#way v drabble

[rottiens]

I want to be in a threesome with both bi men talking about me as if I'm not present, "Look how wet she is." "How bad do you want to fuck her?" "What position do you want her in?" "She's got you so hard, look at you, you're throbbing."

[v-thinks-on]

The rapier bled the red from the Rose Bride’s dress until it was like bleached bone. Slowly, she rose into the air, the wide skirt of her dress mirrored perfectly in the smooth arena floor below like a full moon in the sky above the inverted castle—so the reflection looked more real than the reality.

“Himemiya,” Utena cried, futilely reaching out even as she struggled to so much as lift herself from the ground, “Anthy!”

The girl caught in mid air, suspended between the arena and the tallest spire of the castle, gave no indication of having heard at all.

[dayas]

I love your writing so much. The way you just tap into the inherent malewife and girlboss energy of Fiyero and Elphaba is chefs kiss.

For the prompt I was thinking either 34 or 20 you decide I’ll love it anyway 

Oh my goodness! This is so kind of you to say, thank you so much 🥺💗 I hope this is okay!

34. “If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

Some more Costars AU because this came to me in a ✨prophetic vision✨

It’s not graphic but they make out a bit so be aware 🫶🏽

(un)official part one

Drabble Prompts

—

True to his word, Fiyero had come to know Elphaba better. He knew how she liked her coffee, and how she liked her tea. He knew that even though she pretended to be exasperated when Galinda tried new makeup on her or transformed an outfit, she actually enjoyed the experience. He knew she loved her sister more than she let on, and that she found Boq fairly amusing.

He also knew that she had grown fonder towards him more recently. What he did not know, however, was that Elphaba Thropp’s fondness was accompanied by a few things.

The laughter, for one. A delicious sound, one he wanted to bottle and down until he was delirious from it. She laughed easier around him now, chuckling at his jokes. If he was lucky and he surprised her, he was gifted with a snort.

Another was the touching. She touched him all the time now, a hand on his arm, fingers brushing his hair back when it fell into his face, her palm against his back as she moved by to alert him of her presence. She’d pulled him into a hug once out of pure happiness, thrilled with a scene they’d nailed. He’d gotten too excited, laughing and picking her up, spinning them both around in a circle. He’d put her down afterwards, mumbling an apology through his ever so charming grin. Fortunately, she accepted it, even if she hadn’t embraced him again if it wasn’t written into the script.

Maybe it was her newfound comfortability with him that emboldened him enough to ask her if she wanted to rehearse at his apartment. Once again, he was shocked when she agreed.

Fiyero was grateful he cleaned the previous night. He held the door open for her when they arrived, grinning softly at the brief, playful roll of her eyes.

“You and your gentleman act,” she teased.

“It’s not an act, love,” Fiyero returned, “I am a gentleman.”

“The tabloids say otherwise.”

“Since when have you cared about the tabloids?”

Elphaba shrugged.

“Fair point.”

His eyes shone with a triumphant light. They traveled to his living room soon, moving his coffee table and rearranging his furniture to free the space up for them to travel. After reviewing their scripts and Director Morrible’s notes, they began.

Fortunately for them, the scene wasn’t very difficult; it was the lead up to what would require an intimacy coordinator. He wondered if Elphaba was daunted by the prospect of portraying such a personal matter onscreen, though he had yet to ask her, as he didn’t want to make it seem as though he was doubting her professionalism. He promised himself he would tomorrow — they had a few days to prepare, but he wanted to make sure she was fully comfortable and assist her if she wanted an idea of what to expect.

Fiyero said his lines as he would in front of the camera, a perfect delivery. Elphaba, of course, did the same, and they ended up nose to nose, her body arching into his slightly while his hands held onto her hips.

“Should we…” Fiyero murmured, “I mean, do you want to…”

“Kiss?” Elphaba hummed back quietly, “I mean… it’s in the script. And we’re only rehearsing.”

“Only rehearsing. Right.”

“Right.”

He leaned his head down, allowing her ample time to back out. She tilted her head up and pressed their lips together instead. He forced himself to be brief, pulling away from her after a few seconds.

“The rest is, uh…” Fiyero could only think to shrug as he released her and stepped back.

“We’ll worry about the rest later.”

Elphaba turned from him, walking back over to where her script lay, presumably to examine it. Out of the corner of his eye, Fiyero saw her touch her lips.

They practiced again, each time with the kiss, though Fiyero noticed the look in Elphaba’s eyes seemed to shift each time. Her irises darkened, their beautiful green turning a shade that likened itself to a forest rather than the brilliant emerald they normally were.

They came together again, but this time, she didn’t touch him. They’d played with their positioning each time they ran the scene, testing out different options, trying to see what worked best for their characters.

She stood close, spoke softly, but her eyes never left him, still dark. There was something there, something familiar. Fiyero knew it well, a hunger that could turn ravenous if allowed. He’d seen it plenty of times before, though never on her. Fiyero was struck by the sudden urge to kiss her again, to pull her into him and devour her. He wanted to see what her eyes looked like when her lips were swollen and she was out of breath.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to a bed.”

Shock bloomed in Elphaba’s irises.

“Fiyero, that’s not the line,” she whispered, though her fingers twitched at her sides. He heard her breath catch when he moved her braids back carefully, lowering his head to her neck and murmuring, “I know that’s not the line, Elphaba.”

He didn’t care, either.

He paused before his lips could meet her skin, his breath hovering in the centimeter of air between them.

“Do you want me to stop?”

He would, even if he was certain it would be as painful as removing his brain from his skull. Elphaba’s head shook back and forth once.

“No.”

He kissed her neck softly, hiding his grin against her skin when he felt her melt into him. She pulled his head up, her fingers slipping into his hair as she kissed him. He bit down on her bottom lip gently, quite satisfied with the scandalous noise it drew from her.

“I meant what I said, you know,” he mumbled in between kisses, “we won’t make it.” Somehow, they collapsed onto the couch together, Elphaba landing on top of Fiyero’s lap.

“Prove it,” she told him, her mouth hot against his neck. He pulled her back, his fingers tangled in her braids, their heavy breaths mixing together.

“I’m happy to.”

