#and praying none of the other ones die in that week

[mafufuu]

hey suckers

(femizel meaning like fem emizel tucker) (also if you have no clue what im talking abt ignore or like do eenie meenie miney mo)

[contact-guy]

Part 7, the final comic in my SIGN OF THE FOUR chapter. (Part one), (part two), (part three), (part four), (part five), (part six).

The context for this conversation is: Holmes has had no work from Scotland Yard due to rumors about his and Watson's relationship. He responded to this with excessive cocaine use and then working himself unhealthy on the one case that came along; Mary Morstan's. Meanwhile, Watson befriended Mary, who is also gay, and realized that a lavender marriage with her could make him and Holmes safe, as well as granting her more freedom. Watson has not yet told Holmes of his decision.

(This is part of the Watsons sketchbook series!)

canon scene under the cut, which is achingly poignant in its own right:

“Well, and there is the end of our little drama,” I remarked, after we had set some time smoking in silence. “I fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honour to accept me as a husband in prospective.”

He gave a most dismal groan. “I feared as much,” said he. “I really cannot congratulate you.”

I was a little hurt. “Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice?” I asked.

“Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I ever met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have been doing. She had a decided genius that way: witness the way in which she preserved that Agra plan from all the other papers of her father. But love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment.”

“I trust,” said I, laughing, “that my judgment may survive the ordeal. But you look weary.”

“Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp as a rag for a week.”

“Strange,” said I, “how terms of what in another man I should call laziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy and vigour.”

“Yes,” he answered, “there are in me the makings of a very fine loafer and also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think of those lines of old Goethe,—

Schade dass die Natur nur einen Mensch aus Dir schuf, Denn zum würdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.

“By the way, à propos of this Norwood business, you see that they had, as I surmised, a confederate in the house, who could be none other than Lal Rao, the butler: so Jones actually has the undivided honour of having caught one fish in his great haul.”

“The division seems rather unfair,” I remarked. “You have done all the work in this business. I get a wife out of it, Jones gets the credit, pray what remains for you?”

“For me,” said Sherlock Holmes, “there still remains the cocaine-bottle.” And he stretched his long white hand up for it.

[razzle-n-dazzle]

hello, friend!! i saw your adam hcs and i loveddd themmm!! i was hoping to request smth if that’s okay? could we get lucifer with a reader who also struggles with depression like he does (it’s mentioned in episode five if you didn’t know!!) and maybe reader had a practically rough week and gets home from work and just breaks down in tears, and luci find a way to cheer them up? either fem! or gn! reader if that’s chill, tysm for taking your time to consider this even if you don’t get to it!!

— 🪽anon

ᯓ★ "Give Your Corpse Some Smile Lines." Lucifer / Reader | Oneshot TW! Read at your own risk and comfortability! | talks about depression, suicidal topics/actions, overdosing topics/actions, reader breaking down, hurt to comfort, self destruction, abuse

ᯓ There are days and weeks, sometimes months and years, that prolonged like time, made it appear like it no longer moved and served a purpose. Like time was nothing but a feign idea that was made to torture everyone and anyone who dared think about it, who dared to calculate how it traveled and how long it took to pass a minute. And some days it made people want to break, and some day it made people want to kill other people, and some days it made people overjoyed, and some days it made people excited, and some days it made people nervous, and some days. . . It made you want to die.

ᯓ To be killed in the most brutal fashion known to man, to explode in a death either as silent as taking your own life in your own home or as bright and fantastic as the explosion of fire works. Time for you was never a friend and it continued to taunt you after you had died, overdosing on the pain medication you were prescribed after a horrible accident. Horrific! You had heard people call you, friends and family, after they saw the state of your decaying body after being rammed by a truck who lost control. Monstrous! None of them chose to stay around, none chose to help you when you were at your weakest and worst, when you could barely help yourself. And all you had done back then was help them! Was care for them! Be there for them at any time of the day whenever they needed, whenever they wanted, whenever they asked or called or texted or shouted or pleaded or-

ᯓ And it was a coward move, you were sure. Weak, many would call it, blasphemous and you were sure it was why you never got into Heaven despite having done everything in your power to be okay, to be the perfect person everyone wanted, to be good. But one night, when everything was moving too slow and no one seemed to blink twice at your presence, you would take your own life in silence. To overdose on your own pills, both praying it wouldn't work but gain the attention of someone yet also praying it would kill you and finally let you live in peace. In a world of black nights where you didn't have to open your eyes no longer, where time wouldn't be creeping over your shoulder, where nothing would hurt anymore because dammit. . . everything hurt.

ᯓ IT ALL FUCKING HURT.

ᯓ And then you ended in hell, and then you realized this would be your life . . . and then you realized you were still stuck with your worst enemy of all: Time. Forever stuck in an eternity after life, forever stuck here by yourself, forever being another face in the crowd or another person on the street for people to pass by and not think about twice. Someone. Just someone! Not even someone, no one. Just a shell, just a person decaying on the streets, decaying for all to see. A pitiful show.

ᯓ You could hardly remember when you met Lucifer; Maybe you were down on your luck one day and was eating cold Ramen out of the streets and he took pity to sit by you, to talk to you. Maybe it was when you were at a bar, downing another drink to forget the fact that you were chained down here, chained to your enemy, chained to your eternity of a never ending moment of the hands of time. Maybe you were working your minimum wage job to barely survive, or maybe you bumped into him. You memory hadn't always been good, party due to your own mental health and a constant flight or fight response, yet you had always knew life to be so bleak before you had met him. And then one day, everything was slightly a bit more okay. And slowly everything was a little more barrable; Even just slightly.

ᯓ And maybe a life can be handled in eternity, and you didn't have to be alone anymore . . .

ᯓ Yet, no matter how much anyone wished, love cannot fix all problems. Love can teach you how to heal, love can teach you how to live, love can teach you how to handle everything inside of you in a better manner than self destruction. But love cannot instantly fix everything wrong with you; You should have realized that sooner.

ᯓ You lived a life nothing short of a fairy tale for the last few months, living life alongside a partner who you could share the weight of the world with. Who felt comfortable enough to share the weight of the world with you. Where in the days you both laughed and played, pushing and pulling each other, peppering kissing on skin and longing ones on the lips. And at night you cuddled against each other, both with the fear of losing, both with longing, both just enjoying the company you now had, that you could now share. You've already shared tears, concerns, worries, troubles. You've both been vulnerable under the other's eyes, staining shirts under the other's careful and cradling hug, broken down and rushed out apologies. You've already both taken care of each other, took your time and held patience with each other and you both tried to heal the broken pieces of one another. Most would call it a disaster, a tragedy, yet for you both . . . it was like some sort of twisted hope, knowing you were no longer alone in your self deprecation. Knowing that even if either of you tried to self destruct everything around you, tried to gain that control that's slipping away, tried to push the other away, they would understand and be there. That in the end of the day you had someone to crawl to.

ᯓ Yet even with constant oxygen and wood, a fire can still grow dim in it's own silence and try to snuff itself out.

ᯓ This week had been long, it had dragged you by the heels and you could no longer put the energy to fight against it's slowing seconds. Working a minimum wage job, even after Lucifer had told you that you never had to again (yet you continued to do so for some sort of feeling of schedule and stability), that you hated and wished you could quite for a paycheck that wasn't even that high to withstand the abuse you had to. Lucifer constantly worried about you, about how the job affected you both physically and mentally. You often came home either drained or hurt, as costumers tended to get rather violent down in Hell. It was common to be stabbed during a shift and having to endure it until your shift was over. Effectively causing you to bleed out while still having to rep a costumer service smile. And the stabbing might not even be the worst part of everything; As you had to try many times to bite back any sort of emotion, ire and frustration and sorrow, as costumers yelled, screamed, tossed shit your way for a mistake you didn't even make. And yet it was your fault. It was always your fault and you couldn't do anything but stand there and take it, as your job would be on the line if you did anything other than stand there and take the anger and take the frustrations and the yelling and the stabbing; Being everyone's personal punching bag without any sort of composition.

ᯓ What was the point of it?

ᯓ The thought had came to you one day after you came home, slugging your shoes off your feet and tossing your keys onto the counter. Lucifer wasn't home, he usually was, yet you guessed he had something better to do than hear your sorrows of the day. You would want to do anything than hear about your sorrows as well, you couldn't blame him for trying to avoid you. So you dragged yourself to the bathroom, heavily sitting down upon the close lid of the toilet before sinking down some. A hand rested upon your stomach, the knife that pierced through your side slid in between your fingers like it didn't draw your blood out. Like it wasn't causing you pain; not even the worst pain in your life, just pain that poked and pricked and brought tears to the eyes, but you were no stranger to tears or to blood. You were no stranger to the bruises that covered your body from angry costumers, from the blisters that grew from harsher treatment, from the blood that seeped and stained. And maybe you should take care of that wound, but it was best to keep a knife into the wound than take it out; It stopped bleeding and you hadn't stained that much, you didn't think, and you were oh so tired so maybe. . .just a nap would help. It didn't have to be a long one, yet something in the back of your mind hoped it would be, and you leaned your head back against the back of the toilet. The light above gave out a buzz, showing it was working, sounding that it was on and here.

ᯓ Yet a nap sounded nice.

ᯓ "Honey! I'm home!" Lucifer shout, a cheerful laugh followed and a careful grin was stretched on his face as he tried to balance the bags of groceries that were in his arms; Trying to make his one round of bringing groceries in to work. He didn't want to drop a single one of them, "I'm sorry I took so long, yet I went to the store and wow! There were a lot of options for things that I was sure I would never make it out of there! Did you know that there's like. . ." Lucifer would pause to count his fingers, having successfully delivered the bags onto the counter without breaking anything, ". . .15 different brands of milk?! And they had like this Milk called Almond milk, where they apparently milk the almond and I don't know how they do that but-" Lucifer's voice fell flat as soon as he noticed you weren't around, at least, not around as usual. By now you would have sprung from the couch, or yelled at him from the bathroom that you were doing your business, or came from the bedroom to wrap him in a hug. Yet your presence was absent and it didn't allude Lucifer, at least, not many more. "H . . . honey?" He would call out again, this time with a more shaken voice and frowned eyebrows; His smile no longer held the confidence of a man who managed to do one round of bringing groceries in with 13 bags.

ᯓ And yet you didn't respond to his call, how could you when your own breath was so shallow your heart was speeding up, stressing, just to pump blood through your body; And Lucifer grew worried. It would triple upon seeing the mess you had left, a mess that hadn't caught his eye until now. . . Your shoes left lazily by the door, your keys stained with blood. Blood that streaked like a hand across the counter top and traveled inward, towards the bathroom and it's door that lingered tauntingly open. And instantly, Lucifer felt his mouth run dry and his feet speed towards the bathroom with nothing but horrible thoughts piling up in his head. You were hurt and you weren't answering his calls. You were hurt and you weren't doing anything to signal to him that you were okay. Are you okay? Are you dead? Oh god he hoped he didn't get to that bathroom door and see your dead body there, all stained and pale. Please don't be dead, please please please. . . "OH MY GOD!-" Lucifer hated to admit the way his body froze in horror by the doorway, one hand clinging onto the frame and the other shot up to cover his mouth. He hated the way his feet stuck to the ground like they were rooted, forcing him to look at your bleeding and barely breathing figure on the floor.

ᯓ And no, he didn't miss the way your blood was smeared on the toilet. He could never miss such a detail when your blood was the last thing he ever wanted to see seep out of your body and pool and stain everything around you.

ᯓ "Oh fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" The words fell out of his lips, fell onto deaf ears, as he ripped his rooted feet off the ground and rushed over to you, to your body. He felt dazed, confused, unsure of himself all of a sudden. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? "Hey, don't be dead come on!-" He didn't realize he was rambling to himself as he kneeled down next to you, not minding the way your blood seeped and stained his white clothes. He shuffled around, looking for your wound, looking for something he could fix to help you! He was so panicked, and had to stich up your wounds so often, that the thought of calling a doctor didn't cross his mind. Lucifer was hesitant to touch you, but didn't want to hurt you, "Wound, wound wound! Where the fuck is your wound?!" He asked before spotting the knife that was jagging out your side. It was mostly covered by your body, as he had happened to kneel down on the opposite side of where your wound pierced in. "Oh fucking duh, it's where the knife is. Nice job Lucifer can't spot a fucking knife when your lover is bleeding out on the floor!- Shit wait I need to actually take care of that. Fuck! Where the hell is the first aid kit?!"

ᯓ To say Lucifer was freaking out during the whole process of taking out the knife, tossing it to the side to be picked up later, disinfecting your wound, trying to stitch it up with shaking hands, and wrapping you up. . . would be an understatement. He was terrified to hold you, afraid he might make the wound worse or he might put you in more pain, yet somehow managed to move you from the bathroom floor to the couch in the living room. He would have put you to bed, at least provided your body a little more comfort, yet he was afraid to leave your side. Afraid that if he took his eyes off of you that something might happen, that you might roll onto the wound and break the sticking, that you might just stop breathing as a whole and leave him alone.

ᯓ He tried calling Charlie to help, yet physicked himself out right before he was going to press the call button. He needed some sort of help, he couldn't go through this alone, yet he didn't want to put his daughter through this either. All he could really do was find himself sitting in front of the couch, head resting upon the cushion, watching your chest rise and fall with heavy eyes; Just to reassure himself you were still here, that you were still alive and you could wake up. Maybe tomorrow? Hopefully. Maybe he should bring you to a hospital. Either way he was here, waiting, hoping.

ᯓ Fuck . . . He didn't know what he would do if you didn't wake up. But you did! By some grace of god you had happened to wake up in the middle of the night, the day after Lucifer had found you. He hadn't been awake, and you were barely moving due to the pain that jabbed at your side. Though you noticed the weight that indented the couch by the edge, slightly turning your head to see Lucifer's crossed arms and nuzzled head into it; He was sleeping, leaning against the couch while sitting on the floor. Drowsy, tired, you glanced over at the couch, wondering why he was sitting down there instead of up here with you. When did you even get to the couch? And then you noticed how you were wearing some of his clothes, with the shirt pulled up to expose your wrapped chest, the bandages still a stained a little crimson red. And you frowned, eyes heavy, looking down at the wound and realizing, at least to some sort of extent, why he wasn't up here. You had scared him . . . A heavy sigh left your lips as you reached a hand out, shaking, as you leaned down into the cushions. Gently, you placed your hand on top of Lucifer's, trying to intertwin your fingers without waking him. If anything, by the way he looked, you were sure he just managed to fall asleep . . . and most likely passed out from exhaustion rather than willingly succumbing to slumber.

ᯓ Though feeling the sudden warmth on his hands, and being half-awake and half-asleep in general, Lucifer's eyes fluttered open despite being rather heavy. He felt heavy, he felt tired . . . yet his hand felt warm, causing his eyes to glance down and notice your hand on top of his. Your hand, your thumb rubbing against his. "Love?. . ." He would mumble out, hoping this wasn't a dream, as he gently raised his head. You noticed the way his eyes sagged a little, his eyelids clearly heavy with eyebags starting to form under his eyes. The frown that had been on his face, tugged down out of pain, began, sluggishly, to tug into a warm smile. "You're awake. . . how are you feeling, do you need anything?" The way his voice croaked, clearly tired and clearly worn from tired and sobbing. His disheveled look, the way his hair was more frazzled than normal and the way his clothes were stained. It all made you upset; Not at him, no, you could never be upset at Lucifer. You were upset at yourself. For causing him so much pain, for making him probably so worried and panicked with the crawling thoughts of your death if he dared to ever take his eyes off of you.

ᯓ Lucifer, waiting for your answer, would gently bring your hand up to his cheek. He had missed your warmth, you had been so cold when he touched you last to move you from the tile of the bathroom floor to the plush cushions of the couch. He was glad that the warmth had returned to body, that he was able to watch your eyes sparkle in the dim lights that flooded in from the kitchen stove hood.

ᯓ His eyes were so gentle, his smile was so genuine, and all you managed to weakly croak out was a, "I'm sorry." And you felt bad feeling the warm tears starting to clump up in your eyes again and spill over. And you felt horrible as Lucifer shot awake, seeing your tears through the light of the kitchen, and rushed to bring his free hand up to your cheek to wipe away your tears. "I'm so sorry Lucifer I. . ." You would choked out, unsure what else to say. How else could you apologize to Lucifer when you knew that you had laid there, on the toilet, with the intention to hopefully die. And you didn't know how to tell Lucifer that to his face, especially when you've never had to tell anyone who's gotten as close to you as Lucifer has that you've thought about killing yourself. That you tried to plan it out in your shared home. Where you knew they would find you. Where you knew. . . "Hey, hey, it's okay. You're-" Lucifer paused for a second, glancing down at the side of your stomach. He had to reassure himself that you were alright before trying to comfort you, "-okay. You're okay now!" Lucifer grinned towards you, a little nervous at first before it fused out into more worry. "You're awake and you're not dying and it's okay! We can. . . talk about it all later okay? Just focus on getting better."

