#and the fact that he can and will rescue you if you faint in there too implies he 100% knows how to fight

[sunsetzer]

When I finally hit perfection on switch I am buying stardew valley for pc so I can mod it. I would love some mod recommendations but also want to keep in mind that my poor laptop is nine whole years old and wheezes even running webkinz when I get the sudden urge to play it and I'm pretty sure too many mods would kill it lmao

Note: I know y*ndere elliott is a popular one (censored bc I don't want this showing up in the tag out of respect for those who actually enjoy it,) but that trope is genuinely triggering for me thanks to a terrible friend I had as a teenager so that's already in the no pile haha

[dcxdpdabbles]

The Undead Florist

Anon said: Basically, I just wanted Danny to deliver flowers to the Justice League heroes from his fans. If you can include Everlasting Trio. U can add whatever crack you think would be best! Thank you!

Clark is in the middle of blocking a heat ray attack from a robot that copies the powers of any Justice League member when the unexpected happens. A kid, no older than fourteen, boldly walks into the battlefield carrying a lavish bouquet of red roses and trigger lilies.

He's dressed in a worker uniform: light brown khakis, a black shirt with a light-born vest, and a black baseball hat resting neatly on his head. There is a company logo on the upper right of his vest but Clark does not recognize the stylized D.

There was a still moment when Clark's super speed could see the exact second Amazo spotted the child. The boy wasn't paying attention, staring at his phone screen, which had the faint details of a map, and had two headphones in his ear.

Clark's eyes widen in horror, and he opens his mouth to try to shout a warning—though he doubts the kid could hear him over the loud music playing in his ear—but before he can, Amazo flung out an arm straight at the kid's head, still pinning Clark down with a cheap version of his own laser ray eyes.

No! No, please, he's so young! He pleads mentally, frozen in horror as the robot's hand goes right through the kid's head. It took a solid minute for Clark to realize that Amazo's hand hadn't ripped through the skull of the child but rather had passed through him as if the boy was not physically there.

From underneath a black baseball cap, brim, electric blue eyes stare at Amazo. Gesturing vaguely to the arm going through his head, the boy frowns. "Rude much?"

"Access: Black Canary," Amazo says in response, his jaw opening wider as a super-powered scream is released, pointing black at the kid's face.

The frown on the worker deepens as the boy reaches up and- slaps the android in the face? "Dude, I'm trying to work. I have like eight flower deliveries today. Also, that was a weak imitation. This is a real Ghostly Wail."

He opens his jaw, letting out a sound that wasn't as loud as Black Canary or Amazo but somehow worse.

And the sound—the unholy screech that releases from the child sends Clark to his knees, quivering in his boots as Amazo disintegrates right before his eyes. The only thing left of the android is a smothering pair of robotic legs that fall over with a loud thump.

The boy huffs, paying no mind to the fact that he took out the enemy the league had spent the last six hours fighting before Clark tried to lure it away from the city. He merely glances back at his phone, following the little moving icon on the map until he stands before the fallen hero.

"Hi! Are you Superman?" The kid asks in a polite, chipper tone. It's such a whiplash change between his normal voice and his customer service voice that it sets in. This is really just a Tuesday for him.

Clark opens and closes his mouth with a weak "Yes" and is pushed out.

The kid's smile grows as he pushes the flowers into his arms. Clark nearly drops the vase, scrambling to get a good hold of them as the kid pulls out a harmonica and plays a little jingle. It sounds like a mix between Happy Birthday and Ring Around the Roses.

Once he is done, the boy holds out his arms wide open and loudly proclaims, in a very obvious Transatlantic accent, which makes him sound... rather otherwordly: "These flowers are sent by your fan Kattie Longsmith in Metropolis, wishing to thank you for rescuing her mother and brother from a fire. She wants to remind you that she is your biggest fan and hopes you have a lovely day. Thank you for selecting the Undead Florist as your means of flora travel!"

With a theatric bow, the boy blinks out of existence.

Clark is left kneeling alone in a destroyed cornfield, beating black and blue, while holding a vase of lavished roses and lilies. He is unsure how long he will stay there, trying to process what he just saw as the Batplane flies onto the scene, Bruce jumping out of it with a cry of his name.

Batman growls upon taking in the scene before his friend rushes to his side. "What happened?"

"I ugh...I got a flower delivery." He manages to utter, eyes still trained on the spot of the strange kid.

"What?"

"Trust me, I'm as confused."

It turns out that Clark's delivery is not an isolated incident. Over the past three months, various Justice League members have reported similar interactions with the Undead Florist.

Flash got a bouquet while trying to stop Captain Cold. The kid had wandered in the middle of a fight, unfreezing the speedster to hand over yellow lilies and sunflowers from a little boy named Teddy Smith in Central City. He had melted the freeze ray that was shot at him while Barry was in the middle of a panic, thinking he would watch a child die.

One little jingle and message was delivered in a Transatlantic accent later, and the boy was gone without a trace again. Bruce had gone to the scene, trying to find anything that could give him some clue, but he disputed the clear picture of his face and the recording of his voice. Nothing about the boy came up in their systems.

Wonder Woman was next, receiving two large bouquets of roses from a fellow woman she had rescued named Trix Cooperman. Her jingle was slightly smoother jazz , and the message leaned towards romantic than gratitude from a fan, but the boy had delivered it nonetheless.

He also took out Cheetah with a well-placed punch, highly impressing Diana. He had the makings of a warrior.

Then Green Arrow, Green Lantern, Martian Man Hunter, Batman, Martian Man Hunter, Hawkgirl, Aquaman, Zatanna, and surprisingly Vigilante each got their own flower grams.

None of them were able to get any information about the child, seeing as he only appeared when the members were in the middle of a fight, which was driving Bruce mad.

Of course, they had tracked down all the clients but met a dead end when each claimed they had never placed an order with Undead Florist. Even when Diana was holding her rope, the people gave the same answer.

They had no idea why Undead Florist was delivering flowers in their name or where the message that came along with the flowers appeared from. The chilling part was that the messages did actively represent their emotions and feelings towards the heroes, but how the overpowered child knew that was left unanswered.

The other thing that bothered Bruce was that the Undead Florist only appeared when they were in battle.

"Maybe it's because he doesn't know how to find you otherwise," Nightwing suggested at the Justice League-wide meeting.

"He uses a GPS that is locked into the heroes." Batman grunts, not dismissing the suggestion but challenging it, which causes his eldest son to shrug.

"Undead could be following online tips or something. It's not like the Leauge is seen just strolling around the cities, but people tweak when they do happen to see us."

"We could test that. Have a group of heroes just relaxing at a cafe or something. See where he appears and if there is a pattern after monitoring social media." Red Robin suggests, rubbing his chin.

Batman considers it before nodding. "I shall divide the teams."

The Justice League goes out, doing as instructed, and sure enough, they find the Undead Florist appearing more and more. Red Robing happily puts together the pattern, pointing to social media generated by the younger generation's demographics.

Undead Florist is an actual teenager using DCtweets to find heroes to bring flowers to. They have enough proof of that to show he's harmless if one ignores his more than impressive battle skills.

"Now all we need to do is catch him," Clark announces. "We don't want to scare him, but the Justice League really needs to know how he's doing all of this. It could be a security risk."

Meanwhile, Danny chills in his haunt, watching Sam tend to the flowers in a large greenhouse he placed for her. Tucker is typing away on a ghost zone-powered supercomputer, looking at all the Soul orders their business is getting.

The Ghost Zone didn't have a formal currency; they had Deals instead. Even small unconscious deals—like wishing on a shooting star, throwing a coin in a fountain, or sending a prayer or two—could be turned into deals if a higher being encountered them.

Luckily for those people, Danny and his lovers are very kind higher beings and choose to complete their requests in a way that satisfies all of their obsessions without stealing souls.

Sam got to spread her greenery across worlds, Tucker got to spend time with tech from different universes and Danny was able to explore and protect the souls of humans.

That Danny could exchange these Soul orders for gold was no one business but their own.

"Ohhh, another order, Red Robin, from Universe Nine!" Tucker crows. "It's roses in the shape of a heart from Kon-el. Aw, he's in love with his best friend!"

"That's sweet." Danny smiles, leaning over his boyfriend's shoulder to read the message he must memorize when he struts into Gotham. "I know how much fun dating best friends is."

"Let's help those losers confess then!" Sam calls, raising her hands as roses of various colors burst to life around her.

[shaisuki]

yandere kaiser & sae respond to their chubby!darling have a feelings on somebody else because of their both past where the yandere used to mock & bullies the darling's weight & appereance, please make this noncon cus i like it more darker. as if its spicier ✨

CAN'T HAVE WHAT'S MINE

ft. michael kaiser, itoshi sae

content warnings ─── degradation, history of past bullying, babytrapping, forced affection, manipulation, gaslighting.

ᝰ synopsis .ᐟ you shouldn't have dared to love someone that is not them.

MICHAEL KAISER

he was above everyone else and yet, how dare you fall for someone else who's beneath him. you, out of fall people should be grateful for him giving you the attention that many would die for.

he can't take it. not when he's the embodiment of perfection and you choose someone who's not even his equal for your attention. don't get him wrong. michael wouldn't lower his pride nor self for you but why does he sees red everytime you associate yourself and sing praises for that trash?

the familiar terror you felt and watch how your bright eyes turn lifeless brought him joy. he was glad he still have that hold over you. one touch. the tone of his voice changing into a snarl and his vein popping in his forehead. your lips tremble when his face gets nearer at you.

“i get to give you attention and you dare to ignore mine. who taught you that?” he laughs in a scornful manner. his smile wide but never reaches the eyes that is cold and seethes in betrayal at your found fondness for the other who is not him.

his grip was painful. his fingers digs at your cheeks. his palm hard as it holds your jaw in a firm manner. you look ridiculous similar to a blobfish. your round cheeks puffier from how hard he grips it. the flesh gathers in a confining state. you know from the reflection of his blue yes that you dared to meet.

“it's my own decision to choose who i want to love. your opinion does not matter in my own affairs.” you state matter of fact. biting your lips to prevent the tears from spilling from your waterline. years of being the center of the attention of his mockery and the endless degradation you received — you learned to despise him. michael kaiser is nothing to you despite with his fame and talent. you don't need someone like him in your life.

ah. you learned to talk back. it's fine. he will put you back to your rightful place like what he did years back before he is now. you will love him. worship him. offer your body and soul for him.

the pressure of his hold in your cheeks got firmer. it was starting to bruise your skin. you tried to pry his wrist off you but to no avail it was like clawing on a wall with no damage taken. michael chuckles at your attempt.

“i love him and nothing would change it.” you look at him straight in the eye and michael was unfazed by it. you were comparable to a dog resisting until being held by the scruff.

“do you?” he smirks, and then faint footsteps came nearer where you are being held by michael and then your boyfriend stumbled between you both. you were relieved by his appearance and you called his name but michael was quick to squish your cheeks harder and the position in your boyfriend's perspective finds it rather intimate yet he isn't bothered by the fact that his girlfriend is being held in a uncomfortable manner by someone.

you met his gaze. tears threatening to fall as your lips utter the word of help and that's when you thought he will come rescue you. he shakes his head. taking slow tentative steps backwards before disappearing.

he recognizes michael kaiser. the ace of bastard munchen and there is no way he will come fight or mess with him and so he ran.

“you love that cuck, huh?” the blonde taunts you. “no one can give you this kind of attention without me. be grateful, liebe.” the endearment made your stomach churn.

“i will never — ever love you!” you snarl at him and the air in your lungs got knocked out of you when he slammed you in the cold hard wall.

michael grabs your jaw. pulling him closer and his breathe is closer to you. “you will love me.” he says before crashing his lips into yours. slipping his tongue inside your mouth and claiming you as his.

you fought him. kicking your legs but michael was quick to trap you. his tattooed arm wrapped around your waist and his hand grabbing your clothed ass and giving it a firm squeeze.

“m—michael!” you managed to croak out. your hands in his chest. desperately trying to push him but he simply won't budge.

“resistance is futile. take what i give you and you will be rewarded, hmm?" he hums. grasping your chin in his fore and index finger. “you will follow me.”

forcing you to grind in his clothed thigh. he latches to your neck. sucking and biting the skin until bruise starts to bloom from it. “i will let this one slide.” he warns you, continuing his assault in your neck while his hand fondles your belly under your shirt. you let out a whimper when he squeezes the flesh in his hands.

“defy me again and you will learn the hard way.”

ITOSHI SAE

sae was never one to bother himself with distractions until he got a wind of his "childhood friend" planning to settle down with someone who is not him. of course this isn't something he would oversee. you belonged to him.

it was a headache seeing you glowing and unabashed. nothing could stop you from falling in love and show how much you adored the person you are with now.

“i just left you and this is what i come home to?” there's the passive-aggressiveness in his voice. you raised a brow at his statement. finding the words odd after just being home a few hours ago.

“a hello would be nice, sae. and what does it even mean?” you asked him curiously. unclear of the meaning behind those years and it's not like you were both close.

“you going behind my back.” his teal eyes gleaming with some unknown emotion while looking at you.

“going behind your back?” you want to laugh at him. “we're not even a thing, sae. the only thing or decent thing you had done for me was to leave. i was happy with you gone.” you bit your tongue to further stop the retaliation. the words coming more of a personal grudge against him. you didn't mean it but seeing sae after a long time just brought back the memories you desperately wanted to forget and sae is similar to a memory that randomly pops whenever a happy memory surfaces.

gone. you wanted him gone. sae is used to being trashtalked. wether it's online, personal or in the field but nothing stung like what you had said. he kept quiet. he shouldn't be acting so brash right now, not when you're within his grasp. he still have plans.

“what the hell do you think you're doing, sae!?” you screamed at him. you were in a unfamiliar place and your body is sore and heavy. your sight a bit blurry as your head spins.