[xhollowfaerie]

silverv drabbles #7

a/n: taking a break from the brain-erosive essay i have to finish to post this sexual tension/angst/"we're arguing like a shriveled up married couple" snippet I wrote a few days ago bc they're my meowmeows and I love when they have sexually charged screaming contests with each other <333

warnings: angst, aggressive arguing, Johnny being our favorite toxic boyfriend (it's a joke pls don't come for me)

V stormed into her Megabuilding H10 apartment, tossing her Second Conflict jacket off with disdain. Johnny’s eyes followed it as it dropped to the floor, rolling his eyes. Ah, shit, here we go again.

“I'm not your little fuckin’ girlfriend, Johnny!”

His mouth gaped, letting out an incredulous huff before his hands settled on his hips. “Who the fuck said you were?” His head shook in disbelief before shifting his weight to the other leg with a sneer. “Even I wouldn't stoop so low to bone some ‘Saka bitch. Still got a moral compass, y’know.”

She was furiously fiddling with a crystal decanter of scotch on the counter, finally managing to pour a sizable amount into a glass and turning to him with a fierce raise of her voice. The alcohol swayed dangerously back and forth as she motioned, a few drops splattering away from their confines and onto the carpet. “FUCK you and FUCK your compass! Matter of fact,” she held her hands up, taking a hearty sip. Exhaled. And glared at him again with renewed fervor, “I'm this close to sticking it so far up your ass you start singing in Japanese when it comes out the other side.”

He couldn't even find a witty retort, simply glaring daggers at her as she stomped in his direction, trying his best to ignore the infuriatingly sexy sound of her heels clacking against the floor and suppress a laugh. Shit, he lo- …maybe liked her humour. A little. Barely.

She aimed a manicured finger at his chest, holding it over his heart like a blade ready to strike. His skin prickled in anticipation right where it almost grazed him. “You're the one getting ridiculously jealous anytime I so much as breathe next to another man!”

He wanted to laugh in her face, but they both widened their eyes at the shared emotion that went through them. Another man. Like Honourable Prince Corpo, Mister “Under Other Circumstances”, her knight in shining armor? Like Mister Goody Two Shoes beat cop who was so disgustingly infatuated with her it made him sick - not to mention - fine, it pissed him the fuck off.

“I can literally feel you seething, you FUCKING GONK!”

“Holy fuck, V - do me a favor and just SHUT the FUCK. UP! Man, can you quit your bitchin' for a single fuckin’ second?”

“Thought you loved it when bitches screamed at you! What, mommy didn't give you enough goodnight kisses?”

“Why, wanna do something about that? Just askin’, seein’ as you insist on wearing that red fucking lipstick that drives me up the wall every damn day! Been thinkin’ it’d look great on my-”

“UGH, Johnny! You're SO disgusting! Stop. Talking.”

“Mind gettin’ your claws off my bicep, then? You're gropin’ me like a starved cougar.”

She let out a noise of disgust and immediately retreated once the realization hit her, whipping her hand as if to flick his germs off of her, crossing her arms in front of her chest. That was… unsettling. Neither of them had realized just how close they had gotten to each other during their yelling contest. Truthfully, she had grown much too used to his presence. She’d also rather go back to Arasaka before confessing that she’d lately begun to even… crave it. V downed the rest of her liquor before slamming the glass back down.

“You’re delusional, and pathetic. Have you maybe considered that not every woman wants to play with your egocentric, easily excitable little weiner?” 

“No, I haven’t, cause every woman and her fuckin’ boyfriend wanna take my magnificent Rottweiler out for a walk. And please, spare me the bullshit. Real big talk, comin’ from the bitch who got all wet when some BD spinner made her a fuckin’ sandwich. I ain’t no Prince Charming, but that was just sad. Tell me you got some semblance of TLC from a single gonk your entire life? There’s gotta be more than what I’ve seen in your past.”

The words were out before he had the time to think them over, immediately wishing he’d swallowed them, watching memories twist her face with heartbreak. He cussed under his breath, trying to reach a hand out when she balled her fists so hard her knuckles turned white. The delay of the pain as her nails sharply dug into her palm only furthered his descent into regret.

“V, I didn’t-” “Yeah, Johnny, there was a single person who showed me true love, and it wasn’t your superficial type bullshit. We weren’t fuckin’, it was never romantic. He was my fucking friend. My brother. Maybe you’d know somethin’ about that if you hadn’t ruined the life all the people who actually considered you one, like that poor fuckin’ bastard Kerry. I feel more and more sorry for him every day.”

He knew he shouldn’t, but he snarled. “Keep him out of it-” “Yeah? Like you keep Jackie outta your fuckin’ mouth? Every chance you get, you shove him, or Goro, or River, or fuckin’ Jenkins, hope that bastard’s rotting in hell, right in my face! Fuck’s sake, I’m not one of your little groupies, you insensitive, selfish asshole! And you know what? Even they had fuckin’ feelings that you trampled all over, just like you’ve done with every single person who ever gave a single shit about you. Just like you did with Rogue and just like you did-” “V, don’t-” “With Alt.”

Johnny acted before his - her - oh, who fuckin’ cares - their? brain, or the Relic, or CPU, or whatever the fuck had time to process it. Overtaken with anger, just like when they first met, he marched up to her and slammed her into the wall behind her by the shoulders, baring his teeth with aggression.

“What is it you want from me, huh? Want me to say I fucked up? Want me to admit I’m just a piece of shit? Think you can boss me around like all the cucks back at ‘Saka? Worse, think I’m your little choom? That we’re close? Let me tell you somethin’, V. You don’t know the first fuckin’ thing about me. The only reason I haven’t taken over your gonk fuckin’ brain is ‘cause I was still hopin’ you’d be useful. Well, turns out, I was wrong.”

She didn’t so much as flinch. Valerie’s expression was blank; the emptiness in her eyes reminded him much more of what she used to be like before she’d met Jackie. Johnny recalled - in the worst moment - feeling glad that they hadn’t met when she was still at ‘Saka, ‘cause that would’ve been a universe where they were guaranteed to kill each-other in cold blood. 

When she spoke, her voice was steady, calculated. Distant. “You done?”

She shoved him off without so much as a glance. Johnny scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he paced away. “Yeah. Sure. We’re done.”