ᯓ You both would sit there in a comfortable, slightly-comfortable, silence as Lucifer stared up at you, and you stared back down at him. His hand, after having cleared your tears, hand reached up to play with your hair, trying to coax you back to sleep. Even when you knew he needed sleep himself, with the way his heavy eyes closed for long periods of time before opening again to meet mine. "Come here. . ." You would mumble, trying to reach for Lucifer, wanting to feel his warmth against yours. He was hesitant to do so, you could tell by the way his eyebrows scrunched upward and the frown that tugged on his lips. It took a while to coax him onto the couch, where even then he gingerly laid on his side and wrapped his arms cautiously a safe place above your bandages and nuzzled his head between the crook of your neck. You were able to play with his hair this time, give him a soft peck on the forehead. A silent apology for all the pain he had to endure because of you without you there to help, without the support he had shown you countless of times without fail.

ᯓ "I. . ." Lucifer's voice warily mumbled out, ". . .thought I was going to lose you." And the way his voice cracked broke your heart into a million pieces. And the only pathetic response you could muster back to him was a soft, shaken, "I'm sorry." As tears silently began to fall down your cheeks, and you could feel the silent tears that fell from Lucifer's eyes stain your neck. "I'm. . . so, so sorry. . ." "It's okay. . ." Lucifer would hug you a little tighter, "We'll work through it together, you're not going to lose me that easily, even if-" He would pause, choking out a bit of laughter between his tears, "-you try yourself."

ᯓ Oh. . . he knew. . .

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ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

[wanderingsoul6261]

Gif credit goes to thepalmofyourfreezinghand

Title: Me? Possessive? Never

James Beaufort x Reader

Synopsis: James and reader are in an arranged family to combine their families and wealth. They hate each other but soon grow to like each other. Dare they say that James might also be a bit possessive?

Warning:I don't think so? Unless possessiveness could be classified as one?

Written and posted via phone

If there was one thing that James Beaufort and Y/N had never expected, it wasn't that their parents would put them into an arranged marriage. It mostly for the sake of their parents and their businesses. The Beauforts created clothing. The Y/L/Ns created jewelry and other to be worn accessories, watches being amongst those. It was only smart and logical that the two families did what they could to help their businesses, apart from potential contracts in which they made material to compliment the other. 

And of course, they did this at the expense of their own children. 

Y/N had hoped and prayed that Elaine would picked by his parents to marry, but she had unfortunately picked the short straw. Being two of the richest families within England, her and James often butted heads over whose family was more superior. It was amusing at first, and then it got old. But when word spread that Y/N and James were to be wedded, It had suddenly become the talk of Maxton Hall, and in that moment, James and Y/N had never hated each other more. 

Regardless of what they thought of each other though, their parents forced them to go on outings together. They sat together at any meal they ate together and were always forced to be each other's plus one to events hosted by either family. Both James and Y/N felt as if they were being punished and never enjoyed themselves for a single minute. 

Until they did. 

But it was almost as If they also never knew it. 

They would be the last to admit to not only themselves and each other, but to everyone else that slowly inside of themselves, they have grown to expect banter and teasing from the other. And when that did not happen, they had grown to miss it. If James was not at school, Y/N had missed him, and vice versa, but you would never hear either of them admit it. Smiles were less snarky, more genuine, but only when the other wasn't looking, and even then, they never realized it. One watching the other when they weren't looking. They were changing their attitudes towards each other, and never once did they know it.

But everyone else did.

—

They were at a party hosted by none other than Cyril. Y/N had gone out and mingled with the many others that were there. James watched her from across the room, rolling his eyes as he only assumed they were asking about their engagement. It wasn’t like everyone already knew, but after several weeks of being talked about anywhere, he had only hoped it would die down. 

His eyes roamed over her appearance. She was dressed pretty casually. Parties like Cyril’s gave her the chance to do so. Gave them both the chance to do so. They were away from the judging eyes of their parents, therefore, able to wear and do as they wanted. Y/N though had simply decided to wear leggings and flannel with a white shirt underneath. James has come to know that that particular outfit was one she always wore when she wanted to be comfortable. And she definitely looked like it. 

James took a sip of his drink as Alistair came to stand next to him. 

“Staring at her an awfully lot.” Alistair stood shoulder to shoulder with James, who turned to look at him as he came up. 

“She's competition. Just watching. Is that wrong?” He asked. 

“You guys are getting married in a matter of months. I'd say that hardly makes her competition.” 

“We aren't married yet.” James flashed his friend a smile before turning his attention back on Y/N. His eyes tuned in on the person she was now talking to. He took In the guy's appearance. About as tall as James, kind of lanky. The guy didn't have a lot of muscle mass to him and James had already figured he could easily take him, not that he would, obviously. 

“Who's the guy?” Alistair asked. 

“Don't know, don't care.” James let out an annoyed huff, bringing his drink to his lips in an attempt to hide his grimace. He wasn't going to admit that the guy didn’t sit right with him.

“Don't care? Your glaring lasers at the guy.” He scoffed. “Yea. You don't care.” James looked briefly at his friend before back at Y/N and the mystery guy. Y/N looked disinterested, but kept the conversation going regardless. He had watched as the mystery guy's hand had come up and made contact with her, and James would admit, the guy was ballsy. 

His eyes glared slightly. Alistair caught the movement and smirked. 

“Do you like her?” He asked. James was caught off guard by the question, finally tearing his eyes off of Y/N. 

“What do you mean?” James decided on the playing stupid route. 

“You know what I mean. I've seen the change in the way you look at her. It might be easy to lie and cheat past Cyril because of his lackadaisical attitude. but not me. And the way you are staring at that guy right now, as he gets all close.” James turned his attention back to Y/N. The guy had brushed some hair out of her face and placed his hand on her bicep. He watched as it trailed down and went for her hand but she pulled it back. 

A breath of relief got caught in James' throat. Was he relieved that she pulled her hand away?

“And now he's touching her. And you don't like it.” James clenched his jaw as he turned to Alistair. His eyes searched his friend's face, but what he was trying to find, he didn't know. Alistair raised an eyebrow. “What are you going to do James?”

James turned his attention back to Y/N. The guy now had a hand on her waist and she had started to look uncomfortable. He decided to that as his silent que.

“That's for the pep talk Alistair.” James cleared his throat, and proceeded over to where Y/N and the mystery guy were. 

His arm had come up and around Y/N's waist,pulling her away from him and against his own body. Her back thumped against his chest and his gaze leveled with that of the guy in front them. 

“James.” Y/N was surprised at the possessiveness. James had never acted like this before, especially not towards her. Her gaze turned to him, trying and failing to read him.

“Hello, sweetheart. Who is this?” He asked. Y/N swallowed, looked up at James and then the guy before them. 

“This is my ex. Oliver.” She stated. Her tone was bored, tired. James caught on that she didn't quite like the guy. Which was obvious, considering he was an ex. 

“And you are? 

James looked over at the guy. He sized him up and down. 

“James Beaufort.” He answered. “Her fiance.” Oliver had seemed to clam up. He swallowed nervously, his eyes moving back and forth between James and Y/N. James gave him a cocky smile, his fingers slipping underneath her flannel, palm settling on bare skin. “Also the heir of the Beaufort clothing line business. But we won't get into that.” James tilted his head slightly, maintaining the cockiness in his attitude.

Oliver caught sight of it, shuffling nervously in place. 

“Well, it's, uh. Good to meet you. I didn't know she was engaged.” 

“Personal information. We've only told those we are close to.” James explained. Oliver looked at Y/N. Y/N had a smile of amusement on her face. She enjoyed seeing Oliver squirm, especially if the main reason for it was because of James. Was he jealous? Did he see Oliver touch her? 

Oliver didn't have much to say after James joined the conversation, if you would call it that. 

“Mostly friends and family. People that we like.” Y/N added a sneer in her words as she spoke to Oliver. He winced. It was awkward for a few moments, as the three looked between each other, until Oliver extended his hand out to James. 

James only stared at it, before staring at Oliver. After a few moments of silence, Oliver withdrew his hand. He politely excused himself and left, leaving just the two to by themselves. 

The two watched him leave, and just as Y/N was about to question James, he spun her to face him and pressed a kiss to her lips. His hands found her cheeks, holding her against him. Y/N was engulfed in shock at the action, before her arms wrapped around his neck, pressing herself further against him. James was relieved when she sunk against him and begun to kiss him back. 

It confirmed to him what her feelings were, and it was now evident that they felt the same way towards each other. 

They finally pulled away, breathing heavily and looking at each other. It was silent for several moments. 

“I'll be honest. It's kind of hot when you're possessive.”

“I wasn't being possessive.” James defended himself. Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smile on her face. He flashed one back, before pulling her back in for another kiss. James knew he could get used to that, and something told him that she felt the same way. 

---

taglist: @honethatty12 @lifeonawhim @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 @maryvibess @wheredidmyeyesgo @imasimptoowth @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @sillyfreakfanparty

[raindotdrop]

🔞 vergil x reader | whole new breed

‧₊˚♡ summary: you were turned into a devil to save your life after a fatal attack. adapting to this new form has been okay⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯until you experience your first heat.

‧₊˚♡ word count: 2.2k

‧₊˚♡ content & warnings: smut | fem reader | piv | heat cycles | fluffy, they're in love | first time writing smut after reading so many hahahah hii

The transformation you underwent from human to devil, it was never meant to happen. You didn't know it could happen.

You were meant to die months ago, but your lover didn't allow that.

It was a brutal mission. While your fellow hunters were panicking, already grieving you⎯it took Vergil minutes to recite an ancient ritual. The man sacrificed his own flesh like it was nothing, then watched you rise from your bloody spot on the ground, ready to rejoin the fight.

He reduced fate to a joke that day, spitting into death's embrace for trying to claim you. Claiming you is his job.

Your devilish transition has been relatively easy. You look the same, sound the same, act the same. Really, the only difference is your strength. Nothing feels heavy or tiring to you anymore, nothing hurts.


Except for one thing.

Does it hurt? You aren't sure. It's... distracting, if you had to describe it. Day by day, you've been feeling more feverish. Needy, lonely, grumpy, dripping. You've forgotten the names of everyone else in your life because Vergil is dominating your foggy thoughts.

He's been working for days straight now, leaving you to worsen in your shared bed. Normally, he answers your every demon-related question and tends to you, but he's gone.

Without him present, the mere thought of him leaves you humping whatever smells like him the most. His pillow is drenched in your fluids, his clothes held up to your nose as you orgasm.

An obscene amount of slick pours from between your legs at all times, to the point where you've ditched bottoms. Your nipples are too sensitive to be covered, too. If it's fabric and not your fingers then it hurts.

Something is definitely wrong, but you don't care about all that human side versus demon side junk. You want Vergil. You don't want this frenzy to end on its own, you want him to come home and fuck it out of you.

On his side of the bed, everything is soaked. You're pathetically attempting to finger yourself at different angles and speeds because you're praying you can replicate the way he does it. Laying flat on the sheets is how you've chased your past few highs, any other position is too much of a chore.

His scent is growing stronger, your fingers pump in and out as you're buried face down in a pair of his boxers. The musk is so powerful all of a sudden, it's as if he's there. You're cumming from the intensified smell alone, shaking harder than you have in hours. Nobody warned you about the sensitivity your senses would develop.

Before you even lift your head from the bed, you're blindly reaching out for another piece of clothing to destroy. Someone grabs your wrist before you can.

With a jolt, you look up, and none other than Vergil is looking down at you. He seems to be studying you moreso than anything else.

"So I was off. I predicted your cycle would strike next week, not now..." he muses aloud, but you barely understand him. Despite Vergil being the one to grab your wrist, you've turned the tides so you're clinging onto him instead, both hands gripping him. Almost in disbelief, as if letting go means he'll vanish.

You roll onto your back using his arm as an anchor, revealing your glistening breasts to him. You're trying to tug him down onto you to no avail, whining rather than greeting him. You blink up at him, as he observes the way you leak like a waterfall from his proximity.

"Beautiful," that word kills you inside. You keep yanking at his arm, animalistically, your demonic side obscures every single word you've learned. "I would have relieved you days ago, had I known. Well, I⎯⎯"

"Vergil!" you cry out in frustration, the only word on your tongue.

Pity flashes on his features when he sees how much discomfort you must be in. Vergil had taken up extra work so he could free up his schedule during your first heat. It pains him to see his incorrect calculations lead to this.

Of course, it makes his pants feel tight and fills him with almost as much desire as you (if that's possible), but he wishes he could have guided you through every single step with care, not be invisible while your heat worsened. You must have been so confused...

"Vergil, please!" you snap him from his thoughts. Propped up on your elbows now, your eyes are watering. Sobbing, almost, and you're sucking on his fingers.

Every cell in your body craves him so much, it feels like you're going to explode. The confusion you felt from your heat's onslaught is long gone, replaced with a 'this is so right' feeling the moment Vergil entered the room.

His wet fingers pop from your mouth and stroke your cheek, coating you in your saliva. The affection in that gesture is your saving grace, you know he's going to please you from that touch alone.

"Alright. I won't keep you waiting." he says, his tone is more gravelly now that he's fully realized what he's going to do. This was unexpected, but he isn't objecting whatsoever.

Your body is so sensitive from the amount of climaxes you've inflicted on yourself, that when Vergil begins to shrug his coat off, you can't tell if you actually just orgasmed from the sight or not. The pulses around your body intensify as he reveals his bare arms to you. Do you want to watch him strip, or are you so impatient you want him to just fucking take you already with his clothes barely hanging on? It's unclear. You begin to paw at his thighs, trying to shred the fabric off.

"Eager little thing..." he coos, swatting your hands away so he can undress with no obstacles. He's stripping faster than ever before, but to you, it feels like he's moving in slow motion. Every second that he's not inside of you feels like a thousand years of emptiness. "I'm here now, don't worry." Despite his reassurances, he's the one who's worried, hoping you aren't in any pain.

Once his cock springs out, leaking precum from the feral sight enticing him, you lunge at it. Instantly, the whole length is wrapped around your lips. You're too distracted to properly suck him off, shaky hands touching him with no rhyme or reason.

Vergil chuckles. "Now, this isn't about me," he says, knotting his fingers in your hair so he can pull your mouth off. You put up quite a fight, common sense clouded by desire. Your mouth isn't the hole that's begging for him, it's just the nearest one, so it reaches in without thinking.

"We have time for that another day." The force he had to apply, it has you tumble backwards on the bed. Gasping on your back, you're already kicking at the air, aching to be close again. Drool stains your chin because you just tasted him after imagining it for so long and your body is screaming for seconds.

You see him sitting at the foot of the bed, fully bare. The sheets beneath him are coated in your release. His precum joins the mix as he rakes over your figure, mind racing with thoughts of how he can tame you when you're like this. It's a challenge that leaves his cock straining in the air.

He sternly says your name right before you try crawling back, and you freeze.

"Lay back."

The authority in his tone gets through to you, so you rest your back on the damp pillows. It takes every ounce of self control not to clamber over to him, but you know he's a man who should be listened to.

"Good girl." You twitch. He notices. "I'll fix this. Allow me,"

Relaxing in this state is impossible, but as you lean backward, the shaking in your body eases up. He kneels in front of your quivering form, still searching for any signs of pain, knowing how long your heat was left unchecked.

Your devil side is shrieking at you to touch him, but your human side finally triumphs over it, laying back so he can ravage you. Stilling yourself, breaths steadying...

An experimental hand of Vergil's rubs at your folds and all that progress is undone. You arch into the mass of pillows behind you, whimpering out, "Vergil.. please, more..!"

"I have to see if you're ready." his stern tone remains, guiding you through this the way he always intended to.

He gathers up slick, feeling you up. Obviously, you're wet enough for him to fold you over and pound you right there, but he still has to confirm for himself. Your comfort matters so much to him, even like this. Once he realizes the extent of your wetness, the fact your pussy has been getting stuffed all day, something primal ignites within him.

"I am... please, I'm so.." your begging doesn't even make sense, but the sweet sound of it nearly has Vergil trip over his words, betraying the composed way he presents himself.

"Yes, you're ready. The things you must have done before I arrived..." he trails off, having to stop himself because that imagery is dangerous territory. "You'll have to show me, next cycle."

His toned arms position themselves near your neck, a snug embrace that you nuzzle into. He wants to hold you if he's going to ruthlessly breed you, never letting you forget how much he loves you.

If only he knew that every moment you're alive is a personal reminder of his devotion, whether he's there or not. His ritual, his sacrifice, his refusal to let you die is why you're here. His love for you transcends biology and reality itself. Human or devil, you're his.

His tip smacks at your entrance and it sends you spiralling. His eyes are fixed on your face, so it takes some positioning to find your hole. He's a demon too⎯the way your face is coated in tears, slick, plus a mixture of his spit and yours, drives him absolutely wild and he has to inhale your scent just like you did with his boxers.

"So beautiful," he echoes his previous words as he buries himself to the hilt, your walls all but absorbing him. The tears of joy that stream down your cheeks are kissed away by his busy lips. You begin to utter out a 'please', which he swallows right up. "No need to beg, I'll give you everything."

He kisses you like a man starved, fucking you hard into the mattress. His upper and lower halves work in tandem to make up for lost time, whispering praises and consuming you.