“stop screaming now, won't you.” he sat at the foot of your bed. his gaze fixated in you. “i just saved you from being tied to someone you didn't want.” he says. his stare dark while he slowly crawls in front of you and the action agitated you. instinctively moving backwards until your back hits the headboard.

“you always ruin things for me, sae. i genuinely consented to be with him! not you, you fucking asshole! i love him! get that through that thick skull of yours!” you spat at him. you were about to scream again when his hand came wrapping around your neck. therefore cutting your air and the fear settles in your bones at him.

“you don't love him. i was the one who dealt with your bullshit ever since and i won't allow you to be with someone who is not me.” his eyes never leaving you while he slowly pries your creamy thighs open to accommodate him.

your cries fell into deaf ears. sae was cruel. always ways. he didn't care for anyone not even you. he only cared when it was for his own gain. he will be keeping you by his side. you will have no qualms over it and take it over and over again.

he seals your fate when he dumps his load inside you. a baby he says. just to keep you occupied. this wouldn't be more difficult if you just have set your feelings aside until he comes back but you will always be his stubborn, chubby childhood friend and you are to be with him until your last dying breath.

[yawnderu]

Lamb of God — Nikto x Medic!Reader | Part I

Shot, stabbed, beaten... Mikhail has been through hell countless times, yet no amount of training or experience from years in Spetsnaz could ever prepare him for what Victor Zakhaev did to him. 8 missing nails, multiple new wounds on his already scarred body, and a face so disfigured he could no longer recognize himself— not only was his body broken, but so was his psyche.

His first visit was with the medics, wounds in desperate need of cleaning even with infection starting to set in most of them, the chemical burns on his face already blistering and itching despite being scolded by the medic multiple times for scratching himself. He was a difficult patient to say the least— not wanting anyone to touch his injuries or even look at him, only accepting treatment from the only person who dared confront him.

“'Stop that.” Your request comes in a sharp tone, not wanting him to itch his blistering injuries and make the scarring worse than what you knew it would be. A mumbled ''don't tell me what to do'' makes its way to your ears, though you decide to ignore it when he puts his hands way, adhesive bandages decorating his fingers where the nails had been ripped off.

“Sit up for me.” The man is an aggressive dog that defends himself with fangs bared, yet he somehow listens to your commands— even when he scoffs or grumbles before finally doing what you ask. Your gloved hand goes to his chin as you examine the red skin on his face, noting it was washed when he was first rescued, no residue of the acid left. He mumbles something and you raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to repeat himself.

“Is it gross?” His deep voice asks, accent even rougher with the raw emotion he's feeling. He knows for a fact it's gross, he saw it himself— he has blisters covering over half of his face, still remembering the acid dripping down his face from Zakhaev simply wanting to cause him pain.

“I've seen worse— at least you still have a face.” Being a medic for the military allowed you to see both human cruelty, and the extends injuries could go. You've seen multiple soldiers missing their face, skin pulled and bones poking out of their bodies— Mikhail's injuries aren't the worst you've seen, not even close.

“Your nose doesn't look too weird either, even when I was told it was broken. Your eyes still work, all your limbs are still attached... you'll recover from everything in no time.” You try to keep a positive attitude despite the way his baby blue eyes are staring holes into your head, pupils looking tiny despite the dim light in the room.

“I'm mostly worried about what's going on here.” You tap his head softly and he doesn't take long on pushing your hand away softly, a small smile making way to your lips when you notice how he avoids eye contact for a second before he's back to staring at you. You stare back for a while, trying to decipher what he's feeling before going to grab a cloth, filling a small bucket with cold water and making your way back to him.

“This might hurt a little bit, let me know if you want me to stop and we can take a break.” He looks down at the bucket of water and the cloth you're dipping in, squeezing the excess water as you wait for his approval. He gives you a nod in affirmation, flinching slightly as the cold cloth makes contact with his face. It doesn't hurt as much as he imagined— if anything, it feels almost soothing, the previous ache and itchiness disappearing even if only for a very short while.

“Заканчивай быстрее с этой хернëй.” He mutters under his breath despite how good it actually feels on his injuries, not wanting to get any pity from you.

“Be patient.” It almost feels like he's getting scolded by his nana, faint memories of the old woman cleaning his scrapped knees come to mind, holding onto them to try and stop the bad thoughts from flooding his damaged brain.

“Mikhail.” Your soft voice slowly brings him back to reality, feeling an odd sensation all over his face. His hand goes up to feel his cheeks, only now realizing that you already dressed his wounds. He looks utterly confused, not even remembering you getting gauze, everything happening too suddenly. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't remember most of the heli flight back home, too busy thinking about... what was he even thinking about?

“Mikhail.” You repeat, one of your gloved hands going to his shoulder in attempts to make him look at you. He's still staring blankly at the floor, just as he has been doing for the past 20 minutes, not responding to his own name.

“Quiet, I hear enough voices.” He brushes you off, finally getting up from the medical bed and quickly leaving your office despite the small limp from the beatings he took for days.

He hears voices? His next stop will have to be with the provided psychiatrist once his body recovers a little bit to test if he's still fit to be part of Spetsnaz, leaving your heart filled with worry until you move onto the next patient, making a mental note to check on him later.

A/N: Mikhail is Nikto's name in this fic, the person he used to be before turning into Никто.

[mediumgayitalian]

“Man overboard!”

Annabeth does, in fact, understand that such a cry warrants hastiness. Hurry, even.

“Man overboard! Man overboard!”

Most men, after all, cannot swim, and if the whispers are to be believed then this particular man is not even conscious to try. He is no doubt in peril, and the Fates have a stronger hold on his thread with every passing moment.

“Make way! Man overboard!”

If she is jostled one more time, however.

“Man overboard! Lower the ladder, man overboard!”

Should even one more crew yank her back away from the walls of the ship, patting her on the arm as they shove her ‘somewhere more befitting for such a finely dressed lady’.

“Hook it around him, for the gods’ sake, man overboard!”

There are going to be several more men joining him.

“Clear a path! Clear a path!”

She makes it, finally, to the rail unimpeded enough to lean over and see the man who, she has heard, has fallen overboard. He clings like dark-haired Danaë on the waterlogged hope of a wine barrel, bare back burned from the sun, nose nearly dragging along the friendly swirling waves. His dignity is covered, barely, by a torn, bloodstained cloth, and his tanned skin is crisscrossed with raised white scars.

He is handsome.

She stumbles back from the hull, face burning. And absurd thought to have. She seeks out deliberately a close-cropped head of blond hair, smiling tersely when Captain Grace meets her eyes, offering her a nod.

“Straight line,” she murmurs to herself, pulling back her shoulders.

She gives the men plenty of distance as they haul the downed sailor up from the depths. It irks her, really, to be following their orders, but to help or to offer it would mean more of the jostling, the pushing. More grimey hands irreparably staining the fine silk of the new dress Mother had sent her with.

It takes the crew an embarrassingly long time to haul the man up, even though Annabeth can see, as one of the bulkier men wraps a limp arm around his shoulders, that he is slight. He has the shoulders of a swimmer and the leanness of a scavenger, but his frame is small. In fact she is almost sure that upright, they would stand shoulder to shoulder. Perhaps an inch on his part, nothing more.

She realises, with a start, that the crew is staring at her, and forces her second blush of the day back from whence it came. She meets the expectant states with a tilted chin and hard eyes, drawing her skirts and clicking her heels against the groaning deck.

“What,” she snaps.

“He’s unconscious, my lady.”

“So? Place him out of the sun, have someone monitor him.”

The crewman supporting the unconscious man — truly, Annabeth needs to learn these men’s names; it would be easier if any of them spoke to her at any time other than to ask if the sun was making her feel faint — shifts from foot to foot.

Well.

Foot to peg.

“Yes,” he says eventually. He makes some sort of vague gesture with his hand, stepping forward. “Er — our thoughts exactly, my lady.”

Still, no one moves. The unconscious man’s head lolls, pitching his whole weight forward. Another sailor lunges forward to catch him, readjusting him so he’s steady.

Still, no one moves.

Annabeth shifts to face her betrothed. He winces under her sharp look, hand coming up to run the back of his neck.

“He may fare best under your care,” Captain Grace says hesitantly. “The bunks are unfit for someone in his condition. And my men can be…rough.”

“Choose your words carefully, Jason,” she warns.

Grimacing, Captain Grace plows on. “I mean no offense, my lady. We have no other women on the ship. Your cabin is cool and sheltered and I know you enjoy those weaving projects in idle time. He will not require much more than an eye to ensure he does not pass in his sleep. I can think of no one more capable to watch over him.”

The doctor, for starters, Annabeth thinks. Drunk as he is, the sickly rescue should be his charge; nursing him should be his task.

The crew doesn’t even glance at him, though. He stands happily to the side, red-faced and cross-eyed, bottle dribbling from his trouser pockets, and Annabeth fights the urge to bare her teeth.

“Whatever you believe is best, Captain,” she grits out. She glares at the crew, pausing on each man until he squirms under her gaze. “Do not leave him to soak my sheets.”

They leave him, instead, sprawled on the wooden floorboards.

Annabeth scowls.

A four week journey, her mother had told her. Barely a month at sea, with plenty of stops on the islands dotting the paths and a stack of journals for her research. Captain Grace’s vessel is exceptionally well-stocked and custom built by the brightest of his father’s engineers; so smoothly is it claimed to flow through the water that all aboard her will scarcely feel even the roughest rock of the waves.

A sharp veer to the side has Annabeth stumbling, nearly crushing herself under the man’s dead weight.

“Smooth,” she grumbles to herself, huffing as she drags him back upright. His skin is alarmingly cool from the bite of the water, and still slick. It takes her four tries to force his arm back over her shoulder, slippery as it is. “Top model, they say. Well, what a purse of lies that is. I could design a better ship in my —” she huffs, yanking him the last few feet towards her bed — “sleep.”

She could be more gentle with him, she supposes. If his head or spine is injured then her rough handling will doom him. But, well, penny, pound, et cetera. If he has a head injury and the waves haven’t killed him, her light tossing won’t, either.

Probably.

She deposits him on top of her quilt and then stands at the foot of her bed, hands on her hips, toes tapping. She tilts her head slightly to the right. Narrowing her eyes, she tilts it to the right. She wrinkles her nose and squints her eyes.

She can’t be faulted for her earlier thoughts, she decides.

He has a strange kind of charm to him. The same magnetism present in the performers of her mother’s court; men and women who gather in bright clothing and perform tricks and tease the audience, riding the thin line between furious huffing and uproarious laughter. Troublemakers, with enough skill to balance the line. Thin, twitching fingers and smile lines in the corner of his eyes, thick but maintained brows and dramatically bowed lips.

With a sound so great it rivals the billowing coal engines down billow, the man snores, trail of saliva trickling down his chin.

How revolting. Annabeth finds her lips twitching upwards and resets them deliberately into a graceful line.

Yes, he is the alluring kind. She wouldn’t be surprised if he turns out to be some kind of thief, or a cast-out stowaway. A wisecracker who pushed the envelope an inch too far.

She stalks over to the windowed wall of her tiny cabin, wrestling it open. The immediate relief of the sea breeze has her gasping, resisting the urge to stick her head out and bask in the cool air. That would be undignified, even if her room as become unbearably stifling with the presence of another person in it.

Gods, she is lonely.

She had hoped at least to have one of her ladies accompanying her. It would have been a little more bearable, the company, cramped as her cabin would be. On this ship now she is bored nearly to tears from sunup to sundown every day, barred from even the most menial of tasks that could upset her delicate womanliness and bereft of even a child to argue with. The crew tiptoes around her like she may crack to fine shards should they so much as offer her more than a fine morning, my lady, or the sun suits you quite beautifully, did you know, and Captain Grace loves nothing more than extended silences. In all honesty she only gets to talk to the ship’s mechanic, who, vulgar as he is, at least talks to her as he would anyone else on the ship. Sure, she can only stand so much of him at a time, and he’s been banned from breathing in her direction since the very first day of their expedition, but if she happens to be in the ship’s engine room as the same time as he is, then it would simply be impolite to ignore her.

Not that Valdez cares much for rules. Or her preferences.

Desperate times, et cetera, et cetera.

Knowing the deck will be too crowded for her to slip down below unnoticed, she settles down onto the old, rickety corner-desk with a sigh, cracking open her journal. Except for a string of blotty doodles along the edges, the paper is devoid of anything, as barren and numb as her mind feels. She understands, dramatic as it is, why so many sailors return from their voyages mad; why pirates and navies alike sail with crews. Even a day on the empty, open ocean without someone to talk to is maddening. She feels as if words flee from her vocabulary with every minute she doesn’t use them. What is there to do, on this stupid boat, besides sleep and eat and mope? She wishes she was allowed to steer the vessel, or watch from the nest. Not stimulating jobs, true, but jobs, at least. She has not sunk so low as to long for a deck-scrubber, but she is dangerously close. She can feel it. Another week at sea without much more than a loom and a needle and her mind will leap into the waves, she’s sure, abandoning her to the dull tedium of the stagnant clouds. The knowledge that she has three weeks left until they reach Lord Dyeus’ kingdom could make her break down into weeping, should she dwell on it long enough. By the time she returns to civilization she may no longer be suited for it.

A rustle sounds behind her, followed by a cut-off snort.

“…Somehow, I don’t think I’m at sea anymore.”

Annabeth yelps, nearly falling right off her chair. She scrambles upright, or tries to, but her stupid petticoats get caught up around her ankles and nearly send her toppling again, this time with even less of her dignity. It is only with sheer force of will that she manages to force her spine straight and upright in perfect time to meet the most gorgeous, sea green eyes she has ever seen.

“You drool when you sleep,” she informs him, darkly satisfied when the amused twinkle fades from his eyes in favour of a flat glare, hand coming up to swipe at his chin.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me where I am,” he mutters as the minutes stretch on.

