#anything else. let it have been anything else but they’re trapped in their own body

[impossible-rat-babies]

me staring at eyrie’s family being a metaphor for differences in grief and thus how grief changes/stagnates/brings out the worst in people like we’re gonna keep creating the same dynamics huh brain

[yourlocalcryptidbee]

⭐NSFW Alphabet with Lucifer Morningstar

Good old NSFW Alphabet with our favourite duck man. Grab some snacks and a beverage, get comfy and enjoy <3

Template can be found here

~1.4k words

GN! Reader, mentions of makeup Want the SFW one? Find it here!

Content Warning: NSFW, not proof read

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s attentive to your needs. The literal king of aftercare, whatever you want he can provide. A bath? You got it. Cuddles? A snack? A walk in the garden? Hell, more sex? You got it!  

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his tongue, plain and simple. The power he has over you with it is his favourite thing. Watching how you squirm just because of this one part of him, he’s ready to blow a load just thinking about it! You on the other hand, oh he’s tied between your thighs and your chest. The way your legs shake just that little bit when he’s doing something right? Or the way your chest HEAVES after you cum? It’s too good! 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Would eat your cum breakfast, lunch and dinner if given the chance. And trust, he’s tried to do that on multiple occasions. You stop him, saying something about having a “balanced diet” whatever that means…  

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Lucifer fantasizes about you riding him during a meeting. He’s caught himself thinking about you sitting on his lap, while he’s on the throne, bouncing up and down restlessly like your soul depends on it. He’ll sit and envision what everyone else’s reaction would be, although he isn’t the biggest fan of sharing so maybe this will have to stay a fantasy…until he can learn to hold that many clones of himself that is (;

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

This man has been around since before the creation of humanity, over 10,000 years! At least 8,000 of those years having sex with either Lilith or Eve. So yes, Lucifer knows what he’s doing, and he knows he knows that he’s good at it. It’s named ‘The devil’s tango’ for a reason ya’ll. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Spooning or really anything where all of him is pressed into all of you. He just wants to hold you, whatever position that may be. He may be sexy but he is still damaged, and this is vulnerable. Just let him lay all his lovin on you ok? 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Depends heavily on the foreplay, but on average he’ll start a lil goofy and turn more serious as the act goes on. But always be ready for a wayward joke here and there. Sometimes it’s just too good to pass up! (just like how having sex with you is too good to pass up)

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s kept himself surprisingly well-groomed after his seven-year isolation. It’s trim and orderly the first time you see it, though it doesn’t matter that much because it’s such a pale blonde, that it’s basically invisible.  

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

My God, this man is bursting at the seams with love for you. His heart swells so much that it starts to hurt when he thinks about how he gets to participate in such a vulnerable and personal thing like sex with you. The most hated being in creation and you willing run into his trap, arms open and ready to envelop him in pleasure. Even if you can’t see it in his face or his words during the moment, he is always just so thankful that you could love him like this. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

At least once a day. He can’t help himself, plus he doesn’t have much going on most days sooo why not? No one’s stopping him, well you might but that's just cause you would rather help him than let him do it on his own.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

It is Lucifer, he’s got the words ‘corruption kink’ written on his goddamn head. (attached to the neck or the shaft, dealer’s choice) Like dirty talk is a lot of ‘What would your Father Even think of you now? On your knees for me? Hm? Darling, I can’t hear you~’. They want him to be the antichrist? Fine. Spread your legs and give him until the sun rises and he’ll show just how cruel he can be. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His Throne, it’s the one place where he knows that no other person could even sit, let alone have sex on. This is the Sin of Pride, of course, his favourite place is centred around his power. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you call him yours, my king, my love, my slut. The little choice in wording that shows that you understand just how much of his heart you own, and that is all of it by the way. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

While you’ve never done this because you understand, it turns him off real quick if you bring up his past love, Lilith. They’ve been divorced for years and he’s moved on but still, it rubs him the wrong way if you were to ask if ‘Lilith could fuck you like this, if she could love you like this or make you moan the way I do?’ Just No.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

10s 10s 10s all across the board! 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Again, depends on the foreplay but also how his depression is. If he is slipping into or is in another episode than its all sweet nothings, slow and romantic. If not than he’s more willing to go as fast as your body can handle. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Lucifer rathers to not have quickies but it happens. To him, it feels like he can’t make sure that you’re both getting what you want and he’d rather sell his soul to Alastor than leave you unsatisfied because of a goddamn time constraint. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He may be skeptical but he’ll try it. You got to try to know if you’ll like it. Plus you got quite the funny story from failed attempts at some things but that's part of the fun aint it?

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He’s the Devil from the Bible! Lucifer is quite literally otherworldly, his stamina doesn’t run out, it’s allllllll on how long you hold on for, baby. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Not the biggest fan of toys but if your adamant, he’ll give them a go again. Although ropes will always be on the table for him (;

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

A constant tease! All day, every day honey. He thrives when teasing you but as soon as the tables turn he is melting like that! That being said, he’s learnt to be careful with how much he teases you, least he want a repeat of that day at that gala, and seeing as Ozzie still makes fun of him for it, he’d rather not. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

His bedroom is soundproof. That’s explanation enough.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He loves it when you leave markings on him, scratches, bites, hickeys or d) all of the above. Don’t get him started on when your lipstick stains his face or clothes. Minimum 30% of all of his shirts have a crisp kiss mark on the collar and Lucifer wouldn’t have it any other way.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Matches the rest of him pretty well, on the thin side as well as a blinding white colour while hitting a comfortable 7.8 inches. He knows exactly how to use it too. No wonder Lilith felt like That Bitch. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Need it being said? His sex drives rivals that of Angel Dust. Don’t start something you can’t finish.  

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If the two of you aren’t cuddling then he doesn’t fall asleep until it’s almost sunrise. If you do snuggle up on him then it’s lights out real quick. That mix of sex, your shampoo and your body against his is his ultimate melatonin. 

[theemporium]

[REQUESTS OPEN]

[3.1k] or, void understands you. he can help you. he isn’t scared of you or what you are. you just have to let him set you free. (smut)

.

“Look at you,” he cooed softly, his hands running over your exposed skin with a feather-like touch. “So pretty when you listen, little dove.”

“Please,” you whimpered out, your voice was breathy and soft and he loved it. He loved the way your glossy eyes stared up at him, the way your cheeks were flushed and your lips raw and the way your whole body responded to him.

“Good girl using her manners now, hm?” he murmured with an amused huff as his fingers trailed over the plain of your stomach, smirking a little when your body twitched under his touch. “What would they say if they saw you right now?”

“I—” you gasped when you felt his hand grip your thigh, keeping your legs open and spread just for him.

“They’re scared of you,” he told her as his eyes caught hers. His stare was intense and deep and made her squirm beneath him. “They don’t understand you and they never will, little dove. They don’t understand people like you and me.”

And despite your better judgement, the snide remark slipped past your lips. “And you do?”

There was a pause. The hands exploring your body stopped, the soft creaking of the pipes were the only sound that could be heard as the seconds dragged on and you couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head up.

But Void had no problem solving that for you.

You felt his fingers roughly grab your chin, forcefully tilting your head back until his dark eyes met yours.

“I know you better than you know yourself, baby,” he gritted through clenched teeth as his leg slid between your own. “I know what makes you happy…what makes you sad,” he dipped down so his lips were brushing your own. “I know what makes you scream.”

Your eyes fluttered closed but quickly snapped back open when his grip tightened.

“They will never understand you like I do,” he whispered softly, almost like he cared. Almost like a lover’s words. “They will never give you what you need like I would.”

And a part of you knew what he said was true. They would never understand what you were or what you could do. It scared them. It scared them so much they locked you up in Eichen House without a second thought. They locked you away when they could no longer control you. 

“Pretty little dove trapped in a pretty little cage,” Void whispered as his hand slipped between your thighs, your legs practically shaking in anticipation. “I can set you free.”

“Please,” you breathed out, desperate and needy and so beyond caring what it meant now. It had been weeks now. Weeks of the lingering gazes and teasing touches, whispered words and late night talks. You found yourself intrigued by the hyperactive brunette, wanting—no, needing to know more about him.

Then something changed.

Something snapped in him.

Something darker.

But you, being the foolish and hopeful fool you were, you still blindly followed him because he wasn’t scared. He didn’t treat you like a freak of nature or a monster. He looked at you like you meant something, that you were worth something.

You followed him down to the basement because you craved it more than anything else. You craved him more than anything else.

It was a blur of emotions and pleasure. The way his hands gripped your hips, the way he led you back towards the couch and trapped you beneath him. The way his lips were on yours, his kisses as addictive as his words and the little sounds he made making you want to whatever he asked. Just as long as he kept touching you. 

He was pulling the scratchy material of your shirt off with your sweatpants following quickly after until you were tucked beneath him, dressed in only a pair of flimsy panties and your body burning up as you desperately chased your high over and over again.

But he would never let you reach it.

“You want that, baby?” Void hummed, his thumb brushing along the soaked material, drawing out a small whine from you when he circled your clit. “I can you make you feel so good.”

You nodded, hands gripping his wrist as you helplessly tried to grind against his palm. But Void was two steps ahead, pulling away from you completely as he tsked mockingly.  You let out a pathetic whine, every instinct in your body wanting to reach out for him, for the warmth of his body.

“Use your words, little dove.”

You stared up at him as he sat there, kneeled on the couch above you. Your eyes glanced down at his hands, following up his arms to the shirt that practically stuck to his body. Your gaze dropped to the front of his sweatpants, your throat going dry when you saw how hard he was, when you saw how badly he wanted you to.

“I want you to set me free,” you spoke so softly, looking like the semblance of innocence as your shaking hands rested on your stomach. Your pinkie darted down to trace the hem of your panties and he was seconds away from ripping the material off with his teeth.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, gulping a little. It made him hard to know he still scared you a little.

“You understand me.”

“That’s right, baby,” he praised as he leaned down to press a long, hard kiss against your lips. You moaned into his mouth, hands instantly reaching to grip his shirt as you tried to pull him closer. “I fucking understand you. I am the only one who can help you.”

“You’re the only one who can help me,” you repeated breathlessly.

The movements were quick and fast, almost invisible to the human eye but then again, Void wasn’t human. He sat back against the couch, with you now prettily straddling his lap. He could feel the goosebumps on your skin as he ran his hands up and down your arms. He could feel the way your body leaned into his. 

“If I’m gonna set you free, baby, I need you to listen to me, okay?” Void spoke, his voice low and gravelly and it sent shivers down your spine.

You nodded.

“Words, little dove.”

“Yes.”

His lips twitched. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ll obey you,” you said, your voice shaking a little.

“Atta girl,” Void murmured happily as his hands rested on your cheek, his thumb brushing against your swollen lips. He watched with eager eyes as you wrapped your lips around his thumb, sucking the digit as happily as you’d suck his cock if he let you.

You whined as he pulled his hand away, slumping back in his seat as he took in the sight in front of him. Your hands tucked behind your back, chest rising and falling with little pants and your eyes glued to him, waiting for him to touch you again. Waiting for him to allow you to touch him.

“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you, little dove?” The mocking tone in his voice wasn’t lost on you, wanting to press your thighs together but your position prevented you from doing so. “So wet and needy for me. Bet you are just desperate to come, hm?”

You gulped, nodding your head frantically. “Wanna come so bad.”

“Yeah? My little dove wants to come?” his voice sounded so soothing, so fucking patronising but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel an ounce of shame. “Go ahead then, baby.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as he relaxed in his seat, head laying against the back of the couch. “What?”

“Make yourself come,” he repeated again, his lips twitching into something quite vindictive and yet you couldn’t help but think how pretty he looked. “Use me, baby. Use me to set yourself free.”

“I-I don’t get what you—” you babbled, your cheeks burning under his watchful gaze as he cooed mockingly.

“Don’t get shy on me now, little dove, thought you were my good girl,” Void spoke as he ran his hands up and down your bare thighs. “What was that silly little fantasy you had? You…my thighs…yeah, you liked that one, didn’t you?”

Your breath hitched as he let out a small laugh. You don’t know how he knew, you weren’t even sure if you wanted to know how. The nights were you were unable to sleep, the covers were stuffy and your body felt warm and the only thing that made it bearable was slipping your hand beneath the hem of your panties and letting the pillow muffle your moans so you don’t get caught.

For him to know, to hear the little whispers and fantasies you thought you shared in the privacy of the dark rooms at night…

It shouldn’t have excited you as much as it did to know there was a possibility he was watching you, listening to you…that he was right there with you.

“Go on,” Void’s lips twitched upwards as he slowly guided you to straddle one of his thighs. “Put on a show for me.”

Deep down a part of you knew this was a bad idea. That you shouldn’t be here with him, alone and in this position. That following him down was your first mistake and everything else that followed only added to the mess. Deep down you knew that he was bad.

But you just truly couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Your hands moved to grip his shoulders, lip nervously tucked between your teeth as you began to rock your hips back and forth. Slow, deliberate movies as your clit brushed against the material of his sweatpants, and it felt good but it was not enough. 

“C’mon, baby, use me,” Void urged, his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Thought you wanted to come, hm?”

“I do,” you whispered.

“Then stop acting like a fucking brat and do as you’re told,” he growled as his fingers twisted around the material of your panties and ripped them with ease, letting the ruined material drop to the floor.

Your hips stuttered against his thigh, your hands gripping his shirt as you tried to get the words out of your mouth but no sound came out. You stared down at him, helpless and dazed and god, you didn’t think you had ever seen something so fucking hot.

“Can’t do anything yourself, can you?” Void commented, shaking his head slowly and something in your stomach twisted. “Need my help for everything, don’t you, little dove? Can’t even come yourself.”

“I…I can,” you argued but it fell limp when he gripped your hips, guiding them along his thigh.

“Can you?” he mocked, head tilted to the side as your hips began to move more frantically. Moans began to spill from your lips, desperate and shameless and sounding so pretty so his ears. “You want me to stop?”

“No!” you cried out, shaking your head as he bounced his leg beneath you.

“You look so pretty like this,” Void praised as you clutched onto him like a lifeline. “Nobody can make you feel like this. Nobody can make you feel like this but me.”

“Just you,” you whined out, tears welling in your eyes and your thighs burning but you couldn’t stop, not even if you wanted to.

“Just me, baby,” he growled, lifting his hand to roughly grip his cheeks so he could watch the dazed look on your face as you reached your high. “You only need me.”

“I only need you,” you whimpered, lips parting when you felt the muscles in your body tensing up. “Please.”

“Say it.”

“Please,” you moaned out, eyes fluttering closed. “Please, let me come. I-I need to, just please, please, please—”

Words escaped you in a desperate plea, like a mantra he could have listened to over and over again. Your body clinging to him, hair sticking to the back of your neck and your whole body shaking as you shamelessly fucked yourself on his thigh as he sat there, fully clothed and amused. 

“Come for me, little dove.”

The words barely processed in your head as your orgasm washed over you, a bright white light shining behind your closed eyes. Your head tilted back, his name and moans mixed together deliciously with sobs as your body let the pleasure wash over you. You were exhausted and sore and barely fucking coherent.

But he wasn’t done.

He ignored the whimpers that left your mouth as his grip on your hips remained, your cunt pressed against his thigh. He guided your face to his, unable to help himself as he kissed along your wet cheeks, the salty taste of your tears making him groan.

“Look how good I’m helping you,” Void murmured, lips brushing against yours but he never quite let you lean closer to kiss him. “You’re gonna help me too, hm?”

You let out a shuddered breath.

“Gonna be my good girl and help me, yeah?”

“I wanna be your good girl,” you whined softly, squirming in your spot and letting out a small moan as your clit brushed against his thigh again. “I wanna help.”

“So good for me,” Void praised as you leaned into his touch. He had you wrapped around his finger and he knew that. He knew that you were so fucked out and so fucking out of it that you would have done whatever he said, would have done whatever he pleased. And he would be lying if he said that thought alone didn’t make him unbearably hard.

You barely had time to respond before he had flipped you over, your stomach pressing into the edge as he bent you over the back of the couch. You could feel him behind you, his hands gliding along your back and down to your ass, squeezing and groping it. You jumped a little when he landed a quick slap on your cheek, the sound echoing through the basement along with your soft whimpers. 

You wanted to turn your head back, to look at him over your shoulder and see his face as he enters you but something told you to do otherwise. Instead you laid there, hands clenching the fabric of the couch as he spread your legs and let the cool air hit your soaking cunt.

“So wet for me,” he mused with a laugh, his fingers sliding along your slit and pressing slow, deliberate circles against your swollen clit. He lightly shushed you as you whined, his fingers moving to slowly push one inside you, enamoured by the way your cunt instantly clenched around him.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” Void muttered as he fucked you at a torturous pace, sliding in another finger to tease you that little bit more. “I don’t think you’ll be able to take me, little dove.”

“I can,” you gasped out, nodding your head helplessly. “I can take it. I promise I can take it.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to help you.”

Void groaned under his breath, the words sounding so desperate and innocent from your lips that he couldn’t resist any longer. He shrugged off the clothing with little care, his hand wrapped around his hard cock as he pumped it a few times, spreading the bead of precum along his tip.

