#because she wants to go to the moon and he’ll follow her there

[ekkoh]

joel and ellie and following each other to the ends of the earth. even when they have nothing left to give, they can give themselves.

(hey kid by ingrid michaelson)

[luveline]

Something for hotch? Maybe where reader gets hurt/a concussion on a case and goes to the hospital but refuses to tell him she went until someone else mentions it?? <3 you dont have to do it if you have something similar but i love your writing!

ty for requesting!! <3 —Hotch will look after you, even when you don’t tell him you need him. fem, 1.7k

cw reader has a concussion

Hotch rubs his face when he knows nobody’s watching. Hand over his eyes, thumb and forefinger working against a brewing migraine. It eases a little of the tension there, but he can’t do it like you can. There’s something in your hands that makes him want to call them lovely hands, such a quaint word. You rub the space between his brows with your thumb until his aching is gone or replaced. Fondness with its own heartbeat wakes whenever you’re near. 

You’re not near. His head hurts. He wants a cup of coffee and a shower and to call Jack. The cases are never over when they’re over, is the thing, and he can’t keep track of everything. He has to answer questions and patch holes now, before the work follows him home to take up space on his desk. 

He talks to police officers, chiefs, victims families and firemen and Penelope, too, anybody who needs to ask him a question. He tells Emily to go back to the hotel because she’s exhausted, and warns Spencer that staying too long will give him another headache. He’s surprised half an hour later when Morgan grabs him by the arm. Hotch assumed he went with Spencer. 

“Hotch, what are you still doing here?” 

Hotch gives him a strange look. It’s not as though Morgan hasn’t seen Hotch clean up a mess before. “Sorry?” 

“I thought you’d be with Y/N.” 

He tries very hard to look casual. The team are often better at pretending they haven’t noticed you and Hotch slowly moving together. “She went home.” 

“No she didn’t, they took her in an ambulance. She’s at the hospital, nobody told you that?” 

Hotch knows Morgan can finish up for him. He doesn’t even say where he’s going or what there is left to do, Morgan is more than capable of handling the unit, and he’s a phone call away. Hotch rushes for an agent with a car and tells them where he needs to go as he punches your speed dial into his phone. Number three, after Penelope and Jess. 

You don’t answer, it makes him feel sick. He calls again and JJ picks up. Blessed, amazing JJ. 

“Hi Hotch.” 

“Is she there? Can I speak to her?” 

“She went in for an MRI a half hour ago.”

“JJ, what happened? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” 

“She said she told you.” A dry laugh from down the phone. “You’d think I’d learn not to trust her. I love her, but she’s a liar.” 

Hotch could say the same thing. “JJ, what happened? What’s wrong with her?” 

“I think she’s embarrassed. When everybody was coming back out, someone stepped on the back of her leg and she slipped down the stairs.” 

“Who stepped on her?” Hotch asks. 

JJ laughs. Hotch wonders if they’re too far into working together to scold her for unprofessionalism, but then he remembers the Unit would fall apart without her and holds his tongue. He’d fall apart without you, maybe, and he could stand to be a little more defensive. 

He’s out of the car and into the hospital in record time. He follows the signs to the Emergency Room, gives your name at the desk, and doesn’t have to flash his badge to get told what room they’ve put you in. He would’ve, and he would’ve threatened legal action. He’s no saint. He’ll abuse the system (in innocuous ways only, of course) if it means he gets to see you. 

You’re in a bed but sitting on the side of it rather than laying down. JJ sits in the chair beside you, two contrasting expressions on your faces. You’re smiling. JJ bites her lip. 

She turns to Hotch with relief. “Hey, look,” she says gently. 

“You took a long time to get here. Was it the moon?” 

Hotch understands quite quickly. “Sorry. Nobody told me you got hurt. What happened to the moon, honey?” 

You give him a vacant look. Turning back to JJ, your hands vying for her arm, you hold her to your stomach gently and squeeze your eyes closed. “The light.” 

Hotch turns to the wall, looking for the light switch. It’s hidden behind other concerning tech, so he’s careful about what he presses. You sigh and draw his attention, wiggling back on the bed to almost fall off the other side. 

“Maybe she thought she told me,” he suggests, not scolding JJ, but unhappy nonetheless. You clearly aren’t in a state to make decisions for yourself. 

JJ rubs your arm. “She got worse after we got here. That’s why they sent for her MRI so quickly. She’s on and off with it, incoherent and normal again.”   

Hotch knows she’s concerned for you, but he can read her restless leg; she hasn’t talked to Will or heard about Henry in hours. “Go back to the hotel, JJ. I have her.” 

JJ gives you a hug, to your confusion, and bypasses him fast. He can hear her phone ringing before the doors shut from her departure. 

He admires her loyalty, he just wishes she’d called him two hours ago. 

You rub your eyes, the loose sleeves of your hospital gown shifting against the loose knot behind your neck, and he genuinely despises the idea that you’d been here, hurt, without him. “Can I tie your gown again?” he asks. 

You nod into your rubbing. 

“I turned the lights off. It shouldn’t be so bright in here anymore.” He rounds the bed to your back, where a great deal of skin is showing. He smiles though he shouldn’t. You poor girl. “You’re a little… stark.” 

“I’m trying to think of some fruit and milk,” you tell him. 

“Do you need help?” 

“Not for the fruit.” 

“But for the milk,” he surmises, bringing the ties of your gown as close as he can without strangling you and tying them in a neat bow. 

“I don’t think that’s what I meant to say.” 

He puts his hand on your shoulder, his thumb to bare skin. “That’s okay, honey, you’re having a little trouble now, but it’ll go away soon. If there were something wrong, the doctor would be here.” 

“You could be a doctor.” 

“I couldn’t. I don’t know anything about medicine.” 

“A very nice doctor. Big hands.” You breathe out loudly, more animated than he’s ever heard you. “Whoo, I’m cold. I think they made me naked.” 

“How about I tuck you in, would you like that?” he asks, leaning over you in hopes of you turning your head. 

You stare up at him. “You want to?” 

“I’d love to. I want you to be comfortable.” 

“My boyfriend might not like it.” 

Hotch tries not to sulk at another horrible symptom. You aren’t only incoherent, but amnesiac. And you’ve forgotten who he is, in a way. At least you’ve remembered you have a boyfriend. He hopes it’s him. 

“No? Why wouldn’t he like it, honey? I’m just trying to take care of you.” 

You visibly fluster. “You’re calling me honey like he does, and he won’t like it ‘cos he takes care of me. He loves to go to places but he doesn’t know where he’s going.” 

That second half is gibberish, he’s sure. Hotch puts his hands carefully under your armpits and manoeuvres you back toward the top of the elevated hospital bed.

You put your hand to your tummy as you lean back, and hiss as your head touches the pillows. “Ow.” 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. 

“Don’t tell Aaron I got hurt.” 

“Why not?” 

“I fell down the stairs. He’s never fallen down the stairs.” 

“I have, actually. Twice. And it doesn’t matter how you get hurt, I want to know you’re alright, so I need you to tell me.” 

He pulls the sheets up to your legs and over your lap. Tucks them tightly behind your back, hands lingering on your hips. He watches you look at him, your cloudy gaze tracking over his eyes, his nose, and his lips. “Aaron?” you ask eventually, lifting your chin. 

“Yes?” 

You breathe out an unmissable sigh of relief. “You didn’t come with me.” 

“I didn’t know you were hurt.” He squeezes your hip softly. “You didn’t tell me. But it’s not your fault, is it? You got hurt.” His voice falls into silk. “Is that warm enough?” 

“I’m glad you’re here. I need you to get my shoes.” 

“No shoes. Can I have a hug?” 

“Why?” 

“Just to hug you,” he says softly. “It might make you feel better.” 

You raise your hands clumsily like your fingers are full of sand, forcing him to see his arms under them and behind your back. Your cheeks align, his rough with stubble, yours warm with the heat of a flush, perhaps from the injury. Your hands flop down onto his back as he rubs two separate, loving paths on the gown and your skin. 

Thank god she’s okay, he thinks. 

“Am I stuck like this?” you ask. 

“Are you worried?” He taps your back. “I doubt it. We might have to stay here for a while, but it’s okay. Feeling better is the priority.” 

“I’d like to go back.” 

“Home?” 

“For breakfast.” 

“Are you hungry? I can find you something to eat.” 

“What?” you ask. 

You sound so genuinely confused that Hotch laughs into your shoulder, before giving the fabric a soft kiss. “It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna bring that chair over and sit with you, okay? We’ll wait for the doctor together.” 

He sits with you for hours, talks to doctors and nurses alike as they come to check your vitals and explain your scans. Your confusion doesn’t lessen until the night time, and even then you act oddly, bringing his hand to your mouth to kiss strange parts of his fingers. The skin shy of his nail. The underside of a knuckle, the curve under the meat of his thumb. 

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

First off, not to kiss ass, but I really love your writing! I follow three people, one of which is my best friend, and you’re one of them. I always come back to your account for content! Anyways, I just wanted to voice my appreciation real quick. lmao

Aside from all that yapping, if you’re alright with it, I’d love to read some Alastor x reader headcanons, specifically about Alastor’s shadows, and how they act (and if they’re a little naughty sometimes with the reader 😏💀) before Alastor and reader start dating. Maybe they try to encourage him to ask her out? Idk, I just have random ideas floating around in my head. I completely understand if you’re uncomfortable with the idea or just too busy with others, but I just wanted to request since I saw your post about it!

Anyways, ily! ❤️

A/N: i appreciate you so much omg 🫶, thank you sm im so glad you like my writing it honestly means so much. I feel like Alastor’s shadows are so under appreciated but they’re also probably the biggest Alastor haters out here, like they probably piss him off a lot of the time when he isn’t doing business. As for the reader, they definitely steal Alastor’s girl 😏. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this!!

Warnings: shadow magic, AFAB reader, use of she/her pronouns, mentions of death, Alastor being Alastor, his shadows love you <3

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

Alastor’s shadows are almost always out to get him

Maybe it’s revenge, who knows, but Alastor hates it

When he first met you his shadows were over the moon about it

They always know what he’s feeling, even before he’s ready to admit them

So after you two first met they started to approach you more

You didn’t notice them at first, going on about your tasks in the hotel

Until you were cleaning a mirror and saw them behind you dancing

You just laughed and shooed them away lightheartedly, but it didn’t work

They tended to bounce between following Alastor and following you around

You had been taking a bath when one of them showed up, peering above the side of the tub

“Go away you, I need some sort of privacy” You said laughing, a bit of water spilling over the tub and within seconds the shadow was gone

Now we all know his shadows tell him any and everything

But they’re just as involved in the gossip as Angel

They’ll go to him and tell him things about you, who you were with, what you were doing, even down to the scent of your perfume

“Hello dear!”

“ Hello Alastor. Anything I can help with?” You asked. He grinned, his smile stretching ear to ear

“ Well I was just curious if you happen to know where the princess could be?”

He asks, his eyes flicking to the wall behind you for a minute.

The shadows dancing in with your own, making cringy gestures to Alastor, teasing him.

“ Oh actually I think she left to an interview with Vaggie earlier today. But that was the last I’d seen her.” You reply, but you don’t notice them behind you. His smile strains, pulling you close and walking down the hall.

“ Well my dear since we are under unsupervised vision why don’t we go out for lunch! My treat of course.”

He’s casual, as if he didn’t just steal you away from his shadows who still wanted to mingle in your presence more.