Annabeth snaps her gaze back up to his face, wishing desperately her cabin had a second window.

“Captain Grace’s ship.” She swallows stiffly, collarbone suddenly itchy. “On route to the Kingdom of Lightning.”

The man’s face pales, long, calloused fingers twitching into fists.

“The ship carrying Princess Annabeth?”

Her mouth dries even further. “…Yes.”

“Someone needs to summon her, quickly. I have news. I — I come from Pirate Jackson’s ship — they threw me off board to drown.”

She knows, immediately, why he tells her this. Why his eyes go round with desperation, why his hands twist, why he has developed a sudden, scrutinizing interest in the view of the sea from outside her window, throat bobbing with every heavy suggestion.

But all hypotheses must be tested.

“Why?”

He meets her gaze, green eyes an exact mirror of the roiling sea around them; layered, stormy, and deeper than the darkest of trenches, wider than the night sky.

“Because they want to know her location. And I refused to give it up.”

———

next

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> jung wooyoung x reader warning(s) -> angst, mentions of neglect, mentions of depression words -> 1.9K

abstract -> he just wants to enjoy everything she gives him... while he still can.

wooyoung's perspective

“Wooyoung, stop acting like this!! She’s pregnant… don’t you understand!” he yelled at me. Maybe he’s right… It's not good for her health.

“Yah! You’ve got to do something about this hybrid of yours!” the baby shower guest said… “I know… it's just hard you know? He was my mom’s hybrid” she said… I know I was probably hurting her again.

“Please!” I begged and he scoffed. “We’re here for the baby… not you” he said as he grabbed y/n’s book from my hands and put it back. I missed her.

“Hasn’t he been acting weird?” “One minute he’s jumping off the walls then he’s in a corner?”

“Wooyoung?” I heard as I saw the familiar figure. His name was Kun…. I think? I remember seeing him around y/n. 

“Oh? You know him?” my owner said and he nodded. “He was the neighbor of an old friend” he confessed and they scoffed. I don’t think they really liked her…

“Why are you admitting him here?” the doctor asked and they sighed. “He’s been having these mood swings and it's bad for my baby,” she said and I sighed… I did another thing wrong? “And for your health, honey,” he said. Was I hurting them again?

“I don’t think mood swings are bad for children. In fact, maybe Wooyoung just needs some atten–""Are you telling us what's good for our child?!” they yelled. “No, of course not,” Kun said clearly dejected.

“Well, he isn’t our responsibility anymore,” they said and I felt confused. “This is his information and the application,” they said… they were giving me up?

“Of course, we’ll do that right now”

How long have I been here? It seems like too long…

I smelt a familiar scent… it was coming from a panther hybrid. He was in their red code protocol… was he dangerous?  His application had a clear red highlight… San was his name. 

“You smell familiar” I must've talked out loud since he looked at me but didn’t answer… “Who’s your owner?” I asked… maybe it was them I knew?

“I don’t have an owner, '' he said but it didn’t make sense… “You smell like someone though… it's faint but you don’t have the medicinal scent from here or an adoption center” I said but he scoffed clearly annoyed at the thought

“Hmmm… y/nnie” I muttered… it's the only name I could think of “No way she’s your owner… why would you be here then?” I thought out loud… I missed her. 

“She adopted me two days ago,” he said and I was shocked… When was the last time I felt this much energy? “SHE’S YOUR OWNER?!” I asked and he growled… “Not anymore hopefully,” he said… I was confused. Why wasn’t he happy?

“How can you not be grateful?” I said and he glared while saying... “I’m not a pet,” 

“I would love it if she came to rescue me… I haven’t seen her in years” I said and he didn’t say anything else but an employee came saying she was here for him

“y/n is here?!” I asked and the employee seemed shocked. “Hmm? You know his owner Wooyoung?” the young employee asked and I nodded. “She used to be my neighbor! Can I see her?” I asked  hopefully that he’d say yes but… he didn't. 

“How’d you get so lucky?” I said the stupid panther and he scoffed. “This isn’t luck, it's a curse,” I said and he scoffed. 

They let me see her! She wanted to see me… but not even she wanted me.

Rejected again… I'd never find an owner.

I owe it a lot to the others though… here I was. With the woman I've liked since her highschool days… happy with her and my new best friend! Everything was in the past, she would never abandon me. Right?

I mean the panther and her are now mated…

I was an outcast yet again. “Why are you so quiet?” San asked and I smiled. “Tired,” I said, hoping he’d believe it. I’m only here because of him, she wouldn’t have adopted me otherwise. I was just his plus two. 

“You’re acting like you did back four months ago,” he said. Four months have passed since I lived in those kennels. I don’t miss it… not even a little bit. 

“I’m just tired,” I muttered while laying down on my bed. He didn’t say anything… Instead he left the room. 

I wanna enjoy it all before I lose it all. 

I guess losing it came faster than I thought. I was sitting in the same seat that they abandoned me in. Looking at Kun and the doctor. “You said your visit was because of Wooyoung’s mood right?” he asked. My mood? 

“Yeah… recently Wooyoung has been very down, even San agrees' ' she said while looking at me worriedly. “Wooyoung, do you wanna say anything about how you've been adjusting?” Kun asked and I shook my head. “I love it!” I said with a big grin. It must’ve not been convincing though. 

“What would you like to do?” the doctor asked y/n and she sighed. Was she gonna abandon me now? “I don't know, '' she confessed. 

“We can sign him up for therapy sessions, behavior training, or it might be the home that's the problem,” he said. “If it's the home, then Wooyoung you’d have to tell us and you’ll be taken from her care–” “NO!” I cut off… “I… I'm sorry I didn’t mean to yell” I muttered and I felt her hand rub my arm up and down.  

“Wooyoung, so you like your new home?” he asks me and I nod. I loved it… I really did.

“I’m sorry, Wooyoung but y/n I think it's best if you leave him here at least for the night. We’ll do a check-up, do a mental analysis, and see what’s the problem” the doctor said and I hugged her arm tightly.

“No, please don’t leave me here” I cried and he she looked at me worried. “I don’t think it's a good choice Doyoung–” “Trust us" he asked and she sighed.

She looked at me with a sad expression. “Wooyoung,” she said and I tightened my grip. “Just for today. I’ll pick you up in the morning” she said with her soft smile and I could cry as she petted my head. Why was she leaving me so soon? 

“If anything goes wrong call me” she told them and they nodded as she waved at me with a  soft smile. 

Please comeback...

-> y/n perspective

I couldn’t sleep tonight. San stayed with me all night waiting for me to fall asleep but he did first. I was worried about Wooyoung and why he was acting differently. 

He seemed to have faked his smiles… acted more down and was overall more tired. 

I could only hope he was okay and that he was healthy. 

The morning couldn’t have come sooner. I silently got ready so I didn’t wake up the panther as he probably didn’t get enough sleep trying to stay awake with me. 

I got there early and saw Haechan who tried telling me everything was gonna be fine. 

“Kun is here, y/nnie!” Haechan said as he led me to his office where I didn’t see the lovable fox. “Is he okay?” I asked and he smiled. “You look like you didn’t get any sleep?” he asked and I glared. He chuckled as he put his hands in the air playfully.

“He’s completely healthy… and he’s really happy with you, maybe a little too happy, '' he said, now confusing me. “Wooyoung was abandoned and his owner died. He actually originally asked for you to adopt him and you know that… but with years of neglect and being told his behavior is too much it has affected his mental health. He has an attachment disorder linked with his fear of abandonment.” he explained and I nodded. Was he worried I'd do that to him?

“He tells me San chose you as his mate… and Wooyoung confessed to having this obsession with you. He has since you were in school…” he said and I was shocked. San kept teasing me about it but I didn’t think it was true. 

“So what's the problem?” I am still confused. Kun only sighed… “He thinks you’ll abandon him because San chose you as a mate. That you’ll now neglect him and eventually leave him like everyone else” he explains and I felt sad that he’d think that of me. 

“It's more of his insecurity and his past experiences affecting his mood. You’d just need to give him as much attention as you can and reassure him” he explained and I nodded. 

“Jaemin, will take you to him,” he said and I nodded as I saw Jaemin here shortly waving at me happily. “y/n!!” he said and I smiled. “I’m happy that Wooyoung has you. He used to be so down and always caused Doyoung-hyung to seek medical attention due to not eating” he explained. 

All I could remember was happy Wooyoung who’d see me after my classes. He’d be the one scolding me to eat and make sure I took some rest after studying to not overwork myself. 

“Wooyoung, you have a visitor~” Jaemin said as I saw Wooyoung look at me with sad and relieved eyes. “y/n…” he muttered in disbelief. 

I smiled softly. 

“Let’s go home?” I asked and he nodded. He took my hand as I put his collar back on and we said goodbye to the staff. I held his hand tightly as he stood by closely to me. 

When we got outside I decided to stop. “Wooyoung?” I asked and he looked at me confused.

“Remember in high school that I told you I would always go get street food for dinner?” I asked and he chuckled. “Yeah! But that's not good for you, especially with how much you used to study. You needed a proper meal!” He scolded me and I smiled. “Wanna try it?” I asked and he smiled softly.

“It can’t be better than my food” he challenged and I smiled. “Nothing is better than your cooking… I just think it's nice to have from time to time?” I asked and he nodded. 

“Ok!” he said, now happily looping our arms together. As we walked his tail wagged slightly. “Hey, Wooyoung?” I asked and he looked at me again. “I could never abandon you. I promise that you’re stuck with me forever” I said and his smile dropped softly as his eyes turned teary-eyed. “You don’t mean that. Don’t make promises you can’t keep” he muttered and I smiled. 

“I do mean it! You’re stuck with me!! I promise I owe you so much Wooyoung. More than you’d imagine… in high school, you were keeping me going so thank you” I said and he smiled. “I owe you a lot also…” he said and I smiled. 

“San loves you too. You’ve seen how he is… the only reason he’s given me a chance was for you. So I owe you everything… because of you I'm no longer alone” I confessed and he hugged me. “And because of you and San, I'm not either,” he muttered. 

“You’re stuck with me” he said and I smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way!” I said happily as we finally made it to the street food place. 

“So what should we have first?” he asked me and I shrugged. 

“We have forever to try new things. There's no rush!”

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

[inhuman-obey-me]

Hi! Love your work, and congrats on 4000+ followers. May I request 🗡️ + Beelzebub with MC? I think it be interesting.

Thank you for your fantastic work!

Thank you so much!! ;//u//; We're glad you do!

"Let the knife leave its mark." - Beelzebub/MC

content warning: blood, MC into Beel being demonic

The tension in the air is palpable, thick enough to cut through and heavy enough to suffocate. 

You’re not supposed to be here, but here you are – hidden behind a large stone column as a scene plays out in this room, a scene you are not meant to see. 

“Lord Beelzebub,” voice laden with insincerity, the lesser demon takes a deep bow before the Avatar of Gluttony. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this private audience?”

“I’m pretty sure you know the reason, Kernal.” Beelzebub’s response is cold. It’s rare for you to see him like this, no trace of warmth nor compassion. “Or do you really think I’m that stupid?” 

“Stupid? You? Of course not! I’d never!” There’s a nervousness now that seems to creep into Kernal’s smile. “You know me, I’m just a bit forgetful. I really don’t know why you’ve sought me out today.” 

“Right.” A faint buzzing sound begins to fill the room, and you realize Beelzebub’s wings have begun to vibrate. “I guess you would be the kind of demon to just forget.” Each word is dripping with more anger than the last, a crackling energy of malice settling in like a shroud around him. “Then I guess I’ll just have to remind you.”

As the lesser demon lets out a shriek, you swallow your own as your hand quickly goes to cover your mouth. Beelzebub had lunged forward, his claws now sunk deep into Kernal’s flesh as he slams him down on a table, the metallic scent of blood quickly pervading the room. 

“Do you really think you can just throw out threats so casually?” The Avatar growls, and you can see his form beginning to shift as his mouth seems to grow wider, teeth sharper. “Did you think you could lay out a trap like that and hide it from me?” 

“P-please,” Kernal’s body writhes in the other’s grasp, and you can make out dark ichor dripping from his lips. “I don’t know w-what you’re – ack – talking a-about!” 

You had forgotten about this side of Beelzebub. You couldn’t help but be fascinated. 

“Still playing innocent, really?” Beelzebub snarls, letting go of the lesser demon and taking a step back – no, you realize he’s turning to get something. Is that…silverware? “Maybe cutting you up will finally make you confess. Either way, it’s a meal for me.” 

“No, please! I-I’m one of your loyal followers, you know that!” Kernal tries to get up, but he’s quickly pinned down again by his superior. “That…that human is making you weak! I just want you to be the best you can be, and that means that d-damn human needs to go!” 

Ah. 

You get it now. The reason Beelzebub had looked so grim earlier, so grim that it caused you to secretly follow him here. This demon was trying to hurt you.

“Weak?” Beelzebub spits out the word, and the buzzing gets louder, and louder. You can barely see his wings as they rapidly beat. “The only weak one here is you, Kernal. In fact, the only thing tough about you is the meat on your bones. Meat I’ll gladly carve right now.” 

You move to take a step back, debating whether you want to see the gruesome conclusion to this encounter, but nearly trip over yourself in the process – and it does not go unnoticed.  

“...Who’s there?” 

Shit. Maybe if you don’t say anything, they’ll think it was a random animal.

“I can smell you.” His voice is still low, but it’s softer as he calls out to you. “MC…how long have you been there?” 

Realizing there’s no hiding now, you slowly step out of the shadows, trying to focus on your demon. “Well, kind of the whole time. I-I followed you here. I’m sorry! I just got worried with how you were acting earlier and…” Your gaze slowly trails to the other. “Here we are.” 