You could feel the heat of his body behind you, his arms caging you in against the couch as he ran the head of his cock along your cunt, tapping your clit as you wriggled and squirmed beneath him. Breathless pleas escaped your lips as you urged him to fuck you, to finally be inside you and who was he to deny you when you sounded so pretty.

A broken moan let your lips as he thrusted inside you, little care about being gentle or tender with you. The groans that escaped his lips didn’t sound human as he entered you, feeling your tight cunt clench around him with such neediness.

“You wanted this, little dove, you wanted me to fuck you like this,” he growled as he bottomed out inside of you. “Such a desperate little thing, so needy for attention, aren’t you?”

“Void,” you moaned out, one hand reaching back to grab or hold some part of him as he mercilessly fucked you, your body bouncing with each thrust but it felt so good you couldn’t even care. “Please, please, please.”

“So fucking cockdrunk you can’t even answer me,” he said with a laugh that sounded so patronising it shouldn’t have made you clench around him the way you did. “Do I do your fantasies justice, hm? Can he make you feel like I can?”

You let out a high-pitched whine. “Stiles—”

“Don’t fucking say his name when I’m inside you,” he growled, his hand finding it’s place around your throat as he pulled you back until you were pressed against his chest. “He wouldn’t even know what to do with a desperate little thing like you.”

Your brain felt fuzzy as you approached your second high of the night, so close to the last and yet your body crazed it. You crazed the release—you craved him—like an addiction, a shot of pure fucking adrenaline and dopamine straight to your brain. You craved him like you craved air.

“Please,” you cried out, your legs shaking as you reached closer and closer to that edge.

“Come around my cock,” It sounded more like an order over anything else, but you were happy to comply. “Come around my cock and scream my name. You sound so pretty when you scream my name, when you tell everybody in this fucking prison who makes you feel like this.”

Everything passed in a blur. The tidal wave of exhaustion and pleasure as your second orgasm wracked through your body, the way Void groaned your name as he quickly followed you through your high a few thrusts later, coming inside you as he did. The way your eyes fluttered closed because it took too much effort to keep them open. It took too much effort to do anything at that moment.

But you could still feel him. His warm, heavy body behind you as he slowly pulled out, a soft whine leaving your lips when you felt his fingers graze over your leaking cunt, slowly fucking his cum back into you with two fingers. Your body felt buzzed and tired and sore, and yet you didn’t have the energy to tell him to stop.

Not as he fucked you through another orgasm.

Not as he held your shaking body as you cried out his name.

Not as he pressed his lips against your jugular, whispering “you’re mine” over and over again until it was the last thing you remembered as you passed out.

Because he was right.

He was the only one who understood and he was the only one who could help you.  

You were his.

.

[celtic-crossbow]

I Know I’m Bad News (I Saved It All for You) Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD Violence and Gore; panty sniffing; allusions to r*pe

The end of the world was not really an ideal event for anyone, and while surely everyone thought their resulting situation was the worst imaginable, you were truly adamant in your belief that your life was the epitome of disastrous. You had been alone for years, having no one and nowhere to turn while cities crumbled and people died all around you. You had done the only logical thing you could. 

You ran.  

And you kept running. 

You stopped when the hunger pains became unbearable. You stopped when your bladder was so full that it might explode. You stopped when exhaustion was weighing heavily on your body. And you stopped when hiding became necessary. 

You had hidden from them. The group of men that were razing the building as they grabbed anything useful, including your bag. 

“Joe! Joe, look at these clothes!” One of the men grinned while sniffing your underwear. “It’s a woman.”

“And by the looks of it, she was here recently.” The older man—Joe, it seemed—noted while lifting one of the packs of crackers you had been in the middle of looting. You had thrown them down as you ran to hide—the location of the package directing them straight to your hiding place. “Come on out, now.”

Sighing, you uncurled yourself and lowered your legs out of the air duct, hopping down to straighten with your hands held up to show you weren’t armed. “Just take what you want and go.”

Joe gazed around with an abrupt burst of laughter that was echoed by the other men. “Oh, we will.” Stepping toward you, he arched a brow when you did nothing more than square your shoulders. “Woo, boys. This one’s gonna be fun to play with. Claimed.”

He reached for you suddenly, mid-step, his intentions unclear but no doubt nefarious. It didn’t matter. Snagging his wrist, you used his own momentum to not only evade him but to spin him back to face his men, their weapons already being drawn and aimed. 

You were faster. 

With his arm now twisted behind his back and pulled upward, you had strategically pulled your own handgun from the back of your jeans, the muzzle pressed against his temple. 

“Put ‘em down.” You spat. When no one made an effort to oblige, you pulled upwards on his trapped limb and ground the cold metal against his skin. 

“Do it, boys.” Joe’s calmness surprised you, but you were wise enough not to grant them a visible confirmation. “Listen, sweetheart. There’s a lot more of us than you. Those odds just don’t seem fair.”

“Fair to who?” You taunted. 

The man scoffed. “You sure do have some spunk, I’ll give ya that.” He tried to adjust his position but your grip only tightened. He was bigger, stronger, but your weapon gave you the advantage. “There’s only one ending here. Put down the gun, let me go. I’ll make sure they’re gentle.” You curled your lip in a disgusted snarl. “Or they’ll put a few bullets in you and we’ll have you anyway. Them’s your choices.”

Your head tilted, you feigned consideration of his “offer,” laughable as it was. “How about I shoot you, then them, one by one?”

“Lady, can’tcha see how many guns we got on you right now?” Another man chimed. 

“Oh, I see them.” You confirmed. “I also see that one has the safety on, three of you aren’t even holding them right, and all of you can’t stop looking at my tits long enough to even try for a decent shot.” Your laughter startled them, their smiles fading. “This guy’d be dead and I’d have a bullet in each of you before you could hit me with one.”

“Oh, yeah? I say you’re bluffin’.” 

The words had no more than left his lips before the shots rang out. A bullet directly between his eyes, one in each shoulder, and in each knee before he hit the ground. Joe scrambled away from you, his arm now free. You kept your composure, your stoicism schooled in place, practiced from a former life of abuse and difficult choices. 

“Anyone else wanna call my bluff?” You asked, a brow lifted in challenge. 

Joe was helped to his feet, rubbing his shoulder as soon as he was standing. He regarded you silently, the others shifting about nervously. 

“Whatcha want us to do, Joe?”

“Well,” he started, but you were quick to interject. 

“You can turn around and walk out those doors. You go your way and I go mine.” It wasn’t a request. The older man stared, incredulous, before his face broke into a grin and laughter bubbled out of him. 

“Or,” He contested. You rolled your eyes and ground your teeth. He was really starting to get on your nerves. “Way I see it, I’m down a man now since you took out ol’ Billy there.” He waved a lazy hand toward the body. “Why don’tcha just come with us?”

“I thought we established that I have no interest in being your fuck toy.” You hissed. 

“Not like that.” He motioned for the men to lower their weapons. “Join us. We take care of our own.” Wagging a finger at you, he started turning to walk out. “Think you might be a fine replacement.” The men parted to let him pass, his invitation left hanging in the air. “Let’s go, boys.”

“But, Joe, she—”

“Wait.” You called out, lowering your gun, only slightly. “Just—hold up.”

You weren’t the first to notice him, but you weren’t far behind the others, Joe at your side. The man was just sitting, cross-legged, in the middle of the road, his head down, shoulders slumped. Defeated. A crossbow laid at his knee. 

He was a pretty one with an air of danger about him. Your time with Joe’s Claimers made you appreciate the rugged men you’d come across. They were always the most entertaining and fought the hardest against the men with which you traveled. The ones before, however, would always be spouting some cocky, desperate bullshit by now. 

This one hadn’t said a word or even moved beyond looking up at the individuals now surrounding him. You hung back, getting a feel for him and how to—even if you should—approach. Sometimes you were the bait, luring men and women into a false sense of security before the group would pounce. It was one of your many roles. 

You actually startled when the man punched Joe and grabbed the crossbow. He moved so fast. While Joe didn’t seem angry—even told the boys to stand down—he was still in the sights of the stranger’s weapon. 

Oh well. Their way didn’t work, so it was your turn. You weren’t about to let them kill one that you really wanted a chance to play with. 

“Wait!” You called, placing yourself between Joe and the business end of the weapon. You knew what to watch for, the eyes would always tell on them, but while in others, you had seen fear, intrigue, and sometimes even desire, this one only seemed to look at you with something akin to sadness. You took note and filed that away for later. “I know you don’t wanna kill me.”

“You don’t know nothin’.”

Oh. His voice was just as rugged as his appearance. “I know you won’t kill me.” You bravely—or stupidly—put your finger on the tip of the bolt. “Why don’t you put this down,—” you drew out the last word and tilted your head in request of his name. Your fingertip still rested against the bolt. 

The man hesitated, the wheels turning as he scrutinized you. You couldn’t help but be impressed. This was a man who could read people as well as you could. Luckily for you, you were a master at shielding your emotions. After a moment of tense silence, he lowered the crossbow. 

“Daryl.”

“Hi, Daryl. I’m Y/N.” 

Len used the butt of his rifle to drop Daryl at your feet, a wicked smile curving the corners of your mouth. 

“And I’m about to have so much fun.” Looking around at the others, they laughed while Harley reached for the crossbow. With a step forward, you placed a foot on Daryl’s hand and pointed at the weapon.

“Claimed.”

[entities-of-posts]

Hi, I have a question not directly tied to the roleplay (though I don't mind if you answer it in that direction): A while ago, you talked about your theory of a potential 16th Fear emerging to balance the emerging Extinction: the Dull. I find that concept compelling, but in that post you also said that each of the powers has an "opposite" due to how people like to categorise things and I'd be curious what you would consider the opposite of each power. (Mostly because I like lists and sorting things xD)

Some do have a pretty clear opposite (Vast/Buried, Lonely/Corruption), but with a lot of the others it's less immediately obvious or simply up to a bit more interpretation. iirc Elias says the Stranger is the antithesis to the Eye, but the Dark and the Spiral similarly foil its central concepts, and I'm not sure what else their opposites would be, really.

Let me just preface this list by saying that this is my own opinion and interpretation, and thus 100% right and correct and indisputable.

I will also say that there are Fears which I would call near opposites, but imperfect mirrors - such as the Stranger and the Eye - and some that just seem to hate each other without being antithesis - such as the Desolation and the Corruption. It’s also worth mentioning that overlap always exist between mirrors, of course; this is why there is a classic duality between the moon and the sun, but no one talks about the duality between the moon and a giraffe, even though they have much less in common.

That said, here is my list:

The Vast - The Buried: the most widely agreed upon. Spaces too large versus too small. The terrible freedom of being adrift in an endless ocean, of freefall, versus being crushed in place with not the space to crawl an inch. You get it. The comparison is so clear and easy that it kickstarts the speculation about all the others.

The Eye - the Dark: extremely straightforward; just as much as the Vast and the Buried, to me. Knowledge versus the lack of it. Stark light versus impenetrable darkness. What sees you versus what you cannot see. Literally symbolized respectively by an open eye and a closed one.

The Corruption - the Lonely: Toxic love versus miserable isolation. An overabundance of company, much too close, under your very skin, a swarm of uninvited guests within your deepest sanctuary who will not leave, versus a life so barren of any company at all that that you might almost start to crave the former. The heat of fever versus the cold of fog.

The Web - the Desolation: careful planning versus reckless destruction. A trap so intricately laid, hundreds of delicate moving pieces and redundancy measures waiting for just the right time… so easily laid to waste by an unthinking, spontaneous act of cruel hunger for rubbles. Man’s quest, since the dawn of time, has been to tame and leash fire. And we still haven’t mastered it.

The Hunt - the End: a wild fight for life versus its cold ending. The journey versus the destination. The two oldest fears. The Chase wants more than anything to never End. The End doesn’t Chase; it just waits. And you’re the one that walks towards it every instant.

The Stranger - the Slaughter: here is the part of the list where people start to look at me oddly, because they’ve often never considered those pairings; but hear me out, and remember that I am inarguably correct. The fear of something Else pretending to be human versus the fear of what truly lies at the core of every human person. The fear of being tricked by an elaborate disguise versus the intimate knowledge of the truth: that those who hurt others aren’t monsters disguised as people. They’re just people. And the urge is in you too. Masks, versus what is revealed when all masks are cast off. And they both have musical motifs which makes for some fun parallels.

The Spiral - the Flesh: the horror of the mind versus the horror of the body. Unreality versus a reality only too physical, only too inescapable. Your brain is lying to you, but your body keeps the score. Follow the patterns, the Spiral says, there is more, they are lying to you, just follow me down - this is all there is, the Flesh whispers, this is the raw and dripping truth, this is all you are and you will never escape it. The Distortion even admits it can’t digest an avatar of the Flesh.

[2kiran]

Hell knows what pit of crap i fell into along life to end up here, but i guess im staying.

I was wondering if you do x reader for Horangi?

like, he deserves all my love (he and König are my favourite). And i was hoping you could do something for him, ill be pleased with just about anything with him.

thanks.

-X

“NSFW ALPHABET”

pairing kim “horangi” hong-jin x reader genre smut. fluff gn reader. subby bottom / top horangi cw lowercase typing. 18+ content. korean pet names [ correct me if wrong ]. use of beautiful & pretty. mentions of violence. overstimulation. marking. voice kink. hint of scent kink. underwear stealing. some degradation [ giving and receiving ]. note thanks for requesting for him. i’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually.

a = aftercare ( what they’re like after sex )

horangi would prefer staying in bed, at least for a little while. he’d cuddle with you, strong arms caging in your body closely to his own. when he isn’t feeling lazy, he’d run the both of you a bath or a shower. cold, warm, or hot water, it’s your choice. he’ll help wash you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear,

“did so good for me, 자기야. made me take you so well, yeah?” ( jagiya – honey )

“absolutely beautiful,” he whispers, leaning in to softly kiss your cheek, “always such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

he’d go and buy you food, maybe even cook you some if he’s got energy to spend or if his legs are even properly working to begin with. he’d be so soft with you. treating you gently even with his rough and calloused hands. the same ones that’s killed more than you can count on your fingers, carefully taking your chin in it’s hold to make you look at him.

b = body part ( their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s )

for himself, he likes his arms. he can easily suffocate his enemies, trapping their head in muscle. they make a decent stand for his guns too, the butt of the stock against his shoulder. what he likes about them the most though is the fact that he could embrace and engulf your frame. his favorite way to hug you is from behind, his arms wrapped around your waist as he either rests his chin on your head or your shoulder. he enjoys the way you grab at him, grunting in your ear as you leave marks where no one else can see.

he also likes his thighs. they’re strong and muscular, and they could be used to choke his enemies in between. he didn’t really anything about it at first, until you unconsciously placed your hand on it and squeezed. how couldn’t you? they were warm and inviting, you couldn’t help but steal a feel. he softly gasped, in disbelief at himself for liking it that much.

for you, though, he definitely has a tiny favoritism for your hands. just tiny, he promises. maybe a little too much. he just can’t help but let out faint whimpers whenever you let your hands roam all over his body. it’s not like it’s on purpose when he whines as you wrap your hand around his neck, thumb running over his pulse as you gripped him gently. not enough to completely hurt, of course. unless he asked you to.

c = cum ( anything to do with cum, basically )

he cums pretty hard and he isn’t ashamed of it. if he’s topping, he’d definitely love cumming inside of you. his eyes holding a predatory gaze to see your sopping hole leak his spend, and all he does is fuck it into you. making sure that none of it spills out so he doesn’t have to do it again. it gives him a reason to fuck you even harder, and he loves it. he’d ask you before he does, though. if you don’t want him to finish inside you, he’d settle for your thighs, back, or stomach.

but when he’s bottoming? he wants you in him, absolutely coating his insides. he’ll growl in frustration if he feels any of it leak out of him, pushing back against you to keep it in. he’d overstimulate you just so you can cum again and again inside of him. he wants to feel you, in more ways than one. he wouldn’t really mind if you wanted to finish on him, even feel free to do so. his second favorite would probably be you cumming on his face. he just looks so pretty, doesn’t he?

d = dirty secret ( pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs )

he has jerked himself off to your voice once, and i don’t think he’ll be afraid of doing it again. replaying a voice recording of yours ordering him around, be it at the military base or at home. if you think that’s bad enough, he did it with your underwear. his hand clutching the fabric as he guided it over his needy cock, his nose holding onto the scent of you. it’s not like you’ll find out, right? you smell so good and you’re just so far away from him. he feels a little guilty, soiling your precious underwear for his own greed. oh fuck, what if you suddenly come home and catch him? that gets him excited, hips bucking up into the fabric as he spills all over himself with a low moan.

e = experience ( how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing? )

he has experience, but it isn’t a lot. he’d had his way with a few people, exes or casually. he knows what he’s doing, for sure. him being the good little partner he is and asking you to guide him, practically use him. he wants to make sure that he’s doing it right, that you’re comfortable, and that you enjoy what he’s doing.

f = favorite position ( this goes without saying )

he doesn’t mind. but if you really want him to choose, it’ll be reverse cowgirl. he doesn’t care if you ride him or he rides you, he loves it either way. if it’s the former, he’ll hold himself back from cumming right there. you look so good on top of him. his attention on the way his cock disappears into your hole every time you come back down. he’d occasionally meet your bounces, smiling to himself at the way you let out a pretty sound.