Whenever he talks to you they’ll just get really excited and cheer a lot behind you, pointing to you and making little kissy faces

he hates it

When you two start dating they only get worse in their antics

They constantly follow you around, acting as if they’re your shadows

Sometimes they take things from you to mess with you but it’s all in friendly spirit

You were doing your hair once and got distracted because one hand insisted on dancing with you

Alastor can never really have you to himself thanks to them, which he absolutely hates

“ Do you mind?”

He’ll ask, the static in his voice only louder as he clutches you to his side. The shadows stand and cross their arms, giving him the sass right back

“ They’re just having fun.” You say, and he lets it slide only because it doesn’t entirely bother you

Now they have joined in whenever Alastor and you try to get alone time

This is also the only time they aren’t against Alastor but more against you

If you ever thought of backing up into a wall to get away from Alastor think again because he’s right behind you sweetheart ;)

If you ever do flirt with them they’ll get really excited and run to Alastor about it, excitedly whispering what you’ve done

If you ever need Alastor and he isn’t near, you’ll usually have his shadows bring him to you

The perks of being with Alastor is he can never really run as long as his shadows are wrapped around your finger ;)

It was late and the hotel was quiet. Sitting in a warm bath Y/n ran the soap over her arms and down her torso, unwinding from the busy day. Until she saw shadowy eyes staring at her from above the rim of the bathtub.

“ Oh hello.” She said smiling, pausing in her actions. The shadow did nothing, sitting still and watching her shyly. “Do you happen to know where Alastor is?” She asked, leaning over a bit so the water flowed off her body easily, her torso now visible.

The shadows eyes went wide, nodding furiously. “Hmm, how about you,” she said, now eye level with the shadow, getting closer. “ bring him to me.”

The shadow had never disappeared quicker, and in its place was a confused Alastor, now kneeling in front of the tub, noticeably lost.

“Oh, Hello my dear! Something the matter?”

He asked, before she grinned, her hand reaching forward to pull him to her by the tie.

“ You’ll find out.”

Bonus:

“Dear they are actively trying to take you from me.” Alastor says, his smile strained and eyes twitching.

“Don’t be so mean, they just need some love too that’s all. Isn’t that right?” You coo, the shadows huddling around you more in a group hug. You giggle as some tickle your sides.

“This is criminal.”

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

Hii I was wondering if maybe you could write a Aemond Targaryen fic? Where Aemond is like Gomez Addams and he says, "Look at her --I would die for her. I would kill for her. Either way --what bliss." With maybe even a taylor swift song? Thanks :))

EITHER WAY WHAT BLISS ( House of the Dragon x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! It makes me so happy to know that you requested my writing! I love this idea! He does ( lowkey ) give off this vibe <3

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem! Tully! Reader 

prompt: Aemond is willing to die for the Reader if it means he'll get an ounce of her love.. ( The inspo was 'Gorgeous' by Taylor Swift. )

key: h/c = hair color, Dahlia = random servant girl, Evan Tully

word count: 2,000+ words

Brushing away a strand of white hair from their face, Y/n scans the rows of men, her eyes lingering on her brother Brynden. Her name day was supposed to be a small affair between her family and her bethorthal’s. But, the King was stubborn and insisted on having a Tourney at the very least. So, she’d be sitting through at least an hour of jousting, games of archery, and grueling duels. Not exactly what she wanted to do on her name day. But, what can she do? 

Picking at her bottom lip, Brynden gives her a weak smile as he adjusts his armor, her heart clenched tightly. He could barely hold a sword, and of course, he had to enter a bloody swordsman match. Feeling Dahlia nudge her side hard, she snaps out of her daze, her cheeks flushing red from embarrassment. Shit. Turning to look at Dahlia, she tries to smile as the black haired girl continues to ramble away about something about men and their ‘walks’. 

“I bet you my finest necklace, that knight. The one in black armor is really fine under that helmet.” Dahlia giggles, twirling a strand of her hair. 

“Oh? How do you know that? For all you know he’s got the face of a donkey. How good he looks in armor, doesn’t mean that he’s that good in regular clothes.” Y/n scoffs, following Dahlia’s eyes. 

“It’s the walk. Look at how he holds himself. A fine looking man walks with a little extra pep in his step. Like he knows that the moment he removes that helmet, girls are going to swoon over him.” Dahlia smirks, “Just like your little Prince.” 

“Just because you want to fuck my betrothed does not mean that I wish to hear about it, Dahlia.  Keep that talk for the other maids.” Y/n scoffs, rolling her eyes. 

“I am envious that you, little Y/n Tully, are going to call that man her husband. The ungodly things I would do make him look at me the way he does to you. He looks at you like you crafted the moon and stars.” Dahlia rambles, a dreamy look on her face. 

Scoffing at Dahlia’s teasing, she narrows her eyes at the knight, inspecting the black armor he adorned. His face was hidden under his helmet. Looking for some kind of hint of which house he was from, the only thing that was kind of a hint was the sapphire blue cape he was wearing. But, even then it could mean nothing. Tilting her head to the side, she didn’t like that the man was a mystery, why was he hiding? What was he hiding? Watching as he strolls over to Brynden, she stands up a little straighter in her seat, her jaw clenching. If he so much as touched a hair on her baby brother’s head, she’d make Maegor the Cruel seem like a baby compared to her. 

“Brynden will be fine, Y/n.” Dahlia reasons, but her voice is weak. 

“Brynden cannot even hold a sword upright.” Y/n argues, “Not to mention he’s got two left feet!” 

“Well you’ve always looked rather pretty in black?” Dahlia weakly smiles. 

“Dahlia!” Y/n scolds, shooting her friend a look. 

“I know! But, at least he’ll look good dying?” Dahlia cringes at her own words, “I don’t know! I don't really know what to say..”

Slapping Dahlia’s shoulder, the pit in her stomach only worsens, her face curling up in anger and uneasiness. She did not have any other siblings but Brynden. He was her whole world. Her baby brother. She had practically raised him! She was the one to teach him how to say his first words. She was the one who taught him how to walk. She was there to teach him how to handle a horse. How to be a just and kind Lord. How to be the perfect husband. She did everything that a parent would do. Except how to hold a sword. 

Picking at her bottom lip with her teeth, she slowly rises from  her seat, pacing back and forth in place. She wouldn’t be able to stomach her baby brother getting hurt. It’d kill her, surely! Feeling Dahlia grab her arm, she’s pulled from her darkening thoughts. The taste of blood floods her mouth. Shit. Wiping her bottom lip clean of blood, she’s aware of the eyes that now shifted onto her. The maiden of the day.  Aemond Targaryen’s betrothed. The sweet little Tully girl born with white curls. The Enchantress of the Realm. 

"Ocean blue eyes looking in mine I feel like..I might sink and drown and die.."

“If that was your attempt to make me feel better, it failed..” Y/n breaths out, “Perhaps, I should just talk to him about pulling out. It’s not too late..” 

“My Lady…” Dahlia tries, but Y/n doesn’t hear her. 

“Do not try to talk me out of this, Dahlia. I will not allow my brother to make a fool of himself, or worse kill himself.” Y/n shakes her head, “I have made my mind! Come let us⎯”

“It’s your future husband..” Dahlia speaks through her teeth.

“You're so gorgeous, I can't say anything to your face..'Cause look at your face..gorgeous...” 

Furrowing her brows at Dahlia’s odd words, the black haired girl turns her around, forcing her to look down. Shit.  She finds herself staring down at Aemond, the mysterious knight in black armor. Her face flushes a bright red from embarrassment. The knight they had⎯Well the knight Dahlia was gawking at was Aemond. Staring at him with wide eyes, Dahlia nudges her side, trying to snap her out of her little daze. But, it feels like her tongue is made of lead. Looking him up and down, his long white locs are braided back from his face, but a few stray strands frame his face. There’s a small smirk on his face, as he adjusts his armor. Gods almighty, he looked gorgeous in armor. 

“And I'm so furious..At you for making me feel this way..But what can I say? You're gorgeous..”

“Aemond..” Y/n breathes out, “You're the blue knight..I..I thought you didn’t give a shit about Tourneys?” 

“I don’t. But, it would be a shame if I did not participate in my future-brides Name Day Tourney.” He smirks, licking his bottom lip. 

“I..Aemond, could you..?” She chews on her bottom lip, “Could you possibly? Please watch out for my brother?” 

“I will.” He nods, making her smile gratefully. 

“Thank you.” 

He kept his word, or at least that was what Dahlia was telling her. She hadn’t dared to open her eyes just yet. She didn’t not care if that made her a coward. She just couldn’t stand to watch the fights and not think about her brother while men pummeled each other with swords. Squeezing Dahlia’s hand tightly, she tenses at the call of her brother’s name and Aemond’s. Her eyes shoot open, her jaw dropping slightly. No. No. No. No. That couldn't be right! She must have misheard! Sharply turning her head to the fighting circle, she bolts from her seat, leaning against the railing. Her nails dig into the wood like a cat’s would. Her eyes are flickering between the two of them. 

One of them would get hurt, she was sure of it, whether it be intentional or not. Her breathing grows ragged, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She was afraid that it would jump out of her chest. Watching as they  raise their swords, she stuck in a trance as they slowly circled each other. Their swords collide, her eyes shutting tightly at the horrid sound of metal against metal. Biting her lip, she doesn’t know why her eyes peel open, but her heart stops in her chest as  she catches the sight of Aemond falling to the ground. His sapphire blue cape slowly turned red. She nearly faints at the sight of red, he’s bleeding. Oh gods..He was bleeding. 

“You make me so happy, it turns back to sad, yeah..”

“AEMOND!” She shouts, the words escaping her lips before she can stop it.

“My Prince!” Someone shouts, their voice a blur in her mind. 

No. No. No. No. Watching with blurry eyes as Maesters rush to him, she wants to bolt to him, but her legs are frozen in place. Brynden drops his sword, the realization creeping on his face. Feeling Dahlia’s arms wrap around her, it seems like the Arena explodes with chaos in an instant. Everyone is shouting loudly. Guards are rushing around in every direction. But, throughout the chaos her eyes are on him. Her Aemond. 

“He’ll be okay…” Dahlia reassures, “Maesters are tending to him..” 

“Take me to him.” Y/n breaths out, tears flooding her eyes. 

“Y/n..” Dahlia nervously warns, “I..I don’t think we should. Not right now at least.” 

“Take me to him.” Y/n repeats, her voice more firm than before.

Shooting Dahlia an icy glare, Dahlia chews on her lip before nodding her head at the request, a nervous look on her face. What if it was bad? What if he died? Would Brynden be punished? Gods, how in the Seven bloody hells did this happen? Following Dahlia, she picks up her skirt, her eyes searching for the white haired man that was to be her husband. Pushing past frantic Lords and Guards,  it felt like an invisible force had her by the throat,  squeezing her lungs and throat with each step she took closer to a bleeding out Aemond.  

Seeing him laying on the ground, his chest piece was removed, his white tunic cut open to reveal the rather gnarly gash on his stomach.  Tears flood her eyes at the sight before her.  Covering her mouth with her hand, she rushes to his side,  her eyes scanning every little detail that she can. His chest was moving up and down, he was drenched in sweat and dirt. That was a good thing. Looking at his face, his eye patch was removed, his hair completely unbraided and spread around him like a halo. 

“Oh..Aemond..” She whispers, petting his sweat soaked hair. 

“My Lady, you should not be here.” 

“He is my husband to be, I will not be leaving.” She argues, turning back to Aemond. “Aemond, are you okay, love?”