“O-oh, please, tell him to stop!” Kernal begs, looking to you with wide eyes as he hopes for some kind of rescue. “He’s going to take a bite out of me!”

You notice that Beelzebub is still gripping a knife in one hand, hovering just above the lesser demon’s chest. He seems to hesitate now, seeming embarrassed that you caught him in such a state. 

“It’s okay, Beel. I won’t interfere.” You give him a reassuring smile, morbid curiosity getting the better of you as you take a few steps to be beside him. This is a scene that should make your stomach churn, an act that should fill you with nightmares. 

It magnetizes you instead.

“Let the knife leave its mark.”

[george-weasleys-girl]

could i ask for a story with Fred getting upset about something, pretending everything is fine in front of people and making jokes but at night he goes to the reader's dorm and asks to sleep with her?? something like just wanting to cry and be comforted by them "are you crying?" "can i sleep with you?"

Cuddle Me

Thank you for such a sweet request. I hope you enjoy.

~•~

Y/N had just begun to doze off when she heard a faint knock at the door. It was so soft that at first, she thought she might've imagined it. Then, she heard it again, a little louder, followed by the sound of her boyfriend's voice. "Y/N? Love? Are you up?"

There was an unusual hitch in his voice that jolted her wide awake. She clammered out of bed and pulled Fred into the room, closing the door behind him. "Is everything alright?" She whispered.

"No," he mummered, looking down as he shuffled in place. "Not really. Can I...umm...can I sleep with you tonight?"

Y/N's concern shifted to outright worry. This was not at all like her cocky, mischievous boyfriend. Normally, when he showed up at her dorm room in the middle of the night, he was bold as brass, and sleep was the very last thing on his mind.

She placed her fingers underneath his chin and gently lifted his gaze to meet hers. The sight of his wet, red-rimmed eyes caused her heart to skip a beat. "Sweetie, are you crying?"

He only shrugged and looked away again.

"C'mon," she said, taking his hand and guiding him to her bed. He crawled under the covers, wrapping himself around her and laying his head on her chest. Within a few minutes, she felt him shaking with silent tears.

Grabbing her wand from the nightstand, Y/N used it to close the canopy around them and cast a silencing spell. She might not know what was going on, but she knew he wouldn't say a word if he thought someone else could overhear.

Y/N wrapped her arms around him tighter, waiting until his tears were spent before she said anything. "Wanna tell me what's wrong?"

Fred sniffled. "It's stupid."

~•~

Fred Weasley wasn't one to let things bring him down. But the past week had been particularly shitty. No matter what he and George tried, every single prank they'd attempted had failed miserably. And, to make matters worse, his and George's newest invention blew up in their faces. Quite literally. Sending them to the infirmary for burn treatment.

Then today, he was already depressed and discouraged when yet another prank went wrong, causing the floor of one of the bathrooms to melt, resulting in a rescue mission to pull a poor third year out of the morass. So when Professor McGonagall lost her composure and yelled at the twins in front of half the school body, telling them that they'd never amount to anything, the same as his mum had done countless times, it tore through his confidence in a way few things ever did.

That night, Fred lay in his bed, silent tears wetting his pillow. He didn't cry often. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time it'd happened. But after a day of laughing off the whole thing and pretending it didn’t matter, there was nothing left in him to hold back the flood. After two hours of tossing and turning, he got up and made his way to the only person who could soothe his bruised heart.

~•~

"It's not stupid," Y/N said after Fred had told her everything. "And you have every right to be upset."

"Yeah, I guess," Fred mumbled. "But stuff like that doesn't usually bother me. I don't know why it hit me so hard this time. It doesn't make sense."

"It makes perfect sense to me," Y/N kissed the top of his head. "You've had a really rough week. And, even though you tried to hide it, I know you've been feeling defeated by everything going wrong. It's no wonder her words got to you."

Fred just shrugged. "Or maybe I'm finally accepting the truth. Maybe my mum and McGonagall are right. Maybe I really am worthless."

Y/N moved so she could look into his eyes. "Fred Weasley, you listen to me right now. You are not worthless. You are one of the most intelligent, creative, and amazing people I've ever met. And, not only are you going to succeed, you're going to take the world by storm."

"Y-you really think so?"

"I know so," she asserted. "And if anybody disagrees, they can take it up with me."

Fred smiled and nuzzled into her neck, letting himself melt into her side.

He lay so still and quiet that she thought he'd fallen asleep. But after a few minutes, he shifted to look up at her. "I know I don't say it that often, but I really do love you, Y/N."

She gave him a gentle kiss. "I love you, too."

~•~

If your url is crossed out, I'm unable to tag you.

@milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @georgie-weasley @nighttimemoonlover @jsjcue @wzrd-wheezes @fredweasleyyyyy @hufflepuffie @alexistonks @anvaaryn @lastwandastan @samshifts @asuperconfusedgirl @superduckmilkshake @mysticsheepsoul @gemofthenight @1lellykins @junerprsh @sierraluvz @wolfkill16 @smallsweetvanillabean @costheticbabe @thatonepersonwhocantwrite @charmedfandomgal

[rose-tinted-glasses671]

Let The Light In

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem reader

warnings: mentions of abuse and human trafficking

summary: your husband is finally back home from a mission, but he's brought home a little girl, and he's struggling with what he saw.

read pt.2

a/n: This is my first attempt at a fanfic but im excited about this. The idea came from one of my many pre-sleep scenarios that i had a strong desire to put on paper. Also, I wrote simon to not be emotionally closed off because: a) thats how i imagine he would be and b) i love an emotionally mature man. okay thats it. enjoy!

You had been preparing yourself a glass of ice water before bed when you heard the beeping of the electronic keypad from your front door. There was only one person besides you who could unlock the high-tech security system that secured your house: Simon. A flood of excitement rushed through you as you put your glass down and ran to the front door, giddy with happiness at your husband’s arrival. You knew he was due back home soon, but as it usually went with military deployments, the dates were always tentative.

But, to your surprise, when the door opened, you didn’t just see your hulking, 6’4 husband at the door, but also a little girl, no older than maybe seven years. Your eyes bounced between the two as you saw Simon guide the girl through the door; the little girl who looked terrified out of her mind as her eyes darted around the dark entryway. As she began to cower away from the darkness, Simon turned on the light that illuminated the foyer, finally bringing you into his view.

His eyes jumped to you in an instant, an intense melancholy and fatigue written all over his face. That’s also when you heard a faint sniffle from the little girl, and when you looked down, your heart broke at the sight of her. Bruises littered her arms and legs, all in different stages of healing, along with countless cuts, scars, and what looked like cigarette burn marks. She had on tattered clothes and shoes, but what really sent you over the edge was the black eye that marred her right eye.

Both your motherly instincts and your doctor training kicked into overdrive. Being five-months pregnant was putting you into protective mama bear mode, and your ER doctor training was telling you to get this girl to a hospital to see if she had any broken bones or internal bleeding. Ultimately, you took a deep breath and decided the girl just needs to feel safe right now.

“Hi there,” you chirped, slowly approaching the little girl, cautious of the fact that she was extremely scared and was thus probably sensitive to sudden gestures. The girl brought her gaze up off the floor to look at you, distrust and fear still evident in her eyes. You then introduced yourself to her, but when you asked for her name, she remained quiet.

“She hasn’t spoken since we rescued her,” Simon spoke up for the first time. “It’s gonna take the boys a while to find her family without her name, so I thought…” That she’d be safe with us tonight.

You nodded before asking, “Did the medic check her out?”

“Just barely, once we got onto the plane,” Simon replied. “I came here as soon as we landed back at base.”

“Okay,” you said, finally turning your attention back to the girl. You got down to her eye-level so as not to make her feel anymore threatened. “How ‘bout I make you a nice PB&J, and then we can get you cleaned up and into a fresh pair of pajamas?” you asked, keeping your tone light and how you usually did with your younger patients.

The girl continued looking at you, but remained silent. After a moment, you asked, “What if I brought the food to you here?”

The tense line of the girl’s shoulders relaxed a little, and some of the tightness in her face dissipated. You took that as a confirmation and smiled softly, nodding your head again.

“Stay with her,” you said to Simon, before rushing into the kitchen and hastily putting together the sandwich. With a plate of food and a glass of water in your hands, you went back to the foyer, both Simon and the girl standing in the exact same place as where you’d left them. You handed the girl her food and placed the water next to her, letting her get comfortable and do things at her own pace.

You thought in the meantime you could speak with Simon, but when you turned your head, he wasn’t in the foyer anymore. Not wanting to leave the girl alone, you stayed with her as she ate, continuing to talk to her in the hopes of making her feel safer and more comfortable.

The girl ate slowly, taking big gulps of water in between bites, and your heart continued to break at her timidness, not daring to think of the kind of atrocities she’d probably had to face in her short life.

After a while, with food in her belly and her thirst quenched, the girl finally gave you a small smile, letting you take her upstairs. You prepared a warm bath for her in the guest bathroom, putting in salts and adding in bubbles so that she could soak her bruises and maybe get some relief for the night.

You had some of your niece’s clothes in the dresser, and although she was a bit older than this little girl, the oversized pajamas would have to do for tonight. You’d go get her some new clothes first thing in the morning.

“I’ve left a towel and some clothes for you on the counter here once you’re done,” you instructed the girl, placing the items next to the sink for her to see. She nodded, and you turned to leave so she could get to it, but then she pulled on your shirtsleeve. When you turned back to her, she was pointing to the spot in front of the bathroom door, small grunts leaving her throat as she tried to voice something to you.

Initially, you didn’t get what she was saying, thinking she was trying to point something out to you that you didn’t see. But when understanding dawned, your heart melted a little. “You want me to wait out there for you?” you asked.

The girl’s eyes lit up as she furiously nodded her head, and you chuckled, happy that you were able to gain just a little bit of her trust. You went and stood in the spot the girl indicated, and she closed the door behind her, though not all the way, leaving it slightly ajar.

You went and rested on the chair in the corner of the room, your feet starting to get sore as they tended to at this point in your pregnancy.

Time passed sluggishly as you scrolled on your phone, the minutes blending together and a wicked tiredness engulfing you from head to toe. You didn’t want to leave the room in case the girl needed something, so you slowly started dozing off in the chair when you finally heard the squeak of the bathroom door. You looked up to the see the girl walking out, her head swiveling and catching sight of you. She approached you with a hairbrush in her hands and the legs of the pajama bottoms dragging behind her.

“Let me fix those for you,” you said as you bent down and cuffed the pants to fit the girl better. Once you did so, she handed you the hairbrush, silently asking you to detangle her hair for her. It was going to be a feat because a lot of her hair was matted, and you knew you were going to have to be very gentle. The girl turned around and you thought she was going to sit on the floor in front of you, but instead she planted herself on your lap. A rush of warmth and affection flooded your body, the immense need to protect the girl overtaking your senses.

While you were brushing her hair, the girl looked around the room, familiarizing herself with her surroundings. When her eyes landed on the stack of magazines on the side table next to you, she froze, and then abruptly stood up, startling you.

“I’m not done-“ you began, but then saw that the girl was pointing at the magazine on the top of the stack.

“Oh that’s a magazine. My favorite one, actually ” you said in reference to the old issue of Harper’s Bazaar she was pointing at. But then the girl started aggressively tapping the cover, so you leaned in closer to get a better look and saw that she was specifically pointing at Harper’s.

“Is your name Harper?”

She aggressively nodded again, in the way she does when you understand what she’s saying.

You finally had her name, and you felt much better now that you knew the girl was feeling comfortable enough to tell it to you.

“Harper,” you said, and she beamed up at you, her smile brighter than any other she had given you tonight.

With this happy revelation, you finished brushing Harper’s hair and then finally tucked her into bed. The poor girl was so exhausted that she passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

You closed the door behind you with a soft thud as you left the room. As happy as you were with the progress you’d made with Harper, you were equally concerned for your husband. Obviously, what he’d seen had affected him, and all you wanted was to be there for him, but you and Simon both knew Harper took precedence in this situation.

Every second Simon spent looking at the girl sent him into a spiral of unspeakable sadness and anger. He knew that the little girl’s captives were dead, and that they couldn’t bring her anymore harm, but that didn’t lessen the red that clouded his vision, or dull the melancholy he felt.

Simon had to leave the room as soon as he saw the girl was safe and being cared for by you. Of course, he felt bad leaving his pregnant wife to look after a little girl he had just brought into their house, but he was spiraling and he didn’t know what to do.

Blindly, he went to the alcohol bar in the corner of the living room and grabbed his favorite bottle of Bourbon and a rocks glass. He poured himself two fingers of the liquor, breaking the promise he made to himself to not drink while you were pregnant. He was abstaining as an act of solidarity since he knew how much you missed your wine, but these circumstances called for a little bit of medicine.

Simon then found himself pouring another two fingers of the liquid, and then another, before deciding to cool it—albeit with much difficulty. He couldn’t leave you caring for a little girl and an inebriated husband.

He couldn’t understand what compelled him to bring the girl home with him, why her appearance and disposition brought him so much anguish. Except he did; he understood that he saw so much of the broken boy he used to be in that little girl. It made him want to throw up.

The moment Simon laid eyes on the bruised and battered girl in that shit hole of a basement, he was transported back to his childhood. Visions of belts and fists and blacks and blues clouded his mind like a thick fog on a summer morning.

Simon’s teammates tried talking to him, noticing his sudden change in demeanor, but to no avail. The world around him was buzzing, almost like the TV static of an old CRT. And he craved nothing more than to fall into the void of numbness.

“Simon?” Your voice broke through the darkness of his mind as you came to stand in front of him, soft and careful and just what he needed to hear. Your hand came up to rest on his cheek, and just that simple touch gave him a world of comfort. He leaned into your palm, bringing his hands up to your hips and gently tugging you towards him until you were straddling his seated form.