He doesn't have to hold back anymore with your newfound demonic endurance. To say he's drilling you is an understatement. Everything feels shaky but so right. The sensitivity of your heat-riddled body already has you clenching and cumming around him. Less than a minute in, and you're not ashamed. You're already trying to embrace the next one.

"Let it out," he grunts into your jaw, peppering kisses to it to mask his own sounds. He wants to focus on you, not him. Vergil tells himself you'll receive five climaxes minimum before he comes close to his, but you're making it difficult for him. "Let it all out, that's it... let me care for you, my vixen."

One arm holds you close, but the other has a more important role down at your clit. It rubs circles into the nub, and you're fluttering around his cock again. You feel his length twitch uncontrollably in response, on the verge of emptying himself inside you.

Vergil knows he can't actually impregnate you unless in his devil trigger form. He spent time researching how this moment will unfold for you.

"You'll be safe," is how he expresses this to you, unable to hold back any longer.

You're breathless when your walls are splattered with his seed. He spurts and spurts with no sign of stopping⎯your heat absolutely impacts the one you mate with, you discover.

As you're filled, he pulls himself out so the stream of cum can reach your torso as well. Your stomach leading up to your breasts is coated, then your expressive face. If a body part exists, it's marked by him. Vergil's grunts grow louder than your lustful cries for one singular second before he bites your neck to muffle them.

The fire inside of you feels quenched for a few seconds, like you can finally resume your daily life, before it snaps right back to being unbearable.

You rub yourself against Vergil's weeping cock, silently begging for another round. It's not enough. Will anything be enough? You don't see an ending to this rut, just an urgent dream of Vergil stuffing you again. His cum trickling out isn't a finality, it's lubrication for the rest of the night.

Picking up on your unrest, he repositions his hips with ease. "You and I will be here a while," there's another nip to your neck to accompany the rocking of his hips, "best to get comfortable."

[number-onekidqueen]

The Seven Times Luke Castellan Said 'I Love You'

Luke Castellan x Apollo!fem!reader

Pure angst.

3.7k words

Warnings: death, injury, insecurities, bad parenting, spoilers for Percy Jackson book series.

One. 

Luke must’ve been four the first time he ever said those three words. 

He’d been at preschool, and it was the second week. He’d missed mommy. He felt different to all the other kids, and there were all these really scary faces that kept popping out of bushes that no one else could see. His mommy had picked him up early when the preschool called, and taken him home to a surprise. She’d baked his favourite: choc chip cookies, and he was even allowed to drink Kool-Aid too! 

“I love you, mommy!!” He’d mumbled, while he stuffed his little mouth with the baked goods, in a sugary daze. 

It made him feel so much better, knowing at least he had mommy to always come home to and rely on. 

If only that had been true. 

Two. 

He was 9 when he said that sentence for the second time. 

Mom wasn’t there for him anymore. 

He was scared to go to school and leave her alone, because every time he got home, she would be insane. It’s like she wasn’t there with him anymore. 

She would scream so loud and her eyes would be bright green, and she’d shake him and cry, wailing about how he was going to die. Usually it would make him so disturbed he’d run into his bedroom and lock the door, hoping she wouldn’t follow. 

She always did. 

It was when she started to pound on his door, begging him to come out, that he’d begin to sob, shaking in fright. 

He’d pray and pray to his dad in desperate tears, asking and asking him to bless his mom, to free her from this curse and to make her better again. It didn’t ever stop. 

She’d still make cookies, sometimes, but she’d forget about them and leave them in for so long they’d always be burnt to cinders. She’d serve Kool-Aid too, but he’d grown out of it. 

Eventually, he couldn’t stand it anymore. His mom wasn’t getting better, but worse. Her fits were getting more frequent, and Luke’s dad wasn’t doing anything to help him. 

Luke couldn’t stay here a second longer. 

“I love you, mum,” he whispered to her curled figure on the couch, a full backpack on his shoulder and all his childhood allowance in his pockets as he softly closed the door. 

He knew they’d be better off without each other. 

Three. 

Luke was fourteen when he said that phrase for the third time. 

He’d finally found his family. 

Sure, it hurt to think of his mother, all alone in his old house, but he had two amazing, brave and funny sisters to make up for that.

Until he didn’t. 

It was all such a blur. 

One second, they’d just been meeting some satyr by the name of Grover, who claimed to be their protector, a safeguard back to a camp for kids like them. 

They’d been on the journey, he, Thalia, Annabeth, wondering what it would be like when they got there, what would happen. 

And then the cyclops had struck. 

It had all gone too quickly from there. They’d been running madly, tripping through the forest scrub, their hearts pumping, their adrenaline pulsing, Grover yelling that the entrance to camp wasn’t far, that they’d be safe there and to keep going. 

The cyclops was still gaining on them,  and Luke was starting to feel an awful sense of dread. 

Then Thalia - brave, amazing, stupid Thalia - had volunteered to fight the monster. She’d told them to run ahead, that she had the sucker and would be right behind them. 

And Luke was scared and thinking of Annabeth and safety, and he agreed, he kept running. 

He left her. 

His sister. 

He swore he blinked once, and then she was dying, crumpled on the dirt, bleeding out and groaning in pain, camp only an ironic few metres away. 

None of them even had time to reach out a hand to help her before she turned golden, vanished into a great big pine tree. 

Gone forever before he could say goodbye. 

“I love you, Thalia,” he whispered that night, not caring that he was breaking curfew rules, getting too close to the dangerous outskirts of camp. 

Not caring he was using present tense. He refused to say ‘loved.’

Because he would love Thalia forever. 

Four

Luke was sixteen the fourth time he uttered those words. 

After all his life he was finally at home. 

He’d grown accustomed and comfortable with camp, accepting it as his home. Even though sometimes it was weird to be at a summer camp all year round, he found happiness in his new place, trying to forget about the bad things. Thalia. His mother. 

He’d found peace in routine, and confidence. Chiron said he was becoming what would be the best swordsman Camp Half-Blood had seen in 300 years. 

There were his friends and siblings. He had Chris and the Stolls, and all the other Hermes kids that made his cabin rowdy and feel homelike. 

Then there was y/n, probably his best friend, an Apollo girl who’d healed him immediately after he got to camp and had been there for him since. 

There were heaps of activities to keep him busy. Training. Capture the flag. Parties, when he was old enough. 

It had been the second of one of the post-curfew parties Luke had been to, and he admitted he had drank too much. Far too much. 

Things had got out of hand when an Ares boy had insulted you, someone who was lovely to everyone. He couldn’t really even remember what the boy had said, only that it enraged him and he’d only seen red after that. 

It all sort of went downhill from there. He’d thrown a punch, received one, and the rest was a sweaty and jagged dance of thrown limbs. 

And now he was here, replaying the events in his mind, sat on the bathroom floor of the Apollo cabin, you kneeling over him with a warm cloth. His fists clenched at the thought of that stupid boy again. 

“Luke,” you whispered, and the thoughts disappeared. “Look at me so I can fix you up.”

He didn’t have to be asked twice. It gave him an excuse to openly stare at you. In this dim light, you were gorgeous. Your skin seemed to glow golden from within, which mirrored the bright warmth of your eyes, and the radiance of your hair that framed your face. It was bittersweet, making him happy yet sick with longing, especially in his drunken state, to think of how you weren’t his. I want you, he wanted to whisper. He nearly did. 

“Thank you. You’re so good.” He said instead. 

“I don’t know about that, but always. That’s what best friends are for,” you reassured, smiling. 

His heart sank. He didn’t want you like a best friend. He wanted you to want him like he wanted you. 

“Yeah,” he said offhandedly. 

There was a long pause. Your touch was soft on the cuts all over him, and although it stung, it was worth it. It was finished all too soon except-

“I’m still hurt,” he tried to explain, but the words wouldn’t form, “like, my chest.”

“He got you there too? Through your shirt?”

“Yeah. Little sucker had a pocketknife and everything.”

“Ok,” you replied. The room stayed silent. Suddenly, he was confused. 

“Um-“

“Yeah, sorry, I just zoned out, um-“

Your hands reached for him almost… shyly. Could it be possible that you were overthinking seeing him like this, flustered, also thinking about him like he was about you? It drew a grin to his face. He decided to play with you. 

“You don’t have to treat me that delicately. I promise it doesn’t hurt that much.” 

You gave a nervous laugh, your hands moving slightly faster as he lifted his arms. 

And then it was time to gauge your reaction. Your eyes were certainly not on him, but his chest, and it almost seemed your cheeks had transitioned from golden to rosy. His grin turned into a smirk. 

“I gather that stare is either in reaction to my amazing abs or really bad cut. Either way, take it all in,” he teased. It occurred to him later he would never have said anything remotely like this if he was sober. 

“Haha, Castellan,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes and continuing your job. But you were smiling. 

Your features were even softer closer up. It took his breath away, and he couldn’t help the words that next escaped from the confines of his heart. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

You froze, midway through finishing dabbing a cut. Your eyes looked up at his, his earnest, vulnerable irises. And then you looked down at his lips. And dropping the cloth, you took his face into your hands and kissed him. It was the most exhilarating, fantastic five seconds of his life. And then you pulled away, stepping back. 

“There you go. That’s probably all you wanted, since you’re drunk. You’re-you’re healed now.” You stuttered out. 

And he wanted to chase you, have another kiss, try to create a proper response to that, to why he loved you, but you’d ran away from him, and he didn’t want to be snooping through someone else’s cabin, even in his state. 

He was left reeling in the moonlight, stumbling back to his cabin before the harpies found him. Once he was between the sheets, his mind muddled, he found it easy to fall asleep, the image and feel of you still in his mind. 

He woke up the next day, baffled that his mind could come up with a dream so lifelike. Even mad that maybe a Hypnos kid has taken note of his crush and decided to create a dream like that as a prank. What assholes. 

Because you would never kiss someone like him, he knew that. 

Like ever. 

Five

Luke was seventeen the fifth time he said that statement. 

He hadn’t known things could get so much worse. 

His father, finally acknowledging him after his claiming, had sent him on a quest. Sure, it was a reused quest from Heracles, but Luke knew just how glorified and contested quests were, and so he accepted happily, choosing two of the older and more experienced campers to assist him in retrieving the golden apples from the dragon. 

You were a bit offended that he hadn’t chose you, and he had no explanation that he could offer you, save for a confession. It made for a parting laced with bitterness. 

The quest started off fine, and they got to their destination smoothly, but it quickly went downhill from there. 

Once they were in the garden, almost immediately the dragon was alerted of their presence. It began to attack, using quick, violent manoeuvres that were hard to keep up with for even the most experienced. 

Too hard for one of his quest mates, who became food for the monster’s jaws. It was a sickening, gruesome sight that Luke could never wipe from his mind. 

The other quest mate became injured soon after that, and then it was Luke on his own. 

At that point, even he knew the quest was lost. He was just defending himself and trying to get out alive. And so he did, with a painful scar from eye to chin as a marking of his forever defeat against the dragon. 

He returned as a failure. 

He was wounded, with a permanent and ugly physical memory, one of his quest mates was dead, the other also mortally wounded, and their fingers hadn’t even grazed the golden flesh of the apples. He couldn’t even finish an already done quest. 

Worse was the pity. 

The moment he stepped past Thalia’s tree and into camp, all he received was pity. Quiet voices, soft glances, stopped conversations, permits, excuses. 

It was as if he were the dragon, and they were afraid that if they did not tread lightly he may begin roaring flames at them. 

He never did. 

Just like y/n never treated him with pity. 

Your eyes were objective, calculating as they surveyed his wounds. Of course your words were soft, but they always were, with your perfect bedside manner. In those moments where you treated him normally, he couldn’t appreciate you more. 

Worst of all probably were the nightmares. He had one awful recurring one: he’d be back in that hellish garden, the dying screams of his dead quest mate and the roaring of the dragon in his ears, the adrenaline and chase all through him, and then every camper he’d ever known would appear, surround him and shake their heads, looking at him in pity and knowing he was a failure. They would chant it, and pelt burning rocks at him, and he would run, run, run, but he could never escape it. 

He couldn’t bear it one hot late July night, and slipped away under the stars. He was always calmer there, where he could put himself and his feelings into perspective. 

And that’s where y/n had found him, sitting on the dew-soaked grass with his knees loosely curled to his chest. 

You didn’t say anything in the beginning, just sat there beside him, breathing, stargazing too. 

“I’ve seen you come out here, every night this week.” You stated, finally looking over at him. “Are the nightmares that bad?”

He nodded, gulping down the fear and tears that submerged at the thought. 

“You should’ve come to me, you know we have dreamless tonic at the infirmary-“

“Yeah I know. But I deserve it, don’t I?” He asked bitterly, turning to you, “I failed and so I get to live with the consequences. The nightmares.”

“No. No, of course not. You don’t have to face consequences-“

“But I do already, don’t I? I feel like I’m not even the same at all, like I’ll never be the same again. I’ve got this stupid, disgusting scar,” he spat, jabbing at his face, “as this reminder and I’ve got to live knowing I wasn’t ever good enough to succeed and my failure led to someone’s death.”

There was silence for a while, where you gazed at him, at his eyes. 

“Stop blaming yourself,” you said softly, “I won’t let you.”

“I can’t help it though,” he whispered, voice cracking, “after training for so long and everyone telling me I’m the best swordsman, I couldn’t save someone, could barely defend myself. And now they’re dead, because of me. And every time I try and forget it- I look in the mirror and see this-this scar and-“

You scooted closer, and one of your hands laid over his. 

“Your scar isn’t a symbol of failure. It should never be. It means you’re brave, that you survived that dragon-“ you reached for his face, and so, so gently began to run your index finger down his scar, “-that you’ve overcome all that horror and emerged stronger.”

You cupped his cheek after you finished tracing. His heart was racing. 

“And you’re still the same to me. You’re still smart, funny, brave, handsome, strong. You’re still you. Don’t let anyone take that away.”

Your hand slowly drew away from his face, but he caught it, keeping you there. 

And he stared. 

Stared at this beautiful, golden girl who was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He could only think of three words. 

“I love you,” he whispered to you, and he slowly leaned in. 

You kissed, his hands in your silky hair and yours on his strong back, and this was the most effective healing Luke had ever had. 

He knew at this moment that the best he would ever be was with you. 

And that would be always, he hoped. 

Six. 

Luke was nineteen the next time he spoke from his heart. 

Things were finally getting better, but they had a long way to go. Luke would be there to see the good change come through. 

Camp was normal. Demigods died, demigods lived. They got claimed, their parents ignored them for months or years. They would train for quests, row, sing at camp fires. He would teach sword classes, rowing, and in his spare time he and y/n would go to their secret spot at the lake and…. Spend some time together in private. 

Flustered and a little ruffled they would return to have dinner, stargaze, play wild games of Capture the Flag. 

Luke was happy enough. But he didn’t know how long this would last, this calm joy. 

He couldn’t live like this, waiting in fear for the other shoe to drop with no help from his dad and the other gods. 

He’d made his decisions, laid his plans, and now he waited. Waited. 

Tangled in your arms, he traced shapes on your hands as you played with his hair. It was a warm environment, like the home he never had. 

The nightmares never really left Luke. Well, unless you were with him. 

It was many a night, after curfew, when snores were in the air that he would sneak into your cabin and join you (There were too many people in Hermes cabin for the alternative to ever happen). 

And there in your bed he would stay. Sometimes you would talk. Sometimes you would make out. And sometimes you would have quiet times like this, all of each other intertwined as you were lost in comforting thoughts. 

Well, you were. 

Luke was lost in guilt and impossible choices. He never wanted to leave you, be apart from you. He didn’t know how he’d live without seeing you, hearing your voice. And he hated to leave you like this.  But he knew you would never join him. Apollo hadn’t been great, but he hadn’t been terrible and he knew his plans would scare you. He wanted the best for half bloods. This was the only way he could think of. When he came back, surely you would understand. 

“You’re so quiet,” you mumbled, from your place under his chin. “What’s wrong?”

“You know what I was thinking about?” And he made up some deep philosophical thought that the two of you quietly discussed and argued about for the next little while, the conversation drifting to other topics before you got drowsy. 

“Good night,” you murmured, lifting your face to kiss his nose, scar and lips softly. You returned your head to its place, your warm lips in a smile against his neck, “see you in the morning.”

His stomach plunged, and he felt sick with guilt. He reached over for you, drawing you in for a long, passionate kiss. You, still half asleep, confusedly frowned, but settled back into him with a grin on your face. It was a goodbye, but you didn’t know that. 

“I love you,” he breathed, while you fell asleep, and he swore he saw your lips turn upwards. You succumbed to sleep quickly, and it made it simple to softly slip away, escape from you. 

As he passed Thalia’s tree, he turned back to look at the cabins, your cabin. 

He’d run away once from a home, and it had hurt him. But it had been worth it in the end, and he didn’t regret it. 

It hurt running away from this home. Was it worth leaving if it tore his heart into two? He supposed only time would tell. Fitting, giving who his new master was. 

——————

And that was the last time Luke ever said I love you. 

Well, there was once more. 

——————————

Seven. 

He didn’t know how old he was when he said that small sentence for the final time. 