“I am fine. Do not worry.” He grunts, clenching his jaw.

Staring into his eyes, she tenses up at the sight of his missing eye-patch. Fuck, he looked gorgeous with that scar. Looking up at her, he notices her attention on his face. Lifting a hand to touch his face, his face drains of color when he doesn’t feel the leather of his eye-patch. He had been purposeful in hiding his scar from the world. He didn’t want to be viewed as a monster. But, she looked at him with such softness in her eyes. Hunching over him, she casually places her hand over his eye, hiding his eye from everyone. Giving him a small nod, his breathing grows shaky. 

“You dodged his attack. But, not like someone as experienced with a sword as you are, would. Why?” Dahlia asks, narrowing her eyes at Aemond.  

“Look at her, I would die for her. I would kill for her. Either way⎯what bliss.” He whispers, High Valyrian flowing off his tongue. 

“You are a lovestruck fool, Aemond Targaryen.” Dahlia scoffs, “I hope this is the bloodloss talking.”

“What did you say?” Y/n furrows her brows, “Dahlia..?”

“He didn’t want to risk hurting your brother. That he rather he be the one hurt and not your brother. Come, let us reassure your little brother that he hasn’t killed your beloved.” Dahlia lies smoothly, nodding her head at Aemond.

Y/n looks between Dahlia and Aemond unsure, chewing on her bottom lip. She didn’t know enough High Valyrian to understand what the two of them were discussing. But, she trusted Dahlia enough to take her word for it. Opening her mouth to speak, Aemond grabs onto her hand, stopping her. Looking down at Aemond, her cheeks flushing involuntarily, her heart was pounding frantically in her chest. She wanted him to keep on looking at her like that. 

“Go..” He nods, "I will be fine."

[adventuringblind]

All too Real

Norstappen x Reader

Genre: Smut and Horror (if you squint)

Summary: Max was supposed to be gone, so why is he here? More importantly, why does his hand on her mouth forceful movements have her bothered?

Warnings: Consensual non-consent, Knife play, Impact play, choking, Corruption, Bondage, Mean Dom Max, Sub Lando and Reader, PinV, Anal, Minor blood, Marking, Sensory deprivation, Max is really sweet in this I swear but it's really dark during the scene.

Notes: For the requester who sent me this, I didn’t think I was gonna be able to do it. Be proud of me please! T_T

Side Note: I appreciate everyone who sent me ideas! I can't wait to explore this dynamic more!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

The moon illuminates the sky of Monaco. It’s past midnight; a time where people should be asleep.

Her and Lando sleep on Max’s side of the bed. He’d left earlier this evening to head back to Redbull HQ. He’d not specified what exactly they needed from him. Only that it was urgent fenough for him to get on a plane that same day. Not much of a hassles considering he has his own.

Max had promised he’d make as quick as he could and might even be back the following night. Still, it sucks not having him around at night. He has a way of making them feel much safer when he’s around. Which might just be because he looks intimidating despite being the embodiment of a teddy bear, but who is she to say?

He’d never hurt them. Is even picky about it during sex. Like he’s afraid he’ll shatter them if he lets go enough.

That could be why the hand clasped around her throat and palm over her mouth scare her into compliance. Being met with familiar eyes in this situation is not something anybody wants.

Her heavy breaths are muffled against Max’s hand. The menacing glint that over takes cerulean blue is something she’s only seen when he gets competitive.

The hand around her throat comes off slowly and fishes something from his pocket. A piece of cloth makes its way to her mouth. He slips it in underneath his hand, gagging her and stopping her from forming any coherent words.

She complies with his harsh movements. No point in fighting him, he’s too strong for that. He pulls zip ties from somewhere - probably his pocket again - and wrangles her wrists behind her.

The adrenaline coursing through every fiber of her being only gets worse when he tosses her onto the floor and repeats the actions for Lando. A bit different. A hand over his eyes instead of around his throat.

the Brit fights back more then she did. He’s unable to see who it is he’s fighting, making things more difficult for Max. The inkling he might win out is soon discarded as he is pinned to the bed underneath Max’s weight.

The sweats and boxers come down with ease, leaving the Brit entirely bare. Max leaves him there, only able to yell into the cloth and thrashing around trying to escape. A bit useless without his hands.

Max pulls her upward, back onto the bed next to Lando. He stand at the edge and pulls his own shirt off. “So pretty and helpless, all for me.” The sound of the switchblade opening has her eyes watering. He crawls over her, the moon glinting off the metal as he moves. “Innocent and ready to be broken by me. Only, for me.”

The flat of the blade runs against her skin. “Would you like that? I’d keep you safe, tucked away, only for me to play with. All mine.” The knife tip presses into her skin. She sucks in through her teeth, far too aroused by this new side of max. He gently drags the sharp point against her. It dawns on her that she wants this. She craves Max marking her.

Max slips the knife under where her panties are resting her hip. He cuts away the dainty piece of fabric. “What do you think Lando? Which one of you should I break first?” He flips Lando over onto his back. Both of them being eaten alive by his gaze, like a hunter who has successfully captured his prey.

She’s glad to see she’s not the only one aroused. The hard-on Lando is sporting has Max licking his lips. He’s whining and whimpering into the gag. He teases Lando’s aching cock with the dull end and His back arches off the bed. His spine bending him further into the sensation.

Max pulls away, leaving Lando writhing. He grabs her by the ankle and pulls her level to Lando’s crotch. Instinctively, she opens her mouth. Which is a great decision as he shoves her head into Lando. Choked by surprise and unprepared. He grabs the back of her head and holds her there. “Do you want to breathe, schat? Or are you being pliant because you’re just that much of a slut?”

The bit of air she had in her lungs starts to deplete. The lightheaded feeling has tears running down her cheeks. Max doesn’t pull her off until she’s frantically trying to pull herself off. He keeps his hand on her, not letting her go far. “Big breath for me.” She inhales as deep as she can and he solves her back down.

Large hands - Max’s hands - force her legs apart. He slips two fingers in her and aggressively pumps them in and out. “Awe, still so tight but so. Fucking. Wet~” Each word punctuated with a progressively harder thrust. er body moves back and forth according to Max’s will helping her make Lando get some relief.

In a few quick movements, he has rid himself of the rest of his clothes. He climbs back on top and throws on old her legs over his shoulder. He doesn’t giver her time to think about it. “Fuck, you feel so good for me. Look at you! You’re crying for it!” The pace he sets is unrelenting. Each snap of his hips has her choking further on Lando.

She can feel Lando trying to rut his hips and the sharp sound from Max’s hand hitting his bare skin. Lando shrieks in pain and stops his moving. “You get what I give you. You are mine, remember? Or are you already fucked dumb because of her pretty mouth?”

Curse Max and his good stamina. She’s helpless to push him off her, struggling to breathe, the knife now pressing into her hip. The first cut is quick and clean. A light little thing that barely stings. The second one is harder. Same for the following ones; each more drawn out then the last despite being relatively the same size.

She’s wailing, crying, the lines between pleasure and pain have faded into each other. She finished at some point but Max hasn't stopped. In fact, he's going harder.

His voice is surrounding her. It's falling over her despite both their desperate cries.

Everything stops far to abruptly. Max pulls out of her and drags Lando away. The crying starts when she doesn't know where either of them are. Lost in all the mixed feelings; the adrenaline, pleasure, and pain.

The blood running down her thigh is warm and think. She wonders, briefly, if it's staining the sheets beneath her.

"Come on schat, you can take it." Make coos it so gently despite the despite monas coming from behind Lando's gag. "Or do you need more? Is that what all these desperate noises are for? You're a slut who needs it all?"

Max is the puppet master and her and Lando are attached to the strings. The Brit is shoved between her legs. Neither of them standing a chance.

Her overstimulated pussy is once again subjected to the brutality of Lando. More Max, with the way she can see Max pressed behind him, snapping his hips.

Lando is screaming into her shoulder. She's to fucked to even think about Max and the fact he's not even supposed to be here.

Max stutters. Lando finished ages ago, She counts three. Hers started blurring together and just didn't stop.

The silence as Max slows down is to much. She need him to talk, she'll except anything at this point.

The blood from Lando's thigh is sticking to her. They match now and she isn't even sure when it happened.

Max doesn't pull out of Lando, he runs his fingers across Lando's skin and pulls his blindfold off. Next comes the gag, hers and Lando's. Neither of them can say anything.

No, the tears start instead of the words. Max scrambles to get them situated comfortably on the bed and turns the lights on. He leans them against his own body, whispering to them about how good they did.

"Was that to much? Did I take it to far? I tried to hit everything you said and I think I did-"

"Good, overwhelmed, scary." Lando pants against his skin.

She tries to get Max to pet her head. He gets the hint and complies. "You went to the Milton-Keynes. Did you plan this?"

"I've spent the last two months researching, preparing, and planning. Mostly because Lando said that I wouldn't do it."

"I said you thought we were fragile and you were to scared to actually do it."

"And do you still think that?" Lando shakes his head. The blush on his cheeks evident behind the tear tracks.

"Max-" she whines. "-The sheets ae red now."

"I know love, just wanted to calm down before I moved you two anywhere. First I'll get you patched up, which I already have the first aid ready. Next is a bath and I will change our sheets because I purchased new ones. Then food and water and me showering you in my affection."

Her and Lando look at each other and both of them break out into smiley giggles. "Max, did you know that we love you?"

"The fact you're not trying to run the opposite direction of me makes me think that." Max carries them one by one to the bathroom counter. "I actually thought I went to far the second Lando started fighting me."

"Then I heard your voice and got hard." Lando proudly points out. His attempts at reassuring the dutchman that he had a good time.

"Next time, I'm ditching the blindfold."

"This implies there will be a next time."

"If there is, can we maybe not bite my dick off?"

She looks away, embarrassed at the act of trying to cannibalize her poor boyfriend.

"Do you two know how long we went for? Lan, she had her jaw like that for over a half hour."

Lando gapes at him. "I owe you a jaw massage... but please, I would like to keep my best asset attached."

Her and Max roll their eyes. Her delirious laughs fill the space as Max runs the bath. "Nah, your best feature is your mouth."

"Is that because of my tongue?"

Max glances over his shoulder. "No, it's because it's big, loud, and creates these scenarios."

Not like she can complain. She did want it and so did Lando. And with the 'MV' now plastered to their thighs, she can't help but think Max enjoyed himself a little too.

[ghostssweetgirl]

Hii!! I just wanted to say i love your work and i had a request 😋

could you write a fic (or hc) where ghost finds the fem!readers sh scars? like she’s sitting in between his legs and he’s holding her thighs and he feels the scars. he asks her to show him and she explains (she’s a little insecure cause she thinks he’ll judge her but he doesn’t) them and he makes her promise that she’ll come to him for help??

(if this makes you uncomfortable please don’t feel the need to write it🙏🏼)

Omg thank you sm <3 also on another note to those reading this (followers or not), I’ve been on and off on here. I’m getting to a point where I can start writing semi-often again. If you go a little further down my blog, I’m also about to start another series (it’s planned and 0% written).

It’ll be short-ish, but yeah, I’ll give it a shot.

If you didn’t read all of the above, this will contain mentions of self harm and bodily scars and mentions of non-specified trauma.

Minors do not interact

You were unwinding with Simon at the end of the night, in between his legs on the ground looking up at the night sky.