Mechanically, V poured another glass of scotch and used it to swallow an omega blocker pill. Johnny’s eyes flickered to her, lowering as he glitched out of her peripheral. She kicked her heels off and slid down the wall, burying her face between her knees, still holding onto her glass. The liquid swayed ever so slightly, her apartment now dead quiet as her body released a series of soundless sobs.

[voidcat]

Hi Danyl, would you mind writing some Dazai headcanons? <3

Hi my dearest Kat, for you? Always<3

Despite the impression he gives off, Dazai is a serene driver, who drives like the world outside the vehicle does not exist.

Its a fact only few are aware, as it is an rare occurrence that he is driving— and one is willing to hop in. After all, considering how he acts on the daily, not many trust him behind the wheel.

Night comes with no trains left and an urgency waiting you on the other side of the next day, Kunikida calls out to Dazai, knowing he is slacking off already. Drivers duty is nothing compared to the towers of files waiting on his desk after all, and wait long waiting wrath of Kunikida on the other line, Dazai swiftly goes out, already waiting for you inside the car.

The full moon hung in the dark night sky and earphones in your ears, you steal glances at the normally enthusiastic and loud man besides you— now drown in complete silence, eyes fixed on the road, with an expression not quite blank but not burdened with any thoughts eating away.

Eyes back on the moon, you notice it’s bigger than usual if your perception isn’t deceiving you— and presenting itself wrapped in rainbows, a halo of yellow, red and slight green, the light of the moon itself offering the missing blue for this little art piece.

No matter how proper or rocky the roads may be, the car drives swiftly; you have to think for a second to recall the last time you have experienced a car ride this smooth, safe and sound; you have forgotten just how peaceful these can be, remembering once more why some people drive the night away to clear their head.

With music slowly taking over, the moon shining like this is its last day in the universe, the pitch black sky as if in a pocket dimension, and Dazai, now a completely different man next to you, you are nulled to sleep.

Only when the music has come to an end and Dazai is nearing a resting spot does your eyes open again, watching the moon light dance on his face— a new side to him, a new sight of Dazai Osamu you have reached the honor of witnessing.

[hereissomething]

when i see "tasteful art of blah blah" communities it gives me a very specific feeling

[quiisquiliae]

Ashe couldn't believe she had come to this conclusion. She had so carefully weighed the pros and cons of the decision she was about to make, and somehow somehow she had come to the conclusion that yes, it would likely be beneficial to ask the pain in the ass, temperamental assassin to come along to the Winter Palace. She could feel the headache coming on already.

He really wasn't hard to find. Generally he was in or around the Skyhold tavern, or found in the stable. Anywhere else, she had learned fast he was likely causing trouble somewhere, doubly so if Sera was also missing.

"Hey," she said, leaning over the stall door as he brushed his stallion.

"What does her worshipfulness need now?" Talon responded, a teasing smirk on his face as he glanced over while continuing his work.

Ashe rolled her eyes, refusing to take the bait. Things she had learned from having an obnoxious big brother- never give the desired reaction. "I need a favor. I'd like for you to come with me to the Winter Palace."

"Ooo, a date?" He said, biting back a laugh.

"Sorry, I believe my dance card is already full." Blue eyes glared, her tone icy. She should have known better, honestly, and was already regretting her decision. " No, if we're stopping an assassin, an assassin of our own would be nice to have around."

"Don't tell me the Commander is keepin' ya busy," he teased, though dropped it as she gave him a look that would kill him if it was able. "Alright, alright take it easy, damn. You'll owe me though."

"I could order you." Her words were met with a skeptical look. Yeah. That was the least likely way to get him to do anything. Ashe sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Fine. What do you want. I need good behavior as well, I know that's hard for you."

Talon thought for a moment, leaning against Bandit with an arm thrown over his back. "Could always pay my bar tab."

She raised an eyebrow, immediately concerned about how much he'd run up. It couldn't be that much... right? "If I do, then I'm going now and paying. Anything else you're on your own."

"That ain't worth dealin' with Orlesians and stayin' on good behavior." As far as he was concerned, it barely covered putting up with Orlesians.

"You're not running up a huge tab just to make me pay for it." She crossed her arms, stubbornly refusing to let him walk all over her. What kind of leader would she be after all? "Look. I hate to say it, but you're good at what you do. We can use that on this mission. Can you please come with us, and not fuck it up by misbehaving?"

"Gonna need a little more'n flattery sweetheart."

She grimaced. "Fine. How about this. I'll walk over and pay off whatever tab you have now to secure you coming with us. After we're through at Halamshiral, if you were on good behavior- no shenanigans, no stealing, no disappearing without authorization- I'll pay off whatever you've run up between now and then."

Talon thought about it for a minute. It sounded like a reasonable deal, and really no skin off his back if he managed to find a little trouble along the way. "Deal."

A curt nod from her, and she turned to go pay his tab as promised. Despite their deal, she still had a sneaking suspicion she'd regret this somehow.

[inkykeiji]

clari berry went hiking by the whirlpools today!! :3

we hiked aaaaaall the way down to the water!! it took us three hours to hike the whole trail (down the gorge and then back up the gorge) but it was a ton of fun. it’s always so pretty down there, and it’s really cool to see america just across the river! also, watching the water rush by with such power and beauty is always awe-inspiring (check out the video below the cut!). and yes, we ignored that danger sign and kept going (the last photo was right after where that sign is posted).

then we played a round of mini golf by the falls (where i got my first hole in one ever!!! what!!!!!) and shared a ‘hot mess sundae’ which def looks like, and truly can only be described as, a hot mess (we got the churro one).

(we also went to the movie star wax museum where a lady told me i looked like harley quinn and i nearly sobbed right then and there)

[akumanoken]

Receiving the news...

Sometimes it was enough to think he was simply on a vacation.  In the northern manor, Fujimaru had everything he ever wanted… according to the expectations of a nobleman.  But not for a king.  And in his head, he would always be king, even if no one called him heika anymore.  He would demand it in his drunken rages, and the servants would just to assuage him, but those were in the first few days… weeks… of his exile.  He had calmed over that time, and it was because of that they seemed so reluctant to give the notice to them Sakura had called father. But there was no hiding the truth from the man.  Not with how any utterance of Ayato’s name came with the utmost bile. 