Simon knew that you were the only person in the world who could keep him grounded in the present, bring him back from the scariest depths of his wretched mind, and so tonight he was going to be selfish and take all the comfort that you’d be willing to give him.

Feeling a tightness in his throat and a stinging in his nose, Simon brought you impossibly closer and buried his face in your neck.

You held your husband, feeling his body shake as he was wracked with silent sobs. Simon wasn’t one to hold back how he was feeling from you—you both had worked too hard on communicating your emotions to each other for all that to be taken back now—but you had only ever seen him cry once before: the day you got married. And that too was only a single tear before he composed himself.

“You wanna tell me what you’re feeling?” you asked gently, letting him know you’re here to talk without making him feel pressured to do so.

When Simon continued to just hold you, you didn’t press the matter, presuming he didn’t want to discuss it right now. But eventually, he sat back, keeping a firm hold on your waist while finally bringing his blood-shot eyes to you.

“When we raided those houses tonight, the last thing I expected was to find little girls and boys chained up in a decrepit basement like rabid animals,” Simon began, a profound sadness lingering in his eyes as he gazed away, lost in the memory of the night before. “The mission was supposed to be a simple bust, something with illegal weapons.” He shook his head. “But human trafficking?”

It sickened Simon to think of all the other operations they were probably running that would take him months, if not years, to bust.

“When I saw the girl,” Simon continued, talking about Harper, “For a second…I saw myself in her. She was the most severely injured out of all the kids, and somehow, I just knew it was because she had been fighting her captives tooth and nail.”

He then shook his head again with a scoff. “I don’t know…I just had this visceral need to protect her.”

You didn’t try to analyze Simon’s feelings, because that wasn’t your job. You weren’t his therapist, you were his wife. So you nodded in understanding and brought your arms around him again, resting your cheek on the crown of his head.

“You did the right thing bringing Harper here while they look for her family. She could use a stable environment right now,” you said.

“Harper? Is that her name?” Simon questioned, and you beamed down at him.

“Yeah, she told me upstairs.”

“She spoke to you?”

You shook your head no. “Pointed to an old issue of Harper’s Bazaar I had laying out,” you chuckled.

“Hmm.”

You watched as Simon got lost in his head again.

“Listen to me,” you said, bringing his attention back to you. “Harper’s safe now. She’s here, and we’ll take care of her for as long as needed before she goes back to her family.” You took Simons hands, which were still holding your waist, and brought them to your front, interlocking your fingers with his. “She has been through something traumatic. And it will take time, but she will bounce back. I can see the fight in her.”

Simon contemplated your words, thinking back to the fight Harper had put up when he tried to help her, thinking he was another bad man trying to hurt her. She had cowered at the sight of him, especially scared because of the skull plate mask he wore. At that understanding, he took it off, and explained to her gently that they were there to save her. She had reluctantly accepted help, though not from him. A female sergeant had interjected and further calmed her down, gaining enough of her trust to get her to the evac plane.

Harper was jumpy and sensitive to the loud noises around her, living in a perpetual state of fear until he brought her to you. He knew if anyone could give her the care she needed, it was his wife.

“Maybe,” Simon mused. “It’s not that I don’t think she’ll be fine, it’s that the road there is unfathomably difficult and just as equally traumatizing.”

You nodded your head, knowing Simon was speaking from experience. You wouldn’t diminish his past by pretending that you understood what he was going through. You just had to pull him out of this downward spiral.

“That’s why having a support system is so important. And she’ll have that in us for as long as is allowed,” you said.

You smoothed a thumb across Simon’s cheek, pained at the anguish radiating off him in waves. You’d never seen him like this before, but you would do everything in your power to provide him solace.

And Simon noticed, saw how much you reassured him and tried to give some peace of mind with small touches and understanding glances.

After weeks away from you, and especially after the events of the day before, he needed to kiss you, to feel the physical connection. It was gentle at first, just a soft brush of his lips against yours. But it morphed into something deeper at your small moans and whimpers.

Oh, how Simon loved the noises you made for him, and he’d die before he let them be someone else’s. He’d die before he let you go.

“I love you,” Simon whispered as he slightly pulled away, grazing his thumb across your now swollen bottom lip. The love Simon had for you was beyond what regular words had the capacity to explain, and to sic the English language on it would be a disservice. But he made do with the simplest ones, hoping you felt the power lying underneath them.

You smiled, knowing that he didn’t have to say it for you to feel it. There wasn’t a time in your years together where you didn’t feel loved by him. You could see it in the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, at the possessive way he held you at any given moment, by the tone of his voice when he talked to you.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back.

You spent the next couple of hours just talking, updating him on everything he missed during his absence. Work drama, doctor’s visits, an impromptu trip you took with your sister when you were feeling lonely. Everything you both could talk about, you did talk about.

These were your favorite moments with him, the quiet nights where you could just enjoy each other’s presence. You could move to the ends of the earth with Simon, the freezing tundra or the blazing desert, and they would still feel like home as long as he was with you.

After a while, when your eyes got droopy and frequent yawns interrupted your conversation, Simon gathered you up in his arms and took you to bed.

He desperately wanted to fuck you, feel that ultimate connection with you, but he saw that you were too tired for all that. This pregnancy was taking its toll on you, and he regretted the times he couldn’t be there to help you through it.

“Life’s too short to have regrets,” you had told Simon before he went on his most recent mission, after he had voiced his remorse at not being with you at your most vulnerable. You had been sad about his departure—you never stopped being sad—especially because you’d been blessed in that he hadn’t been deployed for most of your pregnancy. But such was the life of a military wife, having to see your spouse leave to go on dangerous missions and wondering if those were your last moments together.

Those kinds of thoughts weren’t worth your brain-space, you told yourself. But your anxiety made that hard.

Nonetheless, you thanked your lucky stars that Simon was back with you now, tightly holding onto him in bed.

You went on to sleep peacefully, feeling Simon’s protective body curled around yours. And although sleep usually eluded him, tonight, Simon finally got a good night’s rest with you in his embrace.

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Catch the Sunrise

As Crosshair struggles to integrate into life on Pabu after being rescued from Mount Tantiss, you try to reconnect with him and draw him out of his shell.

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader (can be seen as platonic or romantic).

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: angst and whump, care and comfort, Cross is not okay, things do get better, ends hopeful.

A/N: this one is a little different than my other stuff, but its been rattling around in my head ever since I saw the teaser trailer at Celebration for S3. Cross looked so depressed, and goodness I just wanted to scoop up the sad toothpick and give him a cuddle. So, this is what this is – we’re giving him a great big cuddle.

In the stillness of the early morning, as the island slumbered in hushed tones, you stirred in your bed, your eyelids fluttering open to the fading darkness that enveloped your room. The dimming moonlight cast a glow, offering mere glimpses of the familiar shapes around you.

A sudden creak echoed through the silence, and your drowsy mind snapped to attention. Heart skipping a beat as you strained to discern the source of the sound, your breath hitched when a second noise reached your ears: the soft, unmistakable click of the door opposite yours closing.

Sitting up, the covers slipped off you. With cautious movements, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet meeting the cool wooden floor. Every step towards the door seemed to amplify the rhythm of your pounding heart, and you reached for the robe hanging on the back of it, tying it hastily around your body.

You didn’t hesitate to open your door, though you took it slow to avoid the squeak you still hadn’t greased.

The hallway was dimly lit by the faint glow of the night light used to help Omega navigate to the bathroom in the dark, and it threw elongated shadows along the walls. You tiptoed forward, steps deliberate and silent, and peered around the corner.

There, about to head down the stairs, was Crosshair.

It had been six weeks since you’d stormed Mount Tantiss to get him and Omega back, finding Tech in a bacta tank, too.

They’d integrated back into life on Pabu with ease – Omega had started attending the island’s school, while Tech had made it his mission to fix anything he could get his hands on.

But Crosshair… he’d withdrawn. Barely leaving his room, he seemed like a ghost of his former self, lost in his thoughts. The scars from his time with the Empire weren’t just physical but mental, too, and they weighed heavily on him. You’d tried to help him as much as you could, but that stubborn streak of his was hard to break. It was clear that the road to recovery was going to be a long and difficult one, but you weren’t going to give up on him.

You watched him from the shadows, torn between wanting to respect his space and the need to reach out to him. He seemed so distant, so different from the man you’d known during the war – the man who’d at first been frustrated by the presence of a mere civilian in the squad but had then grown protective of you, who’d inked an Aurebesh ‘99’ onto your wrist so you’d finally match him and his brothers, and who’d taught you how to use his rifle when no one else was allowed to touch it.

As Crosshair descended the stairs, you knew this might be your chance to talk to him, to draw him out of his shell. You stepped out from the shadows and called his name softly. He froze, his hand halfway down the handrail, and slowly turned to face you.

It was hard to miss the tiredness that painted his face; those hawkish eyes you’d gazed into thousands of times were now red-rimmed and glassy. Neither of you uttered a word, the silence lingering for a second before he sighed, turning and heading down the rest of the stairs.

You took off after him, tiptoeing to not wake his siblings. Bare feet met the tiled floor of the living room, and you found him at the window, gazing out into the distance. He’d never been a conversationalist, that much was a fact, but he’d barely uttered a word in six weeks, instead opting to respond with small sounds and grunts to convey varying levels of annoyance.

For a moment, you take him in. He was still too slender for your liking – he’d lost the few pounds he’d once had while he’d been in captivity on Tantiss – and he was in desperate need of a shave, grey stubble covering his jawline. His hair was starting to grow back, silver flecks covering his scalp, though you knew it would never hide his scar from Bracca.

Moving forward, you stopped at his side, eyes shifting to look out the window, too. The palm trees swayed a little in the light breeze, the fading moonlight casting an eerie glow. “It’s pretty here, don’t you think?” You ask lowly, not expecting an answer but wanting to at least engage in some sort of conversation with him, to not ignore him.

You knew his siblings were struggling, unsure how best to help him. Tech had naturally gravitated to his twin – the two of them sharing a bond you’d never understand – but he couldn’t get more than one word out of him. Omega still talked Crosshair’s ear off as he sat and silently listened, but he never replied. Wrecker shoved Lula into his face and knocked his shoulder playfully, but there was no grunt of frustration, or angry toothpick flicked in his direction anymore. Echo had left Pabu to help Rex with the fledging rebellion so that left Hunter…

The relationship between the oldest and youngest of the Batch was strained at best. Hunter was trying to build bridges, extending olive branches wherever he could, trying to make up for everything that had happened in the last year, but Crosshair was so lost in his thoughts and troubles that he missed most of them. You’d spent an equal number of nights sitting silently by Crosshair’s side to offer comfort and reassuring Hunter that every attempt he made was good and that his brother would eventually reach out in return when he was ready.

The silence stretches, but from your peripheral, you catch his eyes shifting to you for a moment before he looks back out of the window. “I was thinking of going to the pier to catch the sunrise.” You state. “It should start in an hour. If you’d be up for it, you can join me.” You extend the offer. If you could get him outside, that would be a positive step, but you wouldn’t pressure him. Right now, he reminded you of a feral lothcat needing reassurance, stability, and comfort.

There’s a moment of pause before he gives a slight nod, and it takes everything in you not to smile and jump for joy. His eyes rake back over to you, looking you up and down, taking in the robe you’d hastily pulled on to follow him. “I should change first.” You chuckle quietly. “Give me two minutes.”

It’s instinctual for you to reach out and give his forearm a gentle squeeze, something you’d done often during the war.

As you take the stairs two at a time back to your room to change, you miss how his eyes follow you and then drop to his arm, glued to the spot you’d touched. 

When you return downstairs, he’s pulled on a light jacket and some shoes. You do the same, dragging on your shoes from the cluttered rack near the front door.

Together, you step out of the house that had been a gift from the residents of Pabu – a thank you for saving them from the tsunami and helping them rebuild the island. Instinct kicks in again as you reach for his wrist, fingers wrapping around to help draw him out past the front gate and toward the pier. You’d always reached for him and his brothers, grabbing wrists and hands, touching shoulders or waists as you passed. It had been subconscious, a way to remind yourself that they were safe and you were doing your job as their handler right.

Crosshair doesn’t pull away from your touch. Instead, he focuses on how you hold on to him, how you lead him so effortlessly through the winding streets. It felt odd, a little uncomfortable even, to experience such a soft touch after countless weeks in Hemlock’s clutches and the months before that alone in the Empire’s ranks.

The two of you walk slowly, the gentle noise of your footsteps breaking the quiet of the predawn hours. The island was serene, bathed in the faint glow of the stars and the imminent promise of the rising sun.

Arriving at the wooden pier extending into the calm waters, you both found a spot to settle. Positioning yourself on the edge, legs dangling over the side, Crosshair stood slightly back, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. The first hints of daylight began to break the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, the waters below mirroring the beautiful canvas above.

You stole glances at Crosshair, observing his subtle reactions to the scenery. His usually steely demeanour seemed to soften as he stared at the horizon. The faintest hint of a wistful expression flickered across his face, something you hadn’t seen in a while.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a sunrise.” He spoke, the words breaking the silence between you. His voice was raw, hoarse from not being used for an extended period.

“Sunrises have a way of grounding us.” You respond softly, your gaze fixed on the emerging dawn. “It’s a reminder that every day brings a new beginning.”

He remained silent, but a small nod indicated his acknowledgement of your words. The minutes slipped by as the sky transformed into hues of pastel.

Eventually, you turned to him, searching for something to bridge the gap between you. “Cross, they all missed you - Omega, Tech, Wrecker, and Hunter. I missed you, too.”

A fleeting shadow crosses his features, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. “I’m not the same.” He murmurs, barely audible, over the gentle lapping of the waves against the pier.

“No one expects you to be.” You assure him, reaching out tentatively, your hand resting on his forearm again. His muscles tense slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay not to be okay.”