It’s been comfortably silent. Not needing much words to help each other decompress after the recent missions you’ve been assigned. Your back against his chest, his calloused fingers softly rubbing against your arm that rested on his leg.

“Y’ a’right, luvie?” He spoke softly. “Anythin’ goin’ on in that pretty lil head?”

You smile, and think about it. You take a deep breath. In all honesty you couldn’t even think of where to start. You don’t know if you’re okay. But you feel okay right now. That’s all that matters. You finally decide, and quickly shake your head. “Mm-mm. No, I’m good. And you? Are you okay?”

He sighed, his hands tracing the top of your thighs. He plays with the fabric of your shorts for a moment and rests his chin on your shoulder. “No, ‘m fine. Fine right here.”

You close your eyes and your thumb rubs small circles against his wrist, his hands’ movements slow as you feel him gently soothing over an arrangement of scars on your thigh. Some deep and overlapping each other. Some light. You shudder and hold your breath for a moment.

It was part of the reason you joined the military. The hell you had to face in your former life essentially pushed you over the edge. And it was the only thing that felt like a proper release.

You didn’t want to talk about it, really. Even though you were safe with Simon. You didn’t want to feel the shame of being judged. If anything, you knew if anyone understood, he definitely would.

But it’s still not your favorite conversation.

Ugh.

He studied them for a while, tilting his head. Not in a judging way, you managed to take a look and saw his once stoic gaze become soft, almost pained. His brows furrowed as he cleared his throat.

“Can…” he gently scoots away from you, caressing your shoulders as you lean up and hesitantly meet his eyes. “Can you show me?”

You sigh, holding your hands over the area. “I… I don’t really…”

You stutter and ramble, unable to get the words you want out.

“It’s a’right, I’ve got you,” he cupped your cheek.

You turn more towards him, enough to where he can see, thank god for the dark sky, the moon light was enough for him to get a general idea and look over without him seeing the anxiety on your face. He held your thigh, and leaned down to press a gentle kiss against your scars.

You were completely froze at this point, not in a bad way. His reaction was a lot less… well, you don’t know what you expected because you would have avoided this if you had the choice.

“It’s… from my past, and—”

“You don’t have to tell me what you don’t want,” he comforts you, pulling you to his chest.

“But what I do want,” he looks down at you. “I need you t’promise me you’ll come to me when you need help or anything. Anything. Anytime. Okay?”

“Please.”

It wasn’t like him to beg. But he needed you to be safe. Safe from bad people, from the horrors of the world and from the horrors of your own demons.

You nod your head in agreement. “Okay.”

He grunts approvingly, his grip on you even tighter now and it goes back to silence just like before. The least you could do in return is offer him the same he does to you, so you cup his cheek, cradling his face as you whisper to him.

“And you come to me for anything. Okay?”

His eyes close in relief as he rests his forehead against yours and if his embrace wasn’t tight before, it’s almost a death grip now as both arms squeeze your whole body, a silent ‘thank you’.

—

[moonyswife]

SPRING BREEZE

SPRING BREEZE  PART 1

Remus Lupin x Sirius Sister!Fem!Reader

Summary: Remus has an unbearable crush on his best friend's sister. “he was sure he was bound to her every life he’s lived, and he’ll look for her in every life from now on, because in this life he just got blessed with her.”

Warnings: None

G: Fluff, absolutely whipped Remus, friends (kinda) to lovers.

Length: 1,06k

NOT proofread.

------------

As the late spring breeze sweeped into the open windows of the library Remus couldn't help but notice the way her hair moved with it, at least the little ones that weren't braided, the two brunette braids sat nicely on her shoulders dressed with her uniform and her house’s robes, she was too focused on her essay to even notice the small disturbance on her scalp, eyebrows furrowed, quill fiercely working on her paper sheet, Remus couldn't look but he was sure she was bouncing her left leg.

´Stop gawking at my sister, moony. I'm sure if you go say hi, she'll be more than pleased.´ As soon as Sirius words reached remus ears he couldn't help but groan, his best mate Sirius Black always had a way to annoy him, ‘I was not gawking at your sister’,Remus blushed slightly, he was indeed staring profusely at his sister, he always was, if she was in a room he’d know, and somehow he’d find a way to be near her, like a moth attracted to the shining lights. ‘Alright, but mate you can’t deny the way you look at her, can’t really blame you she’s a Black, not me, but a Black’ the one to groan now was James ‘We are not talking about you, pads, we need to find a way to match you and y/n together!’ ‘While I agree you should get it together Moons, let’s not let prongs play matchmaker, he’s awful.’ Peter chips in little in conversations, but his rare voice of reason it’s always needed. Now an overwhelmed Remus tries to end the weird conversation surrounding his life, ‘Guys do not, I was just thinking, not staring at anyone. We need to focus on our homework’ ‘Cut the crap moony, you’re obsessed with my sister.’ 

Remus would’ve never expected the outcome of a studying sesion with his friends to end up in them making a plan for him to snog a girl. As he was starting to get really  annoyed with them he looked up and made eye contact with the live image of his dreams, Y/n Black. His face failed him, he started smiling like a fool, surprisingly (not really, you’ve talked a lot of times, you would consider each other acquaintances) you smiled back and waved quickly returning to your work. ‘Moony! pay attention!’ you’d never know James was this bosy unless you’re coming up with stupid plans or pranks, ‘You know what? I’m getting tired of you, I came here to study and get some work done, not to make a stupid plan’ his three friends looked around sheepishly, ‘Sorry mate, we’re just trying to hook you up with my sister, maybe i could get a favour in return’ Sirius says as he winks pointing at his homework, ‘Do whatever you want, i don’t care, I’ll go study somewhere else’ kinda annoyed kinda mad Remus picks up his things as he heads for the door. ‘And don’t pimp out your siblings,Sirius’.

The annoying breeze was making y/n more cold than normal, she could barely focus on her essay for professor Flitwick, she could’ve stayed in her common room with her friends, but no damn her heart, she came to the library to follow her stupid heart, to see her stupid crush and to have to bear with her stupid brother who was most likely mocking her, after all she was a schoolgirl with a crush on her older (barely a year) brother´s mate, pathetic, that’s how she felt, she was pathetically sitting alone on the library, pathetic was the way her heart skipped a beat when he smiled at her, pathetic was the way he didn’t wave back. She was done embarrassing herself, as she started gathering her stuff to finally go cry it out in her bed, a small voice interrupted her hate thoughts. ‘All done?’ honey slipped out of Remus's mouth whenever he talked, she was sure of it, ‘Mmh not really, was getting a bit chilly, though, did you finish your homework with the guys?’ barely getting it out, fighting the urge to gauge her eyes out of embarrassment. She has talked with many times before, not much lately, her crush on him has been growing bigger and bigger until it smashes her frontal cortex completely.

Remus’s hands were clammy, there he stood awkwardly, desperately trying not to faint at the sight of her soft gray eyes, the confidence he quickly got to go talk to her, quickly left, ‘No, they’re daft, not really the ones to help with getting homework done’, she giggled, she didn’t really find it funny, she’s just nervous, ‘do you wanna finish your essay as I finish my homework?’ Remus cursed himself, why? why? why? his whole brain seemed to be jell-o when she’s near him, ‘well I don’t think there’s more I can do, but maybe…’ the confidence facade crumbling down, ‘maybe what?’ ‘maybe we could hang out, catch up, we haven’t really talked in a while’ that was mostly true, they were always kind of close, they used to hang out a lot actually, but since their feelings took over them, they’ve been less close than normal. ‘yes!’ he barely allowed her the chance to finish the sentence, he almost regretted it, until she blessed him with her blinding smile, he would give anything to see her wide smile every day of his life, she held her hand out for him to grab, ‘Let’s go, Rem’.

Her (hand) was the most precious thing Remus Lupin has ever held and will ever hold, following her blindly, letting her take him wherever she wanted, all he could do was look at her and wonder how did the sun managed to take human form, he was sure he was bound to her every life he’s lived, and he’ll look for her in every life from now on, because in this life he just got blessed with her. Heart racing, flushed cheeks from both of them, she kept stealing little glances at him to check if he was still there. he was. When Remus was busy imagining what it would be like to spend a lifetime with her, she stopped, the courtyard, that’s where they were, not in their shared apartment with four cats and thirty, and he was so happy she wasn’t a legilimens.

[mistystepmoonbeam]

Reborn into BG3: Chapter 6

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 6: Astarion is hungry, and why would he feed on a strong barbarian when you're right there?

Word count: 2.3K

Whatever took place at the blighted village exhausted the adventurers.  Tav had been able to talk his way around the goblins, but the spiders below the town had given them trouble.  You recall your own time defeating the spider matriarch, and her many, many children.    Between peeling off the webbing and patching up wounds,  they were all ready for rest.  

You and Karlach had bought some supplies to feed the group, and she was a lot more handy making a stew than you thought she would be. 

There was a strange sense of home as you all ate together, without Astarion who took his meal into his tent and claimed he was going right to sleep.  Karlach had booed at him but nobody pressed him to stay longer.  You wonder if tonight is the night he’ll try to feed off Tav.

When the night begins to quiet down and most of the companions go to bed you find you can hear a hum  in the air.  Your ears ring with some kind of energy coming from Tav’s bag.  You eye it by his bedroll, unsure if the hum is coming from there or if it’s a trick of echoes between the trees.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” a voice says in your ear.  You nearly jump out of your skin and turn to Gale, who’s holding up his hands with an apologetic smile.  

“I thought you went to sleep,” you say, hand over your heart.

Tav snickers at your fear, tail flicking in the air.

Gale lets out a small grunt as he sits beside you, one leg bent and the other stretched towards the fire.  “The spiders had quite the item in their cave, whether they knew it or not.”

Tav reaches into his bag and pulls out the amethyst stone you know unlocks the necromancer’s book.  The hum grows, more of an annoyance in your ear than anything.  

“What is it?” you ask.

“I believe it goes into this.”  Gale pulls out the Necromancy of Thay from his own pack.  The gaping mouth, amethyst eyes, all of it the same.  You resist the urge to scoot away, because unlike the stone key, you can’t sense anything from the book.  “Astarion was keen on holding onto this which is why I suspect he’s moping in his tent right now.”

You eye the book.  “You’re not going to open it, are you?”

“Perhaps another time.”  Gale sets the book away, while Tav tosses the amethyst into the air and catches it like a baseball.  Gale scolds, “Once again, please do not do that.”

Tav shrugs but stores the stone back in his bag.  He yawns and looks towards Shadowheart’s tent as if considering something before excusing himself.  Bag in hand, he retreats to his tent.  You look between him and Shadowheart’s tent curiously. 

“I think he’s worried about her,” Gale tells you, drawing your attention back to him.  “It took a lot of her power to heal him from the spiders poison.”

“Ah, right.”  She has looked extra weary upon her return.  “How are you feeling?”

“While I do look forward to a long rest, I wanted to test you.”

“You’re giving me a pop quiz?  But I didn’t even review the syllabus.”

Gale chuckles as he stands.  “If you can sense the power from the stone, then I believe you can manipulate the Weave.  Come.”

You follow Gale towards his tent but he keeps walking until you two are by the river.  With a large moon overhead and fireflies dotting the area you can see better than you thought you should.  

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to do anything,” you say.  There’s an excited twinkle in his eye at the prospect of solving the mystery of your past.  As much as you want it to be true, you can’t picture yourself using magic.  

Gale smiles at you, like he knows something you don’t.  Well, he knows plenty you don’t but it seems like it’s something about you.  