Perhaps they thought the truth would assuage his anger, that the Hanagawa Dynasty had not yet ended…..

“Queen…. Regnant….”  Fujimaru had read it over and over again.  He had to admit, it was a move he hadn’t expected.  And he wasn’t sure how to process it.  It was one thing to think the child had basically married into Fujimaru’s doom, that the insufferable man would usurp everything he had worked so hard for… but the man had the nerve…the GALL… to set up that wretched mistake as the power of Makoto!!  No, it can't be that simple it has to be something else...

“... too scared to know when he had been over his head and so appointed a figurehead? I didn’t think he had that in him… sly fellow.” It was perhaps the first time he felt things beginning to make sense.  Why else would the man, after working so hard to undermine the previous king, give the crown to that child? He had to admit it was sly; smart, even.  Sakura wasn’t useful for anything else, but to allow someone else to rule and wield the power and provide such a face to soften any blows from mediocre governing… 

How duplicitous of the general to use that child so easily and then accuse him of abuse... he almost felt respect for the damned man.

Still, it didn’t stop the insufferable mutterings of staff and locals, fawning over their new Queen… It made him sick.  Gods he could use another bottle….

[feveredbcnes]

"Rydw i yma/I'm here" - Rey & Thomas

Original prompt: [x]

‘I’m not going anywhere. Hold on, kid. Rydw i yma…rydw i yma.’

         Thomas’ assertive voice drowned amongst the ringing in his ears, but he was able to make out the terrible Welsh pronunciation. Was he that bad at teaching him? It was enough to make him smile – though it was more of a grimace with the amount of pain he was in. He appreciated the effort; it was a comforting gesture. And it did a perfect job of calming him down, despite how hard his heart hammered against the inside of his heaving chest. He needed that reassurance. Somebody to simply tell him that they were here – that they were right by his side. Reynardine was always an optimist by covering up his true emotions with a sunny disposition, but he struggled to disguise the distress upon his face this time. It was evident in his blown pupils and tight grip on Thomas’ hand, trying to focus on the many callouses the man earned through his job as a hunter. But they were difficult to feel when softened by fresh blood. His appearance was horrendous, forearms covered half-way with a dark maroon stain, and clothes completely ruined from where he leaned over the younger male. It was hardly important right now. They could easily be replaced, but Reynardine could not. 

           “Is it bad, Ewythr Thomas?” It felt bad. There was a burning sensation running down the length of his right side, exploding outwards in a spiral pattern. It matched the scatter of shotgun pellets. His skin was hot enough for a fever, but he failed to retain any warmth; an uncontrollable shiver took hold of his body. And he was clearly terrified, because it was the first time he actually called the man uncle. There was no doubt about his place in their lives, fitting quite nicely in as a member of their little family over the years. It was more than enough for somebody who had nothing to begin with. He left Barrow Hill with a backpack full of what small belongings he could grab in a hurry, but now he was never without amenities. He was always well fed and watered, courtesy of their generosity. Every so often, his wanderlust sent him travelling to different places for days on end – but he always came back to the bar. It was his default safe haven. His second home where he was greeted with excitement and declarations of how much they missed him. Well – a certain blonde did. But Thomas had a way of saying it by offering the werewolf a warm smile that reached eyes highlighted by wrinkles, followed by a solid shoulder shake and a comment of–

                         ‘–welcome back, son. Shit, you worried me for a second.’

          The edges of his vision blurred, telling Reynardine that he must have drifted off for a moment. He was pretty tired. It temporarily disorientated him, Thomas’ face drifting in and out of focus; he felt drunk. But this was far from being fun for the both of them. Fun was usually reserved for their many road trips to pick up supplies, or the numerous times they were persuaded into being taste testers for Lillian’s experimental recipes. Those times involved easy conversation and laughter, not soothing words and panic-invoked curses spilling from a normally composed man. This was another category altogether. He wanted to experience those fun moments again, however, but it required staying awake. And right now, he wanted nothing more than to rest. His eyelids felt incredibly heavy, forcing him to blink rapidly in a bid to keep them open. There was nothing wrong with closing them for a second – his hazy mind helpfully supplied. But that one second made a huge difference. It was a risk that he was far too young to take.

           “’m sorry. Are you mad at me?” He had worried Thomas multiple times before. Between coming home late, to disappearing a day more than he stated, he constantly kept the man on his toes. All Hell broke loose whenever Reynardine returned with injuries, but the anger was superficial. It was never real. He doted on the boy too much and any stern words sent his way derived from the overwhelming relief of seeing him alive and well. Although Thomas bristled at the question, ready to give the young male a piece of his mind, he found himself unable to even try. There was a time and place, and right now, Reynardine needed his support not disappointment. So it was exactly what he did. He reminded him about how often he was mad at him, and that would never change so long as he kept giving him reasons to be. But he also pointed out that his reaction was what came with being family.He was allowed to fret, to fuss, and fear about him; it was his damn job at the end of the day. 

Part of that job was making sure they both returned unscathed after a hunt, as well. Safety was his number one priority, but sometimes, there were outcomes he never could have predicted and prevented. Reynardine wearing his heart upon his sleeve was one of them. He should have known. There was never a time where the young male refused to help others, always putting others above himself – even at the risk of danger. He proved that exact point tonight. A hunt had its bad days; supplies ran out, steps were miscalculated, or an enemy proved tougher than they thought. But this one was going to haunt Thomas for a while, perhaps even forever depending on whether they received help in time. It was supposed to be a simple werewolf pack hunt, but miscommunication changed the course of the night with a split-second trigger pull. A fully transformed Reynardine had seen one of their friends struggling and ran towards him as a means of protection, but with too many werewolves to keep track of, the hunter failed to recognise their usual ally. 

                                     Thomas’ warning came too late.