“oh, fuck, sweet–” he was interrupted by his own gasp, “hng! oh, fuck, yeah. c’mon, doing such a great job. yeah, yeah, just like that, baby.”

if it’s the latter, be prepared because you’ll have to lift that man off of you. he won’t stop until both of you are whining from the overstimulation, his hole clenching around you as he takes you again. he might even cry from the pleasure. he may or may not have dreamt of riding you in full gear. even better if you’re wearing his and he’s the one completely naked.

“fuuuck!” he whined, “you’re so – oh, god, you feel so fuckin’ good. i can’t– mmph! shit, just, hold on for me a little longer. please, 자기야. i can, i can take it! please!” ( jagiya – honey )

g = goofy ( are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc. )

he’s more on the serious side, but that won’t stop him from cracking a joke that’s enough to make you let out an amused huff. he won’t really joke around during the moment, as he can’t speak over his needy sounds. it’s usually reserved for aftercare.

h = hair ( how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc. )

he honestly forgets they exist, so don’t be shocked if he hasn’t shaved. he doesn’t really care, but he prefers keeping it short and well-trimmed. he grooms himself once a few months.

i = intimacy ( how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect )

he’s gentle and cautious during the moment, ensuring that this is what you want and that you’re comfortable. he wants the both of you to enjoy every single moment. when he’s being rough, he’ll still praise you. he’d compliment you, giving you affection,

“애인,” ( aein – sweetheart ) “you’re so fuckin’ – oh fuck, right there – amazing. all for me.”

j = jack off ( masturbation headcanon )

he jacks off at least twice a week. it’s more on to calm down his nerves and when both of you are away from each other. he has you, so it won’t really be a problem to him. however, if you make him do it to tease him, he will cum quickly. embarrassing enough, he nearly cried over the fact that it wasn’t your hand.

k = kink ( one or more of their kinks )

he has a voice kink, which should be obvious enough. what? he likes the sound of your voice. especially when you’re whispering such praise into his ear or dirty words. he’ll gladly do sex over the phone with you. guide him during it, and he’s sure he’ll stain his phone screen white. tell him that he’s doing good, and he’s teetering on the edge of euphoria.

probably has a gear kink. if you’re in the military like him, stay away from him because he might get a little horny. you’re enchanting in his eyes and the gear is a plus. oh, you want to fuck him in full gear? he just came in his pants. he won’t say no to it, he’s more than willing to. the way you could just crush him makes his face flush.

he’s into praise and he prefers to give it. he wants you to know how much you mean to him and he wants to do it with both words and actions. when you do it to him, he melts. he loves being praised by you. if you want, he may slip in some degradation. just a little bit so he won’t hurt your feelings. telling how you’re —

“such a pretty little slut,” he groans, “eager to get down on their knees for me.”

“so strong,” he sighs, “but crumbles so easily when it comes to me.”

a small breeding kink. it goes both ways. he’s already rutting inside of you if you say the words he wants to hear. but if you’re doing that to him, he cums so fast. his walls clenching around you to keep it all in, milking you like his life depends on it. he was so fucked out once and had a silly little thought that was like, “am i pregnant?”

l = location ( favorite places to do the do )

wherever you’re comfortable with. you probably fucked everywhere in your shared house, apartment, or room. he’s more than okay to have sex in the bedroom. but there’s nothing wrong trying out new places. the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, the two of you fucked there. he likes the idea of either you or him surprising the other, bending them over the counter. the kitchen might be his favorite, like if he was cooking and you’d suddenly pull his pants down— oh, he’d be crossing his eyes and your food will be burnt.

m = motivation ( what turns them on, gets them going )

the more you touch him, the more he needs it. your touches don’t even have to be sexual, it just happens. your hand feeling up his biceps, his forearms, his chest, his waist— ugh, he quietly groans. face flushing in embarrassment as his cock lays heavy against the front of his pants. he likes the way your gentle fingers caress him, making him feel like he’s that precious. he tends to become needy if you’ve been away from each other for a while. you’ll find him on his knees, pleading for you.

n = no ( something they wouldn’t do, turn offs )

he won’t do anything that can and will hurt you. he wouldn’t want you to do that to him too. anything that’ll really give either of you pain makes him uncomfortable. he’s okay with some spanking, but not too much.

o = oral ( preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc. )

he doesn’t really have a preference. you want to eat him out? go ahead. what he really likes though is face sitting. he wants you to sit on his face, full weight and everything. he’s decent with his tongue, but he is sloppy. drool coating your thighs as he gives you the messiest head you’ve ever received in your life. do it, sit on his face like he’s your chair and he’ll cum untouched.

p = pace ( are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc. )

it depends on his mood. usually, he wants a steady pace that has him rolling his eyes to the back of his head. he tends to be on the rougher side, the wet slapping of skin filling both of your ears and his. it’s to relief the stress in his body, really. but when he wants to take his time, he’ll go slow. maybe even teasingly.

q = quickie ( their opinions on quickies, how often, etc. )

oh, he’s definitely a fan. he enjoys quickies, but he doesn’t indulge in them that much. you two probably fucked in a janitor’s closet at least once. even in a dirty bathroom stall. if the both of you are busy with work, he’ll still try to convince you to fuck him,

“just one round, 애기야. i promise we’ll be really quick.” ( aegiya – baby )

what do you mean you have to do something else? no, you’re spending your time fucking him raw. need to submit a file? you can do that later, just bend him over the desk and take him right now. aw, you’re running late? he swears if you jerk off his cock, he won’t bother you anymore. we’ll be quick, he promises.

r = risk ( are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc. )

he’s more than happy to experiment. walk him through it, and he’ll quickly get the hang of it. praising him is a bonus. he only wants to make you happy. if he’s the one that wants to try something out, he’ll have a long discussion with you. to be sure, he says. despite your eagerness. mid-way, he’ll ask you if you’re okay and if you want to continue.

a risk he’d be hesitant to talk to you about is breath play. he doesn’t want to actually choke you, knowing his strength. but if you’re the one doing that, he’s already saying yes. he trusts you completely.

s = stamina ( how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last? )

he has decent stamina, those years of training paying off. he can usually go two rounds. when he’s pissed off, he’ll go about four. he can last longer but he doesn’t want to force you to. he wants to focus on your pleasure, making sure that you’re thoroughly satisfied. that doesn’t mean that he won’t be a little greedy from time to time, though. coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you just to make him full.

t = toys ( do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves? )

he doesn’t own a toy. why should he? it’s not like he can use it when he has you. you’re much better than a mere toy. you owning one is a different story, he’ll roughly use it on you or himself depending on what it is. it can go both ways. own a dildo? he’s fucking it into you, teasing you with it like it was his cock. or he’s riding it in front of you, telling you that you can’t touch him in between his loud moans. eyes slightly rolling back on purpose just to be a brat.

own a fleshlight? he’s making you fuck it, his words forcing you to imagine that it was his mouth or his hole, “c’mon, baby, you can fuck me harder than that.” or he’s the one using it, cumming inside of it again and again to make you wish that it was you instead. he’ll try to make you jealous, saying that it feels so good, and that he should’ve found it sooner.

u = unfair ( how much they like to tease )

he likes to tease you a lot, a few pokes then and there. getting under your skin on purpose, like bending over in front of you to pick something up. ‘unintentionally’ exposing his ass to you. or he’ll lift his shirt a bit high up to wipe away his sweat, his muscular torso on display for a few moments before he brings it back down like nothing happened. he knows what he’s doing, and his grin makes it obvious.

in bed, he slows his pace at random times. edging both himself and you. when you think he’ll finally let you cum, he stops. he’ll make you beg for it, all the while holding back his needy little whines. his thighs ache from the effort he’s putting in, but he doesn’t care. completely dismissing how his eyes water from denying himself of pleasure.

v = volume ( how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc. )

he isn’t the loudest man. normally, he’s more of a groaner. low, guttural groans leaving him as you tug at his sensitive cock. his eyes silently pleading for release as his own voice fails on him. he’ll sometimes silence his sounds if he’s feeling bratty and wants a punishment. yet, you’ll hear the faintest of ‘ugh! fuck,’s and ‘mmmph, shit, ah,’s. occasional quiet moans will leave his mouth and directly into your ear. he’s a little shy about hearing himself, so he’ll bite down on his bottom lip to stop them.

when you practically fuck the sounds out of him, it’s a whole different story. his deep and powerful voice reduced to whorish whining, moans of ‘please, fuck me harder’, and little whimpers are enough to shock the entirety of kortac.

“shit, shit, i can’t– oh! ah, oh fuck me, please,” he cried out, squealing even, “there! i’m– mmngh!”

he’s really talkative when you’re fucking him to next week. he makes sure you know how good you’re making him feel, using his voice to his advantage. eventually, his babbles shift into his native language, and that’s when you know he’s fully fucked out.

w = wild card ( a random headcanon for the character )

he makes you fuck him while he has the mask on. with only the mask on. sunglasses, gear, and clothes gone. he thinks it’s hot, the way the fabric of his mask clinging to his sweaty skin as you take him to the heights of pleasure. degrade him a bit, saying “look at how pathetic you are. what will your teammates think? tough horangi reduced to a pretty whore,” and his response is already leaving his vocal chords as he cries out –

“fuck, fuck, yes! i’m your whore, please, just yours. i’m yours, yours, ghhmhng! only yours.”

x = x-ray ( let’s see what’s going on under those clothes )

about a good 6 or 7 inches. uncut. thick. a few distinct veins.

y = yearning ( how high is their sex drive? )

he doesn’t have the lowest or highest, but it’s a little above the normal sex drive. he isn’t the type of man who’ll try to fuck you on every surface. his mind still wanders. just some slipping thoughts of how good your hand would look around his throat, squeezing and denying him of— uh, oh. he’s turned on. yeah, just a tiny bit above the normal.

z = zzz ( how quickly they fall asleep afterwards )

he becomes a little sleepy, so he may ask to take a nap with you. it’ll take him several minutes to actually fall asleep, but with you in his arms, he’ll sleep like a baby. he’d want to be close to you, making sure you can’t leave his side. he’ll whine when you try to move away from him, pulling you right back to him.

“don’t go,” he pouts, making grabby hands at you, “just rest a little longer with me, please?”

masterlist

[mistystepmoonbeam]

Reborn into BG3: Chapter 12

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 12: You take a walk through the cellar in the blighted village. When the others catch up you say something that freaks out Astarion.

Word count: 2.6K

A/N: I was undecided if I wanted to post this >.> But what the hells.

You’re on your own, now.  Just for a bit, thanks to Wyll convincing Tav you don’t need to be watched at all times.  And with no more goblins between you and camp you’re able to be left alone to sort out…yourself, you guess. 

You didn’t throw up again after leaving Ethel’s, but you may have done some crying as you walked in circles around the forest by the village.  If it wasn’t for having to face the others you’d have run back to camp, pulled scratch into your tent and bawled your eyes out.

Though you promised to go back to camp you find yourself in the blighted village.  You can't read the sign at the entrance but you know it says Moonhaven, and you try to memorise what you think the letters might be.  

A little stop can’t hurt, you think.  Anything to avoid a conversation about what happened.  And you can collect the herbs that are in the cellar, along with anything else that might be useful.  You take a small swig of the health potion to get the taste of bile out of your mouth and then stash it into your bag, since it’s now nearly empty after leaving your personal hoard at camp, and head down into the cellar.  Whatever objects had been clinking in there remain a mystery–you still haven’t looked inside and won’t even as you add more to the pack.

As much as you had wanted to abandon your staff you took it with you.  Necromancy or not, it could bludgeon someone should the need arise.   And apparently it can cast light in a small radius around you because it does just that when you make it to the bottom of the ladder.  

With a slight purple tint, the staff lets out an eerie glow giving you just enough light to see by.  There’s a small buzz of energy through your body that you assume is the Weave.  Not wanting to question things anymore, you get to work prying open the barrels and crates and find the herbs you’re there for.  You circle around and pick up a couple health potions, a couple mystery potions to be identified later, and find the hidden lever.  You hesitate before pushing it down, but curiosity gets the better of you in the end.  You watch the shelves move and step into the secret cave.

Now that you’re aware of the phantom limb and what it has been reaching for, you can feel the dead weigh on your mind.  You know where they are, kind of in the same way you could navigate your room in the dark.  They’re permanent objects stuck in place, and should you so desire, you can reach out and move them. 

“I guess I’m a necromancer,” you mutter as you pluck a bone cap out of the ground.  “Awesome.  Couldn’t be a wizard or a sorcerer or…wait, am I one of those?”

Wyll seemed to make it sound like a necromancer was separate, but it kind of was a subcategory of wizard.

You straighten and keep moving, turning the corner and finding the cavern.  You ignore everything there and head for the mirror that waits beyond the wooden planks.  

When you step up to it the staff's eyes glow violet again, and the mirror slides open.  You sigh.  “Necromancer it is, then.”

But…maybe there’s a clue to your identity in this place if you’re powerful or rich enough?  You move inside and find the lab on the right, the paperwork scattered about, and logbooks.  Or you assume they’re the logbooks—you can’t read, after all.  Instead of flipping through them you head to the exit and find the rusty key on the shelves.  Soon enough you’re standing before the first trap that lights the braziers, and risk the step.  The room is filled with light as the fires blaze to life.  

The Necromancy of Thay is just beyond the barred door, and this time you can hear it.  It whispers to you, quiet little voices that speak in a language you don’t know.  They’re distant, but like with the bodies of the dead you know where the book is.  

It takes some strength to push the rusty key into the padlock on the door, and with some force you manage to turn it.  The whispers quiet.

“A well hidden laboratory, wonder what it’s doing down here?”

You turn to find Tav, Wyll and Astarion walking into the lab.  He still has both eyes, at least.  After he outed Astarion you thought he might take the hag’s deal. 

“How did you find this place?” you ask.  

He only offers you a shrug, eyes darting around the lab in search of loot.

You relent,  “I found the hatch and started looking around.”

Tav smiles and rests his hands on the back of his head.  Maybe he’s just happy you aren’t ignoring him again, or running away.  By the way his tail flicks at the air you think that might be it, and the reason he’s being quieter than usual.

“I followed your tracks,” Wyll reveals.  Well, he did hunt down all sorts of beings as the Blade of Frontiers.  “What have you found?”

“Creepy book,” you reply.  They approach you, surveying the book and everything else in the small cage.  

“Trapped, most likely,” Astarion says.  He steps forward carefully and does something to the stand the book is on.  It’s so quick you don’t have time to peer around him and get a good look at what “disarm trap” really looks like.

Astarion picks up the book, turning it in his hands.  They begin to discuss what it could be when you remember the bracers that are down here.  You slip away without a thought and find the nearby gilded chest, poking it before opening it.  There are traps here, who knows what else could be rigged to explode?

When you open the chest you feel a wave of magic—Weave—come from it.  It’s different from the warmth of the healing magic, somehow sharper, more demanding.  You pull the bracers out and put them in your bag, nearly overflowing with loot now.  

You turn to rejoin the group only to nearly run into Astarion on the level below you.  You stumble back and catch yourself.  “I think Shadowheart was right about putting a bell on you.”

He gives you a smirk, genuine, your surprise.  A thought occurs but rather than ask it you bite the inside of your right cheek.  

“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Astarion asks.  You don’t know what he’s referring to, considering the amount of surprises you’ve had lately.  He goes on, waving one hand in the air.  “Filthy rich, can’t read, enchanted clothing, and now, a necromancer.”

“To be fair, I don’t know anything about all of that.”  You try not to sigh too hard thinking of what Auntie Ethel had said.

“I wonder what other secrets that little head holds…” he muses.  It’s more to himself than you.  “And you killed on my behalf, I’m flattered.”

“I didn’t mean to, though.”

“I know, that’s what makes it all the more entertaining.  You, the picture of innocence, murdered a man for a vampire spawn.  Ha!”

You furrow your brow, unsure how you could be considered the picture of innocence.   But maybe that was only compared to those Astarion knew.  It was your first murder…and only murder!  Not first.  Just the one, and only, murder.

Yes, you are rather innocent in the terms of this world.

Astarion pinches your cheek between two fingers, bringing you back to the conversation.  “Don’t think this makes us even.”

“Okay,” you say when he lets go.  You rub at where he’d pinched, shocked he touched you so casually.  And not just that…his fingers are warm.  “Uhm…”

Astarion quirks a brow.  “Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question?  About being a vampire.”

He leans his weight into one foot, crossing his arms as he eyes you warily.  “I suppose.”

“Why are you warm?  Shouldn’t you be, like, cold?  Or room temperature?”

Astarion, for all his acting, is easy to read.  His eyes widen as he steps back, arms uncrossing and held out before him like he’s trying to catch his balance.  “What did you say?”

“Sorry, is that rude?”  You shift on your heels.  “I just thought vampires would be cold, with the…being dead, and all.”

“We are,” Astarion confirms, voice grim. 

“But your skin is warm.”

“I assure you, it is not.”