All he knew was he obeyed Kronos and that the gods had to be slain. 

The city at least was familiar. A deep, small part of him felt almost… scared and upset that this city was being damaged. 

Oh, and the people. There was a boy he hated, who was powerful and threatening. And a girl with him, who he should hate but he seemed to, well, not. 

It had all unfolded so suddenly, the defeat, and suddenly he remembered bits and pieces. 

He’d betrayed camp half blood, the only home that he had known, but only so the gods would pay attention to them, be better parents. But what he was doing now wasn’t what he had wanted. Not at all. 

He supposed it was an easy decision to make when the boy - ….. Percy - told him to stab himself in the armpit. 

He did and finally, in the deadly silence, he was himself again. He was Luke Castellan. A demigod, a child of Hermes. A lot of other things. 

For a moment all he could see was the blonde girl whose name he couldn’t remember, that stared at him as he began to writhe in pain. The same blonde girl he couldn’t seem to hate, who he seemed to be soft for. 

A lot of other faces stared too, who seemed to be familiar to him but he couldn’t place. 

And then there was screaming. Loud, pained screams and running footsteps and a panic rose inside of him. He knew that scream, although he’d rarely heard it. 

And there was you, y/n. A face and voice he instantly knew, that he would remember half-dead, which ironically reflected the place he was in now. 

You were as beautiful as he remembered, even now, your face contorted, grimy, tears streaming, your hair a sweaty mess. 

“No, I can heal him, I can heal him.” You sobbed, kneeling beside him and trying to staunch the bleeding which he could oddly not feel. 

He hated seeing you like this. So sad, hurt, in pain. Knowing there was nothing he could do to improve it made it even worse. 

He reached for your hand, squeezing it and attempting a weak smile. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, “I’m sorry for everything I ever did to you, because you never deserved it. And-“ he coughed, dust in his lungs. 

“I love you.” He said, loud and clear for the world to hear. He wanted to say more, but his chest was weak. 

It was only them for that moment. You dove in and kissed him, just as passionately as he had that final night. It took his breath away, and he found himself grinning, joyous, at peace. 

It was a goodbye, but he didn’t know that.

[zelphin124]

Dust x YN Short Story

You simps... this is the result of this poll.

Uh, yeah... Here we go I guess.

THIS IS YOUR FAULT @kuuuuro YOU BIAS LIL NUGGET /lh

I swear I have motivation somewhere-

~o0o~

Twenty weeks.

You started to lose count of the days as you circled your cell. The sun was setting again, so your evening meal would arrive soon.

Nightmare had kidnapped you not so long ago. All you could gather was you were being used as a bargaining chip. If your friends didn't make enough negative energy in your AU, you would die.

Depression would be achieved either way.

You heard tales of the negative king. You know that he had a brother who was the positive opposite of him, you also heard fantasies of him having a soft spot for people, wanting to just have a time of rest.

None of those were true at all.

He was the definition of evil. He was cruel and treated everyone poorly to feed off it. He didn't care about anyone, not even his own employees, who were the ones that brought you food. He laughed in the face of requests and always got what he wanted, one way or another, often making others kill for him.

This led your train of thought to the various employees. There was Killer, the smiley, toxic one. He never shut up and obeyed Nightmare like a dog. He was the one who wanted to cause you the most pain. His addiction to blood and knives didn't help with that. You found it unsettling how much black ink dripped from his eyes when he looked at you. You knew he saw you as an object, nothing more. He has threatened to do horrendous things to you to please his boss... but... he hasn't laid a hand on you yet.

Horror was the second employee. He appeared to be the polar opposite of Killer in personality but equally as unsettling. He would stare at you for long hours, his bulging red eye unwavering and not blinking. You have overheard many conversations that he wanted to save you for a meal. Whenever he was hungry, he lingered not too far from you. If it weren't for the negativity he gave off when he was unable to eat you, you were sure Nightmare would've let him already.

Then there was Murder Sans. He was the quietest, and the one who didn't say much, if at all. The entire time you've known him, he lurked in conversations and only gave off nods, shrugs, and head shakes as communication. The other two employees were terrified of him; they often talked about his LV levels and how he could kill them easily. Although all of them were murderers, he was the only one reluctant to do it again.

Especially to you.

When he came to give you food, you didn't have to cower in the corner or tell them to leave. He barely said anything to you, but he's whispered enough words to tell you his voice was rasp and aloof. His eyes never narrowed at you, and he didn't stare like the others. If you caught him staring, he would respectfully look away, going about his business. He always ensured that you got the best food and that none of it dropped before it reached you. Sometimes, he would take the food that he got and give it to you. His coworkers always said he acted weird when he saw you, but you couldn't quite tell why.

You couldn't tell anything about him, in reality.

The door to your cell opened. You pressed yourself against the damp, cold, stone bricks of your cell, the chains around your ankles clamped tight. You prayed that it wasn't Killer again; you didn't want to fake happy feelings in your heart for Nightmare to come take him away.

You couldn't tell which coworker it was until their entire body walked down the stairs. They all wore the same clothing, and the only difference they had from one another was their faces.

You saw the hooded employee holding a candle in one hand and your food in the other. You sigh in relief, the pace of your heartbeat slowing down tremendously. His red eyes glowed softly as his gaze shifted towards you. He looked more tired than usual.

"Your food," he raises it up before setting it down by your feet.

You were starving. Before he could say anything else, you gulfed down the food before him, delighting at the taste of mashed potatoes and green beans. Although you used to be picky, prison has taught you to like every form of food. Anything that Dust brought you tasted good.

He watched you eat before sitting down in front of you. You didn't notice until your food was good. Thanking him for the food, you lay back down on the paved floor, hoping that you wouldn't get back pain as you slept.

Murder traced his hands across the floor before he looked back up at you. "It's boring in here, do you wanna watch a movie?"

At first, you were confused. Did you want to watch a movie? Of course you did; anyone would take that over sitting in a cell again all night. Heck, you haven't been out of the cell in weeks, and you started to smell, let alone go crazy. You nod, telling him you wish to, but you couldn't because you were chained-

The bones that flew through the chains around your frail body shattered as bones shot up from the ground. For the first time, the weight of the metal was off your skin, setting you free. You reach down and rub your ankles and wrists, which you were unable to touch weeks before.

As you were distracted, you felt hands wrap around your waist and legs. Your eyes widen as he hoists you up into his arms and carries you out of the stall. You yelp from shock, asking him what's going on.

"I need a movie partner. Horror doesn't want to watch movies with me anymore," he explained nonchalantly. "And call me Dust, please."

You were about to ask more questions but kept your mouth shut as he carried you through the castle and up the stairs. You passed the dining room where the rest of the castle inhabitants were.

"Pass me the sauce Horror!" Killer cried.

"No, I'm using it." Horror dumped a large amount of sauce onto whatever he was eating.

"You're going to eat it all!" Killer whined.

"Both of you shut up," Nightmare twirled his food around with a fork, looking slimy as ever.

Despite being so close to your kidnappers, they did not notice you and Dust. Not even Nightmare caught a glimpse of the silent worker carrying you up toward his room, as if he had years of practice slipping away...

As he opened the door to his room, you were greeted with a heavy scent of forest pine. His windows were open and a soft breeze blew into his room. It wasn't the most tidy room, there were a few hooks and a red scarf lying across the floor. His bed was massive and faced a TV, which was on its home screen. There was little to no light besides the gaping moon outside.

Dust set you down by the bathroom door. "Shower, clean, whatever you do I guess," he scavenged through his dresser. He pulled out a hoodie and some sweatpants. "I just washed these, will these work?"

The clothes he gave you looked so comfortable, and nothing would do besides the rags you were in currently. You didn't waste time and headed into the shower, finally cleaning yourself of the prison stench you had become so accustomed to. Despite Dust's appearance, it was clear that he took good care of himself. He seemed to have a higher respect for himself than the others.

As you walk out, you barely put on the hoodie, finding Dust on his bed scrolling through different videos. He glanced you up and down and patted the bed next to him. "Do you have a movie preference?"

You inform him of one of the movies you used to watch. Dust shrugged and pulled it up on screen as you sat beside him. Although you tried to keep your distance out of respect, he pulled you closer to him and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. A single pillow was what kept you from being buried in his chest.

You felt the blood rush to your face. Why was he being so nice? You were a prisoner, yet he treated you like a comrade, if not like royalty. He offered you popcorn and watched the movie in silence, asking only two questions throughout the show. He was polite, and he made sure you had enough blankets to keep you warm, and he offered his hand to squeeze when you got scared at certain parts.

When Killer came banging on the door, Dust gestured to you to stay quiet as he changed his voice, barely talking to Killer through the door and telling him to go away. However, he seemed very tired when he sat on the bed again... and fell asleep on your lap.

At first, you panicked. What happens if someone barges through the door? If someone sees you, what will you say? Would they finally kill you?

But something else told you that there was a reason why you weren't dead yet. Perhaps Dust advocated for you and kept you alive behind your back. Perhaps he didn't want you dead. After all, he did want to watch a movie with you.

You gasp from surprise as Dust's arms wrap around you like he is hugging the most treasured thing in the world. His face was buried in your shoulder, and he breathed slowly. If you hadn't fallen for the skeleton and all the kind things he's done for you yet, you sure did now. He was so peaceful as you stroked his head, not moving so he could sleep. He was so kind to you, giving you food and finally freeing you from prison.

You couldn't figure out why but decided not to think about it as your own eyes got droopy. Despite your situation, you had no trouble falling asleep in Dust's arms.

Maybe you'll wake up from this wonderous dream.

Or maybe you'll find out that there is good in everyone after all.

[lightlycareless]

warnings: none.

Naoya didn’t even wait to be officially dismissed before he was rushing—no, flying his way back home.

Always of a common occurrence for him to behave in such way, especially after spending days, if not weeks, away from the Zen’in estate. After a job well done, all that he cared about was relaxing, not having to worry about annoying teammates, complaining civilians, and the endless paperwork that always ensued, and just let the days pass alongside his family.

Those things were enough of a reward for him to actively look forward to the end the day, but after a special something blessed his life, it’s all he ever thought of.

“You’re back home earlier!” you’d chirp as soon as you felt the familiar strong pair of arms encasing you from behind, just short of leaving your bedroom. Due to the circumstances of this abrupt meeting, one could even say you were fated to meet your husband, and honestly? You were not complaining about it, if anything, you were elated to be given this surprise on an already beautiful day.

“I am” he responds, kissing the top of your head before turning you around, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning down to now kiss your lips once, twice, thri— too many times to count. “I missed my girls far too much, I had to come back.”

You giggle, tip toeing to kiss him back before tightly hugging him.

“Welcome home.” You eventually say. “We missed you too.”

“It was insufferable to be out there away from you” he sighs, taking in your scent and relaxing him.

“I can’t imagine” you respond, knowing that sentiment very well. “But that’s over, and you’re finally home with us…”

“I’m glad I’m home earlier” Naoya admits. “I was going mad if I’m being honest.”

“How’d you manage that? I thought you’d be gone for at least another week...”

“I finished some cases faster, that’s all” Naoya kisses the top of your head. “As I said, it’s impossible for me to keep away from my family—It’s either rush to come back or die.”

“Don’t say that” you pout, and he chuckles.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that” He kisses you once more.

You always hated the days he’d have to leave for work, specifically for longer missions where their end was unforeseeable for the near future.

Because the nature of his career entailed high risks, you’d always keep a close eye on your phone, quick to reach for it whenever getting a notification, hoping it was Naoya contacting you, praying it wasn’t with any bad news.

But you guess you couldn’t complain much—you knew exactly what kind of lifestyle waited for you when marrying him, and as much as you get to dislike certain aspects of his career, you also love him for it. After all, it’s how you met in the first place, and Naoya absolutely loves his job as a sorcerer too, regardless of the… other things he didn’t like.

So, you were going to support him no matter what, as well as admire his accomplishments which had led him to be considered as one of the best sorcerers in the whole country!

And who wouldn’t to have a man like that as their husband?

“… I know” you sigh “Well… I’m glad you’re back sooner! But that means I didn’t prepare anything for your return—have you eaten? Or do you want to take a bath instead first? Oh, you must be so exhausted—” you being to fret, and Naoya can’t help but chuckle.

“While I have to admit that all of those things sound very, very good right now—but” he gives you a smile, before it turns into a pout, shyly looking away. “…I was hoping to see someone first.”

Quickly understanding what he means, you waste no time to smile back before grabbing his hand and lead him down to your shared room, where his beloved ones were eagerly waiting for their father’s return: the twin baby girls you had welcomed less than a year ago.

An unexpecting blessing indeed—and not because the thought of a family hadn’t crossed your minds. That happened just a few weeks into your marriage, if not prior.

But rather, because your dream of having a big family ended up becoming true right from the very start.

“Twins?” Naoya breathed, checking one too many times the monitor in which doctor displayed your ultrasound, as if trying to decipher the image the man so identified as two babies, or discover it was a prank.

“Yes—twins. And I can see the gender too! It looks like they’re going to be—”

“No!” you gasp, tightly closing your eyes as to avoid seeing anything that might give away their sex, not that you could understand what he saw but… “I want it to be a surprise!”

It was refreshing to see you so excited to have two babies instead of one, in contrast of his worrisome response, undoubtedly terrified for the difficulties this situation will bring, as well as the many doubts that quickly arose.

“What are we going to do with two of them?!” Naoya frets once out of the doctor’s office, with you silently agreeing with him. While it might be wonderful to have two little Naoya’s or two little Y/N’s (perhaps one of each, they hoped) the truth is that this would be far more difficult to overcome, both mentally, and specially physically for you…

“I guess we’ll have to love them” you attempt to reassure him, and he quickly succumbs to the warmth of your words.

Thankfully, the pregnancy was one with little to no difficulties, and the two girls, named Naoko and Naomi, were born as healthy and beautiful as any parent could hope, perfect for all the love they had to give.

Naoya’s eagerness is what rushed him to open the door before you could even grip the handle, swiftly sliding it open and quickly glancing form one side of the room to the other in search of his lovely ones, eventually finding them playing besides the futon, on the playmat Naoya bought them (because he’d never allow his babies to touch the cold, rough floor! What kind of father would he be if he allowed that?!) alongside one of their many, countless toys you told him to not buy because it was growing a bit excessive… only for you to comply when their adorable puppy eyes convinced you otherwise.

The girls, Naomi and Naoko, seem to be completely enthralled by the colorful toys before them at first, unaware of their father’s presence.

One of them, Naomi, had a small frown on her face while carefully analyzing the toy in her hand, as if trying to decipher how something so bright and fun, yet stiff could exist.

While the other, Naoko, spent her time crawling from one side of the playmat to the other, trying to get used to the movement, perhaps even itching to stand and finally take a few steps of her own…

A notion that makes you and Naoya sad, for both know that it’ll only be a matter of time before they manage to stand up by themselves, walk, run—

Next thing you know, they’ll be leaving the house as adults, ready to dive into their new life.

Oh, neither wants them to grow… but at the same time, there was an eagerness to see them become into the wonderful, successful women you knew they’d be. Perhaps one of them, if not both, would follow Naoya’s footsteps and become sorcerers themselves! Or maybe, they’d settle for a completely different career, something a bit more… calm, less dangerous, but equally essential.

Either way, you and Naoya were more than ready to support them in whatever endeavor they were to follow… even if it meant that both wouldn’t be able to dote at them as much as they did now.

Well, if they ever get lonely, they were sure they could have more kids, right…? Or who knows? Maybe they’d be fortunate enough to have grandchildren!

“Bngh ah!” one of the babies eventually babbles when catching a glimpse of their father—a noise that once registered by Naoya, makes all his worries disappear and focus instead on the swift way they crawl towards him, chubby hands eagerly attempting to reach him, effectively showing that they missed him as much as he did them.

“Naoko-chan, Naomi-chan!” Naoya face lightens, scooping them as soon as they reached him and wasting no time to give their soft, round chubby cheeks a big kiss. “How are my lovely girls? Did you miss me?”

Naomi, the most talkative of the two, is quick to babble in such a manner that gives the impression she understood what he was saying. He smiles.

“Ah, I missed you too!” And Naoya takes this opportunity to give them another kiss, one that now makes Naomi and Naoko giggle. “It was horrible out there, you know? I couldn’t wait to get home with mama and you—I hope you two were good girls while I was away, hm?”

Naomi coos in response, fully engaged in conversation with her dada, while Naoko simply stares at him, placing her soft hand over his face before grasping a thread of his hair—she was always enthralled by the duality of its color, and it made you believe that when she’s older, she might want to dye her hair too…

“I know you were” he says. You always loved how responsive he was to her nonsensical babbles, it’s almost as if he understood her! Might be the reason why she was so interactive in the first place, because there was always someone playing along to her tune. “You’re my daughters after all!”

Naomi smiles, relishing the compliment, but Naoko only squirms, having gotten bored from his hair and wanting to return to her crawling journey. Her father kisses her one last time before putting her back on the floor, where she was quick to pick up from where she left off… but even then, Naoko doesn’t stray much far from her father, crawling around him instead.