His eyes met yours, the turmoil inside of him evident. “I’m not used to this...feeling.” He admits in a whisper.

“And that’s okay.” You repeat, your voice gentle but firm. “You’re not alone, and you can face this feeling. We’re all here for you in whatever way you need us.”

The sunrise marked a new chapter—a silent understanding between you. You stay by his side, allowing the morning light to wash away the remnants of the night’s darkness, your hand still resting on his arm, anchoring him in the moment. You talk about inconsequential things, about the sea, the island, anything that didn’t carry the weight of the past. Occasionally, he would respond.

As the sun finally emerges in all its glory, painting the world in golden light, a glimmer of something different appears in Crosshair’s eyes. For a moment, it’s like a sliver of the old Crosshair has peeked through the layers of trauma and pain.

You don’t expect everything to change in this one moment. Healing was a process, a gradual journey through the shadows towards the light. But this, this felt like a step forward. A spark of hope.

The day was beginning, and as the island woke, you hoped that this small, shared moment would be the start of something more. A reminder that there was still beauty to be found, bonds to be rebuilt, and healing to be embraced. And that better days lay on the horizon.

[krispdreemurr]

undertale cyan concepts (child death and such implied). this got kind of out of hand length wise sorry.

this room is vast and empty. a few scattered weeds have broken from the cracked ground and rise into the dim sunlight. far above you can see the hole you fell through, feel the distant breeze.

nearby, there's an opening in the cave walls, leading into another tunnel. it is dark. you can't see the tunnel's end.

you don't approach it.

you have been taught things for emergencies, just in case. in an emergency, the best thing is to stay and wait for someone to find you. moving may just make you more lost.

you are good at staying, and waiting.

you have a food bar in one pocket, squished a bit but still edible. you pull it out, unwrap it, eat it. it makes your throat feel dry. you don't have your water bottle.

maybe there's water deeper in the caves. you could go check.

you don't.

time passes. the thin light begins to dim. you strain your ears, trying to make out voices in the distant wind, listening for any sign of your rescue.

but there's nothing to hear.

this is your fault, of course. you strayed from the path, you went too far. you didn't wait, once, once only in your life. you wanted a moment alone to think and regather and you broke from the trail and now--

well.

someone will be there soon.

something catches your eye. movement in the periphery. a white shape in the shadows by the tunnel.

it takes a moment for you to resolve it. a frog, but larger than any frog you've seen, and with something strange to its belly.

before you can make it out, the frog gasps - gasps like a person - and turns and runs back into the tunnel.

you try to call a protest, but your throat is dry and what comes out is a croak. the frog(?) is gone.

you stand, move to follow.

you hesitate.

you look up at that distant circle.

you sit back down.

it isn't so bad to wait. you are good at being alone with your thoughts (you wanted that, space alone, time alone, time to ready yourself). you are good at sitting so still someone could miss the fact you're there at all.

you let your thoughts wander.

you keep looking up.

the circle dims to blackness. there's still faint light in the cave, somehow, though.

it takes you time to trace out the thin veins of glowing crystals on the walls, as they brighten in the absence of sunlight. it's not much, just a tracework of light, enough for you to see the walls and your hands.

it's beautiful.

you wonder if the rest of the caves are so beautiful.

you don't move.

you're thirsty. you're aching from the fall. you're tired. you want to get up and go and find something anything anything other than waiting in the dark.

but. but.

you listen. you know what you're meant to do. you can endure. any moment now you'll hear calls from above and you'll see the rope descending and all your waiting and all your patience will be rewarded and you'll be a good kid and it will have been worth it.

you let yourself imagine.

and then--

footsteps.

footsteps not from above but from the tunnel, heavy and slow, and you tense but surely surely surely this is what you've been waiting for all along.

someone's found you. you're going to go home. you've been a good kid and you get to go home.

you rise to your feet and approach the tunnel, rush into the arms of the largest man you've ever seen, and you marvel for a few moments at the gold armor and the white fur like something from a storybook, and you wonder why his face is so sad as he

[roseapov]

3 Nights of the 1st January

Contains spoilers to the Book 7 TWST Tw: War, injury, blood, poison, death, swears Angst (I hope to make you cry)2k+ words Masterlist / 2024 BDAY Masterlist Lilia's 2024 Birthday Special

The cold night air whistled in his pointy ears, as a man run through the woods after being spotted by his enemies. The fae tasked with spying on the Silver Owl's, failed his mission due to an injury sustained earlier, and now he paid the price of ignoring it, by being chased by humans in the iron armors.

'Ugh! Shit..!' Were the words the running figure had spoken, when more of his injuries opened up during the frantic run. In his current state, he wouldn't stand a chance in the fight against them all, but as he was the General, and a very stubborn General in fact, no one had the right to stop him.

The shouts of the human soldiers echoed through the forest, making the male stumble a little, the situations had been really bad. Now that they had spotted him, they will change their camp location, something he couldn't afford to let them do. It was a perfect opportunity to listen in on the enemy and sabotage their plans, but he fucked it up.

He cursed himself in his thoughts, forcing himself to run faster. His beautiful long black hair with red streaks flowed in the wind, moving franctically during the sharp turns and unexpected movementstogether with their owner. The moon shining down on his mask and form, making him look ethereal and glowy, beffiting a nocturnal fae such as himself, wasn't helping his situation at all.

As he made another sharp turn, thinking he lost the ones chasing him, he leaned on to a tree trunk, breathing heavily immiediately looking back only to let out a scream of pain. While he was distracted with looking for everyone, one of the iron archers shoot him in his right calf with an arrow, that he was sure was poisoned.

Lilia cursed outloud, turning towards the shooter and beheading him with one smooth motion of his weapon, sucking his breath in painfully, with the arrow still in his flesh.

Instead of leaning on a tree again, he chose to climb one instead, to not repeat his mistakes, and send a few of his bats to call one of his subornites, namely Baul Zigvolt, to avoid making from the situation more of a big deal than it already is, and getting away quietly, undetected.

Sitting on a big branch of an old oak, he caught the arrow close to the arrowhead and pulled it out in one fast montion, biting his other hand and screaming in his head, while the enemy soldiers were running underneath the branch he sitted on.

'This damned poison' He thought as he started feeling faint, holding himself onto the bleeding place, directing his eyes to the stars and looking at them emptily through the mask.

The wind suddenly started to blow, making a gentle breeze that started moving his hair a little, as he taken off his mask and hood, enjoying it dearly. At least, as much as a man in a chase can enojoy things like this, with little tear droplets wetting his eyelashes.

He went through the most chellenging and hard situations in life, and ended up as a War General. His life always has been a complicated mess.

He was a worthless orphan, not someone worthy of stading beside the Crowned Princess, not someone worthy of being a General. How old is he? When was he born, and if he knew, would he celebrate? Probably no. Who were his parents? Did they abandoned him? Or did something happened to them instead?

These were the thoughts that started to invade his head, as his armor started to weigh on him. His arms started getting weaker and weaker, his eyes, that were staring emptily at the sky, started to feel unbearable heavy, and he slowly too, started to lose conciousnes. The only thing he managed to hear was a worried scream of his name.. Looks like the rescue has finally came...

And that's how, the night of the 1st January passed for Lilia Vanrouge, the same as many future ones to come...

( * Hundreds of years later * )

'Happy Birthday Lilia!' - Voices of people flooded his senses when he entered the Diasomnia lounge, one of the dorms in the college he studied in.

'Huh? It's my birthday today..? I forgot' Thought the short fae, he completely forgot, but nevertheless welcomed this nice surprise, he was even impressed, that his children had managed to organise all of this without raising his suspicions.

'It's my birthday today? I forgot, and you haven't even reminded me? '- He said as looked at his familiars and then chuckled happily - 'I raised you good, you managed to surprise me!'

His chuckles turned into a full out laugh, he was really happy. For many reasons, Malleus - had hatched and he is able to be with him, Silver - his son with a way shorther lifespan than his - is alive, Sebek - his students is still full of energy and determination to better himself, still being very liable to fall for his jokes.

'What a great gift I received to be able to spend this year with you three', Lilia thought to himself, with melancholy in his eyes. A second after that, the male has put on his big smile once again, and started teasing people he considered his family with a joyous laughter and stars in his eyes.

Everyone in the Diasomnia played board games and he managed to tell lots of stories from his youth, later on as the man of the hour he got a banned from the kitchen because as Malleus said, he shouldn't lift a finger with his senile age, and saving everyone from eating deathly dishes, although the last part was not mentioned out loud.

Soon after that, his friends from other dorms joined in the partying and burried him under a huge pile of presents, especially Kalim. Lilia only smiled and laughed at that, he would surely have lots of fun opening them all later, he really couldn't wait.

A cake, cookies of all sorts, a tomato juice and other kinds of snacks got placed on the table with Malleus's magic as he also redistributed one glass of the juice to every guest, while Silver and Sebek had decorated the whole Diasomnia, and not just the venue, in a birthday party style.

The atmosphere had been delightful and full of laughter, up till late hours of the night. Of course, Lilia wouldn't be himself if he hadn't played a few jokes at the guests and his birthday interviewer, making everyone laugh at them, giving him a free hand in doing whatever he liked.

When the hour got closer to midnight, the rest of theremaining guests had come back to their own dorms, wishing their well wishes to the fae again. The lounge quickly became empty, with only 4 people being left in it, including himself.

Can I ask for one last thing? - Lilia's deep voice cut through the comfortable silence, shocking the boys, who thought he wouldn't speak at all. But even after the shock, their response was immediate and affiramtive, just as he expected.

At that the short male turned to look at his closed ones faces, and with a serene smile asked for a dance. His bats with the help of his magic started playing the instruments in the rhythm of a song all of them knew perfectly well, a classic Briar Valley lullababy.

The four of them quickly took off to dance, and just after the first few verses, changing their dancing partner so that everyone could dance with eachother, and then again, and again.

Dancing up until midnight and way longer into the night, with only themselves and Lilia's bats as witnesses to their antics, and serene moment, filled with true love they had for eachother in the air. 

This was a delightful January 1st, one that he'll be sure to treasure for as long as he can remember.

( * Several years later * )

In the old hut in the woods, a man sat in his rocking chairoutside on the porch, an Ex-War General and the caretaker of the Fae King, Malleus Draconia. The fae who even after the demanded respect for him by their new King, others still were treating like an outcast and so, he didn't protest, living in the forest, just like an outcast, they said he were.

Was it wrong that he never fought for more time spend being closer with his family..? He shouldn't think like that, he got to spend plenty of time with his boys already, no? He shouldn't be too greedy about their presence and time, they all had their own lives outside of him.

All of the them being able to be together at the NRC, was the biggest gift and fortune, he could've ever imagined, making beautiful memories. Just like his birthday several years ago, when he and his boys danced together until the late night. Can he complain at such beautiful memories? Does he have the right to ever ask them to spend more time with him? To not only think about the memories, but to make new ones?

He won't know, not anymore. There's too little time left, feeling his soul trying to leave his body, he still tries to fight back, 'stars please, give me more time'. He won't give up, not until he'll be able to see them, one more time, just a glimpse is enough.

Even after living so far off from the capital, he still can see the glipses of colored lights looming above the tree crowns, and faintly hear their bangs. He sighed and smiled to himself, looking up into the sky, but that smile haven't lasted long, dimnishing a second later with a pain in his right calf.

What should he say to everyone? That he feels like death is just around the corner? Should he even say anything and destroy their moods with panic? Should he ruin Malleus's first new year celebration as a King? No, no he shouldn't... He don't want to ruin their fun...

Soon after his heavy thoughts, the only joys left in his life, came to see him and sat next to him quietly, not disrupting his rest and looking up at the same scenery, just as he did a while before. 

When he opened his mouth to say his final goodbyes, no sound left him and thus he knew, his time has come. He looked up at the stars one last time, with a last thought 'Please take care of them for me', to who? He's not sure...

'Happy Birthday', one whispered.. or said..? Lilia's not sure anymore, as his eyes had started coming to a close, he felt really happy that he could spend his last moments together with his family, when all of them had been happy around him, without any worries at all...

After his soul departed from his body for good, he took one last look at his now-dead body, and saw a truly heartbreaking scene. Malleus, Silver and Sebek panicking. With his body in Sebek's arms who was crying the whole river out, Silver screaming and also crying, trying to somehow wake him up, Malleus looking shocked, panicked even, trying every known to him spell, but noone seemed to be working.

In the corner he barely saw Baul, his comrade in the war-times, running frantically towards the source of the panic, not wanting to believe in what he thought was happening. So Baul it is, huh? 'Please, protect them well then' his thoughts begged the man before him, the one that couldn't hear or see him anymore.

Lilia's soul finally let out lots of terrible cries and screams at their reactions, breaking down, after holding it in when he was alive, all emotions returning to surface. He didn't wanted to leave them, he truly didn't! If he could, he would.. he would.. Do anything to spend more time with them together..! He never wanted to leave...

And then, he saw their faces. Meleanor and Levan waiting for him togehter with open arms and tears in their own eyes.. His pupils dilated, breath quickened and he threw himself into a run, jumping into their arms, sobbing and crying with all his might, being afraid to let go, not being able to let go, with his voice breaking down several times.

The three of them then dissapeared together high into the stars, without looking back, waiting for others to join them later in the future.

And thus, at the night of the 1st January, Lilia Vanrouge, joined the stars, reunited with his dear companions, and started looking after the young ones from above, hoping that Baul will be able to do what he wasn't able to. Be with his loved ones for just a bit longer, being able to protect them.

I hope I made you cry, or at least made you have tears in your eyes/being sad. (If I did, pls tell me, I wanna know if I did a good job), Have a good day with Lilia in the stars!

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Angst

The skeleton brothers are hanging out in the house, and the storm outside is making the house make creaking and groaning noises, which is pretty normal in that area. That was the world warning them of the fact that holy shit the world is moving and the house is falling over with them inside it. Both end up trapped under the rubble in a lot of pain and unable to move and can't see.