           Now he was holding onto his boy, waiting for somebody to assist him. It felt like nobody was coming at all, despite the numerous messages coming through to his phone, telling him that help was on the way. Each ping made him even more irritated. He wanted people, not updates. Time was moving slowly, but Reynardine was losing strength quickly – and those frightened eyes remained staring up at him. It drove a guilty dragger straight into his heart. He promised Lillian that he was going to keep her friend safe and he was not going to break it. As the werewolf concentrated on Thomas, whether through blinding pain or sheer trauma blocking out reality, he wondered what they were waiting for. Confusion settled in, trying to comprehend why the other seemed frantic. His mind switched off for a moment, but loud shouting from a distance immediately brought him back. He remembered what happened now and his shaking hand gripped Thomas’ own even tighter, afraid of letting go. What words of comfort given by the older man was met with a choked out sob, a single question being asked:

                    “Can we go home now, please? I want to go home.” 

-- response by @shiningstages --

There's this part of Thomas that makes it hard for him to look Rey in the eye. That barely speaks when spoken to; that barely touches him or even get close to him in this state. As if scared the younger could shatter under any simple graze of skin or ginger poke. Things happen - Thomas knows that better than most - but this...He had felt his heart and soul shatter like that in a long while.

"He'll have to recuperate at home for awhile," wasn't supposed to be a sentence that jabbed him in the heart, but it did. At home. They were supposed to be a safe haven for the man; a place to find solace away from the lonely roads; a union of laughter and warm smiles and a family founded though hardship. A family - Christ, the thought twisted the knife. He almost killed his family...So many years of learning and bonding between them all almost ended in accidental bloodshed.

It takes all of Thomas' willpower to face him while Lillian is away. The girl was practically his bedside nurse otherwise, and no one batted an eyelash at her clinginess with him. Nearly losing her best friend - a brother figure and person she promised to be there for no matter what - took such a mental toll on her. Sleepless nights, constant visits to him before he was well enough to come home, and then staying by his side whenever possible at the bar. She of course knew she couldn't be a bother to his recover, but that didn't mean shed couldn't silently do all of her homework and huntress research in his room. Nor that Rey couldn't be her food taste tester, the amount of cooking as well as baking skyrocketing ever since he was well enough for full, solid meals. Whatever she thought she could do for him, she did. Whenever she felt she could be around him, she was there by his side. No one would dare separate her from Rey, and no one even thought of trying.

Thomas especially so, mainly because he knew Rey was getting properly cared for by her. But she had to go to school at some point, and Thomas had to venture into his room one day. It wasn't like he could avoid the guilt building up in his chest forever. Not when Rey, even as awkward as he could be during tense moments, tried to lighten the mood whenever the older man brought him food or new clothes. Remarks on the remnants of Lillian left behind during her rushes to school helped the most - passing thoughts on her behavior, comments on her food, chuckles at her attempted ideas to cheer either of them up. Of course, the latter wasn't too explored by Thomas. He knew that, at the end of the day, his niece never blamed him for what happened. Even though she hadn't looked at Thomas the same for days afterwards, eventually she held him and cried in his arms when she knew Rey was going to be okay, and Thomas couldn't help but cry with her, the few times such an emotion was visible to her. Her heart was too kind; her love for both men too strong that, when all threat of death was cleared, she couldn't help but try her best to support both of them. It made Thomas worry that she was pushing herself for the umpteenth time, but he couldn't exactly be the best guardian when he himself couldn't properly get over it either. So he let her be, both to save his heart from aching too much during the day, and for his niece to heal in her own way.

But, outside of that, Thomas just couldn't face the boy. Making minimal comments about if he was eating properly, the bare minimum of scolding while helping him change into fresh clothes - until the other could properly do it himself - asking if he needed, anything else, and then leaving the room. His senses were heightened throughout the day to hear for any ruckus from Rey's room, even when the bar's crowds started to form outside his office, but other than that he barely ventured to see him. The threat of bringing up that night at all - opening up those still fresh wounds and seeing the visions of his bloody nephew cradled so tightly in his arms outside of his night terrors - was enough to make the room feel like a danger zone every time he walked near it. Even if talking about it relived the tension in the air; even if having a heart-to-heart could solve all of their problems, Thomas refused it. Whether it was stubbornness over wanting to somehow repent for supposed sins, or just not wanting to feel so much pain burst from either of them over their feelings, or a combination of them both, Thomas' heart had gone back to the locked cage it had been for the younger male all those years ago.

...Though it couldn't stay like that forever. With Lillian in the middle of a busy school day, it was up to Thomas to bring Rey his lunch. A light sandwich, homemade applesauce curtesy of the girl, and a bit of homemade kettle chips that Thomas could manage to fry - All brought up on a tray to Reynardine's room. Hesitation before a deep breath, a light knocking at the door, a wait for a response...Nothing. More hesitation, Thomas starting to shake but then instantly calling himself a coward, before awkwardly opening the door so none of the food fell to the ground. Seeing Rey's eyes closed made his heart stop for a moment, but seeing the gentle rhythm of breathing made him then sigh in relief. Tiptoeing with such care, putting the food down on the desk gingerly, and pouring fresh water into the boy's empty cup without any loud splashing at all. Hearing movement makes his eyes go back to the boy, seeing him toss and turn a little in his sleep before settling again, face turned towards the hunter - mumbling with the smallest smile on his face. A sight that makes the weight on his chest lift, before all his thoughts make it choke the air out of his lungs again. His grip on the water pitcher tightening before he remembers he has to put it down, clanging more than he'd like, but only producing another mumble from the boy. Then fists go into his pockets, as if Rey could see how he tried to keep his shit together, staring down at him with a gaze swimming with emotion. "What are you dreaming about to produce a goofy grin like that, huh?" It an amused whispered that almost verged on condescending, venom only meant for himself regrettable mixed in; something the Thomas swallows down. Yet he can't stop looking. He even gets in closer, crouching by Rey's side as the boy turned his face near the edge of the bed, as if the distance would solve every question in his mind. He looked so peaceful, like a dog wagging his tail in his sleep while dreaming of food. The thought makes the hunter chuckle, and he wants to say it out loud, but he knows he can't...

It only brings about an instinctual gesture: a hand coming up to pat Rey's hair without a second thought. Once his palm feels that tangled mess is when sense comes back, frozen in place with that image of him comforting the boy in his arms, trying so desperately for the gesture and his voice to keep the light in his eyes. His screaming for help mixed with choked out reassurance, rain hiding both their tears of vastly different pains, wishing for so many things that all the magic in the stars should've burned out to grant him all the things he needed. Curses mixed with affirmations mixed with words he barely knew...