“I’m going to channel the Weave,” he says, “and I want you to close your eyes and tell me what you feel.”

You step up beside him, literally nothing to lose.  “Should I get the staff Tav gave me?”

“No, I just want you.”  Gale lifts his hands to start a spell when he clarifies, “Here.  I just want—need you right here without any conduits.”

You bite your cheek to hide the smile at his stammering, and nod.  With a tilt of your head left and right to stretch your neck, you close your eyes.

“Now, just tell me what you feel.”

You wait for something to happen, a breeze or a sting on your skin, but even the phantom limb is unperturbed by whatever Gale is doing.  You shrug.  “Nothing.”

Gale’s voice is distant when he responds.  “Reach out with your mind.”

Once upon a time you would have asked how to do that, but now you keep quiet and consider trying to move the phantom limb.  It’s right there, a weight on the back of your mind and yet…

You clear your throat, shoulders shifting uncomfortably.  It’s heavier now, even without actually trying to use it.  The cold fear that settles across your chest pierces deeper than anything you’ve ever felt.  Your breath quickens until that cold fear becomes terror wrapped around your heart and you open your eyes, ready to tell Gale you want to stop. But instead of the handsome wizard you find a rotting boar head in front of you, on top of Gale’s body.  Maggots fall from its eye sockets and the mouth hangs open with a broken jaw, fur matted with fresh and dry blood alike.  It squeals at you as if being skewered alive.

The terror bubbles into your throat until it comes out of your mouth as a shriek.

You shoot up from your bedroll, arms blindly shoving at the dark to get the boar-headed Gale away from you and finding nothing but shadows.  You lurch, falling to the side when your hands connect to nothing, heart ablaze with adrenaline as you claw at the blue fabric.  It’s too dark in your tent to see anything but out of habit you scramble for your phone, your nightstand, something, anything to light up this small space and assure you there’s no threat.  

There’s only the bottom of your staff and at the very least you can swing that around to hit anything that might be near you.  And you do swing it.  It connects with nothing.

The hanging crystals and bones clatter together when you stop after three swipes.  Your chest and shoulders rise and fall heavily with each breath, eyes adjusting to the dark.  

You gulp down as much air as possible while trying to calm your body.  You’re not just shivering, you're trembling from the residual fear of the dream.  But it wasn’t that bad.  Really, thinking about it now that you’re awake, it was scary but it wasn’t anything worse than what you’ve had in the past.  And it certainly shouldn’t have had you shrieking in the night.

Speaking of…shouldn’t someone have come running by now?  You listen to the wind blow through the trees but hear nothing else.  No questions about what’s going on, and no Tav rushing to your rescue.  Maybe you hadn’t actually screamed?  You could have sworn…

You aren’t ready to set down your staff, but you’re far too shaky to go back to sleep.  Instead you begin to stand only to see movement out of the corner of your eye.  Your body is much slower to react, even when on high alert, and in a flash there’s a hand over your mouth and your back is pressed against a warm chest, both of you still on the ground and your legs tangled in the blanket.  The intruder's other hand is wrapped around your own on the staff, ensuring you can’t attack.

Your free hand, still healing, fumbles to free your mouth when you hear a whisper, “Shhh, shh, sh.”

“Mstaeeom?”

“No need to wake up the entire camp,” Astarion says.  He snatches the staff from your grip while you’re temporarily stunned and tosses it out of reach.  “And no need to bludgeon me, either.”

You let out a deep sigh through your nose and lay a hand over Astarion’s to reassure yourself it’s him.  You remember his scent, more woodsy than you thought it would be, and your heart rate begins to calm.  When his other arm secures around your middle it reassures you more—the tightness of the hold comforting.

“Are you…are you calming down?” he questions incredulously.

You try to answer but can’t speak clearly with his hand over your mouth.  So you shift and try to look at him over your shoulder, pressing yourself further into his chest as your head struggles to turn.  You can just make out his chin in the dark when he finally releases your mouth.  

“I thought you were Gale with a rotting boar head.”

He squints at you, upper lip curling.  “I’ll assume that was the nightmare that had you assaulting the air.  But…why are you calm?  Shouldn’t you be screaming?  Struggling?  Calling for the others?”

“Why?”  When you attempt to shift forward he doesn’t let you, arm now locked securely around your waist since he’s no longer concerned with you fighting back with the staff. 

“Because I’m attacking you.”

“You are?”  You turn to get a better look at him but he grabs your chin and faces you forward.

He pauses.  “I just need a little of your blood and I’ll be on my way.  We don’t need to make a big thing out of it.”

“Blood?  Shouldn’t you be going for Tav?”

“Why would I go for the bulky barbarian that’s sleeping out in the open when you’re hidden here, weak and ripe for the plucking?”  Astarion begins to shift your head to the right to reveal your neck.  

“That’s a good point,” you mumble.  

His breath fans over your pulse point, but it isn’t some kind of excited or pleasant exhale.  It’s more like disappointment or…exhaustion.  And he doesn’t bite you.

“Um, Astarion,” you say.  

He’s silent.

“If you’re going to drink my blood can you at least do it from the wrist?”

“What?”  His question is just another breath.

“It’ll be easier to conceal marks on the wrist.”

Of all things, Astarion shoves you away.  He’s quick to get on his feet and step away from you while you fumble for balance.  One slender, pale finger points at you.  “What’s your game?”

“Go fish?”

His scowl deepens.  Watching him work through the slew of emotions and questions would be entertaining, if not for your own nagging question; why is he upset by this?  You offered him your blood just like Tav would.  So why didn’t he happily accept and tell you to get comfortable?  Wait.  Why were you so willing to get comfortable and let him potentially kill you?  Let’s lock that thought away until we can find out if therapists exist in this world.

“Sorry,” you say.  “I’m not playing a game…I just trust you.” 

A truly terrible idea.  There’s no guarantee this Astarion is exactly like the game but…

“And I owe you right?” you add.  “Feeding on me will just be like clearing my debt.”

Astarion frowns but considers your words.  “I suppose this means you know what I am.”

You scratch at the spot on your neck he’d been breathing on.  “I might have put it together just now.  And you’re a better fighter when you’ve fed, right?”

“Well I don’t need any more convincing,” Astarion says, voice turned that saccharine tone.  “Why don’t you get comfortable?”

As he kneels beside you you hold up a hand.  “I meant it about the wrist.”

Astarion frowns but nods.  You roll up the sleeve of your shirt, holding your arm towards him.  He sits, one leg bent so his knee faces upwards and the other lays on the ground.  There’s a gentleness as he takes your wrist with both hands, lifting it to his lips.  If you could see perfectly in the dark this might have scared you more, but the most you could make out were his eyes watching your skin and then the opening of his mouth.  

You feel the sting of his fangs, sinking deeper than any wound you’ve had before.  Well, any wrist wound, anyway.  You look away, not wanting to stare despite the morbid fascination with the act.  And you should be…colder, shouldn’t you?  Yes, his fangs do feel like ice is piercing your veins but the rest of you is warm—flushed even.  But then your head begins to swim, mind too big for your skull, and you sway.  

It’s too hot in that little tent.  Too enclosed.  You gulp as the nausea curls in your gut, the blood seeping from your wrist that doesn’t get sucked away by the vampire now dripping down your arm.

“Astarion,” you whimper.  When you try to pull back your arm he keeps you in place, drinking heavily.  

Oh gods, you rolled a one.

“Astarion!” you hiss.  It’s enough to take him out of his trance, finally pulling his fangs out of your wrist.

“Wha-oh, yes,” he mutters.  You watch him wipe the blood on his chin with his thumb and then lick it off.  Had you enough blood in your body and again, the ability to see perfectly in the dark, it might have been lewd.  But you have to lie down in hopes of making the world stop spinning.

“That was…” Astarion begins but changes whatever he was going to say.  “That was wonderful, thank you.  Now, I’m off to find something more…filling.”

You turn your head to him as he steps towards the entrance of your tent.  Just as he’s about to open one flap he turns to you. “Are you…all right?”

You give him a thumbs up with your good hand and a yawn.  “Don’t put any boars in my tent this time.”

Astarion replies, but you’re already asleep and don’t hear anything else the rest of the night.

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

[wholoveseggs]

Mikaelsons & Marijuana

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

420 Followers

Hello my loves, I have reached the (very important) milestone of 420 followers! So I thought it would be a fun (& very stupid) idea to do some silly little headcanons about what kind of stoner each of the Mikaelsons would be...

♡♡ Ps. This is definitely the dumbest thing I've ever written, and I didn't tag anyone because I respect your time ~ lol ~ ♡♡

1k words - Warnings: drugs use

~☮~ Klaus ~☮~

- He smoked a lot of weed in the 18th century, mostly to just pass the time. It's not something he likes to make a habit of, because it makes him feel very human and that unsettles him.

- It somehow makes him more paranoid, but about stupid things, like, what if the reason he can't find a matching sock is because Kol is trying to make him think he's going crazy? Turn the family against him? Does Elijah really know what's in his shampoo?

- He will start a new painting every time he gets high, but never finishes it because he starts a new one when he's high again, and that one looks so much better, why would he finish this one when there's such a great one he can work on?

- He also gets really fascinated by the moon, he will just lay out on the roof or in the garden and just stare at it for hours. Wondering if he could survive the vacuum of space. Everyone ignores him when he gets like this, because they are afraid if he is even slightly encouraged, he’ll do it. Imagine him in charge of the ISS?? Terrifying.

~☮~ Rebekah ~☮~

- Her fav way to get high is through edibles. She will make a whole day out of it, baking the best treats and doing lots of self-care. It makes her very giggly and snuggly.

- She loves to take long baths when she's high, they make her feel like she's floating. She uses bath bombs, candles, rose petals, soft music, etc. Creating a relaxing environment for herself.

- She prefers to be alone, treats it a lot like meditation and will get a little annoyed if someone disturbs her.

- After all of the self-care she will put on her softest pajamas and sleep for at least a whole day.

~☮~ Kol ~☮~

- Kol is a bit of a scientist, always finding a new way to consume. He will try any form; smoking, vaping, edibles, drinks, dabs, tincture. You name it.

- He prefers to just smoke it, because it has the most powerful and immediate effect. He likes to see what it will do to his brain, or make him do. It makes him a very curious boy, he will test his own limits.

- As a witch, he will get his room all smoky and do stupid spells that will cause a light show. Sometimes the spells will even backfire on him and make him lose control of his limbs, or start levitating. It's pretty funny.

- As a vampire he gets incredibly horny and hungry, and often needs to be watched over so he won't go completely off the rails.

~☮~ Davina ~☮~

- Gets frightened and doesn't like the paranoia and lack of control. But sometimes she will try it with Kol and they will just cuddle and watch her favorite movies. He never pressures her to try it and always makes her feel safe.

~☮~ Elijah ~☮~

- Always refined, he will only smoke the best hydroponics mixed with the finest tobacco. It has to be premium and it has to be a very special occasion. He has to feel like he earned it, and that's difficult to do.

- He will spend a long time rolling it, making sure it's perfect. It's got to have just the right amount of weed, be perfectly shaped, the paper has to be perfectly smooth, the rolling motion has to be flawless and the filter just right.

- He can't stand the smell and will immediately shower afterwards, then he will get dressed up in his nicest suit, sit in his study and listen to classical music.

- If he gets really high he will want affection. He will lay with you and talk about some nonsensical philosophy, try to unpack things like the meaning of life. He will whisper poetry and kiss your cheeks. It's quite endearing, he gets all blushy and bashful.