You watch the whole scene with great awe, for your heart had greatly missed these heartwarming moments, your heart finding some relief in seeing your family reunited and safe once again.

A smile parts your lips as you decide to take a seat by the futon, with your husband joining you soon after, all whilst still holding Naomi in his arms.

“What did my girls do today?” he asks, obviously referring to you, but Naomi wins you to it as she starts to babble, making the two chuckle out of amusement.

The baby stops, giving the two a curious look as if wondering what they were laughing at. Naomi didn’t intend her reaction to be as adorable as it turned out to be, but you and Naoya just couldn’t help laughing again—unfortunately this time, her face deepened into a frown.

“Oh, it’s nothing baby” you reassure her while pinching her cheek—a gesture that at first has her further confused, but when she sees the smile on your face and the innocence of your touch, she can’t help but to give you a bright smile as well before continuing with the conversation.

“Ah, really?” Naoya says, stringing along with his daughter. “And did you have fun at the park?”

You blink. Did he just…?

Guess he does understand her after all.

“Ranta told me” Your husband explains, as if sensing the disturbance in your mind, masking you sigh. You had to admit you were a bit worried there, believing that you were miscalculating your skills as a parent… “Scared you, didn’t I?”

“A bit” you chuckle and Naoya just smiles.

Naomi would continue babbling on, occasionally raising her hands to add a dramatic effect to her retelling, which makes your husband’s heart flutter— in that aspect, she definitely takes after you.

“I’m glad you had fun, love” he responds. “Maybe next time I can join you and your sister.”

She nods earnestly, and Naoya’s heart finally burst out his chest.

“That’s it. I’m retiring from work; I’m never leaving the estate” he darkly promises.

“Naoya!” you gasp “You—I mean, you can but you’ll regret it!”

“How could you tell me that, when I have these beautiful babies at home?!” he cries back, and you must agree with him, if it were the other way around you don’t think you’d be able to leave them behind…

“Life is cold out there, void of any love. I’d rather be here with you, and my daughters, and dote on both till I can’t no more.”

You give him a tight smile, feeling nothing but empathy for him and the countless sacrifices he must make because of his career.

There’s no doubt in your mind that Naoya loves his family very, very much, and would go to great lengths to ensure their safety and happiness. And while you spend every single day appreciating him for it, there’s this lingering sensation on the back of your mind that suggests you should do something more for him—something special to demonstrate to him that he’s appreciated for all he’s done for you and your daughters. Because no one knows more about the efforts he’s put both into his career and family, than you.

It wasn’t much, at least compared to what he’s done you suppose (If Naoya heard you, oh, he’d be quick to tell you otherwise—to him, you’ve done nothing but the best.) but you were proud to have made a place where Naoya feels cherished and protected. Where he can be himself, your husband, and not the heir with unrealistic expectations everyone else burdened him with, sometimes even berated.

And you’d do anything in your power to keep it that way, as well for your daughters.

“When is your next holiday?” you ask, now holding Naoko who has been tugging at your sleeve for the past few seconds, growing jealous of Naomi’s position and wanting to be held too. She wanted to get up herself, and almost did so too! However, her legs were still not used to her weight, so she could barely take a step before almost falling, an incident avoided thanks to your quick reflexes.

“Not until next month, I believe” he responds while squeezing Naomi’s cheeks—he always thought that out of the two, the babies looked the most like you. Of course, judging by how easy it was for him to tease their cheeks, a curse you had unknowingly bestowed on your daughters. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing” you smile, shrugging. “Just something I was wondering…”

Naoya smiles, because after years and years of knowing you, he rightfully assumes you’re planning something—and surprises from you are always well received, so he lets the topic die soon after.

He sighs.

“I’m tired” he says, laying back on the futon and placing Naomi over his chest. Once she’s comfortable, he rests his hand over her back, caressing her softly.

“How was work, outside of exhausting?” you ask, trying to hold Naoko in place for she’d begun to squirm yet again, this time from seeing her sister comfortably laying over their dad. Victim to her adorableness, you quickly succumb to her desires and carefully place her over Naoya’s chest, who quickly accommodates her under his embrace without complaint.

“Awful” Naoya admits. “Everyone always has something to say, something to suggest, but of course, no one ever cares to do what needs to be done. And it forces me to step in and do their job along mine!”

“Bah!” Naomi exclaims, a frown on her face as she tightly clutches his chest, seemingly annoyed by the mistreatment of her father. Naoya laughs.

“I know! Sometimes it feels like I’m the only capable one there” he adds “I’m glad you don’t think the same, it’s hard to always be right, isn’t?”

You giggle.

“Only you understand me, Naomi” he sighs.

“Nah!” It’s Naoko’s time to retort, Naoya raises his eyebrows.

“And you too, of course! How could I forget?” Naoya is quick to apologize, hugging them closer to him. “There’s no one else that understands me better than the two of you, and mama of course. My closest confidants…”

“You don’t need to say that Naoya. I won’t get jealous, you know?” you murmur. “Although… I wouldn’t mind getting some of the attention… I’ve been a good girl too.”

Your husband immediately smirks, knowing very well what you mean by that implication, and honestly? It’s something he’s thought of, constantly, every time he’s away. And it’s the bare minimum he could do for you, after all, worship you as the goddess you are to him.

“I’ll give you all the attention you want soon enough—You’re my favorite girl, after all.” He promises with a wink, and you blush, his words filling you with anticipation.

“Don’t say that in front of the kids…” you murmur, beyond flustered at this point, which makes him chuckle.

“What? It’s not like they don’t know how much I love you” he responds, and you just keep getting warmer. “I love you.”

“I know.” you whisper. “I love you too.”

He smiles.

“I’ll have all day and the day after tomorrow off.” he reveals. “So, for the next few hours, I’m all yours.”

“Really?” you gasp, excitement twinkling in your eyes. This was such wonderful news, exactly what you wanted to happen! “There’s actually so many things I’d like to do.”

“Sure, go ahead” Naoya says, leaning further into the pillow as the weight of his two baby girls resting of his chest beings to soothe him. “What do you have in mind for tomorrow…?”

“Well, I was hoping we could go down to the village” you begin. “I was told by the staff that a market has been set up and I was hoping to check it out. Now that you’re here, I think we can buy some new clothes for our dumplings, hopefully some cute onesies for the upcoming cold weather—Ah, I can’t believe they’re already growing out of their clothes! I don’t want them to grow anymore…”

“Hmm, I know…” he admits with a murmur before sighing. “I’d like to get my hands on some street food for a change too…”

“That’s easy to arrange!” you say with a big grin, already envisioning the great day you’d have with your family. “Haruko-chan told me that a lot of food vendors set up so, you’re going to have many options to choose from! If not, she can always prepare something. Oh, and talking about food… Would you like me to get you something to eat? And maybe afterwards you’d like a bath?—You must be starving, and tired too.”

“Mmhmm…”

“I’ll prepare you both, then” you declare. “I just have to know what you want to eat, if there’s something you’d like in specific, or do you leave that choice to me?”

“Anything… really…” he yawns. “I don’t mind. I’m just… hungry…”

“Are you sure…? You just came back home and I wanted to do something special for you.”

“su…r….”

…

…

…

“Naoya…?” You ask.

…

…

Silence.

“Naoya?” you ask once more, noting that silence between the two only grew. “Naoya”

Too focused on the day you were planning, you failed to acknowledge the way his eyes slowly began to blink, his breath deepening, and his words becoming slurry… until he was finally, asleep.

But perhaps what moved you the most was how your adorable twins were quick to mimic him, resting their faces against his chest as they began to lightly snore.

It was always a feat to get the twins to fall asleep, sometimes an impossible challenge, but when it came to Naoya, it was nothing but a piece of cake—he just had hold them against his chest before they began to relax, slowly drifting away before inevitably succumbing to slumber.

In your defense, there was something comforting about his arms that even you fell victim to them. You’re not even sure if he’s aware of that, or perhaps he is and abuses that hidden power? Either way, you were glad that just as you were able to find peace in his hold, your daughters too. And of course, they would, he’s their father who loves them very, very much.

A smile parts your lips as you glance at the lovely image one last time before deciding to take your phone out and capture the moment with a photo, one that you’d send to Naoya later so both could gush at it.

After taking the picture and putting the phone away, you get this sensation of how comfortable it must be to join them for a nap, but then, the thought of tending to your husband’s return briefly halts you, pushing you into a discussion.

Should you relish this moment as a family, or move on with your duties…?

There was no struggle to endure—it had been so long since the four had been like this, you knew you had to make the most of it.

Thus, you crawl towards your husband’s side, where Naoko was resting, silently to not wake them up, and giving each a soft kiss on the top of their head before laying down, resting your head by his shoulder, and draping your arm over him.

Once comfortable, you glance up to him, the relaxed sight of him warming your heart as you lean to kiss his jaw one last time, before accommodating yourself once again.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes.

“Welcome home” you murmur sweetly, and a few moments later, you fall asleep.

Sir—I... I need to write more. Thankfully, I have another one in the works :)

[write-here-n-now]

What to do when you've crossed a line?

C.(S). Jeonghan x Reader | WC. 938 | G. Angst| Pt. 2/? |

Part 1 | Part 3

Too anxious to wait for the lift, you sprint to your 4th-floor home, fumbling the code to the door before finally getting inside, and slamming it behind you. 

All the emotions you’ve held in the entire evening, especially since you confessed to your best friend and perhaps since you even realized your feelings, begin to pour out. 

Choked sobs escape your throat and you sink to your knees. 

You didn’t want things to unfold this way if you only could have kept your jealousy at bay, one. last. time. None of this would have erupted the way it did if you kept your cool.

Picking yourself off the floor, you lug your body over to the couch falling face-first onto the cushions, resuming your personal pity party.

Eventually, your cries die down and you drift off to sleep, still in your clothes from the party, tears staining your cushions with the hues of your blush and mascara.

Each passing hour makes your heartache, the pain resonating in your entire body, exhausting you to the point where you can’t seem to do much else than sit up or lie down.

Three days pass without so much as a text much less a physical appearance from Jeonghan. Your friends, on the other hand, have been ringing non-stop a few even going so far as to visit your apartment to get you to eat and do more than just mope around in your sorrow.

On the fourth day, you’ve had enough. You wipe your tears and take a shower, hoping the water will drain away your sorrows and if not, at least just the fatigue you’ve felt the past half of the week. Making a mission to begin getting over him, he didn’t care about your feelings so why waste any more tears.

The best way to forget someone is to remove them from your life. You walk around your apartment looking for all and signs of your friendship with Jeonghan, angrily grabbing any small knick-knack and article of clothing he’s left in your apartment and chucking it into a plastic garbage bag to rid of just like he seemed to be the past four days.

With the last of one of his stupid gifts put on top of the pile in the bag, you tie a few knots and lug the bag near your door as a reminder to throw it out.

The days you spent moping around didn’t make the world stop meaning you had also missed a few lectures by the plethora of text messages from your friends and groupmates concerned at your lack of attendance. You couldn’t afford to miss any more days so after ridding your home of any reminders of your crush, you went off to get dressed and presentable to make your long-awaited appearance on campus. Praying you can mask your sadness long enough to avoid any questions about you being MIA the last few days.

You had texted your best friend Jisoo letting her know of your plans and she so kindly offered to walk with you to your shared class.

“You look…” she started, giving you a once over the minute you walked out of the building entrance. “Not a word,” you warned, not wanting to get into the nitty-gritty of why you looked as you did.

You tried to put in effort, dressing in something comfortable but also stylish. Maybe in due time your brain would conflate how you were dressed to remedy your sour mood today.

The day had mostly been without a hiccup, you pushed your feelings to the back of your mind and dived right into your studies, catching up with the missed lectures and offering apology coffee and snacks to the groupmates you left in the dark, maybe everything would be okay.

Walking to the library your friend mentions what you’ve been avoiding nearly all day.

“So you and Jeonghan…? What happened?”

You feel your stomach coil at the mention of his name. The noise and rush around you warping into slow motion.

Jeonghan Jeonghan Jeonghan. His name repeated in your head like a chant, the drumming of his name vibrating across your entire body.

Your brain couldn’t process whether you should snap at your friend for speaking his name or break down in tears over the recollection the events of several nights prior, where you effectively ruined your well-built friendship in the heat of the moment and the man of your affection didn’t even bother to reach out the past week.

Speak of the devil it seems because as you tried to find the words to explain your conundrum, he appeared.

“Y/N!”

Eyes shoot up to meet the pair that you’ve secretly been longing to see despite trying to delude yourself into thinking you couldn't care less about him.

He looked dishevelled. Hair messy, clothes crumpled, and wrinkly, and dark circles painted under his eyes. Making his way towards you, frantic and in a rush, pushing past everyone in his way. 

The face you’ve so longed to see, but couldn't bear to face. The closer his steps marched towards you, the more you panicked until your body had enough and ignited your fight or flight response. You turn and bolt, away from your friend, but more importantly away from facing your fears, one more time.

Sprinting as fast as your feet can carry you, books in hand, bag swinging viciously on your side, weaving through the crowd of people, you find yourself headed on a similar path as “that” night, your home your safe space.

[callmelyc]

Part 2 of this the Lance loosing a leg Langst

Less angst in this one bc I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Again copy and pasted from Twitter ignore typos and grammar 🥰

Keith can still hear it, the moment the coms clicked back to life ringing static in his ears where there was once only silence.

From shiro demanding checks ins all the way to Lance's line remaining silent.

Everything from that mission was a blur, a nightmare.

Keith's throat burns from the way he'd yelled through the coms for lance. His eyes ache from the tears he'd finally allowed to fall once they'd learned why he'd been so quiet.

Keith can still feel Lances dead weight collapse into his arms, can still feel the blood drenching him as he rushed lance to Coran hoping and praying to whatever God exists to please

Please don't let lance die

let him be fast enough

And he was, if ever so slightly

Lance had lost too much blood, Coran had said. Had Keith been any slower....had lance not managed to- God Keith can't even allow himself to finish the thought

It makes him feel sick to his stomach to know lance had been corned alone..

And now Keith stands outside of his pod next to the entire team looking at a battered lance that isnt nearly as whole as the one they'd last seen. They’d cut off his leg, it wasn’t clean nor did Coran have to tell them it was quick. They all knew it wasn’t. Couldn’t have been with how jagged and rough the slices appear to have been if the marking left on lances thigh were anything to go by. They’d butchered him alive making sure with every slice he’d suffered.

What their enemies failed to account for was that lance was a paladin of voltron, a master sniper and a damn good soldier good at getting himself out of just about any scenario and all the tight spots.

From the footage Pidge was able to scrape from that cursed vessel he’d done just that while laying in a pool of his own blood thanks to pure will power alone. He’d survived where they - the enemy- hadn’t. In doing so Lance discovered something none of them knew possible, not even Allura and Coran thought it a possibility. He’d turned his bayard into a temporary prosthetic.

Lance was the first paladin to ever manage turning his bayard into anything other than a weapon. The first to ever turn his bayard into something the likes of what hed managed.

“It’s unheard of” Allura murmured “for the bayard to become something as such- I cannot fathom how he managed such a feat.”

“Didn’t you once say the bayards would take the form of what the paladin needed?”

“I-“

“Wouldn’t that, in theory, mean we could make them anything we needed? Tools, equipment, or like Lance did- a new limb.” Pidge continues.

“I suppose so…” Allura says, pensive with her glance towards lances pod “we will have to revisit this one he can tell us how he did so.”

Keith looks away from the two, staring at the pod, at how unmoving lance is and thinks: It doesn’t matter how he did it, only that he’s ok after the fact.

~*~

Lance woke two weeks after the mission that plagued Kieth with nightmares.

In his sleep hed see lance bleeding out alone, hed see lance draggging himself desperately across the floor calling out his name….so now, now Keith waits outside of lances pod day and night. He sleeps curled up next to the pod that way when he wakes from these nightmares Keith can glance up and see lances moving chest. He can see the healing pods progress on lances damaged flesh with his own two eyes and calm every bit of turmoil resting in his veins.

Lance wakes to Keith once again holding out his arms, and once he falls, holding him in them.

Keith had waited to catch lance, had refused to let anyone else stand where he was so hed be able to do so. And he’s glad he had, Lance didn’t joke. Didn’t smile or make any random comments or say any questions. He was so unlike himself in that moment that right then and there they all realized just how hard this journey would be for not only lance but the rest of them.

Lance buried his face into Keith’s shoulder with a shaken exhale. Keith only pulls him in closer, more secure, because he knows that sound, Lance is holding back tears.

“It’s ok, I’ve got you.” Keith whispers softly, sliding up a hand to pet lances hair comfortingly “we’ve all got you.”

The team joins their embrace as lance finally allows himself to sob, the pain wrenching through his throat, the tears soaking through Keith’s shirt. But finally, finally lance allows himself to feel it all. To feel the fear, the relief he never lets himself have during that mission and they’d all be there as he worked thorough it.

Keith places a soft kiss to lances nape “I’ve got you sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

It’s Keith that holds lance through the night after that with the entirety of the team sleeping nearby to remind him that when he wakes from those nightmares he isn’t alone.

It’s Keith that lance responds the most too first.