"Rydw i yma..." He whispered out. He was there for Reynardine. Always and forever; he would always...He catches himself before a sob can escape. Before he could accidentally grip Rey's hair too tight; before he could wallow in those visions for too long. Yet he couldn't stop his tears, silent waterfalls streaming down his face as he looked at the boy...So he closed his eyes, as if that would get rid of everything. All the feelings, all the bonding, all the hurrahs and heartache - He thought he would only ever feel pain for Lillian, not actually expecting anyone else to enter his life that he would want to care for and dote upon so much. In their own way; in their own partnership - He was Ewythr Thomas now, too.

If Rey were to die...He'd want to die with him.

"'M sorry...I'm so sorry..." It's a whisper pushed through clenched teeth, touching his forehead to the younger man's and ruffling his hair, "None of this would've happened if I...if I just..." A growl of frustration rumbled in his throat, holding back every urge to yell and pound the ground with his other fist. What was done was done, and he knew that. In the pouring rain and the dead of night, his visibility was shot to hell when he pulled the trigger, and he knew that. Reynardine was just as kind as Lillian in that he probably couldn't fully blame him for that night, and he knew that. Thomas just...Couldn't accept it. He wanted to get gunned down a million times; eaten alive or clawed into a million pieces; drowned in anguish and sorrow for a million years. Even if the world forgave him, he could never accept it properly, nor could he ever forgive himself.

[balladetto]

     Once, when Link was even smaller than he feels, he'd knocked his shoulder out of its socket in a terrible fall.

     Terrible in that he'd cried about it, ashamed and at the then-height of pained, not that it was a particularly horrific tumble. He'd just landed wrong, he remembers someone telling him — frantic and almost apologetic in their reassurance. Too much has happened for him to reconstruct a face for the memory, but Link can still recall the stutter in their words. You're g-gonna be okay. Y-you're gonna— gonna be f-fine.

     And he was. Someone had gone to fetch a healing fairy while others came to keep him company. It'd been the right shoulder, burning at the joint and numb all the way down to his fingertips, but he'd found a spot of hurt he could grit his teeth through; then breathe through; then eventually speak through. By the time the fairy was brought over, Link had been so deep in the rhythm of holding himself together that he'd nearly slapped her away when she broke it.

     He remembers her, he thinks, the most out of everything. There's a distinct clarity associated pain will give you with any recollection. She was rose-pink, a little darker than he was used to, and she'd bristled when he whimpered through a fresh wave of tears and pushed at her with his pinky.

     "Stop that," she'd said. "Bones aren't easy, you know. It'll only hurt for a pinch, it has to for me to fix it. You're already being so brave! Can't you be brave a while longer?"

     Outside the memory, Link lays crumpled on cold tiles, eyelids like crushed butterfly wings and the cave of his chest barely moving as he looks up and up and up. He thinly wonders, for a fixing like this, how long he'd have to keep being brave for.

     Neither of his shoulders took the landing this time, but he knows many things are wrong with both of them. By extension, many things are wrong with all of him. He should take stock, a part of him understands. He'd like to take stock, another part realises, if only he had the capacity to. Each breath shifts the slivers and splinters his bones have shattered into. Agony twists through every vein like a replacement for the blood he imagines paints his trail from platform to windows to the far below floor. He can't feel his fingers, which twitch as if to grip something — his left hand, mangled, rests as if in graveyard dirt.

     There is no amount of searching in this sea that will land him in a place where this might be bearable.

     "Link!" Navi yells, a trilling bell that drowns out the sound of dying. His heart threads an extra thump, like he still has it in him to be scared alongside everything else, before it fades back into a whisper of a pulse. She wheels above him in panicked, powdery circuits: hair to boots and back. "Get up! You have to get up!"

     He does. He does have to. Link doesn't get to think he's gonna die now. He doesn't get to be tired enough — small enough — for that. He draws a rattling inhale, head practically cracking open with how the air presses against its seams. He's sixteen. The world will end if he's nine. He's sixteen, sixteen, sixteen.

     He chokes on liquid rising in his gorge, coughs it up, and closes his eyes when gravity brings the blood down in blotches on his skin. It's— really gross, and that's such a mundane thought in the face of what he has to reckon with that his chest starts spasming with strangled laughter instead.

     "Link!"

     Navi, he replies in his head, 'cause that's all he can do. He traces over more names: Sheik, Zelda, Saria, the Sages, the Kokiri, the list goes on as his voice dips into hitching, searing gasps. It's an awful thing to realise — that's all he can do. Link has to get up, has to be Courage, has to be more than what he is.

     And he can't.

     Sound drifts down from above, mocking. Cruel. It's a laugh getting louder and louder, and Link prises his lashes apart with the sheer will borne from a unique dread. A kind of fear, if you felt it not in sensation, but in the dizzying spiral that is the certainty of where this will all end.

     A kind of fear — and a kind of fury.

     Link is nine, thrown to the ground, battered and muscles stinging with a magic he tastes as something crackling on his tongue. He glares up at the tall man on the tall horse, smouldering so brazenly with protective, frustrated outrage that he shakes with it. He is not unafraid of the sneer that answers him, but he does not look away.

     Link is nine, broken over the ground, near dead and stuck in a body he's tried to make his. His eyes are cold as he watches Ganondorf descend, burning with tears dyed red from failure. The brand on his left hand glows, resonating with a magic he no longer has the nerves to feel. Navi doesn't leave. There are a thousand things he wishes he could scream.

     Large fingers fold around the wrist of his gauntlet, deliberate in their ignorance of the softness a joint that bent must be afforded. As his arm is lifted, the pain dragged along every passing second like some horrible, continuous song-note that eclipses even his fears, he pretends none of the noises coming from him are his and thinks everything that could mean: I hate you.

     He thinks everything that could mean: I'm so sorry.

     The man raises his other hand, palm closing in, and Link forces another entire earth on the child he can't be even here — even now. He does not look away. Navi, oddly muffled, rings something wordless.

     Link waits for the end of this story.

[agonizedembrace]

A rapt knock to Evelynn's door comes first, then an undsteady voice of: "Mr. Baudelaire said you requested my presence, Ma'am....?"