~☮~ Marcel ~☮~

- He is always up for sharing, and always has the best bud on him. He will make it a very casual experience and offer some to the other vampire's that have been good to him. It's a time for everyone to unwind and chill for a little bit.

- He's definitely just a social smoker though, when he gets high alone he can fall into melancholy.

- He loves to get high with Rebekah, he will take her on the most elaborate and romantic dates, where they just eat an enormous amount of food... And maybe find someone to drink from together.

~☮~ Hayley ~☮~

- Has tried it a few times when hanging out with the werewolves. It makes her feel calm, and the colours around her just get brighter. She doesn't really understand it and isn't that into it, but she likes that she feels more connected to her pack.

- She likes to use CBD before she transforms into a wolf. It dulls the excruciating pain that comes from that, and she's grateful that it takes her mind off the torture for just a while.

- Jackson loves it, uses it in a spiritual way and is a very good guide for her on the matter. He makes her laugh and makes her feel safe when they are alone, sharing a joint, talking about life, and their plans for the pack.

~☮~ Freya ~☮~

- It freaks her out because it makes her feel sleepy and unfocused, which she does not enjoy at all. She finds it to be a waste of her time and feels like it could never be that enjoyable to be stoned all of the time, there are so many better ways to pass the time.

- But she will experiment with using it in her magic, and will make some potent edibles for her beloved sister. She does think it has some medicinal purposes.

- She is very fascinated by it, and will watch as the other's indulge. She will be the one to find Klaus watching the moon, it amuses her to see him so carefree.

~☮~ Esther ~☮~

- Didn't know exactly what it was one thousand years ago, but liked to add some to her tea. It would make the stress of living with Mikael much easier to deal with.

- Perhaps drank too much tea one day and had the genius idea to make her children immortal. Totally worked out well for her.

~☮~ Mikael ~☮~

- Would never, makes you weak and complacent. If you wanted to be so carefree and useless you might as well be dead.

~☮~ Finn ~☮~

- Tried it once, didn't inhale.

[ramblers-lets-get-ramblin]

When My Time Comes Around- Part Two

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Part One | Part Three

Summary: This chapter takes place in the year and a half or so before the beginning of the first chapter. You'll find out everything leading up to you finding Joel dying in the snow.

Rating: E FOR EXPLICIT MDNI 18+

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: THIS IS THE SADDEST THING I’VE EVER WRITTEN, major character death, detailed canon typical violence, detailed descriptions of injuries, heavy use of weapons, Marlene deserves her own warning, alcohol consumption, references to alcoholism, child death, child loss, major angst, briefest hint of PIV smut, EVEN THOUGH READER IS NOT PRESENT IN THIS CHAPTER, THIS IS STILL A JOEL X READER FIC

Author’s Notes: Unfortunately, this chapter is a lot sadder than the last one. But if you decide to stick around to the end you will be rewarded with a disgustingly sweet and fluffy happy ending! Also this is my first time writing this much action and it was so fun! Let me know what y'all think about it because I'd love to write more!

A year and a half earlier

The first time that Joel felt even a spark of hope in twenty years, was standing on that roof in Salt Lake City, Utah, feeding a giraffe with his daughter. He felt an unease in the pit of his stomach. It was like he’d swallowed a handful of stones. He didn’t want to move forward with the plan anymore. He didn’t want to find the Fireflies. He never trusted Marlene as far as he could throw her to begin with. But after everything that happened with that man, David, and his group, he doesn’t trust anyone with Ellie. She didn’t tell him the details of what happened to her in that diner in Silver Lake, but it didn’t take much for Joel to figure out where it was heading. He feels so guilty that he wasn’t there to protect her, to save her. He was failing her, just like he knew he would. Just like he told Tommy he would. He tried to tell Ellie that they didn’t have to do this. They could just go back to Jackson and forget about the whole damn thing. “It can’t be for nothing.” She told him. “When we’re done, we’ll go wherever you want. Tommy’s, sheep ranch, the moon.” Joel chuckled softly and shook his head. Even when she was trying to be serious, she couldn’t help being a little shit. “I’ll follow you anywhere you go.” She told him. “We finish what we started.” Joel nodded in agreement, but his apprehension only grew. He told himself that he would do whatever Ellie wanted to do. Joel Miller may be many things, but a man who goes back on his word isn’t one of them. He didn’t feel any sort of loyalty to Marlene or her terrorist friends, so he wasn’t gonna hand her over to them against her will. He felt a bit of probably unearned pride for his daughter, forging ahead, because she might be able to save everyone. He swallows the lump in his throat, shoving the doubt down. At least he’ll be with her, no harm will come to her while Joel is around.

As they continue their trek through downtown Salt Lake City, they stumble upon an old Army emergency medical camp. Joel tells Ellie that he was in one the day after the outbreak. “With Sarah?” She asks.

“No. She was gone already. It was for the this.” He tells her, pointing at the scar on his temple.

“Ah the guy who shot and missed.” She says. “I figured that would have happened later.”

Joel shakes his head. “No second day.” Joel stops in his tracks, but Ellie doesn’t notice.

“Well I gotta hand it to the Army people, they were way better at stitchin’ you up than I was.” She doesn’t notice that Joel isn’t beside her until he speaks again.

“It was me.” She turns to face him. “I was the guy who shot and missed.” He sits on a concrete barrier. He tells Ellie about how he didn’t want to go on after Sarah died. How he was ready to end it all, wasn’t scared, not even a little bit. But he flinched.

“I know why you’re tellin’ me all this.” Ellie says.

“Yeah, I reckon you do.” Joel replies sadly.

“So, time heals all wounds, I guess?”

Joel looks Ellie in her eyes and tells her, “It wasn’t time that did it.” Her voice breaks a little when she speaks again.

“Well, I’m glad that that didn’t work out.” Joel nods at her.

“Me too.” They hop down from the wall and continue to make their way through the abandoned med camp. Joel decides they are done talking about sad things and tells Ellie that he is in the mood to head some shitty puns. He might as well have handed her his rifle for how happy it made her. She starts out strong with an apocalypse joke, they never even notice the men sneaking up behind them. Not until Joel hears the canister hit the ground. By the time he realizes what is happening, all he can do is shove Ellie to the ground and throw his body on top of her. He hears Ellie scream fro him, but he can’t find her. Then, everything goes black.

Joel has no idea how much time has passed when wakes. His head is pounding and his vision is blurred. There’s a ringing in his ears and a knot on the back of his head. The sheets feel scratchy under his face and the smell of mildew permeates the air. The first thing he sees is the spray painted emblem representing the fireflies. then he hears her. Marlene. She explains that her patrol didn’t know who they were. They just saw two people enter that perimeter they had established around the hospital. Later, he’ll come to realize that they knew exactly who he was. She knew she’d never be able to get Ellie away if he was conscious. The first thing he asks is where his daughter is. Marlene assures him that she wasn’t hurt. “Not even a scratch.” She tells him that she’s mostly just worried about Joel.

“Where is she?” Joel asks. Marlene deflects the question and praises Joel for getting Ellie to them safely.

“How’d you do it?” She asks. Joel, still trying to clear the fog from his brain, shakes his head.

“It was all her. She fought like hell to get here.” But Marlene knows the truth. Ellie would have been dead the first day on her own. She never would have made it without Joel. She almost seems disappointed that he made it all this way. Maybe she was hoping it would have been Tess to cross the finish line. Or at the very least, she’d be able to keep Joel on his leash. There’s nobody left to grab him by the collar. Nobody to tell him “down, boy.” If there was one person in the world Marlene doesn’t want to be indebted to, its Joel Miller. “Just take me to her.” Joel says calmly.

“I can’t.” Marlene replies. “She’s being prepped for surgery.” He doesn’t understand.

“What surgery?” He asks. Marlene explains the Dr Anderson’s theory to him. About why Ellie is immune. And how her immunity could be the key to a cure. Something they can replicate in a lab and give to everyone. A real cure, hope for a real future of the human race. A chance to return their society to its former glory. Finally, the gas that has been clouding his brain has cleared. It dawns on him what Marlene means. He gently sits back down on the hospital bed. “Cordyceps grows inside the brain.” He says softly, almost to himself.

“It does.” She confirms.

“Find someone else.” Joel argues, but he knows that there is no one else. Why would they need someone else when Joel was hand delivering Ellie to them on a silver platter?

Marlene tries to comfort Joel. She tells him that Ellie didn’t even know what was going on. She wasn’t scared a bit. She assures him that she won’t feel even an ounce of pain, not for one second. Joel demands to be taken to his daughter. “You take me to her RIGHT NOW!” Joel screams, standing form the bed. One of Marlene’s men jams the butt of his rifle into Joel’s ribs. It knocks the wind from him and he falls to his knees. “Please.” He begs, “you don’t understand.” Marlene has tears in her eyes when she tells Joel that she does understand, more than he knows. She tells him about the promise she made to Ellie’s mom, moments after the girl was born. She promised to save her. She promised to protect her. Joel is the one who doesn’t understand now. How is this protecting her? Sacrificing her for something that might not even work? Joel would let the whole world burn, and everyone left burn right along with it, if it meant he got to keep his girl safe. She apologizes to Joel as her tears fall, and instructs her men to dump Joel on the highway.

“If he tries anything, shoot him.” She orders. Marlene considers her debt paid, having spared his life. The men shove him down the hallway of the hospital. His eyes dart around, taking note of where the pediatric level is. One of the men grabs Joel by his shoulder and pushes him towards the stairs. The lights flicker overhead, plunging the stairwell into darkness every few moments. Joel times it just right so that the next time it goes dark he makes his move. His jams his elbow into the nose of the man closest to him, the one who shoved him. He pulls the man’s arm up and points his gun at the other man. He squeezes his finger over the other man’s and pulls the trigger. Then, Joel yanks the gun from his grasp and shoots him in the knee. The man screams in pain, but Joel could not care less.

“Where is she?” He demands. “Fuck you .” The man responds.

“I don’t have time for this.” Joel says, and shoots the man in the face. He grabs his backpack from the dead man and ascends the stairs once more, just as their radios go off. “ Shots fired .” Joel hears. He knows he needs to hurry, he doesn’t have much time. He follows the signs on the walls, allowing them to direct him to the pediatric wing. The walls of this wing are covered in murals of animals. All bright colors and happiness. He takes down three or four more Fireflies on his way. Finally, he finds the operating room. A doctor and two nurses are prepping Ellie for her surgery. He made it just in time. He steps into the scrub room, rifle raised and ready. The nurses gasp and raise their hands when he enters the operating room. “Unhook her.” He commands. The doctor comes at him with a scalpel. Joel pulls his pistol from his waist and repeats the order. Just before he pulls the trigger, he feels a pinch in his neck, almost like a mosquito bite.