By the time the rescuers come and help, the sanses are all already dead.

How was it for the Sanses in their last moments and how do the papyruses react?

Woah, this is a lot worse than the first ask lol. But oh well, you asked for it.

Undertale Sans - Papyrus jumped on him to protect him from the rumbles, but it actually made things worse as it crushed Sans' ribcage even more. Sans spends his last moments saying it's not Papyrus' fault, that he loves him, and that he's sorry. He holds his brother's hand until the very last moment.

Undertale Papyrus - He felt the shaking and instinctively rushed to protect Sans, but he underestimated the weight of the entire house on his back. Sans got most of the shock, and Papyrus realized to late Sans was actually saying goodbye by trying to ease his crushing guilt. When his brother disappears right between his fingers, Papyrus falls completely silent, in shock. So in shock, he actually doesn't even realize his spine got badly touched by the collapsing and that he's completely paralyzed. He's not sure what's going on when he gets rescued and keeps asking after his brother for a long time, begging Undyne again and again to go look for him again. He only realizes the next time he wakes up at the hospital that he has to be sedated. Undyne and Toriel are here to support him obviously, but it's going to be some hard months for Papyrus, who can't stop thinking all of this is his fault.

Underswap Sans - He knows he's mortally wounded, he can feel it, but he refuses to go before saving his brother. He fights like a warrior to make a way to him, and then he drags Honey out of the house. As Honey is ecstatic, realizing they're both alive, Blue collapses and dusts on the floor. He doesn't care. He did his job as a big brother.

Underswap Papyrus - He hid quickly under his bed and survived without big injuries, but he stayed stuck for a long time. He got so relieved when Blue called his name, and happily followed him out, just to have his hopes crushed all over again as Blue suddenly collapsed. Honey is too in shock to fully realize, and calls Alphys for help, screaming he needs an ambulance for his brother, more and more desperate. Obviously, it's too late for this, and Alphys realizes this right away. She tries to calm Honey down, but he's too agitated. Eventually, he faints because he can't take it anymore and Undyne has to quickly rush him to the hospital to avoid his soul breaking from a fall down. She saved him, but Honey will never be the same again, haunted.

Underfell Sans - That's the most horrible way to go for him as he actually already almost died from a cave-in Underground and survived an entire week like this. It's too much for his soul. He's panicking and, trying to flee, he gets crushed under a big pile of rocks. He doesn't see death coming.

Underfell Papyrus - He's a soldier, and he is trained to act in case of a cave-in. Well, maybe not with a leg missing, but eh, he's still doing it. Well, maybe the fact he saw his very own leg dust in front of his eyes was a good enough shock to encourage him to move the hell out of there. He keeps screaming after his brother, but his brother is not answering. As he finally manages to crawl outside, he meets the rescuers who quickly take things in hands. He waits nervously as they save a terrified Doomfanger covered in blood but still well enough to claw the face of his rescuers, but not his brother. Eventually, Edge has to go to the hospital, but Undyne promises to search for his brother (and watch over his demonic cat). Undyne finds Red dust not an hour later. Edge barely reacts to the news. Maybe he already knew deep inside. He simply stays silent. He needs time to process the information. As the day passes, he's more and more distressed.

Horrortale Sans - He can't think rationally right now and he's completely freaking out, having PTSD of what Undyne did to him. All he knows is that it's hurting like hell and that he doesn't want to go through this again. He decides to give up and his soul breaks. He can't do this again. He can't.

Horrortale Papyrus - He's in agonizing pain because of his back, but he's still talking out loud to calm down Oak. He can't see him, and he hopes he hears him, so he keeps talking, saying random facts he remembers. It helps him to calm down as well. Eventually, he hears Toriel and Grillby nearby, as they hear him talking. He's so relieved he starts to cry. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and he's completely self-conscious of how fucked up his back is right now. He has no doubt he's not escaping the wheelchair this time, but he's taking it surprisingly well. Toriel can't even move him because of how bad he's in pain and despite her healing magic trying to soothe him. He keeps a brave face. It's just a bad moment to pass, he had been through worse. But no worse pain than learning a few minutes later that Grillby found what's left of his brother. Willow completely breaks down, horrified, and no words can't soothe him this time. Toriel and Grillby refuse to let him go alone in the ambulance. They're family too, more than ever now.

Swapfell Sans - He has head trauma. He's self-conscious about it. He can't remember what he was doing ten minutes ago and it's getting worse and worse. He spends his last moment wondering how he will know if he forgets who he is. Can you forget your own identity? His last thought is for Rus. He swears he's going to kill him wherever he's going if that stupid idiot dies too. Unfortunately, he loses his battle against the desperate need to sleep and he dusts a few minutes later.

Swapfell Papyrus - He tried to jump by the window, but unfortunately, his butt stayed stuck in the window. He felt the whole house fall on his back, and a lot of things were stuck in his ribcage. He had time to kill to see it, and he slowly freed himself, patiently clearing the way. He's glad his phone is still working, and he tried to call Nox a few times. He knows his brother is strong, he must be somewhere. He actually hears Nox's phone ring near and manages to find his brother, completely unconscious. He tried to wake him up, but the huge crack in his head was obviously mortal. He tries to lie to himself, but he can't. He simply sits next to his brother and tells him he loves him and that he can finally rest now. And that he will stay safe and that he doesn't need to worry so much for him anymore. He's fine. He's all grown up now, he can go. He doesn't know if Nox heard any of this by the time he dusts next to him... But he hopes he did. Moving on from here is hard, but Rus holds on. It was always a possibility Nox would die one of those days, and they were both ready for it. Sure, Rus didn't expect he would die like this, but... Sometimes, life is a bitch.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He spends his last moments screaming his brother's name until he can't anymore because of his crushed ribcage. Once he hears Coffee answers him, he just sighs, relieved, and dusts on the floor.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He took a big rock on the head and stayed unconscious for a long time before he heard his brother calling him. He weakly tried to answer, but then no one answered again. Distressed, Coffee starts to crawl in the rumble with his head trauma to find his brother and collapses when he sees only his clothes, covered in dust. He immediately gives up and resigns to die as well, too weak anyway to crawl to an exit. Alphys found him unconscious and managed to rescue him. Coffee woke up almost three months later at the hospital, completely confused and disoriented, but with the only thought that it's not fair he made it and not his brother. It's going to be a rough few months as he recovers with no will to do anything, but eventually, he tries to move on.

[weemssapphic]

Another Round

Brienne of Tarth x f!reader

Plot: Somehow, someone manages to spike your drink on a night out - luckily, Brienne comes to your rescue.

Words: ~3.2k | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: mentions of being drugged, mentions of alcohol, hurt/comfort, light angst, fluff

“Another round?” Tyrion asks - you know him well enough to know it’s a rhetorical question, as another mug of ale is placed down in front of you. You’ve already had a few but you know your limits, and you’re only a little tipsy - one more and then you’re done for the night, you reason.

Your eyes scan the dimly lit tavern and land on a certain tall, blonde knight sitting alone at the bar. Ser Brienne of Tarth - you’ve had a crush on her for as long as you can remember, though you haven’t had much chance to speak with her. She sometimes joins your little group for drinks, but she always seems so shy around you, hardly ever addressing you directly. Perhaps it’s her shyness that gives you the courage, or maybe it’s just the alcohol, but you decide to invite her to drink with you.

“Be right back. Can you guys watch my drink for me?” Tyrion nods and waves his hand absentmindedly - you roll your eyes and push yourself back from the table, taking determined steps towards the bar and sidling up next to Brienne.

“Ser?” you say innocently, gently brushing your fingers against Brienne’s arm to get her attention. She flinches at the touch, her brow furrowing and her gaze falling to your fingers which linger on her arm - then her eyes flit up to yours and her face softens a fraction.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” you chuckle. “I was just wondering if you’d like to join me - well, us.” You nod in the direction of your table. Brienne follows your gaze, then locks eyes with you again. A faint blush tints her cheeks and her lips curl up into a small smile.

“Yes, I’d like that. Thank you.” Her eyes - Gods, those stunning, sapphire eyes - sparkle as she picks up her drink and gives you a curt nod, allowing you to lead her back to your table.

Bronn thumps Brienne on the back as she sits down next to him, directly across from you. She gives him a withering look and he throws his hands up in apology, a sheepish grin on his face. You chuckle as you watch the interaction, taking a healthy swig from your ale.

Conversation continues to flow between your friends, and they get louder and rowdier with every passing minute. Normally, you would find it funny - they’re a bit rough around the edges but you enjoy their company nonetheless. Plus, Brienne is sitting right in front of you, and you’re able to admire her beauty from up close. But right now, you don’t feel much like doing that - in fact, you feel a little strange. 

You blink a few times. The feeling will pass, you’re sure of it - you’re just a little drunk, you figure. Except it doesn’t pass - it gets worse. The room starts to spin a little around you and you look down at the table, focusing your gaze on the rough wood. But now it’s not just the room that’s spinning - it’s like your brain is loose in your head. The dizziness is accompanied by a wave of nausea and suddenly the air in the tavern is too heavy, too hot - you need to get out.

“Umm…” you start, trying to let your friends know that you’ll be stepping outside for a moment. You rise to your feet and find you have to steady yourself against the table to keep from falling over. “I’m just…” Another wave of nausea has you rushing towards the door, pulling it open and stumbling outside. You take a few steps, leaning back against the stone wall of the tavern and allowing yourself to slide to the ground, dropping your head onto your bent knees.

Little do you know Brienne had been watching you curiously for a few minutes prior to your abrupt departure, concerned at how you’d been staring at the table, swaying slightly. She’d been about to say something when you’d bolted out of the tavern - and now she immediately springs into action, assuring your friends that she’ll check on you as she pushes back from the table and follows you outside.

Your ears are ringing so loudly that you don’t hear the tavern door open, nor do you hear the crunch of gravel under Brienne’s boots. You flinch when you feel her hand on your shoulder - you try to lift your head but it feels so heavy and everything is still spinning.

Brienne is watching you with concern etched upon her face, brows knit together, lips pulled down into a frown. “Can you tell me what’s wrong? Did you drink too much?”

You shake your head, groaning as a pulse of pain throbs against your skull. “No, n-no, I don’t…” What is wrong with you? You are certain you haven’t had that much to drink… and even if you have, this definitely isn’t how you normally react to a few pints of ale… unless… “M-maybe someone s-slipped something in my drink,” you slur, trying to meet Brienne’s gaze as your vision swims.

Brienne’s frown grows. She is silent for a moment, studying you - an internal conflict waging within her. A part of her wants to scoop you in her arms and take care of you - another part of her wants nothing more than to stomp back into that tavern and interrogate every single one of those bastard patrons until she finds the person responsible. But then, who would care for you? Tyrion? Bronn? 

Making up her mind, she stands and reaches a hand out to you. “Come on, I’m going to take you home.”

“Are y-you trying to s-seduce me, Ser?” You look up at her with doe eyes, giggling at your own joke. You try to take Brienne’s hand but your vision causes you to see double - you miss, tipping over and falling knee-first into the dirt.

“Oh for God’s sake…” Brienne mutters under her breath as she bends down and scoops you up with surprising strength. You groan as the sudden movement sets another wave of nausea loose within you.

Brienne apologizes profusely as she sets off along the gravel path - taking a horse is out of the question as she takes care not to jostle you too much. She’s not wearing any armor right now and you’re grateful for it as you curl into her warm body with a sigh, nuzzling your head against her chest and allowing your eyes to shut.

“Where do you live?”

“King’s Landing,” you mutter, gulping in a lungful of cool night air in an attempt to stop yourself from throwing up on the knight.

“We all live in King’s Landing,” Brienne replies dryly and you can hear the frown in her voice but you can’t think straight enough to offer her anything else. With a loud sigh and a muttered curse under her breath, she continues walking - all the way back to her own little cottage.

~~~

The walk back to Brienne’s cottage is fairly short, but minutes feel like hours to Brienne as her brain kicks into overdrive.

You’re so blissfully unaware, Brienne thinks, of how bitterly conflicted she feels. In any other situation, she’d be ecstatic to be taking you back home with her. She’s liked you since she first met you, but she doesn’t think you could ever be interested in her and she’s too afraid of your rejection to ask if she can court you. You’re so kind and intelligent and pretty - you make butterflies swirl in her stomach and her heart pound against her ribcage. And her heart is pounding now, but more so due to her nerves at your proximity than anything else. She hopes you won’t be angry at her when you wake tomorrow, feeling better, and find yourself in her bed, knowing that she carried you here. 

Brienne does everything she can possibly think of to take care of you. She fluffs the pillows on the bed and lights a fire, before getting a cool, moist rag for your forehead and a glass of water. You can barely drink the water - a little bit of it dribbles down your chin and she swipes it away with her thumb, swallowing thickly as she tries not to let her eyes linger on your soft, full, wet lips.

Brienne can tell you’re going to pass out soon. Her gaze briefly sweeps your form and she realizes how filthy your dress is from falling in the dirt - you shouldn’t have to sleep in that. Plus it looks so tight and uncomfortable…

She digs around in her wardrobe for a clean tunic, then turns towards the bed again - her face turning bright red as she realizes you definitely aren’t in any state to dress yourself. She tries to get you to do it anyway, gently nudging you and hoping you’ll take the tunic from her and get changed, but you don’t. You watch her with heavy-lidded eyes, grumbling something about being tired, and Brienne sighs in frustration.

“I’m going to undress you, alright? It’ll be more comfortable.” You giggle in response and Brienne can feel the tips of her ears burning as she swallows against the lump in her throat and sits gingerly at the edge of the bed. With trembling fingers she undoes the laces at the front of your dress, slowly exposing the soft swell of your breasts. Her breath hitches in her throat and she hates herself for it - her stomach churns and she can’t help the bitter snort that escapes her lips when she realizes that this is the first time she’s undressing a woman, and it just so happens it’s the woman of her dreams - and it just so happens that this woman is completely incoherent and will probably never speak to her again after tonight.

With the laces undone, Brienne bunches the skirt up over your hips, before managing to pull the bodice over your head. She stares pointedly at the tunic as she helps you slip into it, not daring to look at your naked form - she’s seen enough out of the corner of her eye, she doesn’t want to violate you further.

“Mmmh… smells like you,” you mumble, gripping the tunic and bunching the fabric under your nose - Brienne’s stomach does a somersault. You don’t mean it, you don’t know what you’re saying. Hell, she’d be surprised if you even knew who was taking care of you right now…

You’re fully covered again and Brienne releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“You can sleep now,” she mutters, annoyed at the way her own voice trembles. You sigh and close your eyes, and Brienne pulls the furs out from under you in order to drape them over you. She stands to leave, intending to keep herself up so she can keep an eye on you, but then she feels your hand on her wrist, your grip surprisingly strong. Her skin burns at the touch.

“Bri.” It comes out slurred and heavy - it makes Brienne’s heart stutter in her chest. She attempts to pull away but your grip only tightens and you let out a whine.

Well, she rationalizes, one could keep you safest directly by your side.

She slips into bed next to you, feeling her heartbeat in her throat. You let out a content sigh and snuggle into her - she stiffens, taking in a sharp breath, but it doesn’t seem to deter you as you nuzzle your head into her chest, your breathing slowly evening out.

Brienne doesn’t know how long she lies there, stiff as a board, not allowing herself to touch you. She watches you intently, how your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks, how your fingers twitch as you loosely grip the front of her shirt, how your chest rises and falls. Her heart skips every other beat or so as she tries so hard not to think about her predicament. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, just before the sun begins to rise, she finally falls asleep.