“I literally just had your hand on my cheek.  You’re warm.”

“I think I know what temperature my own body is!”  Astarion huffs and walks away.  You notice the bag that rests on his back has the weight of the book within.  

You move down the steps as he paces, annoyed.  

“What’s wrong, Astarion?” Tav asks.

You answer, “I asked him why—”

But you don’t get to finish it because Astarion wraps one hand over your mouth and the other on the back of your head, successfully silencing you.  He says, “Nothing!  Nothing at all.  Just discussing what reward I might offer for valiantly saving me from a monster hunter.”

You roll your eyes.  But having his skin on yours again confirms his heat.  He feels like a living, breathing human.  Why did that freak him out?  When he releases you he gives you a hard stare that’s easy to understand.  Shut.  Up.

Wyll and Tav watch you, waiting to see what you say but you just shrug.  “It’s not that important.”

Wyll frowns, but lets it go.  For now.  Tav bites into his bottom lip but keeps silent.

Astarion’s words remind you of something you’d like to forget.  The Gur.  You can’t even recall his name right now.  Maybe you should have tried harder to keep Astarion away, or convinced them to not go there at all.  But you didn’t, and there was no reset now.

You watch Tav flit about the basement collecting loot.  It does little to help your mood, but at the very least you take comfort in the fact that they didn’t call you a monster for what you did.   You promise to keep better watch of those chords in your head, the little phantom strings that connect to the dead around you.  Because avoiding the dead is an impossible task, at least as long as you travel with Tav and everyone.

When you return to the surface the others are waiting by the well.  You spot your bag of gold on Gale’s shoulder and hurry to take it from him, but he holds up his hands to stop you.  “What kind of man would I be if I let an injured person carry so much weight?”

You’re about to argue but think better of it when the world sways a little.  You manage to stay still, probably, and thank him instead.  

“Oh, right,” you say, pulling the magic bracers from your other pack.  “I thought you might want these.”

Gale takes the bracers.  It’s then that you notice the bags under his eyes are especially dark—and you realize he hasn’t told anyone about his condition.  As far as you know.   The little lines that travel up the side of his neck and towards his left eye are darker, too.

Your thumbnail scratches at your staff as you wait for him to say something.  Anything.  Literally anything would be good right now because it’s been ten whole seconds of him staring at the bracers and that’s long enough of him being silent that the others are now looking.

“Gale?” Tav asks.

It jolts him out of his stupor.  “Yes?  Oh, yes.”  He looks at you.  “Thank you.  Perhaps there’s something I must admit…”

Gale goes through his first speech about the orb, and then his second.  It’s a lot to take in in one go, if you haven’t heard it all before.  At the end he says, “I understand if you want to part ways—this orb, for lack of a better word, is immensely dangerous.”

Tav asks, “Why?”

All eyes turn to him, his head tilted with a smile on his face.  

“Because I could explode,” Gale says slowly.  

“So?”  Tav points to each companion as he adds, “Shar worshipper, warlock turned devil, angry githyanki, infernal engine that could explode, vampire, necromancer with memory loss, and I’m sorry Halsin we’ve barely just met, but…uh, old?”

There are worse things to be said, about all of you.  

“Plus we’ve all got worms in our heads,” Karlach says.  “Oh, well except for…”

Gale lets out a small laugh.  “Thank you.  All of you.  Now, even I’m getting tired of my own voice so shall we get going?”

The group begins their journey back to the goblin camp. 

“I am not angry,” Lae’zel says, her voice almost a hiss.  “At least not at any of you.  The mindflayers, however…”

Halsin walks next to her, asking questions about the tadpoles and their magic, while Astarion and Wyll follow, then Shadowheart, Karlach, and Tav.  You and Gale are last to leave the village.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Gale asks. 

You hesitate too long before answering.  “No.”

“You are a terrible liar.”  He keeps his voice low as you walk, putting the bracers on his wrists.  “But I consider that a good thing.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say.  They seem to consider your knowledge to be some kind of deadly premonition, so maybe you should lean into that.  “I can’t really explain it.”

Gale smiles but it’s weak.  

“We’ll find lots of stuff for you to eat,” you assure him.  “Or absorb, I mean.  Like those!”

You point at the bracers.  He holds them closer to where you know the orb is tattooed on his chest, breathing deeply. 

“And if we can’t find anything there’s always my boots, or coat.”

“You would offer me those?”  Gale looks you up and down like he had when you’d first met.

You shrug.  “Of course.  Oh, do you need them now?  Because I just need to sit down to get them—”

You lift a foot as you walk, nearly stumbling to the ground when Gale stops you.  “No, no, I’m fine for now.   I am just—very grateful to have such a generous companion.”

“It’s not really generosity if it’s something you need though,” you argue.  

Gale smiles gently but moves on.  “So what’s this I hear about you being a necromancer?”

Whatever emotion crosses your face makes him pull back and try to change the subject.  Regret, maybe, or pain.  You can’t focus on controlling your features with so much going on.   “I don’t want to be…that.  I can feel…I can feel where they are—like something is dragging behind me.  It’s heavy, but easy.  I don’t want it to be easy.”

“Just because something comes easily to you doesn’t mean you need to do it.”

You look up at him, unaware your gaze has been on the ground this whole time.  “But I did it by accident.  I can’t—I can’t exactly control it.”

“That’s no problem to learn,” Gale says, as if moving the dead was no harder than riding a bike.  “Learn to control it, and don’t use it.  Though if you can move a boar in your sleep you must have some considerably…powerful benefactors in Baldur’s Gate to deal with.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean to frighten you,” he says, “but if you can use magic without the intent, without the movements or incantations, then you hold a great power.  And that is something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the wealthy elite.”

Chosen.  Like Gale had once been of Mystra you too could be the preferred mortal of a god.

“Meaning there may be some unhappy people if I don’t use magic.”

“It’s only one possibility of many,” Gale assures you.  “And until we know more I am happy to help you control your magic.  I’m told I’m an excellent teacher.”

You twirl the staff between your fingers and laugh.  “It would be an honour to learn from you.”

Taglist:

@half-poison-and-half-hope @sanscas @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @thequeen-oni @terrenuserinj @straewberrysoda @theomnipotentfox @becksynthetic @quitecontrary-to-mary @furblrwurblr @mega-trash-cringe @fandomsbookclub @dontneedbiologytoadopt @pebble-bb @v3lv3tvampir3 @mrow-kat @jeneralmischief @notsaelty @runaway-17 @aoirohi @tinswhimsy @xxgrimripp3rxx @kemonocat-blog @thetiredtoad0-0 @sleepydang @iwannabealocalcryptid @troutberryspoon @betwixttheweave @the-pale-elfs-love

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 11

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, angst, arguing, sadness, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, references to babies, swearing, references to military deployment, blood, medical inaccuracy, military inaccuracy

Jake’s Apartment, 11 Years Ago

“Don’t go,” Buttercup begged, standing in the doorway of the bedroom. “I thought you weren’t supposed to get deployed again for like a year.”

Jake shrugged as he packed his bag. “Something came up, and they need the best of the best. So, they’re sendin’ me, Javy, Rooster, Bob and Phoenix.”

Buttercup cupped her small bump, her ring finger glinting with the wedding ring he had put there only two weeks previous. The wedding had been a surprise, a shotgun wedding in the typical sense of the word, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. The love of his life was pregnant, with twins, and was now Mrs. Seresin. Everything was coming up roses for Jake Seresin, and he was living for it. But the newly minted Mrs. Seresin…

“When will you be back?” she asked, her hand stroking her belly nervously.

Jake huffed a laugh. “That’s above my paygrade, sweetness.”

“I’m serious, Jake,” she swallowed. “Will you be back before the babies come?”

Jake paused. She was five months pregnant with twins, and everyone kept telling him that twins always came early. Would he be back in four months? It was impossible to say.

He turned towards her, smiling as softly as he could as he took her into his arms. “You’ll have Penny. And Mav and Payback and Fanboy and everyone else. It’ll be okay.”

She shoved out of his arms and stalked over to the bedroom window. “I don’t want everyone else. I want you. My husband. The father of my children. That’s who I want with me as I get all huge and can’t shave my legs and when I have to get poked and prodded at my appointments. Not a bunch of strangers. I want you.”

“I want you too,” he waggled his eyebrows at her, but didn’t get the giggling response he hoped for.

“I came here to visit my brother, but I stayed for you,” she murmured. “And now you’re both leaving and I’m going to be stuck here, useless.”

“Not useless,” he soothed, trying again to hold her. “You’re growing our babies. And if you ever feel like you need more, you could always go help Penny with the bar. But you don’t have to worry about anything, okay? I’m sending every paycheck home to you. The apartment is paid off completely, and the utilities come out of my bank account automatically. It’ll be okay.”

Buttercup swiped at her eyes and sidestepped him. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me, babe. Because I’m leaving in less than 36 hours and I’d like to know that my pregnant wife will be waiting for me when I get back,” he huffed.

“Of course I’ll be here!” she snapped. “I would never do that to you. But you’re fine with leaving me.”

Jake sighed and slowly walked over to her, hesitating only momentarily before placing his hands on her shoulders.

“I’m not fine with leaving you,” he whispered. “I feel like a fox caught in a trap, ready and willing to gnaw my own foot off if it meant the Navy wouldn’t own my ass anymore. But I can’t.” He let his hands glide down her body to rest on her small bump. “I don’t want to miss a second of this but I know I will. What I won’t miss is the birth. I swear to God. I’ll make sure I come home before they even think of coming out of their mama.” He pressed a sweet kiss to her cheek. “I’ll talk to Mav. He still has some sway over Cyclone. He can make sure I’m home, and that I don’t get deployed once they arrive. Not for a while, at least.”

He felt Buttercup shudder against him and was thankful that, this time, she allowed him to pull her into his arms. “And you’ll be safe? You’ll come home?”

Jake sighed and did the one thing he’d always sworn to himself that he would never do. “I promise, baby. I swear to God that I’m comin’ home to you.”

Cabana Bar, Hotel Zaza, Now

Jake held them for what felt like hours, until one of the girls started to squirm and try to pull away from the embrace.

“Dad…you’re soaking wet.”

Jake chuckled a little as he pulled away, stretching to his full height. “Sorry. I just missed you both so much.” He nodded his thanks to a helpful staff member, who handed him a fluffy white towel. “How…how are you here?” He blinked down at them. “You said something about a switch?”

The girls shuffled their feet nervously, but it was Buttercup who stepped forward. “You’re bleeding,” she murmured, gesturing to his soaking white shirt. Jake glanced down, noting the tear in his shirt and the red that was now staining it. Buttercup bit her lip, stepping closer. “What happened?”

Jake looked over at the bartender, who was shooting daggers at the lot of them, surrounded by shattered glass. “He stepped into my path and the deck was too slippery for me to course correct in time, so I bumped into him. I guess I took a few glasses to the chest as they shattered.”

Buttercup clocked the glares of the bartender too because she said, “Let’s go get you cleaned up. Then our daughters can explain themselves to you.”

Jake nodded, just as a shrill voice sounded behind him. “Oh my goodness, there’s two of them?”

Jake turned, finding Savannah clutching her chest, an older man and woman flanking her. “Savannah, meet my daughters. Abby and Charlie. And this…” Jake glanced at Buttercup with a look that was heavy with guilt. “This is my ex-wife. Their mother.”

Savannah gasped and leaned heavily against her father. “It’s alright, pookie,” the older southern gentleman soothed, his elegant wife fetching a fan from her clutch and waving it over her daughter’s wan face. “Let’s get you some air and some sweet tea to get you feeling better.” He gathered Savannah into his arms and gave them a reproachful look before striding off, his wife teetering behind him in her heels.

Jake couldn’t help the groan that escaped him. “Great…”

One of the girls bit their lip. “Sorry, dad.”

Jake shook off the weight of Colonel Beaumont’s glare and smiled down at her. “It’s alright. I’ll deal with it later.” He looked up and met Buttercup’s bright gaze. “You sure it’s alright if you patch me up?”

She rolled her eyes and headed towards the door. “I wouldn’t have offered if I minded, Hangman.”

Jake grinned and followed behind her, each of his strong hands resting on the shoulders of his daughters.

As Buttercup called down to the concierge to ask for a first aid kit, Jake settled onto her bed (and refused to think any further on that subject) while the girls stood in front of him and quickly explained everything.

The camp, Penny’s meddling, switching places, Rooster finding out, Bob finding out, their phone call to each other, their plan to corner them both here and make them talk to each other.

By the time they ran out of words, there was a knock on the door and Buttercup moved towards it, greeting the staff member who handed her the large white first aid kit. All the while, Jake gaped at his daughters.

“Well, hell…” he finally found it in himself to murmur. “That was some sneaky crap you two pulled.”

“Language,” Buttercup murmured softly, a small smile breaking out on Jake’s face.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he nodded as she laid out the first aid kit on the bed next to him. “I’m just saying, why didn’t either of you pony up and talk to us?”

“We were going to,” one of them started, a slight lilting accent to her voice, and Jake knew that was his Abby. They really were so identical (and Jake wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had no clue what his daughter had been wearing before she left the house that day or if she had changed when they got to the hotel), so he was having a hard time telling them apart when they weren’t speaking. “But we got scared.”

“You were both so sad whenever we brought up our missing parent, and we didn’t want to make you sad,” said Charlie, her young voice twanging.

“But when we met—”

“We really wanted to meet our other parent—”

“And we decided to ask forgiveness instead of permission.”

Jake shook his head in wonder. “I don’t know how you two pulled it off, but I’m impressed. Don’t ever do something like that again, but I’m impressed.”

Both girls blushed and nodded, both looking so much like him that he had to give his head a shake. They were incredible. They were his. And they were here. All three of them were.

As that thought raced across his mind like an off-leash dog, he glanced up at Buttercup, still standing before him, now with a fluffy white robe wrapped around her overtop of her soaked clothes.

“Why don’t you two go find your aunt and uncles?” he suggested, not taking his eyes off his ex.

Glancing between them, the two girls nodded and headed for the door, calling their goodbyes over their shoulders.

“Don’t forget your room keys,” Buttercup called after them, her eyes not leaving his either.

Once they heard the door click shut, both adults sighed.

“I…I guess you should take your shirt off,” Buttercup mumbled, staring at the spot on his white shirt that was slowly growing redder.

“Didn’t realize you were so eager to get me out of my clothes, Buttercup,” Jake quipped with a smirk, his hands going for the tiny pearlescent buttons. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t call me that,” she gritted between her teeth, eyes casting downward toward the first aid kit.

“Why not?” he challenged, his hands stilling.

“Because I’m not…”

“Not what?”

She met his gaze again and he was taken aback by the fire blazing in them. “Because I’m not yours anymore.”

His whole body stilled. It was true, what she had said. She wasn’t his. Not anymore. They had a decade of memories separating them now. Separate lives. Lives that only included a daughter that shared half his DNA and half hers. He’d hated the custody arrangement, they both had, but it was the only thing that made sense with their schedules and Buttercup’s health. And now, there she was. Eyes burning at him in a way that he hadn’t seen since before the birth of their daughters. At least one thing had gone right in their divorce. His Buttercup was back and more fierce than ever.

“I know that,” he said quietly. “But you still have your tattoo, don’t you?” His eyes traced the stem of buttercup blossoms that peeked out from under her white robe. “Bob and Natasha still call you Buttercup?” She nodded. “Then I don’t see why I can’t.”

“B-because…because you’re you,” her chest heaved slightly, as though she was desperate for air. Jake stood and opened the hotel window slightly, allowing the fresh breeze to rustle the leaves of the fake fern in the corner. She blinked, staring at him as her breathing almost immediately came easier to her. “I don’t think your fiancée would like it if you were still calling your ex-wife by a pet name,” she mused, striding forward to grab the disinfectant from the kit.

“Savannah can deal with it,” he muttered, already knowing he was in for one hell of an argument when he met up with his fiancée and future in-laws later.

“You sure she’s mature enough for that?” Buttercup muttered under her breath, gesturing for him to continue unbuttoning his shirt.

He chuckled shortly, peeling his wet shirt off his tan skin. “Jealous?”

“Of you being engaged? No. Of how little time she has to spend scrolling to find her birth year? Maybe a little.”

Jake chuckled again, the sound warm and soothing. “I am sometimes too, I think. She doesn’t have to search long, meanwhile I feel like I’m spinning the wheel on the Price is Right or some shit.”

Buttercup giggled in spite of herself. “At least you finally found someone at your maturity level.” She leaned in and pressed a cotton swab soaked in antiseptic to the thin line that bisected his pec.

“Low blow, sweetheart,” he hissed.

Buttercup muttered a half-hearted apology as she found another cut, not bleeding but crusted over with dried blood and a small piece of glass.

“What do you two even talk about?” she pondered as she grabbed the tweezers, steadying herself against his abs, still hard and defined after all those years.

Jake sighed, bracing himself for the inevitable discomfort of having the nearly superficial wound poked and prodded, but it never came. As always, his Buttercup’s hands were soft and gentle with him.

“You really want to have this conversation?” he asked softly.

She blinked up at him, her eyes wide and earnest. “Would you rather we fight?”