Lance tells him everything he can remember, how the ground felt so cold, how everything was spinning so fast. The silence being loud and deafening and the burn of his leg being cut off being unlike anything hed ever felt before.

“I can still feel it.” Lance says one night as they look out at the stars “the ache from the first slice, the nerves being cut…”

Keith chances a glance at the blue paladin, he takes in his hallowed eyes, the way he looks so far away.

“Coran said it was normal, the phantom pains. I just want it to stop…” lance turns to look Keith in the eye, the emotions he feels finally showing in them “will it ever stop Keith?”

“I don’t know.” Keith replies, knowing Lance doesn’t need white lies. He squeezes lances hand in comfort “but, regardless, we’re all here for you lance. You don’t have to do any of this alone, no matter how long it takes.”

After that night they were inseparable.

Anytime anyone looked for lance all they had to do was look for Keith.

They did lances physical therapy together, they did his checkups together, training, meals, sleeping….you name it.

Shiro even talked Lance through the emotions and traumas that deal with looking such a permanent part of yourself and Keith stayed near the entire time.

It wasn’t that he was trying to be overwhelming or suffocating, Keith swears he isn’t trying to be too much. Every-time he even thinks about letting lance out of his sight he remembers that look in his eye, the one on his face filled with pain and fear and- Keith just can’t do it. He can’t leave lance alone. Not until he’s better.

Lance should be happy! Should have light in his eyes that make them brighter than the sun, should have a laugh that reverberates through the room like a song. He should be picking fights with Keith, arguing with Pidge, starting challenges that get them all to take care of themselves indirectly so he doesn’t ruin his cool guy image.

And Keith will be dammed if he doesn’t make sure lance get to that point again.

~*~

It’s Pidge that make the new prosthetic with the help of hunk and the olkari. Lances new leg is made to be lightweight, agile, waterproof, similar in feeling to his human leg for balance with the flexibility to match so that he can still swim and bend to his hearts content. They make sure it could disguise itself with “flesh’ that matches his skin so that is he wished to conceal his loss more privately or for certain occasions he could do so through his healing process and beyond.

“And anything you want added we’ll do it.” Pidge adds as she goes through the list of all the things his prosthetic can do once attached “any enchantment at all. You can even ask for us to make it glow in the dark or play pit bulls Mr worldwide every time you touch down on a new planet. We’d never say no to you.”

That gets a small smile from lance as he runs his fingers ever so lightly across the alien metal surfaces. Keith watches him do so, watches him be so gentle and lost in his touch. It’s nice to see him trying even if they all know this is difficult for him still.

“What if I want it to kick Keith’s ass?” Lance jokes lightly trying to keep the mood from going too south.

For the first time in weeks they see lance laugh, they see him crack jokes and send jabs at comments Pidge gives in reply. The entire conversation with the two mad scientist of the team is full of wisecracks and laughter about all the crazy enhancements they could possibly add to the leg.

“What if you make multiple and one is a cannon—“

“Why a cannon?”

“So I can bust a kneecap and still blow everyone away with my presence!”

Keith will find shiro later and thank him for talking lance through what its like to loose a limb, how to handle it, how the prosthetic healing process will feel once attached. And all shiro will do is clap Keith on the shoulder and say “you aren’t giving yourself enough credit there kiddo. If anyone is pulling weight here its you, you’re keeping him grounded and I can tell it means the world to him.”

That sentiment sits with Keith as he goes through the day, as he gets lance and himself ready for bed, as he lays down next to lance, sharing their covers, and whisper goodnights. It sits with him as he holds lances hand through the attachment surgery that he’d insisted he stay for. They’d tried everything to get Keith to leave but lance looked so woefully upset at the thought that they allowed Keith to stay so long as he was thoroughly and properly sanitized.

He ran a thumb across lances hand from his bedside until he woke up after the fact and kissed his hand with a gentle “good morning” when those blue eyes met his own.

Lances weak smile in response was still a smile that Keith would hold like a trophy.

The healing journey that followed was rough as expected, with many ups and down as no healing is linear.

Lance would get frustrated at his balance, at the leg, at the loss. He’d be angry he couldn’t feel things like he used to, couldn’t feel the ground, couldn’t run like he could before.

Shiro built his training regimen to mirror what hed wished he had when hed gotten his arm and it helped but not nearly as much as the pep talks and brutal honesty Keith would provide during his spirals.

At a certain point Keith even resulted to doing what lance used to do to him, taunt and utilize the rivalry card.

“Giving up already?” He’d say and lance would snarl in response and rise to the challenge if not to win out of sheer petiteness. “That all you got?” “This is the paladin that unlocked more about the bayards?”

Lance would come at Keith like a lion, one out for blood and fierce in his movements. He went from sloppy to more graceful, from a tilt-a-whirl to a proper fighter. Lance was able to swim again, not as strong as before but hed get there and all of them noticed the progress flourish around Keith.

Keith and the rivalry, the challenger, the one that figured out he could use lances own tactics against him. It all worked like a charm.

Through it all lances bayard never once veered from a weapon. Allura had watched closely hoping and praying that he could do it again that he could turn the bayard in to anything else so that they could all learn how to do so too. But no matter the efforts they all fell flat.

Lance couldn’t remember how hed done it, much too delirious from the blood loss, pain and hallucinations. And all through the weeks hed lacked a prosthetic at all hed still never managed to do the transformation a second time.

Keith blocks a sharp kick form lances new leg and rolls away before a second lands “a kick like that wont get you anywhere McClain!”

Lance pushes on attempting to knock Keith off balance with his leg “if you think I’m done you’ve got a big storm coming kogane!”

The spar goes like a dance, twirling and yielding, dodging and gliding. Two halves of a whole, red and blue.

Lance spins around to dodge Keith and just as Keith goes to follow Lance knocks him off his feet. Keith doesn’t care one bit but for lances triumphantly whoop, that’s the best prize in the world.

~*~

It’s not until the next major mission they go on, the first since lances injury, that everything is brought back full circle.

They get cornered by space pirates and they take their bayards away. Lance and Pidge both mouth off at the crew who bite back with pride that they’ll get quite the bounty for them all.

Thrown into prison cells beneath the deck they sit and wait attempting to come up with a plan to unlock the cell doors.

During the midst of the arguments, the back and forths, Pidge challenges lances ideas. Everyone was frustrated, tired, all in disagreement. It was bound for insults to arise that were not truly meant.

“Why don’t you just unlock the door then Einstein!”

Lance gasps in offense “FINE! I WILL!”

“Fine!”

And before their very eyes lances hand summons forth his bayard “you just can’t handle that I might have some good ideas sometimes can you?!”

“Lance—“

“I can think too ya know! I went to the garrison too!” Lance shouts, flailing his arm around and the bayard transforms into a key.

“Lance!” Pidge laughs in awe but he continues on as if they aren’t all starting at him in their amazement.

He turns sharply to unlock the door, throws it open with a huff, and turns to put his hands on his hips. “SEE! My plans aren’t so bad—“

“LANCE!” They all yell, but not in anger, no…they yell in joy. He’d finally figured it out, Lance did it again and this time they’d seen it with their own eyes.

Keith just smiles on, taking lances hand to run “we can talk about this later, we need to get off this ship.”

“Talk about what?!” Lance asks, breaking into a run right alongside Keith, his hand lacing together with Keith’s.

It’s not until they jump ship (literally) and run to their lions that Keith finally gives Lance a response “ how amazing you are.”

If the two stand hand in hand during the debriefing, well, no one bats n eye nor speaks a word of it.

~*~

Turns out it was due to high emotions, Lance being able to use his Bayard as a true tool rather than a weapon. Lance feels so much naturally, so freely, that when his emotions went beyond anything he’d felt before, his bayard heard him through the paladin bond and that formed an entirely new connection. After that relating the use was easier.

Now Lance needed any emotion to turn his bayard into a tool so much as he willed it to be. The downside being that the transformation was much more draining than the usual weapon call would be. Never the less it remained a usual advantage for a variety of possible scenarios and situations that allowed it.

Training for how the others could do so, however, was deemed much too risky due to the circumstances behind the discovery. Allura and Shiro both agreed the risk far too high.

“It’s best to allow it to happen naturally…we’d not want to damage you to make it possible. You all go through so much already.” Allura tells them with a small smile “but—“ she glanced over to Lance, beaming with pride “I know that all of you are strong, and thanks to Lance we now know it to even be a Possibility. We can be prepared for anything.”

Keith slides a hand around lances waist, resting his head on his shoulder “ told you so.” He says softly so that only Lance may hear it.

Lance glances down at him “told me—?”

“You were amazing, are amazing”

Lance just sniffles, trying his best to hold back the tears “ only as amazing as you make me.”

Keith hugs him, pushing all his love into it. When Lance returns the embrace he knows his message was heard loud and clear. This is how voltrons sniper learns he is so much more. More than a weapon, more than a soldier. A tool perhaps, but also an inspiration to his peers, a part of a family, and most of all: someone to love.

[thriftingfreak]

Not Enough To Save You

pairing: luke x female!reader

summary: luke isn’t the only one whose mind constantly battles the gods. heavily inspired by american teenager by ethel cain/the entire preachers daughter album

warnings: religious trauma excavated in this fic

———————————————————————

And I’m all alone again.

If there was any time where you stopped believing in the Gods, it was now.

Your back pressed against the wall tightly, feeling the sweat drip down your forehead. Your grip tightened on the painfully heavy dagger in your hand. Your head fell back, shallow breaths coming in and out.

The pain in your arm was unbearable. A basilisk had bitten you deeply. The heat of the wound grew but you refused to look down.

You never did well with blood. The irony laid itself down right away as you were a half-blood. It’s in the title.

Tears brimmed your eyes, no matter how much you prayed to the Gods, they were never going to help you.

You didn’t want to die, not here, not like this. Not with the shame of having a large snake defeat you.

Yet you knew, deep down, you were just another number to them.

Maybe if the Gods had some mercy left in their bones, they could lead you to death to feel well again.

If only Hades could see you now.

Unfortunately you survived the attack, somehow being saved by none other than your fellow quest members.

Luke, being the best swordsmanship at camp, had the ability to slice the Basilisks entire head off.

“You are the only God I believe in” you murmured under your breath as he wrapped up your wound.

From that moment on, you both were hooked. No more putting faith in the make believe. The only faith you held up high, was the faith you had in one another.

Why do I feel alone in this room with you?

Even weeks after, you couldn’t shake the feeling. Whispered whisked around in the air about the God’s and their plans. A long, cold war was coming.

Their own children on the line, but who cares?

At this point in one’s life, people often cling to religion. To Jesus. But you knew the lack thereof.

Luke Castellan became your divinity. You found yourself staring up at the ceiling every cold night, wishing you could suck up his scripture.

When push came to shove, the definition of heed simply left your body.

For your godly genitor may love you, but not enough to save you.

[leilakisakabiri]

Try Not To Laugh Challenge (Pedri)

Summary: You and Pedri are co-workers who are paired up to do a video for the Barcelona Instagram account - the only thing is you’re dating and both bad at hiding the feelings. 

Warning(s): none

A/N: Please send in any requests if you have any. 

Word Count: [2035]

You stared at the email in disbelief. Just your luck. 

You were currently being asked by your manager to meet him on the training grounds to film a video for Barcelona’s Instagram page with Pedri. 

Big no. 

Originally, Gavi was supposed to film the video with him but had to cancel last minute as the shoot he was doing with Nike was taking longer than anticipated. 

Because of the short notice, the players had already been sent home, with only Pedri remaining after practice. 

This led to you getting an email from your manager to step up and take the role as you were the team’s social media intern. 

You didn’t want to turn him down, one because he was your boss and technically you weren’t even sure if you could without getting fired, but two also because you hadn’t seen Pedri all week and a small part of your brain, that was filled with all the mushy gushy feelings missed him. 

The two of you had met when you started your internship with Barcelona the summer prior, he had just been ending his second year as a professional, and you had just ended your second year of college, thus landing the internship as a result.

Initially, things had been pretty awkward between the two of you. You rarely ever saw the players, often being thrown headfirst into the research aspect of social media marketing, such as trying to predict trends and analyzing raw data. It wasn’t until 5 weeks later that you had your first encounter with the boy. 

You had walked into the break room, which to be fair was more of a snack room than anything else, the tables filled with different assortments of food.

Once there you noticed that there was only one other person present. A brown-haired boy on the other end of the table, looking intently at what appeared to be muffins.

You chose to ignore him at first, deciding to see the spread of food the Barcelona staff had brought in for everyone today. Your eyes locked on the pizza, and your body filled with excitement. 

You were a big fan of pizza. 

There was only one slice left and it was calling your name. 

You grabbed a plate and made your way over, reaching out, just as another hand stole the pizza. 

You looked up, ready to fight for what was rightfully yours, making eye contact with the boy from earlier. 

He spoke first “Oh my bad. Did you want that?” 

You cleared your throat, ready to stake your claim, but instead only came up with “Oh no, no worries.” 

God damn it Y/N. You really need to grow a backbone you thought. 

The boy looked at you, “Are you sure, you can have it if you want.” 

He held up the limp pizza and you both watched as the cheese slowly started to separate from the sauce. 

“I’m good. Thanks.” 

The boy nodded before moving along the line.  

You looked back over at the food, you had skipped breakfast earlier this morning as your boss asked you to come in earlier than expected so you didn’t have time to grab anything.

As you were contemplating whether to eat a muffin or an apple your stomach began to growl. 

You felt your cheeks grow hot as you desperately prayed the boy standing just a few feet away didn’t hear it. 

“Okay, clearly you’re hungry. Just take the slice, really I don’t even want it, it’s bad for my diet.” 

You wanted to die. You finally met someone who looked around your age and the first thing you did was embarrass yourself in front of them.  

You turned around to face the boy, he was once again holding the pizza in his hand, but this time he was stretching it out to you as a peace offering. 

You looked at him as he gave you a warm smile. 

“Split it?” You asked. 

The boy grinned, “For sure.” 

After that, whenever you and Pedri saw each other in the hallways you always made sure to stop and say hello. Eventually, those hellos became walking with each other back to your respective cars whenever you ended at the same time. Those walks then became lunch breaks, and before you knew it you were spending so much time with Pedri, you were surprised no one else had picked up on it. 

“What do you tell your teammates when they ask where you go?” you questioned, sitting beside him in the empty conference room as you shoveled yogurt into your mouth on a random Friday afternoon. 

“I say that I’m talking to my mom.” he admits. 

You laugh out loud, reaching over to hit his shoulder, “No way haha. They believe that?” 

Pedri rubbed the spot where you hit him, pretending it hurt, “Well they’ve never questioned it.” 

“Aww but doesn’t Gavi miss you?” You asked, making a kissy face with your lips, purposely trying to annoy him. 

He groaned at your antics, pushing your legs that were rested on his lap away, “Oh fuck off. You know there isn’t anything going on.” 

You giggled. Recently someone had started a rumor on the internet that Pedri and Gavi were madly in love and once you had caught wind of it you had brought it up every chance you could, never getting enough of Pedri’s angry face, which in all honesty did not look even the slightest bit intimidating. 

“Can’t say the same for us.” Pedri spoke, effectively cutting off your giggles. 

You straightened in your seat, “What?” 

“Oh c’mon you clearly have a thing for me.” He spoke again. 

This time you fully sat up. While it may have been true that you were harboring the slightest, and i mean the slightest of slight, feelings for Pedri, there was no way anyone was ever getting that out of you unless you were literally chained to a wall fighting for you life. 

Maybe not even then. 

“Not even a chance.” You huffed looking at him as he grinned back at you. 

He leaned over, hands finding their way to your shoulders as he squeezed, “Awh c’mon Y/N you’re telling me you don’t even have the tiniest of feelings for me.” 

You raised your eyebrows at him, “Why so curious? You got a crush on me or something?” 

Now it was his turn to shrink away. 

“What? No, of course not.” 

“Then why are we talking about this?” 

“Whatever.” 

You peaked at him through the corner of your eye, you couldn’t tell if you were imagining it or not but you swore you saw the smallest tint of pink on his cheeks. 

You were right, he definitely had a crush on you. That all led you to your current position now, where you and Pedri had been dating in secret for 6 months, not wanting to risk telling anyone and you losing your job, since it was against company policy for employees to date when there was a power difference, which in this case there was since Pedri was a player and you were an intern. 

Debating it over in your head, you decided to go and just get it over with. You just hoped you and Pedri would be able to keep it undercover. 

You both failed. Miserably. Throughout the shoot you kept feeling Pedri’s eyes on you when they shouldn’t have been. For example, when your manager was explaining the rules of the game behind the camera, you could feel Pedri’s gaze directed towards you, and when you turned to look at him, he gave you a smile that made your insides melt. 

It had been just over a week since the two of you had last seen each other, with the team going off to compete in a different city for La Liga, and you staying back to keep up with work at home base. You weren’t even able to Facetime as there was never a time where both of you where free or away from everyone else. 

You had missed him a lot, and it seemed he had missed you just as much. 

“Ok so do you two understand the rules?” Your manager asked. 

You gave him a thumbs up before turning to Pedri.