In enters none other than Chelsea, the intern who's been the sole cause of many headaches today. On the shorter side, with wide brown eyes and dark hair tied up into a neat bun. At first glance, none would suspect any mishaps to occur from her.

Yet it is Evelynn who clicks her tongue, the golden of her eyes narrowing immediately on the young woman. It would take a fool to miss the irritation she presents, a single clawed digit tapping against a crossed arm along her chest. Her blouse remains messy, hardly buttoned appropriately and her skirt haphazardly snug to her waist.

"I did," she hums, but nothing in her voice is soothing. It is cold as she continues to stare down the intern, nostrils flaring with a deep breath. "Do you know why I called you, darling?"

Chelsea turns, glancing to the door. Strange as it seems to have close on its own accord. "N... no ma'am."

"Of course not." Evelynn all but hisses, shifting her position. Her legs gradually uncross as she lowers her jaw. "Darling, do you think before making purchases?"

A moment of hurt flashes on the woman's face, yet Evelynn is quick to cut her off.

"The answer is no, you do not."

The demon's movements are slow, calculated as she stands, arms that begin to unfold and reach for the folder that resides on the very desk she'd been sitting on. Evelynn takes no note of the horrified expression her intern wears, instead idly skimming the paperwork Robin had worked so dedicatedly on. She does this only for a moment, the room remaining eerie silent before a bone chilling laugh escapes her lips.

Sharp eyes find their way to the woman once more. "Oh, and here I was under the impression you were a good girl, Chelsea." With a fluid movement she tosses the folder to the intern, letting it fall flat on the floor. "Kneel for me."

"W-.. what?!"

"Kneel."

Without giving her a chance, Evelynn steps forward, a hand finding Chelsea's shoulder. There's a gasp, eyes that further widen as the inhumanity of Evelynn's strength shows and down goes the woman. The smile the vocalist wears is twisted, ever eerie as she shakes her head.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused, darling?" Now with a lower tone, Evelynn shifts her hand to cup Chelsea's jaw, forcing her to look up at her. The young woman is granted a view, perhaps entirely sinful as it is terrifying. "Oh, not only did you create such a hassle for dear Robin..."

Trailing off, Evelynn sighs and squeezes her hand, finding delight in the slight trickle of blood. She then coos, slowly bending over and granting an eyeful of her own cleavage. One that she knows is not ignored.

"... which then interrupted my private time with Akali."

"With Akali--"

Chelsea's head meets the ground before she can even utter another word. There's an undeniable look of anger that resides in the golden hues of Evelynn's gaze. "That is Miss. Tethi to you." Her hiss echoes within the room, a twitch to her lip as she steps forward. Soon a heel resides on top of the intern's stomach, pressing down ever slightly.

There's a cry that escapes the woman's mouth, frail and desperate. One that Evelynn feeds off.

"Here's the thing darling; not only did you make an unauthorized purchase -- which, by the way, did daddy always just buy you what you wanted?" Each word is spoken with certain venom, dripping further into a tritone demonic voice that once ago she's been known for. "You crossed the wrong people."

Finally Chelsea breaks out of some trance, Evelynn's charm not taking to its full effect just yet. "I didn't know ma'am! I.. I had thought I was using my personal funds!"

Evelynn says nothing, only shaking her head before she presses her heel further into the human. The scream she receives is nothing short of pleasurable, wholly enjoying the tears that form at the corners of her eyes. "But you did, dear. Robin knows to inform all interns that card is not for online purchases."

Lifting her foot, she steps to the side and kneels on top of her. Her smile continues to grow, far past anything human. Far past for dear little Chelsea to register anything as terrifying.

"You've been a bad girl, darling."

No stranger to the trembling hands that take to her waist, Evelynn lets a wild laugh loose before letting a hand trail up. One that soon brushes past Cheslea's collar, and taking hold at her neck. Now starts the fun part.

THEY ALWAYS SUBMIT IN THE END.

Greedy hands that begin to snake up, desperate to slide underneath her blouse. Blissfully unaware does Chelsea become, to lashers that gather form as Evelynn tightens her grip around her throat. Because oh, all that's on her mind is EVELYNN. How beautiful and hot she looks on top of her.

"You need a punishment," Evelynn whispers as she leans forward, letting the human greed further consume the woman beneath her. The touch on her skin is nothing close to satisfying -- always eager, and never truly appreciative. "Beg for it."

Plump lips that part, brown eyes awestruck of the demon who has her in such a grip. Unknown to the claws that continue to sink into her neck, to the blood that begins to pool around her. WHAT A HIGH, to be granted such a meal so soon.

"Please.." a frail voice, PAINED even. Evelynn hisses in delight, the free meal dripping within her grasp. "Please punish... me.."

Normally Evelynn would further make her beg, to prolong such a feast, but her irritation has gotten the better of her. The canal desire to make home to her girlfriend after this bitch ruined her moment. Her lashers strike first, piercing right into Chelsea's chest and electing SUCH A SCREAM. ONE THAT IS ENTIRELY DELICIOUS.

It is then, that blood sprays. The crimson liquid that begins to stain everything: the walls, floor, her clothes. Oh, the files too. She'll apologize later to Robin. She cares about the NOW, the way the pathetic intern thrashes, so desperate to cling onto her life. It is the DELIGHT in how her hand further clenches, completely blocking airflow. How hands that were once so eager on the demon's body, now hopelessly making attempts to get relief for air.

"SCREAM LOUDER FOR ME!"

Evelynn laughs at her own words, fully aware of how incapable the human is of doing so. Oh, she takes it all in. The way her lashers plunge further, piercing organs. How the pool of blood begins to run so deep. The frail attempts of reclaiming life, the UTTER AGONY this human gives. WHAT A TREAT.

She doesn't last much longer, between the literal chokehold and the fact Evelynn's pierced her lungs now, her air flow is gone. How her heart goes from such a rapid pace....

To a slow beat.

To nothing.

Agony.

A silence soon falls over the room, an eerie calm as Evelynn gradually releases her grip. Lashers that twitch, appearing almost happy as she further create a mess for the sake of it all. It is finally then, that the demon releases a breath she wasn't aware she was holding as she begins to stand.

Her heels are the sole noise in the room now, echoing off the walls as she approaches her desk once more. Instead of ill attempts of cleaning herself, she simply takes her spot once more on her desk, one leg over the other, and lets out a content sigh.