“Why do those have to be our only options?”

Her steady hands grabbed the bandages and she carefully started to cover up the two wounds on his chest.

“Fighting was basically our only option there for a while,” she murmured, her body so close to his that he could practically feel her cool breath against his skin.

“I didn’t want it to be that way.” He craned his neck, trying to make eye contact, but her gaze remained firmly on her work. “I always hated it when we fought.”

She sighed as she made sure the soft gauze bandages were tight against his skin, her touch lingering slightly inches away from where his heart beat under his skin, before she sat back on her heels. “Me too. But—” she slapped her hands against her robed thighs before pushing herself to her feet again. “That’s all in the past. You’re getting married and I adore my job in the UK. The only thing we need to fight about now is how we’re going to split up the girls.”

Jake blinked at her. “You…you want to split them up again? What the hell, Buttercup? They just told us that they wanted a better custody arrangement.”

Buttercup flinched and took a step back from him. “I’m sorry. I…I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that we need to figure out how to split our time with them so that it’s fair. Should be easier now that you’re not in the Navy anymore.”

He felt his temper flare slightly in his chest, but he fought to hold that mask of calm on his face. “It would probably be even easier if you didn’t live on the other side of the planet.”

Her back stiffened and her face solidified into a mask of emotionless stone. “Indeed it would, but I love my job and I could no more give it up than you could give up your ranch in Texas.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he kept her gaze, slowly raising from his spot on the bed. “No one is asking you to give up your job, only to move. It’s a lot easier to move as a writer and publisher than it is to move a whole damn ranch.”

“Author.” At Jake’s blink, her icy voice sounded again. “I’m an author, Jake. Not a writer. And no one is asking you to move the ranch. I would never ask something like that of you.”

Jake stepped closer, the two of them nearly nose to nose. “I know you wouldn’t. You’d let it all go before you asked me for anything.”

This time he did feel her breath puffing against his face, the air hot against his skin. “I learned a long time ago that asking you for something would only lead to disappointment.”

“You know it wasn’t that easy,” he bit out, stepping even closer, his hands coming up to brace against the wall as she stepped back to lean into it, lean as far as she could out of his space. “What you were asking me for was—”

“Impossible,” she whispered. “I know. And now you know that what you’re asking me for is impossible too.”

“Even if it’s for our daughters?”

The question hung in the mere inches of air between them like a gas, a burning, toxic, intangible thing that was slowly choking them both.

In the silence, he couldn’t help but trace her features with his eyes, and he knew from her unfocused stare that she was doing the same to him. He may be older than he had been when they met, but he knew he still looked good. Got confirmation of it every time he went into town and saw the local ladies. But Buttercup…she looked even better than she had when they were together. The beauty of her youth hadn’t dimmed with age, but only settled into something that spoke of wisdom and loss and pain and rebirth, a shining fire within her. Like a—

“Phoenix!”

Both their heads whipped around as Rooster berated Phoenix for slamming the door open and strolling in like she owned the place. Jake stepped back like he’d been burned, and Buttercup took his momentary distraction as a means of escape, ducking below the arm that had been keeping her caged against the wall and moving back towards the bed. She calmly gathered the discarded materials from the first aid kit and threw them into the wastebasket next to the small hotel room desk.

Buttercup glanced around, her hands busy repacking the white kit, when she spotted her daughters among the crowd of those who were her family, and those who used to be.

“Couldn’t you two pick something a little less identical?” she teased, taking in the matching black and turquoise t-shirts the girls were wearing.

“No, that’s the point,” they replied, in perfect unison.

Buttercup stilled, her fingers hesitating at the latch of the case. “What do you mean?”

Rooster nudged past them, clapping Jake on the back as he strode toward the mini fridge. “They heard you arguing in the hallway,” he whispered in his ear.

Shit. The last thing he wanted was for the girls to hear them arguing, and, based on the look on Buttercup’s face as Bob whispered in her ear, he knew she was thinking the same thing.

“I’m sorry you heard us fighting,” Jake stepped in. “Your mom and I…we’ll work out a custody arrangement that leaves everyone happy. I promise. Divorced couples do it all the time.”

“Yes, well…we want to be sure,” said the twin with the Texan twang in her voice.

“Charlie, what’re you talkin’ about?”

The other twin blinked at him. “But Dad, I’m Charlie.”

Shit again.

Buttercup suddenly stood beside him. “Abby, Charlie, stop fussing about.”

“We’re not fussing about, Mum.”

“Of course we’re not, Mum.”

Buttercup groaned, her hand rising to rub at her eyes in such a familiar way that Jake was tempted to run out and grab her usual migraine relief items.

“Girls, please stop messing around,” Jake begged instead.

“We will.”

“As soon as we go back to the ranch. All of us.”

“Once we’re there, you two can figure out the custody arrangement. Then and only then, we’ll tell you who is who.”

“And you two came up with this scheme all on your own, huh?” Jake crossed his arms, his chest stinging slightly as the bandage pulled tight. His eyes scanned the gallery of adults around the room. His friends, his family, all looked away from him, Javy looking all too interested in the piece of hotel artwork that decorated the wall.

“Girls, please,” Buttercup whispered, crouching down to look them in the eye. “This isn’t fair and you know it. We promise that we’ll figure out a schedule, but we all have to go home. To our own homes.”

“Auntie Nat already called your publisher and said that you were extending your holiday,” one of the twins shrugged. “And Uncle Rooster said that Dad doesn’t have anything to do this week outside of the ranch business.”

“Other than groveling with my in-laws,” Jake muttered.

“Speaking of…wouldn’t this be best anyway, Dad?” the other twin blinked up innocently at him. “This way our stepmother can get to know both of us. Build bridges and heal old wounds and that kind of thing.”

Jake groaned and ran a hand over his face before crouching down, green eyes scanning their features. He could’ve sworn the one on the left was Charlie, but had her hair always been parted like that? And the one on the right kept switching into a damn convincing Texan twang. But the one on the left seemed to be favoring her left leg, which would track with some of the injuries that Charlie had collected over the years on the ranch. But then the twin on the right started favouring her left leg too, and Jake sighed.

“I can’t tell,” he whispered to Buttercup, who looked horrified.

“Neither can I,” she nearly whimpered. “What kind of mother doesn’t know her own children?”

“The kind of mother who taught her children never to give up without a fight,” the twin on the right piped up, smiling brightly at them. “Just one week, Mum. One week at the ranch. We can go on the annual trail ride with Dad, and you can work on your book. You said the flat in London was stifling your creativity anyway. At the end of the week, when you’ve got a schedule for custody, then we’ll tell you who is who and we can all go home. One week. Please?”

“Please, Mum?”

Buttercup groaned and rubbed her eyes. “Fine. But whichever one of you is Abby is losing her allowance for a week for pulling another one of these stunts on me.”

“Same goes for Charlie,” Jake grumbled, his pointer finger drifting between them. “And you two!” Jake turned his finger on Rooster and Javy. “You’ll have to step up and split my ranch responsibilities between you. Y’know, since I’m going to be so busy with my daughters and figuring out a schedule.”

Maybe it wasn’t fair, but Jake had no doubt that his two best friends had something to do with his daughters’ newest scheme.

“I’ll call the ranch and get the house ready for everyone,” Jake offered. “We’ve got more than enough room for the four of you.”

“No need,” Bob piped up. “I’ll be flying back tonight.”

“And I’m going with him,” Phoenix added, shooting a look in Javy’s direction. To Javy’s credit, he didn’t flinch at all.

“Like hell you are,” Buttercup hissed. “You two got me into this mess, so you’re going down with me.”

Bob’s cheeks reddened and Nat looked like she had something to say, but with one more meaningful look from Buttercup, they both nodded.

“Alright then,” Jake sighed. “I guess we’re all heading to the ranch. God help us all.”

Tags List: @jessicab1991 @waltermis @buckysteveloki-me @allepaula @yuckosworld @bradshawssugarbaby @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @kim-stark @high-speed-r @starsrfun @tomanyfandomstrash @averyhotchner @the-blueatlas @dashes-dizzydisaster @a-girl-who-loves-disney @boiolay @djs8891 @tgmreader @kmc1989 @landpiranha-blog @sydthekid1518 @lynnevanss @mackenzieblair @minejungwoo @starset21 @tgmavericklover @dempy @starkleila @magical-spit @whatislovevavy @simplyreading96 @vivalas-vega @itsdesiree86 @inky-sun @books-are-escapes @abaker74 @mrs-perfectly-fine @inthestars-underthesun @boisewaffles

[jxsterr]

something crazy that’s just crossed my mind is the whole thing of does zelda miss link while she’s stuck in the past? i know the memories don’t do shit all justice to tell us ANYTHING about zelda’s feelings on this whole situation but it does make you wonder. i personally think she misses him like he’s dead

because imagine this. you’ve been trapped in stasis for literally a century. you’ve watched all of your friends and family die. then your knight, the one you watched die in your arms, finally comes back and frees you. you then move into a small house together, it’s not much but it’s honest living. you spruce it up with decorations until you can both stand back and say, “yeah, this feels like home.” you live the next year or so quaintly, travelling around hyrule to restore it to its former glory as best as you can, all within the company of someone you hold closer than a best friend. he’s still there, even though he doesn’t have to be, and follows you ever loyally. you wonder if he’ll ever go his own way, but his insistence on remaining by your side makes you think otherwise.

you believe in the strength of learning, that the children of hyrule need to be better educated in order to solidify a strong future for the kingdom, so you build a school. you hire teachers and organise the school’s curriculum, taking part so much that you become a teacher yourself. he greets you every evening when you come home and plates up dinner already piping hot so you don’t have to worry about it. life continues this way, simple and non exhaustive, living earnestly beside someone who would extinguish the sun if it meant you’d smile. you love him, realistically, and he loves you too.

something stirs under the castle and, like the good princess you are, you go trundling into the depths below with your loyal knight to solve the problem. it bears endless discoveries, things you know you’ll stay up all night studying; things that bring you so much joy that he holds your torch so you can enjoy it without interruption. instead of the torch, he’s soon holding a shattered blade in his bloody hand, arm eaten and burnt raw by something that smells so vile it’s all you can do not to vomit. you watch the world fall into peril once more, and as you do so, you feel yourself falling to the exact same fate. you see the way he throws away legend and jumps after you, knowing that he is also falling to his demise. you see the fear in his eyes, the way tears cling to the corners of them and feel the burn of your own.

his plan was always to die by your side, and he will do it by any means necessary.

you wake up and he’s gone, your world is gone, and you’re somewhere new. two strange people greet you and quickly take you under their wing, and while a new world means endless discoveries, you can’t help but wonder if link is dead. did he kill himself alongside you, only for you to somehow survive and let him fall alone? the thought makes the bile creep up your throat.

who’s to say that, during the period of time where link is unconscious, she isn’t wracked with guilt at the realisation that he may be dead? she’s thousands upon thousands of years in the past, and his body may be the only one laid cold at the bottom of that chasm. would people even remember him? yes, he was the hero of hyrule, but he’d always kept a low profile. humble to a fault, she’d tell him. and the fault may be that if he’s dead, perhaps only her name would grace the lips of hyrule. the survivor’s guilt would eat her whole knowing that he’s died for her twice now.

so you can imagine her relief when she feels the pull of him and his sword. the relief when she can make her vow to him. the relief in knowing that he’s okay, somehow, and that he’s alive above everything else. but now that she knows he’s okay, what’s there left to do? well, miss him, of course. they’re inseparable and very rarely do things without the company of the other, she’s going to miss him like her right arm.

in the day she’s surrounded by people—sonia, rauru, mineru and her army of constructs, plus the rest of the people of this era of hyrule—but come the night, she’s alone. her bed lacks the warmth it used to hold, doesn’t bear the imprint of where her love has slept beside her. she’s painfully, irrefutably alone. she’ll step out onto the balcony of the castle alone and wish he was by her side, wish that she could just speak to him again even for a little while. for as long as she walks this hyrule, there is an overwhelming, gaping hole in her chest. she finds comfort in the presence of sonia, rauru and mineru but there’s only so much they can do. she talks to sonia about him. she talks to rauru about him. she talks to mineru about him. anyone who will listen to her speak of her talented hero, she will talk to.

she rides a construct and thinks of him. a steward construct explains to her the biodiversity of the land and she thinks of him. she spends her nights at her desk, quill in hand and illuminated by candlelight, and writes in her diary as if she’s speaking to him. it cuts her open over and over with every day she has to wake up alone.

when she decides the only thing fate has left in store for her is to become a dragon to aid link in the future, she weeps for days on end. she knows that this is it, everything she’s ever known will be beyond her forever now. she lives on in the skies, but her soul dies here. all those years they spent together building a life together, growing, all for nothing. they were cursed from the very beginning. ever since they fell to the calamity the first time fate has had it out for them. and so her last thoughts while she can still think are of him. she prays for his safety, for his success, and for him to have a happy and long life without her. she weeps knowing she’ll never grow old with him or get to experience the revival of her kingdom. it tears her from the inside out, and she screams even as a dragon at the loss. it’s overwhelming, devastating beyond any weight words could hold. she’s lost everything, lost everyone, and lost herself. she was doomed from the beginning. she was never meant to be happy.

so yes, the ending of totk should’ve been a HELL of a lot more emotionally charged. seeing someone you thought was dead AND that you worried you’d never see again?? she’d be crying for hours in his arms

[rafeandonlyrafe]

locked in

words: 1.7k

warnings: getting grounded as an adult lol, rafe sneaking in to your house, struggling in school

“dad, this is so unfair!” you shout. “i’m an adult, you can’t ground me!” 

“as long as you live under this roof i can do whatever i want.” your dad says, taking your phone and locking it in the safe before shoving they key in his pocket. “you’re lucky that your professor agreed to let you redo your exam. now go up to your room and study for it. i don’t want to see you again until morning.”

“at least let me text rafe-” you begin, but the glare your father gives you says it all. “ugh!” you shout, throwing your hands up and stomping up to your room, slamming the door hard shut. you shove your textbooks off your bed and flop down, letting your angry tears spill.

you knew taking college classes on the mainland was a mistake, but you wanted to make your father proud by being the first one in your family to graduate from college, even if it was just an associates degree from a community college. 

you tried to argue that while your dad didn’t have a degree, he still made it, living in a big house on an island, but he argued back that he only made it because he put in hours and hours of manual labor into construction before he moved up the ladder to own his own company.

“so fucking stupid.” you mumble to yourself, rubbing your eyes that are now sore from the tears. you look around your room. maybe your dad was right when he said you’ve been too distracted lately. it was just that things were so good with you and rafe that you wanted to spend all your time with him. 

you pick up your textbook and grab your notebook. there’s nothing else better to do and you really do want to pass this exam. you’re only one more semester away from getting your degree, it would be silly to give up now that you’re so close.

you find it slightly easier to concentrate without your phone, but you’re distracted by thoughts of rafe. you wonder how bad he’s worrying about you right now. you didn’t have anything specific planned for tonight, but you always spent as much time together as you could, so it was natural that you saw each other every night.

you get through the couple chapters you need to before setting your textbook to the side, knowing you now have to go through and actually do the assignments that you rushed through and therefore didn’t understand when you were tested on them. you don’t realize how long you’ve been studying until the sun from your window doesn’t illuminate the room enough for you to read the words. you hop up and flick on your light before going to the window, opening it to get some fresh air, feeling trapped in this one box, even though you can technically leave, your dad would just be pissed.

“y/n!” 

you look out the window, feeling tears well up in your eyes at rafe standing in your side yard. you wonder how long he’s been waiting. he probably came right over when you didn’t respond within five minutes to one of his texts.

“i got my phone taken away.” you tell rafe. 

“fuck, i knew something must have happened and that you weren’t just ignoring me.”

you can’t help but let out a giggle. “never.”

“can i come up?” rafe asks, and you quickly shake your head no. “my dad won’t let you in, plus i have… stuff to do.” “i can help.” rafe says, looking at the lattice leading up to your second story. “and your dad doesn’t have to know.” “rafe, you’ll fall!” you say, but you know once he has an idea in his head that they’re no swaying him. you rush away from the window to lock your door and by the time you return, rafe has already started to climb up. you slide your screen out of the way so once he’s up he can climb in.

“be careful.” you say as rafe’s hands reach your window. he climbs up some more and you help him all the way in, and the second his feet hit your floor, you’re in his arms, his lips against yours. you melt into the kiss, feeling all the stress, anger and anxiety of the last couple hours leave your body. you kiss back, bringing your hands up to his chest, feeling his strong muscles underneath your palms.

“what happened, baby?” rafe asks as he puts the screen of the window back in place for you. 

you realize in that moment how embarrassed you are to tell rafe what happened. you avoid talking with him about your studies at all, wanting him to think that you’re smart and sailing through them, when in reality it’s been a struggle.

“i, um… i failed my exam.” you say, moving to sit on your bed to avoid looking rafe in the eye.

“oh, baby, i’m sorry.” rafe says, coming to sit next to you. he wraps an arm around your shoulders, letting you lean against him. he gives you a minute to just be in his presence before he continues, “why didn’t you tell me, love? i could have helped you study.” you let out a sarcastic laugh, “you don’t want to help me study rafe! it’s boring.”

rafe frowns. he takes his arm away and tries to get you to turn and look at him, but you just can’t, you’re too upset, so you keep your head down. rafe slides onto the floor, kneeling in front of you and taking your face in his hands so you have no choice but to look at him.