The last thing he hears before the world fades to black is Marlene’s voice. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

Joel wakes abruptly, uncertain of his surroundings for the second time. He's in a bed, in a dark room. He gropes around, locating his backpack and rifle on the bed. He reaches into the side pocket, pulling out a small flashlight, and clicks it on. The LED light reveals a portion of the room. He rotates his wrist slowly, assessing his surroundings. He's in a house, in a bedroom. His head throbs and his throat feels dry and scratchy. The drug that was administered is potent. He can feel himself growing faint again. He tries to stay awake, knowing he needs to find Ellie before it's too late. But darkness engulfs him, and he falls asleep. When he wakes again, it’s light out. Late morning or early afternoon, he guesses. His head is clearer, but his throat is drier than Texas grass in July. Rummaging through his backpack, he finds his pistol and a water bottle Ellie insisted he carry. He gulps the entire bottle and throws it back into his pack. He rises from the bed and puts his pack on. He checks the ammo in his rifle and slings that over his shoulder. With his pistol in hand, he makes his way to the bedroom door. He swings it open and several chairs topple inside. Clearly they were meant to keep someone, or something , out, rather than keep Joel in. Whoever put him in this room wanted to make sure he was safe. Must have been Ellie , he surmises. Eager to leave, he’s anxious to find Ellie and ensure her safety. Surely Marlene wouldn’t actually have let them kill her, right? He calls out her name, but hears nothing in return. Joel checks every room of the house and finds nothing, no one. He rifles through the cabinets and drawers, looking for anything useful, and for anything that might indicate where he is. He found some old mail on the counter. Alpine, Wyoming. How long had he been out? He pulls out his map and finds that Alpine is about halfway between Salt Lake City and Jackson. He walks back to the room he woke up in to see if there are any clues to where his daughter might be.

On the nightstand in the dimly lit room, a lone note lay folded neatly in half. The paper, worn and crinkled, bore a single handwritten word on the front: JOEL. The letters were etched with an urgency that was almost palpable. His heart pounding in his chest, he gingerly picked up the note and unfolded it. The handwriting wasn't Ellie's; it was too precise, too controlled. "Joel," it read, "I'm sorry that it had to be this way. I couldn't let you kill Dr. Anderson. I meant it when I said I owed you. Consider my debt paid for sparing your life a second time. Do not look for me because I will not spare it a third. I know it doesn't mean much, but I truly am sorry -Marlene." Joel's grip tightened around the paper, crumpling it into a tight ball in his fist. He dropped it onto the ground, the bitterness of betrayal seeping into his bones. Marlene, that heartless woman, had taken Ellie. She had taken his Ellie and left him with nothing but dread and speculation about what they could possibly be doing to her. He doubts they are still at the hospital but he has to go back. It’s the only place he might find a clue as to where they are headed next. At the very least, he might be able to rule out where they’ve already been. Surely Marlene is smart enough to know not to go back to any of her old labs, especially those that Tommy might know about. With a determined set to his jaw, Joel unfurled his map, studying the lines and routes to determine the best course of action. He marked his path and prepared himself for the journey. It took him three grueling days to reach Salt Lake City. Three long days of simmering anger and growing resolve. He knew, with a chilling clarity, what he had to do. He had to eliminate Marlene, once and for all. If he didn’t, she would never cease in her relentless pursuit of Ellie. The journey to the hospital was longer than he had anticipated. The last time he was there, he had been unconscious, blissfully unaware of the machinations unfolding around him. He retraced his steps, climbing up to the fourth floor, the pediatric ward. With bated breath and a cold determination, he began his search. He left nothing untouched, scouring every inch of each room. Despite his efforts, he found almost nothing of importance. Finally, he found himself at the end of a long, rotting hallway. He stood outside a door marked 'scrub room'. With a deep breath to steady his nerves, he swung the door open and stepped through. He glanced through the window above the three-compartment sink and felt a chill run through his veins. His blood ran ice cold, the stark reality of the situation hitting him with the force of a freight train.

There she is. Ellie. His baby girl. She's lying on the same exam table where he last saw her, an image that haunts his every waking moment. He gulps, taking a shaky, ragged breath as he steps into the cold, sterile environment of the operating room. The harsh fluorescent lights cast an eerie glow on her form, making her skin look unnaturally pale and waxy. She looks oddly peaceful like this, as if she was simply sleeping. His boots echo softly in the silence, each step feeling heavier than the last. He longs to reach out, to hold her, to reassure himself that she's still there. But the sight of her, so vulnerable and fragile, is too much for him to bear. Suddenly, a wave of nausea washes over him, so powerful that it brings him to his knees. He turns his head just in time, the contents of his stomach spilling onto the cold tile floor. The taste of bile fills his mouth, but it's nothing compared to the bitter helplessness that fills his heart. Joel slides his arm under Ellie’s knees and his other under her neck. He lifts her small, limp body into her his arms. He cradles her close to his heaving chest, and his arms tremble beneath the weight of the world. His world, ripped from him, once again. Joel doesn’t know how to do this again, but he marches on, determined to put his baby girl to rest properly. Not only had Marlene’s doctor butchered her, but they left her, all alone, discarded like a piece of trash.

Joel carries his daughter down all four flights of stairs. His tears fall freely onto her lifeless body. Behind the hospital there is a field, long overgrown. Joel decides that this is where he will lay Ellie’s body to rest. Joel can’t find a shovel, but there’s a pickaxe laying on the ground nearby. Joel sets Ellie gently down on the ground, under a tree. He drops his backpack and picks up the pickaxe. He rolls up the sleeve of his denim shirt to his elbows and sets to the task at hand. He works tirelessly, the pickaxe biting into the earth again and again. As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the field, he packs the last bit of soil over Ellie. The work is done, but the reality of it all threatens to shatter his already broken heart. The small size of the grave he dug, a stark contrast to the enormous place Ellie held in his life, tears at his heartstrings. Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, seizes him. He wakes with the sun in the morning and gazes once again upon the small grave, and tries to find the will to do anything other than lay there and waste away. He still has one thing left to do before he can finish the job he started twenty years before, after the death of his first daughter.

One week later, Joel passes through the gates at Jackson. He makes a beeline for The Tipsy Bison. When he crosses the threshold he spies Tommy behind the bar. Tommy’s gaze meets his brother’s and when he sees the look on Joel’s face he drops the glass he’s holding. He knows that look. He’s only seen it once before, twenty years earlier. It has haunted him ever since. “Sorry, fellas. Closin’ up early tonight.” He says to the men sitting at the bar as he sweeps up the shattered glass from the floor. They grumble but grab their coats and head out. Joel stands, unmoving, until the last man has left, leaving him alone with his brother. He slides his pack down his arm, letting it drop to his feet. He shuffles numbly to the bar and settles onto a stool. “Joel-“ Tommy starts, but Joel cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“Whiskey.” Is all he says. Tommy pulls a clean glass from under the bar and turns to grab the half full bottle of Jameson behind him. He fills the glass halfway, but Joel gestures for him to keep pouring. He drains the glass in one gulp and slams it back down on the bar. “Another.” Tommy refills the glass and pours one for himself.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” He asks his brother hesitantly, unsure if he’s ready to hear the answer.

“She’s gone.” Is all Joel says as he looks into his whiskey. Tommy narrows his eyes at his brother.

“I can see that, Joel. Wasn’t that the goal? Get her to the Fireflies?” When Joel looks back up, there are tears shimmering in his eyes.

“No, Tommy. She’s gone.” His voice cracks on the last word and his composure breaks. Joel’s chest begins heaving and he presses his palm to it, right over where his pounding heart lies. He could swear that he can feel his heart literally cracking in two. “They-“ he begins but his voice gets caught in his throat. He clears his throat and tries again. “They cut into her fuckin’ head, Tommy.” He doesn’t bother trying to hold back his tears. “They cut her open and they fuckin’ left her there. Left her lyin’ there, all alone, like she was nothin’.” He cries. Tommy is intimately familiar with the despair that Joel is feeling at this moment. He’s been through this with him before, and Joel barely made it out of that alive. Not for his lack of trying either. Tommy knows that he’ll have to keep a close eye on Joel from now on.

“Joel. I’m so sorry.” Tommy says, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Ya should be.” Joel says, taking Tommy by surprise. He shrugs Tommy’s hand off his shoulder and rises from the barstool. He finishes his whiskey and walks out of the bar, grabbing his pack from the floor. He doesn’t know where else to go, so he wanders the streets of Jackson, aimlessly. He comes across the house he and Ellie stayed in for that one night. He vaguely remembers Tommy telling him that it would be waiting for him and Ellie when they returned from their journey. Now he just has to live in it alone, he supposes. He walks through the unlocked door and marches up the stairs. He stops in the doorway of the room he slept in the last time he was here. He spins on his heels and walks into the room next door. Ellie’s room. She was so excited to have a room, she went on and on during their trip to Salt Lake City about how she was going to decorate it. When she found out Joel used to be a contractor, her eyes lit up.

“So you can, like, build shit?” She asked. Joel huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, I can build shit.” He told her. What he wouldn’t give to hear one of her shitty puns right about now. He failed her, again. Just like he told Tommy he would. as he lays his head on the pillow that still smells faintly like her, he can’t help but to wonder if Tommy would have been able to keep her safe.

Joel spends the next few months finding solace in the bottom of a bottle. He hasn’t spoken a word to Tommy since the day after his return to Jackson. Joel said some things to his brother that he could never take back. He doesn’t feel very inclined to take them all back, either. When Tommy came knocking on Joel’s door that next day, wanting to know what Joel had meant, he was surprised to be met with anger. “If it wasn’t for you, that little girl wouldn’t be dead right now. If it wasn’t for you, Tess wouldn’t be dead right now. You just had to go and get mixed up with those Fireflies, didn’t ya? With Marlene.” His voice was laced with venom as he spat her name. “Then ya just ran away when shit got hard. I had no idea if you were alive or dead, I had to come find you.” He shouted at his brother. Tommy held his hands up in defense.

“I never asked you do that, Joel.”

Joel shook his head and laughed bitterly. “All I’ve ever done, your whole fuckin’ life, is clean up after you. Sarah wouldn’t have been home alone that night if I didn’t have to go bail your sorry ass outta jail.” Tommy opened his mouth to argue but Joel cut him off. “She wouldn’t have been there alone and I could have gotten her out of there quicker. She’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you. So would Tess, and Ellie. You’ve taken everyone I’ve ever loved from me. I’ll never forgive you for that.” Joel slammed the door in Tommy’s face before he could even have the chance to defend himself.

Maria had assigned Joel to patrol duty. Five days a week, he worked a twelve hour shift, patrolling the area surrounding Jackson. Five days a week, he came home to an empty house, took a shower, and drank himself into oblivion. The other two days, when he was off, he woke up to a whiskey breakfast, and was usually passed out in Ellie’s bed by sundown. Joel knows exactly how pathetic he is. Barely eking out an existence here in this wonderful community that he has no desire to be a part of. The friendly smiles he receives as he walks down the street. The ones that are met with glares from Joel. He’s only learned the names of the his patrol partners, against his own will. He’s been through three partners already. The lovely people of Jackson can only put up with his sour disposition for so long, it seems. People don’t exactly cross the street when they see him coming, but they don’t go out of their way to offer him any pleasantries, anymore, either.

One day, about ten months after Joel’s return to Jackson, a patrol came through the gates with a group they had found. Great , Joel thinks, more people to have to avoid. That evening, during dinner, they sit at a table near Joel, along with Maria and Tommy, and their baby. Joel tries not to listen to their conversation but when the woman starts talking about her run in with a woman named Marlene, his entire body stiffens. Tommy takes notice of Joel’s reaction but neither men says a word. Later that night, Joel sits atop his regular stool at the bar of the Tipsy Bison. He doesn’t speak to anyone, not even the bartender. Doesn’t matter who’s working, they all know Joel’s order by heart by now. Whiskey. And keep ‘em coming . Though he doesn’t socialize, he takes notice of who comes and goes, in an effort to continue his avoidance of his little brother. From the corner of his eye he sees the woman from earlier, Sandy, enters the bar. Then, she does the one thing nobody does anymore. She takes the bar stool next to Joel. The guy working the bar, whose name Joel can’t remember, raises an eyebrow. “What can I get for you?” He asks the woman.