~~~

You wake early - the bright sunlight in your eyes and the incessant chirping of birds outside the window only strengthen the pounding in your head. You can only remember bits and pieces of last night - you remember asking Brienne to sit with you, then feeling a bit funny. You remember feeling quite sick, then being carried… You squint your eyes open and your heart begins to pound when you realize you’re face to face with a woman’s chest. Your eyes travel upwards and your breath hitches when you realize that the woman next to you is Brienne. 

She looks like an angel in the morning light - faint scars illuminated on her pale skin, blonde eyelashes resting on rosy cheekbones, golden hair framing her face like a halo, almost translucent in this light. Her lips are parted slightly to let out shallow breaths, and you allow yourself to admire them for far too long - you’ve never been this close to her, her lips look so soft. You allow yourself to wonder how they might feel upon yours, how she might taste… Your eyes wander over the little scar above her lip - how must it feel to soothe your tongue over it?

Your thoughts are cut short when Brienne stirs next to you - her eyes open, immediately widening when they meet yours. She sits bolt upright, crawling back a bit to put some space between the two of you and hugging her knees to her chest.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, though you aren’t quite sure for what - you just feel there’s an awkwardness in the air, in her posture, that you should apologize for.

“Do you remember what happened last night?” Brienne watches you apprehensively, and you furrow your brows. No… not really…

“I mean I remember feeling really sick, but not much after that… Did we…” The words die on your tongue, your cheeks warming - you’re certain you’re turning scarlet. You’re too embarrassed to ask the question, but Brienne seems to understand what you’re asking her.

“Oh Gods, no!” She spits the words out, looking disgusted, and though you’re relieved that nothing happened, you can’t help but feel disappointed by the revulsion you see in Brienne’s eyes.

“Oh. That’s good, I guess.” You bite your lip. “Why am I here then? Why do I feel like shit?”

“Someone at the tavern spiked your drink. You weren’t in any state to be alone and since you couldn’t tell me where you live, I took you here.” Brienne watches as you take in your surroundings, your eyes dropping to your dress on the floor. “It was dirty. You fell when I tried to help you up.”

You look back at Brienne. She refuses to meet your gaze, her eyes stormy as she stares intently at her knees.

“Thank you for helping me then,” you say softly. Brienne raises her head and, finally, looks at you, her lips parting slightly as if she is about to say something, but then she snaps her mouth shut and nods once in acknowledgement instead. You frown. “Brienne, I… You look really uncomfortable. If I overstepped or said… something last night, I’m truly sorry.”

Brienne shakes her head but she can’t quite meet your gaze, and your frown deepens.

“Why do I feel like I’m overstepping by being here?” You regret asking as soon as the words leave your mouth - you shouldn’t be this bold, this demanding. Brienne has done you a great kindness - you should take it for what it is and leave her be. Except you can’t, not when there’s so much tension in the air and Brienne looks so disgusted.

“You’re not,” she insists, looking annoyed.

You take a deep breath - Brienne is clearly shutting you out, and you’re not getting anywhere like this. It might be time, you think, to be honest with the knight. “I like you, Brienne. I like you a lot. If I haven’t made that obvious yet.” You chuckle a bit at yourself. “If I did anything last night that made you uncomfortable or crossed a boundary, I’m truly sorry - the last thing I want is for you to hate me.”

Brienne’s eyes widen at your confession, her disgust morphing into disbelief. “I’m sorry - what?”

Another chuckle escapes your lips at her bewildered expression. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you, but yes, I like you a lot. I asked you to join me last night because I… I guess I wanted to get to know you better? But not like this.” You bite your lip and scoot closer to Brienne on the bed - she watches you intently but doesn’t stop you.

“You… seemed to like how my clothing smells like me,” Brienne mumbles, her cheeks pink as she nods at the garment you’re wearing. You feel yourself blush as well.

“That’s embarrassing,” you mumble. You can’t help yourself - you bunch up the front of the tunic in your fist and take a whiff. The whole cottage smells like her, but it’s more concentrated on her clothes. It’s your favorite smell in the world, and you smile involuntarily. “I do like it though,” you add in a whisper, your eyes meeting Brienne’s.

“I’m glad…” she whispers back, a little crease forming between her eyebrows as her eyes dart between your own. Her pink tongue darts out briefly to wet her lips and your breath catches in your throat.

“I would like to kiss you, if that’s alright with you,” you say, leaning in slightly. She doesn’t pull away. She nods, her pupils widening imperceptibly, the crease between her brows deepening.

You lean in more, until your lips are a hair’s breadth away from hers - you can feel her warm breath on your lips. Her eyes are still open, she’s nearly cross eyed as she watches you - it makes you smile as your own eyes flutter shut and you close the gap, meeting your lips to Brienne’s in a tender, loving kiss.

Climbing into her lap, slowly enough for her to be able to stop you if she wants to (she doesn’t), you allow your hands to wrap around her neck, one hand threading itself through blonde locks (Gods, they’re so soft) as the other stays at the nape of her neck, fingernails lightly scratching the base of her skull. Brienne’s large, calloused hands come to rest on your hips, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles of their own accord.

The kiss is slow and sensual, and it doesn’t pick up in intensity. It stays soft and innocent - even when you tentatively urge your tongue into Brienne’s mouth, it’s languid and loving. You explore each other’s mouths slowly, as if you have all the time in the world, tongues meeting shyly and slowly working out a dance.

When you completely run out of breath, you pull away, resting your forehead against Brienne’s. Your eyes flicker open and meet hers - you are pleased that the crease between her brows is gone now, her lips turned up into a small smile that reaches her eyes.

“May I ask you something?” she says, and you immediately breathe out a “yes”.

“May I court you properly, my lady?”

The term of endearment makes your heart flutter - you feel giddy, your stomach fluttering and your heart soaring.

“Yes, you may, Ser,” you whisper, unable to stop the grin that stretches across your face from ear to ear. 

Brienne’s smile matches yours, her cheeks rosy as she leans in for another kiss - just as slow and gentle as the last. Her arms wind around you, hugging you tightly against her, and you melt into her touch - feeling as if you’ve never belonged anywhere else in this world.

x

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[crossdressingdeath]

Thinking about it having taken some time away, a revenge plot like Karlach's was I think one of the worst possible choices for a BG3 companion quest even before we get into what a half-assed fake drama story it is (why isn't her quest finding a damn Wish scroll, Larian, that would actually be fun and wouldn't cut into Wyll's quest or demand the player choose her ending if they want her to live, there are multiple spells that could fix this and we're given exactly zero explanation for why we aren't even trying to get one, you even brought Wish into the plot as a non-standard game over and then didn't bring it up here when it would be an ideal solution), because it really brings the massive double standard the game's got going on into stark relief. It's most obvious in contrast with Astarion. Like, think about it: the Gur's desire for revenge against Astarion is every bit as justified as Karlach's desire for revenge against Gortash; actually it's more so, given they have a real (though faint) reason to hope that they can actually accomplish something outside of his death, namely getting their kids back. But giving him to the Gur kills him and costs you a companion; it's a failure as far as his character arc goes, and in fact happens so early on he doesn't really get a character arc. All of that potential development is cut short and you have to see his corpse in the ritual and it is in general treated as a bad thing. The much better way of handling the Gur situation is to talk to them in act 3 and drag Astarion into atoning for what he did by trying to deal with Cazador and rescue the kids. This is good! Blind revenge solves nothing, having people pay for what they did by atoning and having to help the people they hurt as best they can is a much better solution! We love to see it!

Now you'd think the equivalent to that would be to dissuade Karlach from her revenge and instead get Gortash to fix the heart (either with his knowledge of the tech involved or—my personal favourite—his power and influence being used to acquire the use of one of the spells that could repair it or replace it with a normal heart because again there's more than one of those and it's stupid that none of them are even brought up as potential solutions), but... nope! Revenge is only bad when those outsiders do it, when it's a companion it's the only real solution! Like, yeah, she's got that thing where she complains that it didn't help at all but... we knew killing Gortash wouldn't help from the start. I don't remember if Karlach herself ever brings it up, but it's hard to miss that killing Gortash will not solve anything Karlach's got going on. And if you don't kill him you don't even get that much acknowledgement that revenge isn't a great solution. And also that's the most basic revenge plot outline, "revenge feels empty" is so fucking common as an ending. But it's just a moment that makes it so clear that Larian wasn't really interested in exploring the themes of the cycle of abuse and how aggressors can also be victims and all that with... anyone except the companions (and even then not always; see their complete unwillingness to ever engage with pre-amnesia Durge as anything but a heartless, crazy murderer despite the game itself including plenty of implications that that wasn't the case). It makes it seem less like a discussion on the cycle of abuse and more like good old-fashioned protagonist-centric morality, where the bad things the heroes do are forgivable because they had a hard life but anyone who hurts them is irredeemable no matter how hard their lives were. And it could've been avoided so easily (in a way that also gave Karlach's quest a more satisfying ending) by having a better ending to her quest that focused less on revenge and more on restitution. But no, heaven forbid we be allowed to engage with the act 3 antagonists in any meaningful way outside of killing them or acknowledge that the main thing separating them from the less moral companions is that no one helped them...

[celenawrites]

lumberjack!price (who used to be ex military) rescues you, an injured traveller, when he goes to the woods one day to cut wood.

he finds you, buried in a thick layer of snow and injured with a twisted ankle and some cracked ribs and so out of it due to the pain and the freezing weather and as a good Samaritan, he hauls you away bridal style back to his cabin near the woods, isolated from society - the perfect place for him to spend his retirement while chopping woods, hunting for food, etc.

lumberjack!price who contacts his doctor friends and tends to your wounds, dressing your fragile skin with alcohol wipes and sterilized gauze, cuz the nearest town is at least two hours away from here. he layers you up with the thickest blankets he has, tries his best to assist you into changing into a spare pair of clothes (his clothes that are too large on your frame) and he restraints himself from registering how pretty you look in his clothes despite how banged up you have been atm. he lays you down on the sofa and tends to the fireplace with the chopped wood he has, ensuring that you're warm and safe and miles away from experiencing anything close to hypothermia.

lumberjack!price who feels how smooth and soft and perfect your skin is, your body is under his calloused, scarred hands and how all he wants to do is protect you from anything that can pose as a danger to you.

lumberjack!price who keeps waking you up every two hours cuz he's afraid you have been concussed. he wakes you up and feeds you some medicines and home remedies, maybe he cooks you some warm food - creamy tomato soup, grilled sandwiches, maybe a bar of dark chocolate he had bought on his last town run for groceries and utilities. he keeps checking your temperature and blood pressure, worried sick about you and he vows to take you to the hospital first thing in the morning.

lumberjack!price who gets to know you while you recover and stay at his abode (he insisted, despite you trying to leave and get in touch with your trekking team). he learns about you, about the job you had, about how you decided to join a trek group in order to make more friends and to travel in your free time, about how the snow blizzard had made you all split up and somehow you ended up fainting in the cold, left for dead. luckily, he found you and you'd forever be grateful.

lumberjack!price who insists on doing everything for you, but you're just as stubborn as he is. you bake him mug cakes and cook him your ma's signature dishes, and you offer to clean the dishes after the meal but he gives you a look that almost makes you falter, but your family has instilled values of gratitude deep into your bones, so you protest anyway - making him settle for you drying the dishes he washes instead. the scene is domestic, and price realises that he likes your presence in his humble abode quite a lot.

lumberjack!price who feels his heart break a little whenever he sees you recover steadily. he wants you to get better, can barely handle the days when your pain gets the best of you - but he cannot make peace with the fact that you'd probably leave the moment you're given the 'OK' from the doctor.

lumberjack!price who always comes running in the middle of the night whenever you wake up screaming from a nightmare (replaying the day you got seperated from your friends, except there's no one to save you). he shushes you, holding you in his strong, muscled arms as he promises to always look out for you and kisses your forehead as he rocks you back to sleep, letting your head rest on his chest and fall asleep to the lullaby of his heart.