters and bandits. The ire he stoked with the local brigands was Galryff’s oppertunity, who conspired with the outlaws to draw his brother out and have him killed, mutilating his body so his death could be blamed on beasts. The Ealdormen made quite a show of blood and grief at that year’s Tolling day, completely unaware that his dishonest and dishonorable offering would anger the god of valor and set a divine retribution in the works. Now rumors spread of a mauled rider atop a blood-painted steed, stalking through the night, killing at random, and wielding a ghostly spear that looks like a wound in the air itself. Galryff has used his position to offer a great bounty to whoever can destroy this rampaging horror, knowing every one of the rider’s victims are in fact the very same toughs (surreptitiously pardoned over the last year or so) he enlisted in his conspiracy.

Art

[majormeilani]

i probably should have elaborated on specifically what i have a problem with when it comes to conductor's motivations

i'm not saying that his motivations cannot or should not be what they are but i'm just a bit disappointed with how they are portrayed in comparison to grooves.

like okay let's pretend grooves is our winner for a sec. if we consider everything leading up to his second win with you helping him, he's gone through a lot of strife, a lot of pain, a lot of fighting, a lot of being berated daily. and to top everything off, having the fact that he's barely one first place beyond once ever rubbed in his face-- that'd definitely break someone and make them go on a power trip the moment they have the upper hand (a timepiece). i think grooves tries to play things off casually and sometimes he can but he definitely feels inferior to conductor but is too prideful to see that he is at fault for his losses. he definitely has his frustrations more subtly expressed in the game so it's easy to assume that he brushes things off but it's clear that they still bother him. this comes to his explanation of why he wants the time piece. grooves states he wants to reclaim awards that were rightfully his and that he assumes that the conductor MUST have been cheating all along. so we kind of get a strong motivation for wanting the timepiece from him given his history and what he tells hat kid.

but conductor? if he wins, his explanation boils down to him essentially being really bitter over a singular loss and being selfish enough that's the only reason he'd reverse time. like. i understand that establishes him as a selfish person but i still think there should have been some kind of. elaboration. on why it's so important for him to win all the time. even if that explanation just made him look even more selfish. like he could have even just said he's a perfectionist or something and that would have been oodles better than the 'i lost one time. i can't lose. give me the timepiece.'

i hope you understand my meaning there when you draw the comparison between the two's motivations and can understand what i meant when i said i didn't like his motives because they're a bit. flat and empty, to me at least.🤷

i honestly feel like the boss fight for battle of the birds (a hat in time chapter 2) should have been switched

since you didn't get the "last timepiece" from the loser at the awards ceremony, they should have used it to get revenge

and it would have made sense too:

The Conductor wins: Grooves can't handle another loss by the Conductor and decides to use his timepiece (which he found out could do COOL TIME STUFF) to go back and win EVERY AWARD for "good and honest wins".

Grooves wins: The Conductor, absolutely shattered by losing for a SECOND TIME (no way), decides to go back in time with the time piece and erase those little smudges (which are huge to him) off his record.

i think it would have a lot of sense rather than "if you let this guy win he's gonna be so happy that he's gonna be evil" like the moral of the story is don't let people win or they'll kill you