“i want to help you study, y/n, if that’s what you need to be doing. don’t skip out on school work just for me. i’ll do anything as long as it’s with you, okay?” “i love you.” you tell rafe, relief flooding through your body as you pitch forward, kissing him intensely. your hands slide over his neck, feeling the cords of muscles that run down it, but before you can deepen the kiss further, rafe pulls away.

“i love you too, and that’s why i’m going to help you study.”

you groan and fall back on your bed, but rafe grabs your assignments anyways. you work well as a team, and you find everything so much easier now that rafes here. it makes you regret not letting him help you over the past year when you were silently struggling. you finish up your last homework assignment as rafe makes flashcards for you. 

once you’re done you lay down on the bed together, your head in rafes lap as he quizzes you. you struggle at first but keep going through the set of cards until you know the answer before rafe even finishes reading the question.

your flow is suddenly broken by a loud knock on the door. “y/n.” your father says, and your wide eyes meet rafes. “don’t bother. i know he’s in there.”

you sit up and kiss rafe, probably the last time you’ll be able to before he’s kicked out, and head to unlock the door. “he’s helping me study, dad!” you say, not even letting him lecture you. “and i was doing really bad before he got here so please don’t be mad!”

“mr. y/l/n, can i talk to you in the hallway?” rafe asks, and you can tell that your dad is taken aback. he nods in agreement, probably partly in shock at the request, and probably part because your dad is often contracted out by ward cameron, so your dad can’t be that mean to his son. 

you look at rafe in confusion as he walks out of your room. he presses a kiss to your forehead and then shuts the door behind him.

you pace your room for a minute before realizing they probably didn’t move too far away, and you press your ear against the wood of the door to just barely make out the conversation.

“you know how much i care about your daughter, mr. y/l/n. i only came here because i was concerned about her. she didn’t tell me she was struggling in school. i hope you believe me when i say that, because if i had any clue that she was going to fail an exam, i would have been the one locking her in her room to study.” rafe says.

“i figured you were the one encouraging her not to.” your dad admits.

“i would never. i can understand now looking back why you would think that though. i love her, sir. i want the best for her, i want her to graduate. i am incredibly serious about our future together and would do everything for my future wife.”

you pull your ear away from the door, covering up your gasp with your hand. future wife. rafe never referred to you as that before. sure, you talked about a future together after you graduated, but nothing like that. you go to sit on your bed, no longer feeling good about listening to the conversation as it feels too personal, even if it is all about you.

it’s only another minute or so before your door opens, and rafe steps inside, shutting it gently behind him as you sit there and wait for him to say something.

“you’re not in trouble anymore.” rafe says, coming over and stroking a hand over your hair, “as long as you pass your exam tomorrow. i’ll drive you that way you can study your flashcards on the way there.” “thank you rafe.” you say, accepting his kiss when he leans down to press one against your lips. “i heard a little bit of your conversation.” you feel weird keeping it a secret.

“oh, yeah?” rafe smirks, “did you hear the part about how i want to marry you one day?”

you nod, a blush coming to your cheeks. 

rafe leans down again so you’re face to face, “then you know how serious i am about us, about you. no more keeping your struggles from me. we are in this together.”

[gloomysoup]

when the world stops turning (my heart stops beating) - pt. 4

hello yes i know it's been a while. this part has been a pain in my ass for months. i needed to get it just right and rewrote this thing so many times it's not even funny. and now, after editing it five times over the last two days, i'm just posting it. what's done is done. if i came back to it again i would have rewritten and i don't wanna do that. so here it is at least. there is also going to be at least one more part. i'm shooting for two more hopefully but i make no promises. the next part could very well be the last. i hope you enjoy :)

ao3 pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4

cw: hospitals, dissociation, mentions of overdose, addiction, sobriety, and relapse

Eddie couldn’t move. His body was fighting against every instinct he should have in the moment. Someone could throw something directly at his head, and he wouldn’t react. The buzzing voices around him faded in and out as he stared at a chip in the wood of the table in front of him.

One of Steve’s doctors had finally come to speak with them. They couldn’t say anything for certain at the moment, but he was alive, and that’s all Eddie heard before his head went fuzzy again. His mind was still reeling, caught on the fact that he should have seen this. He should have noticed. He should have been able to help Steve. He failed the only person who’d ever loved him like that, the only one who ever would love Eddie like that. Because Steve was it for him. He’d always known that. No one else would even come close. No one could ever compare to Steve Harrington.

Not only had he failed Steve, but he’d failed Robin too. He was supposed to keep Steve safe. Robin couldn’t lose her best friend; Eddie knew that. He’d promised to take care of him. He couldn’t even do that one thing right. God, what was he going to tell Robin?

They didn’t want Steve to have visitors yet. Eddie managed to gather that much at least. It was still touch and go. He wasn’t awake. They weren’t sure if he ever would be. They’re flushing his system, but it’s really just a game of wait and see. They might be able to see him in the morning, but the doctor wasn’t making any promises. It all depended on how the rest of the night went. If he made it through. They couldn’t say anything else for certain. There had been a lot of drugs in his system. He’d been deprived of oxygen for a long time. There was no way to be sure what would happen next. That was all up to Steve now.

Eddie sat there in that uncomfortable waiting room chair for hours. He didn’t move. He didn’t eat or drink. He didn’t even get up to go to the bathroom. He just sat there, staring at the same chip in the wooden table. His friends all tried their best to get through to him. They tried to coax him into eating or drinking something, but their efforts were unsuccessful. No one could get through to him, and he preferred it that way. He deserved to sit in his own silence, letting his brain run reckless and spiral to the depths of his fears and anxiety. He had failed.

He noticed that the more time seemed to pass, the antsier his bandmates got. Though, he couldn’t be exactly sure that’s what was happening. Time escaped him.

Time was such a funny thing, wasn’t it? It can feel like it speeds up, slows down, or stops entirely, but it never changes. It’s always the same. It’s all in the imagination. Eddie was never that good at telling time as a child. Even as he grew older, he found it difficult to keep track. As he sat in that hospital, his entire life on the brink of falling apart at the seams, time was nowhere to be found. Nothing made sense. He just sat silently, staring. People moved around him, time passed, but Eddie didn’t move. He was trapped. His body was at the hospital, but his mind kept bouncing around. From his mom, to Wayne, to Steve on the bathroom floor. An endless cycle. Eddie was hanging on by a single thread: the only thread of life left in Steve.

Eddie would never survive if Steve didn’t make it out alive.

Eddie was aware that a long time had passed only by the ache in his joints and the dryness of his mouth. He also sort of needed to pee, but that wasn’t important. At least, not important enough to warrant getting up. He couldn't move. He needed to stay right in that spot. Nothing was more important than that.

“Come on, Ed,” Wayne’s gruff voice said from somewhere behind him. Eddie stayed rooted to the spot. “It’s time to go, kid. We’ve gotta get to the reception.”

Eddie stood silently, staring straight ahead at the marble headstone. His mother’s name was engraved with curly letters. Eddie hadn’t known that was possible. There were piles of flowers that he knew wouldn’t be there next week. He didn’t speak. His feet were glued to the soft ground beneath him. His suit was itchy and his worn dress shoes were a size too small. The tie around his neck was suffocating. He couldn’t breathe.

He broke down right there, tears rolling down his cheeks and gasping sobs bursting from his chest. He sank down to the ground at the foot of his mother’s fresh grave, clawing at the stupid red tie that his mother had bought him two years prior and the collar of his white dress shirt. Wayne sighed softly and sat down beside him, gently pulling his hands away and shushing Eddie as he loosened the tie. He let him collapse against his chest, tie almost completely off and the first two buttons of his shirt undone. Wayne held him through each wracking sob and stuttering breath, murmuring comfort until he’d gotten it all out.

“I couldn’t do it, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie whispered hoarsely. “Why couldn’t I do it?”

“Do what, Ed?”

“Save her.”

Why couldn't he do it?

“Eddie, seriously, you need to eat something,” Jeff said, holding out a bag of chips from the vending machine. Eddie stared blankly at the bag, seeing but not really. He heard the words coming from Jeff’s mouth, but his body refused to respond. He couldn’t quite fully process what he was saying. It slipped out of his head before he got the chance, replaced with his mother’s voice, or Steve promising he was fine. He was fine. There was nothing wrong. It was just weed. Nothing more. He was fine.

He lied.

What else had Steve lied about? What else was he keeping from Eddie? Every time Steve came home late, claiming some generic excuse about work or traffic or whatever else it may have been, how often had those been lies? What had he been doing instead? Getting high? Shooting up in a parking garage somewhere? Was he ever with someone else? Someone who wasn’t Eddie?

Steve would never cheat. Eddie had to remind himself of that over and over again. Repeat it on a loop in his head. Anything to get it to stay there.

He would not cheat. He would not cheat. He would not cheat.

But he would lie.

Eddie has never been insecure about their relationship before. He loved Steve more than anything. He always knew Steve felt the same. Steve loved him. No questions asked. Eddie knew. He didn't need to be told that Steve loved him. It was just obvious. Now, though, Eddie was second guessing everything. Why would he lie? If Steve could lie so easily about something like this, what else had he lied about? Had their whole relationship been a lie? Has Steve ever told him the truth about anything?

His brain swirled with more thoughts, more insecurities. He stared at the chip in the table as he spiraled. His fingers and toes were tingling. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream, a nightmare. Any minute now, he was going to wake up. Everything would be fine. It was just one big nightmare. He would be laying in bed next to Steve, who would be snoring softly. He would roll over and tuck his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. He could hold him tight, bury his nose in the back of Steve’s neck and breathe in the scent of his shampoo. He could fall back into a peaceful sleep with Steve in his arms, safe and sound.

Except he wasn't waking up. No matter how much he tried, no matter how hard he willed his eyes to open, it didn't happen. He was trapped. There was no escape. Steve wasn't there. He may never be there again. This was all Eddie’s fault. If only he’d noticed. If only he cared enough. None of it was enough. Eddie wasn’t enough. He never should have expected to be enough for Steve. Steve deserved better.

Eddie never should have asked him to come on tour with them.

If Eddie hadn’t asked him to go, this never would have happened. Steve would be at home, in their apartment with Robin, probably sleeping in her room every night. He hated sleeping alone. He’d be sitting on the couch, wrapped up in one of Eddie’s hoodies and the threadbare blue blanket they took from the trailer when they moved, watching movies with Robin and a bowl of popcorn. He wouldn’t be dying in a hospital in New York. He’d be happy and safe. Eddie would miss him like hell, but at least he would be safe.

The sun was shining, blindingly bright, through the tall windows on the far wall of the waiting room when the doctor finally came back. Eddie’s knee had taken to bouncing anxiously a while ago, maybe an hour, maybe more. He can’t be sure. His brain had mostly come back online, but he still felt a little foggy. Untethered. His world was unbalanced. His ears were still ringing even as the doctor started talking. He barely heard a single word. Snippets of information filtered through the fog. Stable. Made it through the night. Up to Steve now. ICU. Visitors. The next thing he knows, Jeff is leading him through the halls with the doctor. It’s just the three of them. Other doctors and nurses bustled around them.

They finally crossed the double doors into the ICU. Eddie’s heart pounded as the doctor led them over to one of the sliding doors. She opened it, and Eddie couldn't move. He could hear the machines inside, see the edge of the hospital bed. If he turned his head a little, he knew he would see Steve. The doctor walked in and picked up the chart at the foot of the bed. She flipped it open and clicked her pen, writing things down and glancing at monitors.

“Eddie, why don't we go inside?” Jeff suggested softly, his hand on Eddie’s arm. “Steve needs you right now.”

Eddie's feet moved of their own accord, taking slow steps into the room. Jeff followed behind him, closing the door once they were both in the room. He carefully led Eddie over to the chair, giving him a light push on the shoulder to sit him down. As soon as he was close enough, Eddie grabbed Steve’s hand. An instinct he would probably always have. It didn't matter what was going on in his brain. If Steve’s hand was there, Eddie was holding it.

“Is he okay?” the doctor asked gently, nodding to Eddie.

Jeff sighed. “I hope so. This is all really hard on him.”

“How long have they been together?”

Jeff looked up, a little startled. It may have been New York, and queer relationships were a little more accepted than they were just a few years ago, but Steve and Eddie had always been careful. Cautious. They all had. But she was quick to respond before Jeff could even think to redirect.

“It’s okay, really. I know what love looks like. I would look at my partner the same way if something like this ever happened to her.”

“Oh.” Jeff glanced at Eddie, who had his eyes glued to Steve’s hand in his. “Um… it’s been almost eight years now. They’ve been through a lot together.”

She closed the chart and put it back at the end of the bed. She nodded a few times, watching the machines that beeped rhythmically. “I’m going to hold on to hope,” she said softly. “For them. For everyone like us. I can’t say anything for certain; this is all up to Steve. We’re doing everything we can. But I’m holding on to hope.”

“I guess that’s all any of us can do now, isn’t it?”

“I think so.” She cleared her throat and took a step back from the bed, turning to Jeff. “I have other patients to round on, but I’ll be back to check up on everything in a couple of hours. If you guys need anything, just let one of the nurses know.”

“Thank you.”

Silence fell through the room as the doctor left. Jeff took the chair in the corner, letting Eddie have whatever time he needed. He was mostly there for Eddie’s sake; someone had to make sure he would be okay until Wayne got there. Truthfully, they were all out of their depths here. No one really understood what was happening in Eddie’s brain. Not even close to the way Wayne would.

They sat there in total silence for a long time. It's unclear to Eddie just how long, but long enough that Jeff had gotten up four times. Once to get food, once for the bathroom, and twice to hit vending machines and coffee. Not that Eddie accepted anything Jeff offered him. His body still felt wildly disconnected from his brain. His limbs were heavy. He also knows it's been long enough that nurses have come in to check on Steve eight times, and his doctor has been back once. It seems the only thing Eddie’s mind can keep track of is how many times someone has entered or exited Steve’s room in the ICU.

Jeff gets up for a fifth time. Another bathroom break, from the few words Eddie managed to retain. The door slid shut behind him, and Eddie was alone again. He squeezed Steve’s hand three times, desperate for any sign that he's still there. That he's fighting for Eddie. Nothing happens. The machines beep. His chest rises and falls rhythmically with the calculated breaths of the ventilator. Steve’s eyes shift beneath his eyelids, but they don't open. They won't open. The door slid open again, and Eddie assumed Jeff was back, though it seemed like he wasn't gone very long. And then he hears it.

“Oh, God.”

Eddie’s head shot up at the sound of Robin’s shaky voice behind him. She looked wrecked. Her face was blotchy, her eyes puffy and red. There were tear tracks down her cheeks. Wayne was standing beside her, looking somber. He watched her take a rattled breath, crossing the room slowly. Her eyes don't leave Steve. Wayne followed a few moments later, coming to stand behind Eddie and put a hand on his shoulder. Eddie wanted to break. As if he hadn't been slowly breaking this whole time.

“They- they said it was an overdose?” Robin asked softly, her voice cracking at the end. Eddie merely nodded, still trying to find his voice. “What- what happened, Eddie? Was it- was he drugged? How- how did this- did he relapse?”

“Relapse?” Eddie croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse. That didn't make any sense. For Steve to relapse, he would have to be…. “He- he was clean?”

Robin frowned, and her gaze finally found Eddie. “What do you mean he was clean? He's been clean since ‘85, Eddie. I- I helped him, after Starcourt.”

All the air left Eddie’s lungs in an instant. This was all his fault. Steve was- he was clean. Sober. And Eddie ruined that. He gave Steve weed. He brought him on tour. He took him to parties full of temptation. He killed Steve.

“This is all my fault,” he whispered.

“Eddie, you have to tell me what's going on,” Robin begged. “When did he relapse? Why didn't he call me? He promised he would talk to me if he wanted to get high again.”

“I- Oh, God. I didn't know. He- he didn't tell me.” Eddie couldn't breathe. His heart squeezed in his chest, and his lungs pushed the air from his body until there was nothing left. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't get it back. He was already hyperventilating. “This is all my fault. Oh my god, it's all my fault.” He was distantly aware of the tears rolling down his cheeks again.

Wayne stepped between Eddie and Robin, crouching down to look up into his nephew's face. His hands were solid against Eddie’s skin, just like they always were. “Ed, you need to talk to me. Take a breath, kid. I'm right here, but you have to tell me what's going on.”

Eddie’s breath stuttered halfway through his chest. “I didn't know, Wayne.”

“What didn't you know, Eddie?”

“I didn't- I didn't know he was sober. I- I thought I- I was just trying to help. I- I gave him weed. I did this.”

Robin’s expression hardened. “You did this to him?”

“I'm so sorry,” Eddie choked out between sobs. “I didn't- I didn't know. I was just trying to help. And- and then he- I knew he wasn't telling me something, but- but he promised it was just weed.”

“Get out.” Robin’s voice was firm, but he could hear the trembling fear behind it.