You both walked over to the water bottles, reaching down to collect them. With your backs turned to the camera, Pedri leaned over and whispered, 

“I missed you this week. Wish you were with me.” 

You sighed, glancing over at him, “Me too.” 

You both parted before you could say anything else, standing opposite to each other after being handed flour tortillas. 

“Ok so just try to hit each other with the tortilla’s and we’ll be good.” 

You had a mouth full of water as you tried to communicate with Pedri about who should go first. The boy stared at you with a confused look. 

You started doing the motions of rock, paper, scissors, and finally he understood. 

You won, and started moving closer to Pedri with the tortilla raised as he kept moving backwards. 

You had to choke back a laugh as he almost tripped over a lighting wire, turning your body away from him and closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see the look on his face. 

You urged him back towards you, and he took hesitant steps forward. 

You pretended to be surprised, and looked at something over his shoulder pointing for him to look. 

Stupid boy. Literally the most classic trick in the book. 

As he was mid turn you slapped him with the tortilla on his cheek, the noise of water sprurting out of his mouth and silence that followed after sending you into hysterics. 

The water spilled out of your mouth as you laughed, “Oh my god, I can’t believe you fell for that!” 

Pedri glared at you before giving you a light push as you leaned over trying to catch your breath. 

“This is what I get for trusting you.” 

You stood back up, tapping his cheek empathetically, “You’ll survive.” 

He pulled your hand away from his face, but let his hand rest in yours for a second too long before he dropped it. 

“I’ll get you back for that.” He warned once again taking his position across from you. 

You smiled sweetly at him, “I’d like to see you try.” 

The game went on like that for another 2 rounds before your manager called it quits saying that there was enough footage to post. 

You were drenched from head to toe when he had finally called cut, and you had a disgusted look on your face. During the last round, Pedri had purposely lost and spit water all of your face. 

You had shrieked jumping away from him, but he grabbed your wrists trapping you from getting too far as he drenched you. 

“Pedri Ew! So gross!” You groaned once he finished giving you a mini shower. 

He gave you a cheeky smile, “Told you I would get you back.” 

You rolled your eyes turning to face the camera, “Can we be done yet?” 

Your manager laughed behind the camera, “All good.” 

You smiled once more at the camera before saying bye and letting Pedri finish off the video. 

Once everything had wrapped and you had dried yourself, Pedri came over to you. 

“That was fun!” 

You groaned, walking alongside him as you made your way to your cars, “For you maybe.” 

“Oh c’mon Y/N, don’t be a sore loser.” He retorted, bumping your shoulder with his. 

“I didn’t even lose!” You exclaimed. 

Pedri’s eyes twinkled at he looked at you, “That’s not the way I remember it at all.” 

“Then you must have amnesia.” 

He laughed at your comment, “You know what would probably cure it?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Some kisses.” 

You once again rolled your eyes at Pedri’s cheesy words, but felt your self smile regardless. 

“Fine, but you get nothing if I beat you to your car.” You shouted already taking off in a sprint. 

You heard Pedri yell after you before he started chasing you, “Not fair!” 

You laughed to yourself, feeling so grateful that you had found someone who was just like you. 

[tonowarii]

Young and Dumb, with a Broken Arm

Pairing: Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan x GN! Human! Reader

Requested?: Yes

Summary: A tale of you and Lo'ak's shenanigans, but this time, it ended up with you supporting a broken arm.

Word count: 2.0k

Warning/s: graphic description of injury, slight angst bc bro its lo'ak, swearing, hurt/comfort, but fluff towards the end!

Note: I truly believe this was supposed to be just a funny little one shot but I spilled a little bit of angst onto this one 😶

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

"I bet you can't climb a tree faster than me."

"I bet you can't jump down from this branch on your feet."

"I bet you—"

It has always been a game of bets and pranks between you and Lo’ak growing up.

You two were considered partners in crime, not seeing the otber without one following close by.

You two were always up to shenanigans that ended up Jake scolding Lo’ak around two to three times a week.

Lo’ak would get scolded on about bringing you in to his reckless ideas, putting you in danger, while you watched to the side as Lo’ak suffered Jake’s wrath.

You didn’t have anyone to scold you, technically, your adopted parents were back in the lab and they often had little to none news of what you were doing out and about with the Sully family.

Yet there was no stopping the two of you.

You had also grown to play pranks on each other, one time you had Lo’ak’s bow super glued to its place that when he went to grab it, and when it wasn’t budging, he pulled on it with all his force that he fell straight onto his ass. After that scenario leaving his butt sore, he could hear you laughing from the outside.

He retaliated by hiding your quiver of your own handmade arrows.

It took you a whole week of pestering Lo’ak and when he finally had enough, he retrieved them from behind his bed. Which earned him a smack on the (lower) back from you.

Now at present day, you were bound to doing something stupid again.

“Look, trust me, mom taught dad this one.”

Lo’ak says, looking out off the edge of the cliff towards the huge green leaves that sprung from the huge trees on opposite sides.

“Yeah, that looks like a quick death to me.” You reply, stepping to look out of the edge yourself.

Lo’ak huffs, placing his bow behind him. He looked like he was getting ready to jump.

“When have my calculations ever been wrong?” Lo’ak looks down to ask you, a smirk forming on his face.

“Well…” You say in thought, looking up.

“Shut up, that was one time.” He spoke.

You laughed.

“Come on, are you really living if you’re not trying this out? Or are you just being a wuss?” Lo’ak teased. He surely knows how to get on your nerves.

“Oh, you’re on, forest boy.” You accept.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Lo’ak cheered. He then gets himself ready, adjusting his bow behind him and backing away to gain momentum.

“But if you die, I’m taking your toruk stuff toy.” You say to him.

“Pfft, watch me, human.” He rolls his eyes at you. Then he breathes out before running and jumping of the edge, his body now facing the ground as he fell.

You ran over to the edge and watched, watching how Lo’ak gracefully switched between leaf to leaf, slowing down his fall as he successfully plops to the ground on his feet.

You knit your brows as Lo’ak yelped, feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through him.

To be honest, you hadn’t done this before.

“(Y/N)! Come on!” Lo’ak shouts at you from below. “Just like what I did!”

Oh, the things you’d do for this boy.

You didn’t have your bow with you today, so you just braced yourself, backing up the same as Lo’ak did.

Eywa, if I fall to my death, please reincarnate me into anything that can haunt Lo’ak for the rest of his life

You prayed with a slight chuckle.

Or even reincarnate me into an avatar, that sounds cool.

“(Y/N)! Did you finally back out?” Lo’ak’s voice stopped your thoughts.

“Like hell I did!” You shout back at him.

Breathing out, you ran with all your might and jumped.

You did what you saw, and at first, you were successful after a few leaves.

But then everything went downhill on the bottom half.

You concentrated on moving your body from side to side that you had failed to notice a looped vine on one of the leaves, that when you landed on it, your feet had fit the exact loop.

Your foot got stuck, making you lose your progress as you panicked, failing to reach the opposite leaf, making you almost hover a few feet up from the ground.

And that’s when the vine snapped.

Your eyes widened, thinking first to prevent your mask from taking the fall as your body was quickly reaching the ground.

“Shit! (Y/N)!!” You hear Lo’ak scream as you flipped to your side, hoping the mask doesn’t break.

And you hit the ground hard. With a cracking sound.

“Fuck, fuck!” Lo’ak swore, running over to you, flipping you onto your back as you had your eyes closed.

Lo’ak, in a panic, lifted you into his arms, immediately going to check if there was any damage to your mask as his hands, almost two times bigger than the size of your face, traced over your mask.

It looks like there was no damage, but he could hear your faint breathing.

Then he takes a glance at your arm and it was almost the most terrifying thing he has ever seen.

And he was a hundred percent sure your arm, or even a regular na’vi’s arm, should not bend that way. “Shit.” He mutters, huge blue hand going over to lift your arm to find your forearm falling limp, almost like jelly.

Then you stirred, making Lo’ak’s eyes widened. “Can you hear me? (Y/N), (Y/N) look at me!” He says, shaking you.

The first thing you registered was Lo’ak who was hovering above you.

Then came the searing pain from your arm.

Lo’ak watched as you stared at him, then in seconds your face contorted into pain as you cried out loud.

Lo’ak felt a pang in his heart, making himself want to cry, almost feeling your pain, but he knows he can't afford to act this way.

“Hold on, (Y/N), alright? Stay with me.” Lo’ak says as he stands up, carrying you in his arms. You continued crying, making Lo’ak frown as he quickly found his way to an opening, calling out to his ikran.

Once it arrived, Lo’ak wasted no time making tsahelyu as he carried you in front of him.

“Go, go!” He screamed at his banshee, who scurried to take flight.

Lo’ak could still hear your cries as he bites his lip, not wanting to look down at your face because he knew it would only pain him more. His heart pounded in his chest; he wanted you to be okay.

Please be okay.

Reaching High Camp, Lo’ak carefully gets off his banshee and he once again carries your small body.

“Norm, Norm!” Lo’ak called once he finds the human figure of Norm talking to another scientist.

Norm turns, his face paling once he realized Lo’ak was carrying you, your bent arm in full view.

“Holy shit, come on, bring her in here!” Norm shouted, earning a few looks from the other villagers.

Norm opens up the door towards the shack, wasting no time to grab the necessary kits to use.

“Lay them down there!” Norm commanded. You had fallen unconscious again.

Lo’ak followed, not minding that he was running out of breath being in the shack as the oxygen was not capable with his body.

He places you down carefully, removing your mask so you could be seen clearly.

“(Y/N), c’mon wake up.” He whispers, seeing your tear stained cheeks makes him let out a shaky breath.

“Lo’ak, I’m sorry bud but you’re going to have to give us some space.” Norm said.

“But I’m—” Lo’ak gasps out, eyes scanning to find a mask made for the na’vi inside the shack. Once he had his hands on it, he breathes through his mask before placing it down.

“I’m not leaving.” Lo’ak said, stubborn as always.

Norm sighed but he let the boy stay. “Sure, kid, just keep out of the way, yeah?”

Lo’ak nods, finding a spot for himself in the corner where he could see you being monitored by Norm, and then he was joined by Max.

He could hear them talking and scanning your vitals, but he only thing he focused on was the rise and fall of your own chest.

A few good ten minutes had passed when the door opened, and it was the last thing Lo’ak needed to see.

His dad.

“I heard what happened.” Jake entered, carefully going over to Norm and Max.

“They took quite the fall… but their vitals are stable now, except for their broken arm which I’ll estimate would heal about two weeks or so.” Max said.

Jake nods, looking at you on the table, brows knitted in worry.

Then his eyes cast over to the corner to find Lo’ak looking at you, wearing the same worried look.

Jake bites his lip, of course, how could he have not known?

He spares his son the lecturing this time, figuring that your health mattered the most to him.

But that wasn’t stopping him from comforting his son.

Jake carefully trudges over to where Lo’ak was.

“Hey, kid.” Jake said, kneeling down so they were almost face to face.

“Dad- dad I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-“ Lo’ak begins explaining, his voice cracking in the process.

Jake lets Lo’ak lean his head on his shoulder as Jake sighed. “It was an accident, I know. They’ll be okay.”

“But dad- It was my fault—”

Jake shakes his head. “I don’t think they’ll blame you for it, kid, the two of you are quite the troublemakers.” Jake said, trying to ease his son.

Lo’ak then lifts his head, eyes darting towards your form, seeing your arm now had a bandage around it, a cast, he thinks its called.

Jake breathes in the oxygen from his own mask before patting Lo’ak on the back. “I don’t blame you and neither do they. Just make sure they’re okay, yeah?”

Lo’ak nods, feeling an instant relief provided by you and his father. As Jake left, Lo’ak stands up, slowly making his way toward you.

“They’ll be alright, I think its best giving them a couple of hours to rest.” Norm says. “Thank you.” Lo’ak said.

Norm nods at him before walking out with Max to leave the two of you alone.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

Then as if on cue, you stirred again, your eyes shut as you tried to move.

Your eyes slowly blinked open. “Wha-“

“We’re back in High Camp,” Lo’ak quickly said, he then assists you in sitting up, then his hand delicately ghosts over your cast covered arm.

“I bought you here… Norm and Max helped fix you up but they said your arm would take about three weeks to heal.” Lo’ak said in a low voice.

You looked at him as he was looking at your arm. Then you glance back at him. “Well, that’s a bummer.”

Lo’ak was caught off guard by your reaction as he turned his head to face you.

“What?” You looked at him, only then you realized how big his face actually was compared to yours.

“I just broke your arm… that’s not “a bummer” that’s like… worse than bummer.” Lo’ak said.

You laugh. “Why? Did you personally come to me and broke my arm in half with your bare hands? No, no you didn’t. It’s not your fault. And have you forgotten? We grew up literally almost befriending death because of our stupid bets and pranks.”

Lo’ak finds himself smiling, remembering quite the few bets that almost had the same outcome as this. “I suppose so… whatever you say.”

“But you’re still a skxawng for not catching me back there.” Your voice turned serious and Lo’ak’s face looked like it was drained of its color.

You laugh out loud again, gaining the courage to lean yourself against him, feeling his bare skin on yours felt something to be remembered.

Lo’ak, upon the contact of your head on his chest, had his tail swaying behind him in content.

He sneakily wraps an arm around your smaller form, his hand resting beside your thigh.

“This time I’ll be sure to catch you.”

[spacebarbarianweird]

I Want to See the Sea of Fallen Stars

Summary: The events of the game through the eyes of Tiriel and Astarion

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

It hurts.

It always does.

His wrists are chained to the wall. Astarion’s bones are broken, and his flesh is flayed. From the little he can see through the piercing pain, there is no skin left on his body. 

Slowly, it starts regenerating—if he were allowed to feed, it would have happened much sooner, but the master has decided to make Astarion dance on the verge of madness. Whenever the blissful insanity is ready to take away his reason and mind, Cazador gives his favorite spawn a droplet of blood squeezed from a flea. 

It’s never going to end, is it?

Two centuries. Astarion counted. It’s 1492 DR. The world has changed within those years but nothing ever changes in the vampiric mansion. It’s always the same.

Always.

There was a time when Astarion prayed. He prayed to the elven gods, the powerful Seladrine. He prayed to the human gods, merciful and accepting.

Gods never hear. They especially don't hear the undead. Once Astarion was put into his grave, the gods forgot about him.

There was a time when Astarion hoped a savior would come. Faerun is the land of adventurers and heroes! How come none of them wants to challenge a vampire lord? 

There was a time when Astarion hoped there was a hero to get him out of this. Whatever his sins were, he paid for them fully. Why does he keep being tortured, raped, humiliated, beaten? 

He can’t even find peace in his sleep like other spawns! He is doomed to get into reverie and relive these tortures.

Over and over again.

Cazador orders Gaudey to unchain Astarion and he falls onto the dirty stone floor, shivering and weeping.

Cazador laughs and Astarion wishes for a final death.

**

“More ale!” Tiriel the Barbarian bellows. The people in the tavern cheer—and her pain sinks to the bottom of the mug.

By the time the tavern closes, Tiriel the Barbarian is completely wasted.

Well, such is her life. And it will always be, until she meets a monster who will finish her.

She just doesn’t belong.

She isn't human. Her family tried to kill her and she hopes they all die of some fever. She isn’t an elf—she learned it the hard way by encountering hostility from the Tel’Quessira. The groups of adventurers see her only as a means to an end. Someone who can do the dirty and dangerous job,the one who rushes first into a fight. 

People like her waste their money on prostitutes, paying for the bits of warmth they are deprived of. But the very thought of undressing in front of a stranger makes her sick.

Thirty-six-year-old, Tiriel bitterly thinks. No home. No friends. No purpose. It’s probably her fault because she has never let anyone close—the last man who approached her ended up with a broken skull.

She never fits in. And she never will.

Tiriel needs more ale to numb those thoughts.

And she needs another job.

Her innate wanderlust calls upon her, making the very idea of staying in a comfy inn sickening.

The notice board is pathetically empty. Seems like other adventurers have taken everything decent.

“Looking for a job?” a halfling waitress calls her out. 

“Yes. Do you have any?”

“My asshole of a cousin needs a fighter to accompany his caravan to Westgate. If you aren’t afraid of spending half a year on the road, he will pay you decently.”

“Is it on the shores of the Sea of Fallen Stars?” Tiriel asks to draw a map in her mind. It’s indeed far away from that wretched town—but gods! She will finally see the sea! Not a lake, not a river! The sea!

“Indeed. So, do you agree or not?”

“Yes! Of course, I agree! This ax is hungry for blood! When are we leaving?”

“In the morning. Well, I have something more for you—and if I were you, I would choose this,” the halfling leans on the bar table. “I have a friend in Baldur’s Gate,he owns a ship that traverses along the Sword Coast. It will take you three weeks to get there—just tell him I sent you, and he will hire you. Trust me, woman, six months in the company of my asshead of a cousin aren’t worth it. And adventurers can make a fortune in Baldur’s Gate.”

“And what if your friend doesn’t hire me? Or there is no friend?”

“Then you will have another rewarding job in the blink of an eye. And you can always return here and trash my tavern. Anyway the choice is yours.”