Needless to say, she is not startled by the ever dark rumble from the far corner of the room. The deep purring that seeming grows in volume, before followed by an equally low voice of: "Well done."

[wolfkcst]

Kisses lots of kisses meme -Accepting!! @betraal

Tonight the camp was in high spirits, and perhaps a little bit tipsy from the little party they were having. A little victory party here and there never hurt - and Eivor insisted on at least having a feast tonight. It was good to be kind to themselves, even if they felt like they weren't getting anywhere. They were, however, but it doesn't feel like it to many. Still, the fire was roaring, the camp buzzing, and a few of their people were enjoying themselves with good ol' mead and wine. Eivor drifts over to Daemos, who they noticed was having just as much fun but as soon as they made eye contact they could feel the heart in their chest flutter. Was it the mead, or were they truly in love? They line is blurred because of the alcohol, but they cared not. Tonight was the night to have fun, and if having some time with Daemos alone was part of the plans, well... They would be happy to oblige. Once the others settled in, the warrior found their lover for tonight waiting for them at his camp. They gently take his hand, offering a small squeeze and pulling him out into the woods to get a little more... Intimate. Hands lay upon his chest, pushing him down against the grassy earth and straddled his lap with the smuggest of grins. They lean in, brushing their lips against his teasingly before he says something... Unexpected. "You could ride this dragon tonight" was what he said, and while it would usually fluster them they let out a hearty laugh, lips moving to press against his again and again - sharing in the wonderful feeling of his hands all over them, and more importantly their laughs... Together.

[taegularities]

hmm

[fangsforhire]

@ghostsandmirrors asked:“you are unbelievable.” (from buck bcus I miss these two. Also it kinda gave me both 1940s and modern vibes)

‘You are unbelievable.’ The first time those words had been uttered, they’d been blind drunk, waving around empty liquor bottles, about to be drafted to the war, oblivious to the rollercoaster of emotions that awaited them on the battleground. The men around them were loud and rowdy, excited at the prospect of doing their bit for King and country, naive really. ( Lucien had known back then that it wouldn’t be plain sailing. ) War never was, it was messy and left it’s mark on you. That hadn’t been his first and he assumed it wouldnt be his last, but amongst the humans, he’d blended in - forcing himself to down the Daiquiri in his hands. He’d snorted off the sargeants comment. The second time he’d been yelled at - shielding James from an explosion, the spray of shrapnel in the air causing him to grimace. They’d been at it none stop, defending their territory, sore and spent. ( He’d lost count of how many near misses they’d endured, certain that it was only a matter of time before one of them ended up at deaths door. ) He’d sensed the danger long before they’d triggered the trip wires; and instinct had kicked in, becoming an inhuman barricade, spluttering as he threw him across the ground and took the brunt of the damage. He’d gone down fast, knees buckling, and the last thing he’d seen was dust before his vision had rolled back. The third time - that he could remember that was - memories foggy of that time. Had been there, at the hellhole they’d been forced to call home. It had been the soldier who had grunted it, twisting his arm out of place; as he fought against the metal holding him down. ( They’d been sparring and he’d done what he did best, discovered a crack in his armour. He’d struck and taken his opponent by genuine surprise. ) What had followed was the beating of a lifetime; refusing to give in, spitting at superiors as the solider of Winter scolded him, like speaking to a child. No recognition in its eyes. He winced now stood before him, having shed his shirt and stretched. It had been a day, and to say he was in need of a shower was an understatement, scattered in blood, grime and bruises; they adorned his skin, a plethora of colours. ( He’d been reckless enough to take a pair of steel toe caps to the ribs, feeling them shatter upon impact, and then he’d had enough ) - making mince meat of the remains of a HYDRA cell, finally returning after burying their bodies and while the sarcastic response was at the tip of his tongue; it died in his throat. Instead all he could do was nod numbly; overwhelmed by lost recollections.

Yeah he was - he would always be unbelievable. 

[dreamswideawake]

You called -for Caesar @roisdevivre

Send "You called." for me to write a drabble where my muse rushes to your muse in a desperate moment where they need them. || accepting || @roisdevivre

The moment he'd heard the commotion, Aatos had stopped in his tracks. He'd been looking for Johannes, knowing that the older Finn had stepped outside of the Night Club for a cigarette. Just as he'd been approaching the alleyway, he heard a clattering of a metal bin, rustling fabric and the unmistakable sound of knuckles against bone.

Hesitantly peeking around the corner, his heart leapt into his mouth when he saw three older men throwing punches into Caesar. The boy's nose was bleeding, his dark brown hair lank against his face as another punch was thrown into his middle and he crumpled in half.

Aatos had been in situations like this hundreds of times back home. Bullies and thugs ganging up on him, throwing punches and hurling kicks into his body. He'd broken his nose more than once and had so many bruised ribs he was amazed they all still worked.

He'd have given anything for someone to help him.

Aatos' breath hitched in his chest, staring in fear and apprehension as Caesar continued to endure the vicious insults and assault. Aside from the odd wince, he barely seemed shaken by it. As if he was used to it. The thought made something stir within Aatos, building from the pit of his stomach and rising into his core.

Rage flared inside him like fire, consuming his entire stature until his fists were clenched and something entirely new inside him took over.

"MITÄ VITTUA SINÄ TEET?! PÄÄ POIS!!!" The scream came from somewhere deep down in his soul, his voice scarcely recognisable as his own.

His feet led him down the alleyway until he was sprinting. The three men who had been holding Caesar up immediately backed off and began running the other way down the alley, letting the boy drop to the floor.

Aatos' heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to run after them, to chase them down and beat them twice as hard as they'd hurt Caesar, make them bloodied and bruised and...and...

A whimpered breath from his left side brought him back to Earth, his breaths heavy and his shoulders tense. His head snapped towards the sound, finding Caesar propped against the wall, clutching his side.

Immediately, Aatos was on his knees, his heart rate slowing and his breath catching in his throat.

"Caesar?" His voice was a hoarse sound, somewhere between a breath and a grunt. "Caesar, it's me. It's Aatos, can you hear me? I-I'm going to get you help, okay? I'm going to get you out of here. It's going to be okay, I promise."