“What? I-”

“Get out. Get out, right now. You did this, Eddie. He was doing so good until he met you! And now he's dying! So get the hell out, before I make you!"

It was at this moment that the door opened for Jeff’s return. He paused just inside the doorway. Wayne stood up, facing Robin.

“Now, Robin, I think-”

“I don't care!” Robin’s hands were shaking. “This is his fault! I want him out, right now! Or I swear to God, Wayne, I'm going to kill him.”

Wayne glanced back at Jeff, who was the perfect picture of confusion. “Jeff, take Eddie into the hall.”

“What-”

“Don't ask questions right now,” Wayne said sternly with a shake of his head. “Just take him to the hall. I'll be out in a moment.”

As soon as the door shut behind them, and Jeff had led Eddie a little ways from the room, he finally snapped. His knees gave out from underneath him, and Jeff was the only thing holding him up as he sobbed.

This was all his fault. He killed Steve.

First his mom, now the love of his life. It was all his fault.

-----

taglist: @mugloversonly @djohawke @acowardinmordor @hallucinatedjosten @geekyfifi @slowandsteddie @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @canmargesimpson @captainoliimar @ilikeititspretty

[bokettochild]

Day 4 - Obedience

Rating: Teen(?)

Wordcount: 849

Summary: Wind and Legend weren't so far off with their theories about what might happen with Twilight.

-

He didn’t even notice. 

He thought they were just having a laugh, a tease, a post battle jest to raise morale and spirits and stop the rest of them from being so tense. He really thought it was something to shrug off and just let his little brothers tease and giggle at, simply glad to see their faces smiling again. 

They’re not smiling now. 

No, his brothers aren’t laughing, smiling, or teasing.  

It started with a dull ache, a persisting throb at the back of his head that made conversation a struggle and details hard to focus on. No one else had noticed, not more than it took to ask if maybe his injuries were bothering him, but he hadn’t thought much of it either. Twilight is used to handling strange pains, be it from bruises he doesn’t remember getting or strains he very much remembers causing. Pain is normal in their line of work, pain is expected. Pain isn’t commonly persistent, but if Legend can live with it, day in and day out, then he really doesn't have room to start complaining about a light headache, especially if the vet is always able to just power through his pain.  

But the light headache got worse. It became a throb, something to make him stumble on words, thoughts lost here and again, sentences left unfinished as he’d blink back to himself to find the rest staring, worried. He doesn’t remember what he’d been doing before, but the blanks in his memory always worry him. 

He struggles to talk with his Cub about the champion’s own memories, the kid’s struggle with the past. Time and Legend step up as he falters, and when he drops the ball they’re there to catch it, words and actions so perfectly understanding and knowing that he can’t help regret not letting them sooner, not being better himself when it was his duty. 

He can’t though. 

The gaps stop, but the twitching starts. He drops something, he trips, his hands twitch or grab or move without him thinking about it. Warriors tells him he’s stressed, that he needs to relax more, it’s probably just muscle spasms to signal how overwhelmed he is. Resting doesn't help though, because his body still moves without him asking, still does things without him realizing it and the longer it goes on, the worse it gets. 

He slaps Legend for getting mouthy. 

He snaps his teeth at Wind, while in hylian form, for talking too loudly. 

It’s just little things. Wind doesn’t think anything of it. Legend doesn’t so much as falter at being struck. There’s only worry for him in their eyes, but they don’t push him, just meander over to Time to ask the old man to check in on him. 

Being sat down because the others are worried becomes normal, and the old man’s voice begins to grate on his ears the more frequently that it happens.  

His voice starts hissing, demanding, warning the younger ones to not kick up a fuss. 

It’s like that dream again, that horrid vision. He’s watching himself, trapped, as his ability to do anything about it slowly slips away. Before he knows it, he can’t apologize anymore, can’t tell Legend he’s sorry for the flying hands, or Wind for the sharp words. He can’t apologize for walking away when Wild comes to him for help, or insulting Four before the faces of the rest of them, shaming the quiet smithy even as the rest stare and worry. 

He can’t even apologize for the horrible things he’d said when Warriors had pulled him aside, out of the way of the others, and confronted him about it. He can’t apologize for the way the captain had been so lost in his own head that he hadn’t spoken for days after, too trapped in doubts and guilt and thoughts that Twilight would never have planted, if it was his own choice. 

It’s not though, not any more. 

The headaches are gone, but in their place are whispers, loaded words that tug him thus way and that, like the strings of a puppet, and try as he might to resist them, his body obeys when it urges to break the captain’s mind, shatter the veteran’s trust, alienate the smithy, defy the leader, belittle the littlest, scorn the lost. 

Is world crumbles under his hands and he watches, terrified, unable to stop it. 

He watches Wind become quiet. He watches Legend regard everyone with fear, harsh and cold and defensive against word or motion. He watches Wild flounder, lost but unsure. He watches Warriors falter, Time stumble, Four shut down, Hyrule back away. 

He watches, and when the whispers, one night, have his hand closing on his own sword, have his eyes beholding terrified ones as the weapon swings, he’s left only to cry out and scream, only to watch and fight, unable to act, a prisoner in his own soul, as his body wrecks destruction on his family. 

And all the while the whisper grows, laughing, crowing, cheering. 

“Good boy,” it tells him, “Good mutt.” 

[thehusbandoden]

I have a little comfort idea? What if Dabi, Spinner and Shigaraki (separately) comforts there S/O who gets claustrophobic, and starts to have a panic attack so they calm reader down by pulling them into a hug telling reader that, as long as they’re in their arms they will always be safe. (or say something sweet like that)

A/n: I hope this suits your taste! Please don't be afraid to ask for something else if it doesn't <3

Comforting Claustrophobic Reader Part One

(Dabi, Spinner, Shigaraki)

Genre: comfort/fluff \\ wc: 1,241 (all together) \\ posted: 11/27/2023 \\ requested

Warnings!: Claustrophobia, tight spaces, panic attacks, a mention of blood, Shigaraki threatening someone, and Shigaraki being aggressive (not toward you). Please let me know if I miss any! <3

Part Two (Bakugo, Shoto, Kiri, and Denki)

Part Three (Tamaki)

Dabi:

"Looks like it's just you and me." Dabi grinned, most of his body pressed against yours. He didn't seem to notice you're panic. "Any ideas on what to do, Sweetcheeks?"

Your breathing quickened, and your hands started to tremble. You squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn't seem to help.

"Doll?" Dabi finally seemed to notice something was wrong. "I'm not going to force you into anything.. you know that, right?"

You nodded your head, your lip trembling.

"What's wrong Sweetheart?" Dabi asked, dropping his flirtasious tone. He wriggled around so he could face you better, the walls pressing against you both.

"I-I'm.." you pressed your head into Dabi's chest, trying to clam down.

"Doll?" Dabi asked softly, stroking your hair.

"I'm claustrophobic.. and it's really bad.." you whisper, tears in your eyes.

"Oh baby.." Dabi sighed, stroking your hair comfortingly.

"I-I know it's dumb but-"

"It's not dumb. It's okay, you don't need to explain. Just let your favorite person comfort you." Dabi murmurs softly, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

"Thanks.. you truly are the best."

The walls started to shrink, causing you to panic. Tears streamed down your face as you and Dabi got pressed against each other.

"Hey hey don't panic, it's okay!" Dabi stressed, looking around for a way out.

The panic in his own voice only made your panic worse, you started freaking out, tears streaming down your face.

Dabi hugged you tightly, whispering sweet things in your ear. You tried to focus on him, but it wasn't really working. Just as you felt like you were going to completely break down the constricting stopped. Dabi continued to whisper in your ear, moving his eyes around to try and figure out what was going on.

Seconds later the small room suddenly turned into dust, falling to the ground. Fresh air hit you and you sobbed in relief, still clinging onto Dabi. Shigarki raised his eyebrow, and opened his mouth to comment.

Dabi sent him a menacing glare, and he changed his mind. Shrugging, Shigarki walked off.

After calming down, you and Dabi got up to get back to the base. Looking around, the hero that trapped you in the first place was no where in sight. She also must have been dusted. You sighed again.

"Thank you, my love." You whisper, causing Dabi to smirk.

"No problem Sweetcheeks." He slung his arm around your shoulders in a protecive manner as the two of you walked down the street. After a while he looked down at you, smirking.

"What?" You giggle, admiring his goregous eyes.

"Ah nothin'." His smirk grew as he looked away.

You found yourself entranced by Dabi's face and eyes as you walk, unable to look away. After a few minutes he caught you, raising an eyebrow cockily.

"I could stare at you forever.." you murmur, still entranced.

Dabi chuckled. After a few more minutes he leaned down to whisper in your ear. "Creep."

You huff, pouting up at Dabi. Dabi chuckled again, playfully squishing your cheeks. "Don't worry Sweetcheeks. You're not just any creep.. you're my creep."

(Dabi's masterlist)

Spinner:

You immediately started having a panic attack when Shigarki mentioned that the entire league was going to go on a road trip.. in one vehichle.

You immedietly tried to hint at your phobia to Shigarki but he either didn't get it or didn't care.. or both.

After a while of arguing he got dangerously angry, meaning that you had to back down or else you might lose your arm.. or your life.

You walked out of the room, searching for Spinner. The two of you had a close bond, and you had a huge crush on him. You just didn't know how to tell him.

After a few short minutes you found him on the couch, playing a video game. You immedietly moved to his side, resting your head against his shoulder.

"You alright?" Spinner asked, pausing his game. His scaly cheeks turned a slight pink as he felt your head against him.

"No." You whisper.

"Why not?"

"Do you remember my phobia?"

"Yes, I remember.."

"Well the entire league is gong to have to be in one vehicle.. and Shigarki won't let me out of it.."

Spinner's face softned. "Can I hug you?"

You nodded, and Spinner gently wrapped his arms around you, is cheeks turning a slight shade of pink as he rests his chin against your head. "It's okay.. I'll help you."

"How?" You start to get emotional, holding onto him tighter.

"I'll find a way to get you up front.. where you won't have to be touching anyone."

As you hugged Spinner tighter he felt his cheeks get warmer and warmer. "Alright?"

"Okay.. I think that will help.. can you sit behind me?"

"Of course.. don't worry. You'll be okay."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Shigaraki Tomura:

You were walking behind Shigarki, your hands shaking as people walked around you, pressing against you quite often. You were tempted to take his hand, but the two of you had gotten into an arugment before you left and he was visibly still angry...

A woman pushed into you, causing your anxiety to get worse.

"Hey watch it!" The woman yelled, pushing you back.

Before you could say or do anything Shigarki was standing right next to the woman, four fingers scratching at the woman's neck. "Don't ever talk to my girl like that again. You hear me?" He hissed in her ear, his fingernails drawing blood.

"Or else what?" The woman scoffed, completely unfazed.

"Or else I'll dust you. Limb by limb." Shigarki snarled, his fifth finger hanging just above the woman's skin.

"Like you could scare me-" when she recognized Shigarki's face she immedietly got quiet. "Y-yes sir.. I-I'm sorry.." she whispered, shaking slightly.

"Good." Shigarki growled, pushing her away. He then grabbed your waist, pulling you against him. "What's wrong with you?" He whispered in your ear, kissing your jaw aggesively; telling you that he loved you, but he was still angry.

"I-I'm claustrophobic.." you whisper back, tearing up as you felt bodies push into your own.

Shigarki growled protectively, moving his body closer around yours in a way where you would be touched less. "Why didn't you tell me!?"

"You were angry at me.." you whisper, your hand still shaking.

Shigarki's anger growed and he started to berate you, causing your panic attack to grow worse. When he realized what he was doing he immedietly softened, pulling you into a secluded area.

"My poor baby.. I'm sorry." He whispered, caressing your hair comfortingly.

You froze in shock at his apology. Shigarki was not the kind of man to apologize.

"You're.. sorry?"

"Yes. I'm sorry for our argument-" he kisses your forehead lovingly, "I'm sorry for not noticing your panic attack,-" he kisses both of your cheeks, "and I'm sorry for making it worse by berating you instead of comforitng you." He ends his speech by kissing your lips lovingly, pulling you against him.

After a few moments he pulls away, hugging you comfortingly.

"I forgive you. And I'm sorry for arguing as well, and I'm sorry for not telling you." You whisper agaisnt his warm chest.

Shigarki chuckles, pulling you in for another kiss.

After you pull away you giggle, kissing his nose."Would you like to go back home? Or do you still want to go meet up with the others?"

"It's your choice, honey."