Tiriel grins.

“Well, the night is young! Bring me more ale!”

**

The mindflayer pod lets Astarion go and he collapses on a floor that resembles living flesh.

The master will torment him for his disappearance. He must get back, he must return!

Astarion presses his legs to the chest.

Is it a fucking spelljammer he is inside? The astral ships from the Wildspace? Aren't they just a story? A work of fiction?

He manages to stand up. He sees people locked in the capsules being slowly turned into disgusting mindflayers. 

He needs to get out of here. Now!

Astarion looks out - he can't be the only one to be “not transformed”. There must be others. 

“FUCK!”

A loud female voice echoes through the ship. 

“FUCK! I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE GONE TO WESTGATE! BUT NO, I NEEDED TO GO TO THAT WRETCHED CITY!”

Astarion carefully looks behind the corner. He doesn’t want to show himself yet.

It’s a half-elven woman with a two-handed ax. She holds it with a very clear message on her face, “I will turn you inside out if you dare to approach me.”

She is beautiful.

This thought invades Astarion’s thoughts. He never paid too much attention to the people he wanted to seduce. And he is sure he slept with much more gorgeous females.

But this one…

This one is a vision.

**

Tiriel could have easily gotten up from the ground but, for some reason, she doesn’t want to. The man who holds a dagger at her is weirdly handsome and she is sure she’s never met anyone like him.

Astarion.

Such a beautiful name.

And he doesn't resemble those elves she’s met before. There is sadness in his eyes, fear, desperation. He looks like a person who has been imprisoned for years and forgotten anything but how to survive.

And these curls of his.They must be so soft.

Tiriel has never felt anything like this—but she thinks she is in love.

**

Astarion feels like a bloody fool.

All his thoughts are occupied with Tiriel. How she laughs, how she talks. Whenever he closes his eyes he relives that night in the clearance,her skin, her warmth, her freckles, her moans. He’s had thousands of victims and he performed the same things over and over again

But he never felt so good, so blissful. He didn't even leave her side when she fell asleep.

She isn’t afraid of him. She doesn’t make him feel weak.

Her name sounds like a prayer.

Tiriel.

Tiriel.

Her name howls with the winds of Tunlan and jingles like fey bells. There is something delicate in it and something wild at the same time. He rolls her name on his tongue and jumps on his feet any time Tiriel wants to talk to him

She always talks to him first. She always listens. He…

He wants to be hers.

**

Tiriel is angry. Gods, she knows the cruelties of this world. She has heard of horrors that might happen…

But this…

This is different.

This is terrible.

This is unfair.

Astarion sits beside her, his torso naked. The symbols in Infernal carved in his skin make him look vulnerable and Tiriel has to suppress the desire to hug him from behind.

Now she understands why he is so bitter, so cruel, so distant. He’s been a slave for two hundred years and the world is hardly the same it was when he was alive. 

“I will help you deal with your master,” Tiriel says. 

Astarion squints his eyes. He is looking for a catch, she understands. The reward she wants.

“I will help you,” she repeats. “I promise”

**

Astarion doesn’t understand what he feels. 

Sadness? Anger? Pity? 

Tiriel lies on her back, pressing a bandage to a fresh bite mark. She lets him feed on her almost daily even though it affects her battle skills. 

He was abused as an adult and he suspects he wasn’t a good person back when he was mortal, but Tiriel was beaten and neglected as a child.

Astarion bends over and looks at Tiriel’s right ear—there is a thin line of a scar left by her drunk stepfather, a pathetic chieftain who never forgave his wife’s unfaithfulness and lashed it all on his “bastard daughter”.

“Astarion.”

“Hm?”

“Could you stay with me tonight?”

Her voice is weak, she is already half-asleep. His body reacts faster than his mind—to stay with her, with the warmth of her body! It sounds like heaven.

But what if she wants something in return?

What if? Hells, he can think about it tomorrow.

He curls at her side, putting his head on her chest.

Thump-thump-thump

Her heart is close; he can mistake its beats for his own.

**

Tiriel has to make an effort not to laugh. Did he really think he managed to fool her? Did he really think she didn’t know what he was doing? And he thinks she’s going to be angry?

Gods, and she thought he was smart!

“I care about you,” she finally says. “Deeply.”

“Really?”

This is the voice of a condemned person who has been pardoned.

**

Astarion is numb. There is a hollow emptiness inside him. He thought he would rejoice once his master was dead. He thought it would compensate for all those years of horror and misery.

But there is nothing but darkness.

Astarion hears steps. Tiriel approaches but doesn’t touch him. Years later, he will be grateful for that.

She limps a bit—her face is covered in blood and bruises. Tiriel is exhausted and visibly wounded. He isn’t sure, but it appears she was in rage for the whole fight and it completely drained her.

Tiriel approaches the vampire lord’s body and contemplates for a bit.

And then smashed his ribcage with her boot. The disgusting sound of broken bones echoes through the chambers.

Tiriel spits on Cazador’s face and then picks up Astarion’s shirt from the floor.

Without saying anything, she helps him dress. Then she takes his hand and doesn't let him go till they reach the inn.

There, he collapses on the bed and curls in a fetal position. 

“I am going to be downstairs,” Tiriel says, covering him with a blanket. “Rest.”

“Tiriel.”

“What is it, love?”

“Thank you,” he barely manages to spell it out.

But for what? For saving him in the dungeons? For believing in him? 

For loving him?

Astarion doesn’t know.

Tiriel kisses his forehead as if he were a little child and leaves him alone with his thoughts.

**

Tiriel is scared.

It’s been too much. She was never fit to fight cultists, monsters, and dragons… and yet now she has to fight the mindflayers.

A kick in the stomach and she falls on the surface of the brain. She feels pain even through the armor and she knows there is an acid burn on her skin. The tadpole suppresses it, but it still hurts.

“Don’t you dare die!” Astarion helps her to stand up. “We will win this fight, you hear me?!”

She nods. She can barely hear anything because of the pain. Her ears ring, her throat burns—her rage… She can’t do it anymore. She is too exhausted. Whatever the source of her abilities is, it's been drained.

“Tiriel!” Astarion still holds her. “Tiriel, you’ve promised. We are going to see the Sea of Fallen Stars together. Remember?”

The Sea of Fallen Stars… yes… that faraway western waters known for pirates and treasures… and ancient cities… and forgotten islands…

“Yes… we are going to see the Sea of Fallen stars.”

***

The last rays of the sun wash the ground and then the world is taken by darkness. The distant lights of Westgate shine to the east.

The sea looks like a night sky reflecting stars and living up to its name.

Tiriel submerges herself in the salt water. Before she would never dare to swim naked—even though she is capable of protecting herself without armor and weapons, she still never felt safe enough.

Astarion approaches the water's edge but doesn’t dare to proceed.

“Come on! Those aren't running waters! They can’t harm you!”

He hesitates but Tiriel already makes him get into the water despite his protests. Then she jumps on him, wrapping her hands and legs around his torso and forcing him to put his palms under her bottom.

It’s been one year and a half since she woke up in that pod. One year and a half since she met him—her star-crossed love Tiriel is sure she was intended to meet.

She kisses him and Astarion answers with the same tenderness and love.

“I love you,” he mutters and kisses her neck.

“I love you, too, my heart,” Tiriel caresses his curls and smiles.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @queenofthespacesquids

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe Colors Finale

I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also.It's just colors and vibes here. It's been a chaotic journey, but it finally ends today, most likely with a character death, so . . .

Disclaimer: I'm just screaming this entire post.

Surprising absolutely no one, Barbara immediately forgave Charles. Like I wrote last week, I'll hold this grudge for both of us, Babe.

If this bastard is still alive by the end of this, there is no justice in the world.

Did he just give them a key to get out? They could just walk through a door, but . . . I'll take it. Kentana is trying to redeem himself. Now, KILL YOUR SHITTY FATHER, and you will earn the top place in my heart.

Don't do it, Way Way. Don't. I see you eyeing that man, but you will take zero bullets for Pete or Babe. Am I clear?! NONE! I don't care if you are wearing white compared to everyone else's black. You will not die. No.

I'm not even going to say shit about these two's colors because BIG RED JUST KILLED A KID!

OH FUCK! HE IS KILLING EVERYONE!

KIMBERLY! I LOVE YOU!

And this is why you deserve to die. Who does something like this? It's not a porn, sir. This is a murder. You're about to die. Not get laid.

WAYMOND, NO! I TOLD YOU NOT TO FUCKING DO THIS! NOOOOOOOOOO!

I know it's blood, but the 'smoke' being red too is great and I need more of it as BIG RED DIES FOR KILLING WAY WAY!

Y'all are letting Big Red talk too much while Way Way is just bleeding out on the floor, and I just need one of y'all to apply pressure to the wound so Way has a fighting chance. Please for the love of God. PLEASE! LET WAY LIVE!

Oh, shit, this is awful. Do NOT think about any good memories with this man who wore red in the past but no longer does for some wacky reason. Those memories are all tainted. He is awful. KILL HIM ALREADY AND GET WAY WAY TO THE HOSPITAL!

I HATE HIM! Barbara, don't you trade your life for Charles. Don't fucking do it. Charles came back from the dead once. He can do it again. KILL BIG RED ALREADY!

OH MY FUCKING GOD, YES! I LOVE KENTA! KILL HIM!

YOU KILLED YOUR SHITTY FATHER! YOU'VE DONE WHAT NO OTHER BL BOY HAS EVER DONE!

YOU WON MY HEART!

Now, someone go hug him! Pete what the fuck are you doing?! One boyfriend is dying and another is breaking down. DO SOMETHING, PETER!

I knew this was going to happen! I knew Way was gonna die taking a bullet for Babe. I knew it, and I'm still upset! WHY?! Why can't Peter have TWO boyfriends?! Why do we always have to kill someone to redeem them and to cancel them out of the poly plot equation. LET POLY HAPPEN!

Fuck, Alan is crying.

FUCK!

I will not be pacified with Jeffrey finally being consumed by blue. I'm still very upset about Way Way having to die instead of Peter just having two boyfriends.

Vegas' Hedgehog, I'm so over your ass! Red flowers?! At Way's funeral?! That is sooooo rude! What is wrong with you?! Read the room, you pretty bitch! RED IS OUT! Way died for the blue! THE BLUE!

I hate this necklace. I hate that Way is dead instead of being taken care of by his two boyfriends. Where the hell is Ken anyway?! Why is he not holding Peter's hand right now? WHAT IS THIS LIE?!

I trust your dad, Barbie, because he is wearing blue, but you have had to cry a thousand tears this episodes, and I pray like GMMTV's First, you stay hydrated because crying can wreck havoc on a thirsty body.

Y'all cannot fuck the grief away in the blue. You can try, but Waymond is still gonna be dead instead of having two boyfriends. This is a real problem, and I want it addressed. RIGHT NOW!

KIMBERLY! YOU'RE BLUE NOW!

Everyone is in blue, and then we have Vegas' fucking Hedgehog in those damn orange pants, and . . . AHHHHHHH *starts throwing clothes around the room and out the window*

Barbie is lighter. He is still black, but now he has the white mixed with it while he looks longingly into the eyes of his Blue Boy (who lied to him several times including lying about his death, pero I'll carry this grudge for both of us, Barbara)

Now why the fuck are you wearing red, Alan?! Why won't this show just let me have nice things?!

So . . . now that this is all over and I, unsurprisingly, did NOT get poly nor Kenta x Pete, I will be unblocking the tags because seeing black boxes on my dash is driving me crazy, and I need to reblog some GIFs of Kimberly, Alan, and Waymond x Peter x Kentana to fill this huge void in my heart where a poly plot would have perfectly fit.

I will never go back and watch this show with subs. Never. Whatever I got from it was exactly what I needed to get from it, and I need nothing else. Because what I got was a boy FINALLY deciding to

KILL HIS SHITTY FATHER

Kenta, you deserve my respect. You loved Pete. You helped all the guys in your own way. You killed your shitty dad. You committed queer wrongs, and I forgive every single one of them. You deserve a happy life, and I hope you are laying in Pete's bed with his arms around you thinking about what y'all will have for breakfast, so he can read your mind and go make it for you.

I like you.

I respect you.

I love you.

And so does Pete.

GIVE ME POLY, DAMN IT!

[libraryofneith]

Old Dog, New Tricks - Chapter 3 (Sandor Clegane x Female Reader)

@ladysandorclegane1968 @broadsdrinkwhisky

Series Masterlist

Summary: As Sandor settles in, he wonders what is next for him, what to do with his life.

Tags/Warnings: none really, whole fic is 18+ but this is a very chill chapter. Enjoy it while it lasts, cos it won't, OC has mutism.

Thanks to everyone who's liked, reblogged or left a note. The response to this has been amazing.

When we found her, she was wandering the countryside, filthy and covered in blood. And her eyes – there was a look in her eyes of someone who’d seen something truly terrible.

Weeks past and with them, Sandor found himself healing. With the help of some other friends of Septon Ray’s, he found himself beginning to walk a bit more with each passing day. First across his room, then he ventured outside. That was when he learned where he was. He was with a small settlement of people who appeared to have set up camp in the middle of nowhere and had started building a sept.

They were people from all over: the North, Riverlands, Westerlands, and people from all walks of life and backgrounds. All these people brought together by religion to start their own way of life, a bit like the Brotherhood Without Banners only not so stuck up their arses and with a lot less fire and a lot more sanity.

Once he was able to walk, stretch and lift weights without fainting like a maiden at the sight of blood, Ray set him to work helping with the building. He said they could use a man with the Hound’s infamous strength on their mission. Sandor had given up his identity when Ray told him he already knew who he was.

“Your reputation proceeds you; huge man, and even through all that mess I could see those infamous scars.” Sandor growled, irritated.

He then asked if he’d seen a scruffy looking girl of about 13, might’ve looked like a peasant boy. The septon shook his head and said they’d found him alone. That didn’t surprise him. If he remembered right, the girl had left him on a mountainside to die then left, looking to be heading towards Saltpans.

“Why the fuck did you bother asking my name then?” The man smiled and shrugged.

“Formality, I guess.”

When Sandor wasn’t chopping wood or carrying heavy planks, he spent most of his time alone. The people here weren’t unkind, some of them could even look him in the eye, but they were all happy and decent folk who seemed to be completely un-phased by the horrors in the world around them. He had no place among such folk. Well, except for Septon Ray, he always took time in the day to visit him.

Truth be told, he was growing quite fond of the holy man. He wasn’t like the other septons he’d met, he wasn’t all solemnity and false piety, acting all holier-than-thou. He was happy and he was human, always greeting people with a smile and a joke. He even knew jokes bawdy enough to make Sandor snigger. The man was also completely unpretentious, a trait Sandor rarely found in anyone.

Sandor had snorted and said “You’re in the wrong line of work.” At least he was honest, which was more than could be said for most holy men.

Other septons liked to pretend that they knew the answer to all of the world’s mysteries and that if you just kept quiet and prayed then everything would turn out right. When Sandor challenged him with another man’s beliefs about the Lord of Light, he simply said

“Well maybe he was right, I don’t know much about the gods.”

But then there was the girl, Kyra. He didn’t know what to make of her. A young girl who he’d seen every day while he was bed-ridden, and most days once he was up. When she wasn’t nursing him, he noticed her about the camp cooking, planting vegetables or doing whatever chores needed to be done. She was small for her age and moved so quietly he mostly wouldn’t realise she was there until she was upon him.

He’d approached her one day, to thank her for her skills in nursing him. He'd been unsure of what to say, it'd been a long time since he'd thanked anyone for anything and he wasn't sure what she would say, but she said nothing. She just smiled, nodded, then walked away. He thought that odd but when he thought about it, he realised he’d ever heard Kyra speak. She wasn’t deaf or foreign; he saw her reacting to what people said, but she never spoke back.

“Good girl that.” Septon Ray said, approaching him where he stood. “Should’ve seen her when you were still out of it, most of the men wanted to slit your throat as an act of mercy but the look she gave them would’ve made the bloody Mountain shit his pants” Sandor smiled at that thought.

“Aye she’s a good lass. Why doesn’t she speak?” The septon’s face seemed to sadden at that.

“Fear, I think. When we found her, she was wandering the countryside, filthy and covered in blood. And her eyes – there was a look in her eyes of someone who’d seen something truly terrible. She screamed bloody murder when we tried to bring her back to the village but even when we eventually managed to calm her, she never spoke a word, and hasn’t in all the time I’ve known her.”

“Then how do you know her name, or get her to do anything?”

“She writes things down, or motions them, or sometimes just a look is enough.” Sandor could understand that – the girl had the most expressive eyes he’d ever seen. They’d been the first things he’d noticed about her when he woke up.

The bell rang out, meaning a break for a meal.

“Come, sit with me for dinner” Septon Ray said.

“Nah that’s alright; I don’t want to scare your men.” The man just chuckled.

“If they’re scared of you that’s their problem, I’d have my friend join me for a meal.” That took Sandor aback. Ray was kind to him, but he was kind to everyone. He didn’t think that the man thought of him as a particular friend. He didn’t know if he really wanted a friend.

That got him going.

“If you come now there might be some ale waiting.”