(Shigaraki's masterlist)

~~~~~

Part Two (Bakugo, Shoto, Kiri and Denki)

Masterlist | Navigation | You can tip me here <3

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated <33

~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way -minus reblogging.

[maegalkarven]

I understand what you’re saying about the Chosen of the dead 3, but I think Orin and Gortash are in the same boat. She wasn’t part of the plan at all, she killed or tried to kill her sibling to actively be part of the plan. She wasn’t even Bhaal’s chosen, she forced into that position herself. And if her abuse is grounds for understanding, then I’d say Gortash’s abuse is too. Sold to a devil as a child and tortured for years until he escapes and he grasps at anything to be in control so no one can control / hurt him again. I think he’s a shit person that did shit things, but I do like the character. And I don’t think Orin’s abuse outweighs that of Gortash. Someone/something messed them both up really bad. Bhaal uses Orin’s bloodlust and trauma to get her to do what he wants, Bane uses Gortash’s fear and need for control to get him to do what he wants. Gortash isn’t more/less redeemable because he’s the smart one that put the plan together. Also being Bane’s chosen means if he fails, he’s tortured for eternity. After being tortured for years, I’d imagine he’d do quite literally anything to not end up there again. Either they’re both redeemable or they’re both not in my eyes at least. Ketheric is the most redeemable for sure, he started out with a decent reason at least.

Gortash is my absolute fav actually because of all the layers. He's a fucking onion.

"Trapped in narrative- escaping the narrative"wise Gortash is the only one who actively walks into His.

He could do anything he wanted after escaping Hells. He wasn't exactly chained up or forced to climb the ladder to world domination.

Back then he still had a choice, even if his mind, twisted and turned by being Raphael's captive, didn't want that choice. Because fear is a strong thing, fear can control person in the worst possible ways. I believe Gortash chose "be the worst ever so no one can hurt him again" road and narrative himself.

But he CHOSE it. (The same way, some might argue, Ketheric chose not letting Isobel go, but I think Ketheric simply wasn't able to let her go)

Orin is different because she didn't exactly force herself into the narrative; she had always been in the narrative. She was born into the narrative.

No Bhaalspawn is ever free and no Bhaalspawn is ever not Bhaal's tool. She would inevitably be put on Durge's path because Bhaal loves putting his children against each other and because only One Bhaalspawn can remain. She even tried to play by the rules and challenged Durge, who didn't take her seriously and refused.

Both Orin and Gortash are more tragic than Ketheric because they're broken children who can never let it go.

Gortash is willingly not letting it go while Orin is literally trapped in it (her family, her cult, Father Bhaal in her head).

Ketheric is someone who, if convinced he can actually redeem himself (and if Isobel is alive), would try it.

Orin can only be redeemed if you forcibly take her out of her cult and cut off Bhaal's influence getting DIRECTLY INTO HER MIND. (Bhaal doesn't really have children, only victims)

Orin could easily be on Durge's place, tadpoled and amnesiac. Tbh I feel like her losing memory is the only way she could ever break free because for her where was nothing but Cult and Bhaal. She wasn't allowed anything else. Confronted with the truth about her upbringing, she's horrified; she also had been punished by Bhaal before for disobedience, Bhaal commands her what to do and Bhaal literally strips her of her own will and body because this is what Bhaal does. But if we can claw her out of it, knock her memories away and cut Bhaal off? Then she has a chance.

That's pretty much the only way she can have it (there's a reason Jaheira calls her lost soul).

But Gortash would not want redemption because he was not forced into the path of tyranny. He chose it. He quite likes it up on the top. He's comfortable over there being the worst and selling people and giving explosives to children. The only thing better would be if he had someone to share his kingdom with, someone who gets his genius.

If put on the ground, he will try to climb right back again. He doesn't care about freeing himself because in his mind only on the very top is where he is free. This narrative not his cage, it's his castle, he build it and he's not giving it up.

That's why any attempt to actually "redeem" him would fail because he is Not Interested in That. He is interested in Power and Being the Biggest and Strongest. Also so ppl would love him, idk how he plans to balance it out with his tyranny, but he pretty much requires the gaping audience. Admire him, everyone.

I have several plots of dragging him off his high horse bc the other alternative is his death, but all these plots require things to be the way where he's actively stripped of power in some way or another bc only his own survival will make him somewhat cooperate on an equal level (one particular ally, durge or tav, but more often durge aside). He is not a team player. He pretends he is.

There are, sure, some AU salvations for him, but no redemption because He Genuinely Does Not Regret a Thing, nor will he.

Neither is Orin, but Orin is a broken doll with a god of murder in her head. She lost herself so long time ago no one even recalls it.

Gortash has himself because no one ever had him. He will do anything for his survival and this is why he does not want or require redeeming. Not dying from Netherbrain, that's another story. But he inevitably always serves his own interests first.

Orin fights for the awful love and approval of a cruel god, Ketheric's love for his daughter transcends her death.

Orin and Ketheric's narratives are two sides of the same coin.

"A child craving affection of a cruel parent" VS "parent doing unimaginable horrors bc of the love for their child."

Gortash is out of that particular narrative, his narrative is "There's No One But Me. Only I Matter. No one loved me so I will love me in excess. No one loved me so no one deserves my love".

It is an echo and awful influence of his tragic past, but it's something he actively chooses. He loves that narrative of his, even if it doesn't exactly fulfill him 100% (because it's lonely on the top. Because somewhere deep inside Enver Flymm still lives. Because he can't let Enver Flymm go no matter now pathetic that past self of his is).

His tragedy is of being lonely af and not admitting it/not having anyone to match him in his genius, but not his Tyrant Path. This one he chose for himself.

The thing is, of course gods use their Chosen ones. I think Gortash knows that, and I think he also actively uses Bane. He wears the coat protecting him from the fear and is a chosen of a Dread Lord. That's telling. He doesn't actually serve Bane, he serves himself and aligns himself with Bane for as long as it works for him.

[flowercrowngods]

part 1 | ao3

shattered on the cliff’s edge, trapped by the tides

— a steddie ghost story —

part 2 / 7

Soaked through by the icy water and the howling winds, and weighted down by shock and fright, Steve’s legs may as well have been made of lead as he, slowly, with a racing heart, accepts his fate and enters the lighthouse. 

He flinches, hard, when the door falls shut behind him, as if pushed by an invisible force, and he flinches again when a wave crashes violently. It’s almost as if the lighthouse is shaking with the impact, but maybe that’s just him. 

“Okay,” he breathes, whispering because he doesn’t dare to speak any louder, lest the unending darkness might be disturbed — and something tells him that it wouldn’t take all that kindly to that. “Okay.” Once more, with feeling. 

Before he can move and find an oil lamp or even just a candle to bring some light into this place, something thumps from somewhere up the stairs he cannot see. 

He knows that, just like ancient manors, lighthouses have a life of their own, knows they’re prone to moving and moaning along with the tides, with the wind and the water — but that was not the settling of wood or metal. That was something else.

“Hello?” he calls with a trembling voice, closing his eyes at the echoes of his own voice travelling up and down the tower he is being made to call home for the foreseeable future. “Is— Is anyone there? I’m… Well, I’m Steve.” 

Images fill the space behind his eyes, horrible visions of the old keepers luring him here to murder him, out of sea madness or cannibalistic urges, or just to have a bit of entertainment out here, just for a while. Other images, then, of ghosts coming to haunt him, to drive him to the brink of madness, to the railing all the way up on the tower, and watch his descent into— 

Another thump. The sound of a door opening, the wood groaning, the hinges creaking, everything insists the lighthouse protesting its new inhabitant. 

And then, through the pitch black darkness, a whisper. Travelling down towards him, growing louder as it comes closer and closer and— 

Steve takes a step back, his breath coming in shallow rapidity as he reaches for the handle and finding it unmoving.

Run, the whisper says, sounding more like an inhale than anything else — and is the air getting thinner? Run. 

Another wave crashes into the lighthouse. 

Run. 

The whispering voice is in his head now, loud for all of its tonelessness. 

Run!

Steve stumbles backwards, his body too frozen with cold and fear to catch his fall. His body collides with the wall and he slides down, covering his ears with his hands to keep out the noise, to keep out the world as he tries in vain for the fear to subside. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, hiding behind his knees like a little boy, scared of his father’s raised hands and his brothers' gloating. “I’m sorry, I mean no harm, I’m just— I’m here to fix the light. I’m here to make sure it’s— everything’s, everything’s fine. I don’t mean to disturb, I’m sorry. I’m Steve. I’m sorry.” 

Everything stills then — or maybe it’s the cotton in his ears and the staccato of his heart that drown out everything else and remind him that he’s painfully, desperately alive. And mortal. 

But the whispering stops, and so does the groaning up ahead, and silence falls. An unnatural silence, not even broken by the ocean waves outside. 

It’s like the lighthouse has stilled to listen to him. 

It’s something Robin told him once (or rather, debated at him while he was letting her rant wash over him in a whiff of fondness for his best friend in the whole wide world): 

“Ghosts don’t know your intentions, right? So it’s only fair to communicate with them. It’s you breaking into their house, after all. Well, unless they’re haunting your house, but even then it’s fair to assume they have been there all along and you either deserve the haunting and had it coming, or you’re just the poor lad caught in the crossfires. Either way, worth a try, right? If even those still alive assume the worst, I would think an eternity spent in the aether is unlikely to be beneficial to your judgement of character.”

Steve had waved it off then — or, in his case, smile patiently and waited for her to answer his initial question from half an hour ago before she went on a tangent on aether and ghosts and the supernatural; she’d been spending too much time in the library. 

“You learn a thing or two about haunted houses, growing up in a family such as mine,” he’d said, and then, “Dinner?” 

A pang splits him down the middle, regret and uncertainty tearing at him concerning Robin’s wheareabouts and her safety. She must be safe. She must be! 

“They say you don’t like— you, uh, strangers. The locals said you don’t like when people come here, so I’m sorry, but… I’m sorry. I have to fix the light. I’m Steve.” 

It’s madness, it must be. Early onset, although his father would have a thing or two to say about that, would claim it had always lived in him, would claim the way he looks at men is proof of that and reason enough to have him hanging in the streets. 

It wasn’t madness back then, Steve knows, vehemently, desperately knows. But this? Talking to a lighthouse, speaking into the darkness like it’s sentient even just a minute after he first set foot into it? It must be. He’s never been superstitious, has never been prone to ghost stories or supernatural appearances like Robin. 

But something about this place, something about the way it has been haunting his dreams, something about Old John capsizing is enough to make even the calmest man lose his wits. 

Something tells Steve that talking with the darkness is the right thing to do, if only for his own comfort. 

He looks up, his head thumping against the brick wall behind him, as steps approach. They still, right in front of him, and he’s staring into nothingness, almost expecting to make out a shape. Expecting for the next breath to be his last. 

Expecting… something. 

But nothing happens, and the sound of the ocean returns. The darkness seems less impenetrable as a sliver of light falls in through a side light up above. 

“Thank you,” he says, as stupidly as it is soundless, his voice buried beneath fear and dread. 

Miraculously, the darkness seems to fade a little more. 

Enough, eventually, for Steve to get up and dust off his trousers in an attempt to look presentable, or to shake off the residue of his fright — if only it was merely residue. 

Now that the darkness has lightened, he keeps his eyes fixed to the spot where he feels like he can make out a shape in the dust. Maybe it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, though, maybe it’s just the expectation of finding a spectre that makes one appear. 

Madness, he reiterates. But something about it doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t feel mad. And the steps never receded. If they were not an illusion, something created to steal the grounds from beneath his feet, playing with his senses to warp his perception of reality and the truth, then something — someone, quite possibly — is still standing right in front of him. 

He looks on even long past the point of impolite staring, searching the dust for a shape that only appears in his periphery when he moves his eyes. 

It feels rather undeniable, though, that someone is watching him. 

“Hello,” he says at last, having regained some of his voice and footing. His hands clench by his sides, though, his body revolting against speaking with an apparent ghost. 

The darkness doesn’t answer, and neither does the dust. But with the memory of urgent whispers still on the forefront of his mind, Steve is almost grateful for it as he carefully reaches for his bags and stars to move so slowly that it might almost be a mockery of the situation if his legs weren’t so shaky. 

The weight of an invisible gaze rests on his shoulders and settles in the bones of his neck. It takes everything in him not to rub at it — he has no idea what the darkness would take offence to, and he already feels incredibly lucky to have made it this far with his life still intact and only his sanity and his pride having taken a crack along the way. 

He thinks of Old John again, thinks of Good luck, kid. He almost asks the darkness about him, but he bites his tongue just in time. The stairs are steep and if he fell, given an invisible push, chances are he wouldn’t remain as alive as he is right now. 

So he swallows and feels his way along the wall up the stairs. When he finds an oil lamp, he reaches for the matches in his bags — blessedly dry — and lights it.

It’s almost blinding, the shine of the flame that sets to illuminate the way, but Steve feels his gaze drawn to the foot of the stairs where the spectre is still framed by the door. Still appearing to look at Steve. 

Stalemate is one thing to call it, maybe, this tension in the air, the weight of their gazes accompanied by the stumbling of Steve’s heart and the trembling of his hands. 

Steve swallows and continues with his ascent of the winding stairs, never once losing the feeling in his neck. He finds more lamps along the wall and lights them until they lead him to a set of chambers that in any other lighthouse would have been down at the bottom or even in another building altogether, leaving room in a large house or a tiny hut for the keepers to reside in. But none of that is possible out here, in the middle of the sea, towering on top of cliffs that already make it nary impossible to get here. 

The lighthouse is prone to flooding if the wind shifts or the ocean remains ruthless in a storm, so everything needs to be located above the threat of sea level. 

He finds two bedchambers, the beds unmade, a richly stocked pantry that will last him several months if he keeps it locked away from wet air, and an almost inviting kitchen. A burnt smell wafts from the oven, grown stale over time but a certain bite has never quite managed to air out, and when he takes a look, he finds what was supposed to be bread still in there. A coat hangs on a rack, another is hung over the back of the chair, and another stool has been thrown over. 

It looks for all intents and purposes like someone was just here. Like someone is still here. 

What happened to the old keepers? — That does not concern you. 

A shiver runs through him and he tries not to succumb to the terror that seems to lurk inside these walls as he starts a fire in the hearth. He is exhausted, adrenaline rushing from his body and leaving behind only apathetic tiredness and a longing for rest. He doesn’t even remember the light, his head filled with fog and exhaustion.

Once the fire is going and he is sure there is enough coal for it to last all night and keep him from freezing to an early death, Steve falls into bed without dinner. He only has enough strength not to retreat into a dead man’s unmade bed, instead finding new bedding and linen to make it his own. 

He doesn’t sleep on that first night, but he falls into a haze thick enough to be unable to move as the whispers return, knocking and hammering along the walls almost rhythmically, as if waiting for a signal. 

There is no time, they say, though he cannot be sure the next morning if he dreamed that or if he really heard it echoing along the walls. 

Run. Leave. There is no time. 

Tick. 

Tick. 

Tick.

And the night remains dark.

tagging: @klausinamarink @steviesummer @auroraplume @dragonmama76

[widowwaddles]

Casualty of Love (Snippet)

Summary: The Scarlet Witch’s path to reunite with her kids was filled  with destruction. And now you must fan the flames in order to help your  family adjust to your new life afterward.

A what-if story continuing the aftermath of the Scarlet Witch's dream walking but of Wanda who had never awoken her powers. She is now plagued with the memories of her alternate's life. Would you be able to support your Wanda through this new journey or will you lose the Wanda you fell in love with in the process?

A/n: Excuse me as I just just drop this here and fade back into the background. Something short to test this idea out, let me know your thoughts.

Masterlist

The New Normal

Your slumber was interrupted by tossing and turning from beside you.

Your eyes burn as you open them. It’s a struggle to keep them open, as your body desperately craves the one thing it’s gone without for the past month. Between the hotel rooms, family therapy sessions, and the legal repercussions of proving your wife’s innocence for the Scarlet Witch’s tirade, a good night's sleep became a luxury you could no longer afford. You craved the mundane normalcy that your life once had before She wrecked havoc in your lives. But a part of you knew that things could never go back to how they were, and that was a grieving process in itself. It broke your heart to look at your family every morning and all you see is a hollow shell of their former selves.

You felt useless for being unable to do anything as you saw your wife’s eyes become filled with a scarlet glow as she murdered those in her path. The woman who could never hurt a fly, disappearing from the house without a word and returning covered in blood with no memory of where she was or what she’d done. That moment should have been your first clue that something was wrong and you should have prepared for the worst, but as you held your shaking wife that night you couldn’t think of anything other than cleaning her up and making the tears stop. Her breaths finally evened out as she lay on your chest, the steady rhythm of your heart lulling her into sleep.

You hear Wanda begin to mutter in her sleep as her hands clench the sheets under her grasp. This was the third nightmare tonight.

“Wanda, baby” you call out softly.

“Please, don’t hurt them” she pleads, still trapped within the nightmare.

Sitting up, you turn on the lamp. Getting a better look at your wife, her face is in distress with sweat covering her forehead. You knew that you needed to wake her now. Shaking her body, you call out to her again. “We’re safe baby, please open your eyes for me”

This seems to do the trick and as she opens her eyes, you are greeted with a flicker of scarlet before they return back to green. The adrenaline from her nightmare still plaguing her body as her chest rises and falls with a quickness. Pulling her body into you until her head rests against your chest, you knew this was the only way to prevent the start of her panic attacks after these types of dreams.

“Detka” she cries out. “The boys, where are they? I need to find them”

She attempts to thrash away from your grip, but you don’t let her go. “They’re okay, I promise. Today’s a big day for them, remember it's their first day” You shush her, rocking your body as you remind her of the day’s schedule. School was the (reluctant) first step to gaining stability and normalcy in their lives. Silence fills the air, and when you felt her breaths calm down you thought she had fallen back to sleep once again.

“Y/N, please. I need to see my babies” she begs, her voice so small and broken.

“Okay,” you give in, knowing just how much she needs reassurance with her own eyes. “But, we can’t wake them or else they’ll never go back to bed,” you say lightly, in hopes of gaining a smile from Wanda but all you hear in response is Wanda rushing out of the room like a woman on a mission.

Sighing, you get out of bed and tread to the hallway. As you approach their room, you see Wanda is already sitting on the bed, slowly stroking Tommy’s cheek before moving to Billy’s. Ever since the incident, they’ve reverted to sleeping in the same bed again, in fear of one day waking up to the other being gone forever. As you enter, you approach the window that overlooks the beds and adjust the digital baby monitor you’ve had to purchase since moving into this new house. The boys are still adjusting to the new house and after the first night waking up to screams of horror, you both wanted to ensure their safety from the convenience of your room. You could still remember the glare you received from Wanda when you mentioned the idea of returning to your bedroom at night instead of sleeping with the twins for a night. You would have thought that you said the evilest thing in the world from the way she refused to speak to you for the rest of the day. It wasn’t until you brought it up again with their therapist that she had actually agreed it would be better to start the transition now that you were in a new city. Wanda was reluctant to agree but only under the condition that cameras were installed around the house in case something happens. You didn’t think that you needed to do something that drastic yet, so you both eventually compromised with the baby monitor. It hasn’t even been a full week yet, but the boys were handling it far better than you had expected. Ever since the move, they’ve taken things even better than you and Wanda had. It made your heart swell with love when you saw how peaceful and carefree they looked as they slept.

Wanda leans forwards, pressing a kiss onto each of their cheeks before standing up. She lets out a shaky breath, reaching out for your hand now that she’s been able to believe that her family was safe. You grab her hands and guide her back to your bedroom.

As you lay back down in bed, you could tell something was still preventing Wanda from fully relaxing again.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I… I don’t understand these dreams. It's a life that’s so different from mine, one without you or the boys. And it scares me so much” she confesses, her grip tightening on your hand. “I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost this, lost you. Each night I’m reliving the same nightmare that always ends with me alone, with everyone around me dead”

You kiss her head and rub her back.

“What if she’s still inside of me? And I try to hurt you or the twins again, I would never forgive myself” she says frantically, working herself up again.

“Wanda look at me” you say firmly, before grabbing her hands. “We are safe, and you are safe. The tests have all confirmed that she is gone and she’ll never come back. You’re my wife, and the mother to the best kids in the world. I know you’ll never do anything to hurt our family. And I will never let anything happen to you or the boys, again” You speak with so much conviction that it springs tears in Wanda’s eyes.

“It won’t be easy but soon we’ll heal from this, and it’ll become a distant memory. Our love is strong enough to get through this, but you can’t bottle it all in. I need you to trust and let me be there for you for as long as it takes until it happens, you’re not alone and you’ll never be as long as I’m here”

“Okay,” she sobs out. “Don’t ever let go, I’m afraid of what I’ll become if you did. I can’t do this without you”

“Never. I’m not going anywhere” you promise.

You don’t remember how long you spent holding Wanda until all you heard was her soft snores. You look towards your alarm and instantly know that your time to rest has come to an end. You get up and begin preparing for the day, deciding to start with the kitchen knowing your wife would be happy to see it clean before she makes breakfast. It feels like your body has been moving on autopilot for the past month, and you had no idea how much longer you could sustain the current pace of your lives.

You have to fight the urge to break down every time you see the pain in their eyes whenever something accidentally triggers them to that hell. It’s something you should have gotten used to by now, but the aching behind your eyes reminds you that you weren’t invincible (even though you wished you were). You felt weak and useless, not knowing what you could do to help but you’d never let that show. It is up to you to hold this family together. The only thing motivating you now was the hope that tomorrow would be better than today, and with this glass-half-full mindset, you could see the progress. So you had to remain strong, for the good of your family. All of the sleepless nights and tears would all be worth it in the end. But until that day comes, you’ll just have to accept that this is your new normal.