“Oh I’ll just have whatever he’s having.” She says, nodding her head towards Joel. Joel looks over to the woman and smiles.

“Hi there, I’m Joel.” He says, holding his hand out. “It’s real nice to meet you.”  A few hours, and more than a few drinks later, Joel finds himself in his own bed, for the first time since he came back to Jackson. He’s laying on his back, looking up at the ceiling, while Sandy bounces on his cock. He’s barely aware of the sounds she’s making, the roll of her hips over his. His mind is elsewhere, formulating a plan. He’s going to find out everything she knows about Marlene. Then he’s gonna find her and he’s going to kill her. The doctor, the nurses, all of her little Firefly friends. He’s going to rip off their wings, one by one. They’re all gonna pay for what they did to his daughter. 

Joel resolved himself to get his shit together after that night. No more drinking. But he had to find something else to occupy his time. Sandy found herself back in Joel’s bed more than once. But if it wasn’t her, it was someone else. Seems like big, bad Joel wasn’t as scary as he liked to think. At least, not to the single ladies of Jackson. Their faces all run together, he gets their names mixed up more often or not, but he’s not the town drunk anymore. It didn’t take him long to get the information he needed from Sandy. They had come across Marlene in Montana. They were attempting to hide from some runners in an old hospital. Marlene and her crew were holed up there as well. Sandy told him that Marlene wouldn’t let them go any higher than the second floor. Whatever they were doing up there, they didn’t want anyone to know about it. She stationed her men at all the elevators and stairwells. Armed to the teeth to make sure they didn’t go where they weren’t wanted. Joel grit his teeth upon hearing the information. He had a pretty good idea of what they were getting up to in that hospital. Butchering someone else’s kid, probably. 

Joel spends the next few weeks gathering supplies. Jerky, rations, ammo. As much of it as he can fit into his pack. On one of his patrols, he came upon a sporting goods store. Somehow, it hadn't been picked clean. He was able to find a map of Montana, and scored a new hiking backpack. Everything sits atop the kitchen table in his house. He doesn't use it for meals, there's nobody for him to eat with. The women that fall into his bed night after night are long gone before breakfast rolls around. He doesn't tell anyone his plan. He doesn't want it getting back to Tommy. Joel figures he will say goodbye to his brother, probably for the last time, on his way out. Joel still hasn't forgiven Tommy and suspects he won't any time soon. He doesn't hold out much hope that he'll make it out of this mission alive. He isn't sure that he wants to. But, on the off chance, he doesn't plan to ever come back to Jackson. He's done enough damage here. 

By the time Joel is ready to begin his journey, a year has passed since Ellie’s death. They had spent almost a year together, traveling the country, camping in the woods, eating Chef Boyardee. When she first joined him and Tess on their trip out west, Joel couldn't wait to be rid of her. God, the way she chattered incessantly used to grate on Joel’s nerves. He remembers a time when he thought he might just feed himself to a clicker if he had to hear one more of her shitty puns. Now, he's spent a year without her, and there is nothing that he wouldn't give to hear just one more of them. He wishes that Marlene would have just done him the kindness of killing him. His life ended when Ellie's did. Once this is over, he'll have nothing left to fight for. Nothing left to keep going for. 

Joel stands at the front door of what he no longer considers his house, and takes a long look around. He mourns the potential that this space once held for him. That day on the rooftop, feeding the giraffe with Ellie, Joel had actually let himself believe that he was going to get a happy ending. Everything he hadn’t dared to think he’d ever have again, not after Sarah, was within his grasp. He and Ellie were going to come back here and make this place something Joel hadn’t had in twenty years. Something that Ellie had never had. A home. Joel would cook dinner, and tell Ellie to be home by 11:00. Then he’d sit up on the couch when she inevitably wasn’t home by then. They’d paint her room and Joel would build her a dresser or something. He grieves the life they would have had together. Joel would teach her to be a better shot, Ellie would go to one of the town dances. He breathes in deeply and takes one last look around. And then he’s out the door, heading across the street. He knocks on Tommy’s door and Maria answers with the baby on her hip. He reaches out for his Uncle Joel, who he has become extremely fond of. “May I?” Joel asks, holding his arms out.

“Please.” Maria says, handing him the baby. “I could use a break. But if he needs a diaper change while you’ve got him, you’re on duty. That’s the rule.” She smiles and steps aside, inviting Joel in. “Tommy! Your brother’s here.” She calls out. Joel appreciates her for not mentioning just how odd it is that Joel has just dropped by, after a year of almost nothing. Of course, she’d bring the baby by to see him, sometimes she’d share a meal with him in the mess hall, wanting to make sure that her son knew his uncle.

“That’s not funny, babe.” Tommy says as he comes out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a threadbare towel. His eyebrows practically leap off his face when he sees Joel standing in his living room, holding his son. “Whaddya doin’ here, Joel?” Tommy asks, eyes filled with concern. Joel wouldn’t be here unless something was wrong. He doubts that his brother had suddenly decided to forgive him, unprompted. 

“I’ll take the baby upstairs, it’s time for his nap.” Maria offers, holding her hands out.

Joel gives his nephew a kiss on the head. “See ya ‘round, kid.” He whispers quietly, giving him a soft squeeze. He goes happily to his mother and Maria gives Joel a kiss on the cheek.

“You take care of yourself, okay.” She says. Joel just nods in response. 

“What’s up?” Tommy sits on the sofa and gestures for Joel to do the same. He shakes his head and hikes the strap of his pack higher up on his shoulder.

“Just wanted to let ya know I was leavin’.” Joel says. He clenches and unclenches his fist absently. “Alright, well, where ya goin”? Tommy asks. “Montana.” Joel replies. Tommy’s brow furrows in confusion.

“Okay, when ya comin’ back?” Joel looks down at the ground, but doesn’t say anything. “You are comin’ back ain’t ya?” Tommy prods. Joel sniffs and meets his brother’s gaze.

“I doubt it. Just wanted to let ya know so you don’t come lookin’ for me or anything.” Joel’s heart wrenches at the thought of this being his goodbye to his little brother. But he still isn’t willing to take back what he said, or apologize for it. Surprisingly, he has no idea that Tommy doesn’t need any of that shit. He just wants his big brother back. If only Joel knew that Tommy blamed himself for Sarah’s and Ellie’s deaths at least as much as Joel does, probably even more. Tommy stands from the couch and walks towards Joel. He holds his arms open and to his surprise, Joel steps into them. He wraps his own arms around Tommy and squeezes him tight. “I love you, little brother.” He tells Tommy.

“I love you too, Joel. See ya around.” Joel pats him on the back a few times and then he leaves Tommy’s house, and Jackson forever. 

It takes Joel three months to catch up to Marlene. He searches every hospital from Bozeman to Billings. He finds little hints of her presence. Spray painted firefly symbols on the walls. Paperwork with scientific equations Joel wouldn’t understand if he’d spent a hundred years in school. Notes that indicate to him that the hack job they did on Ellie was all for nothing. They still didn’t have a cure, weren’t even close to getting one. By Joel’s count, the Fireflies had found at least seven other people who were immune. They had operated on them, same as Ellie. All seven of them had died, same as his daughter. Joel can’t help but wonder if they were left behind, all cut open and exposed, just like her, too. He takes refuge in an old apartment building in downtown Billings. He works his way up to the top floor, room by room, ensuring the building is clear of infected.  Once he gets to the top floor, he finds the least disgusting apartment and sets up his sleeping bag on top of the rotting mattress. It wasn’t the best, nothing like the one back in Jackson, but it was a hell of a lot better than ground. At fifty seven years old, Joel could feel that his bones were getting a  little too old for this kind of roughing it. He pries open the door to the roof and spends his days sleeping and his nights up there, watching through the scope of his rifle. Looking for any sign of life. On the third night he spots them. The building looks like it used to be a minor emergency clinic. Perfect for what the Fireflies need. He watches all night, until the sun comes up. Several men are stationed outside the building, but not too close. He sees Marlene peek her head out of the door once. She calls out to one of the men and he enters the building. Several trucks are parked at nearby buildings. They’re smart not to park them all together. He’s sure they don’t want to attract any unwanted attention. Of course they’re probably more worried about raiders than Joel. 

He sleeps the afternoon away, wanting to be well rested for what he knows is about to happen. The sun is just beginning to set when Joel wakes. He changes his clothes and eats a few ration packs. Then he cleans his rifle and his pistol and takes count of all of his ammo. He tucks the pistol into the waistband of his jeans, at the small of his back. He slings the rifle strap over his shoulder and settles the gun across his chest. His Bowie knife goes into the top of his boot, and his switchblade in his back right pocket. For better or worse, this is it. No matter what, Joel is finishing this tonight. Once night falls, Joel walks down all fifteen flights of stairs. He takes a right when he exits the building. He’s already plotted a path, one that will take him all the way around the building. It allows him to take out each of the four men patrolling the building. Joel is a good hunter. He knows how to be quiet. He’s able to take out each of the men with his Bowie knife. None of them even have a chance to make a sound. Once Joel is certain that the threat outside the building is eliminated, he takes a full lap around the building. He tests every door, every window, finding each of them locked. Not that he expected anything less. Marlene might be insane, but she isn’t stupid. He spies a door that looks a little flimsy, and just as he suspected, the lock pops the second he slides his switchblade in. He takes a deep breath before he opens the door, preparing himself for who, or what might be on the other side. 

Joel swings inward slightly and pauses. He doesn’t hear anything so he opens it all the way and steps into the dark hallway. He swings his flashlight around and finds nothing but a few closed doors. He puts his ear up to the doors, one by one, and hears nothing inside. He places his ear up against the door at the other end of the hallway and hears two distinct voices, speaking quietly. Joel has to be very precise with his decision moving forward. This won’t be like the men outside and he doesn’t have the luxury of using his knife for this. The second he begins shooting everyone will be on him. Everyone except Marlene, that is. They all have strict orders to protect her at all costs, keep her alive no matter who else must be sacrificed. Fuck it, Joel thinks, its now or never. Joel swings the door out into the hallway and gets lucky. It separates the two men and allows Joel to take them out, one at a time, one shot to the head each. Just as he expected, shouts come from further in the building. Joel sprints down the hallway and into a room, hoping that it's empty. Luckily it is. It looks to be an exam room that has been gutted. Unfortunately for Joel, there isn’t anywhere to hide in here, so he stands right next to the door. He pulls his pistol from his waistband and holds his arm out, parallel to the wall. He can hear the men, making their way down the hall, throwing open the door to every room. He steels himself, waiting for them to get to his room. The second the door opens he pulls the trigger. The man goes down. His friend comes in right behind and Joel takes him down the same way. He listens for a moment but doesn’t hear anyone else. He sweeps through the building taking down man after man. A man sneaks up behind him. His right ear is bad, so he doesn’t hear him until the last second. Joel turns around and the man's knife sinks into his abdomen. Joel shoots him with his pistol and pulls the knife out, dropping it to the floor. Finally he makes his way to the most interior room. He tried the knob but the door is locked.

“Joel!” He hears from inside. Marlene. “You don’t want to do this, Joel.” She cries.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve been wantin’ to do this.” He calls back. He steps back and kicks the door open. Marlene and Dr. Anderson are in the room, along with his nurses. In the middle of the room is an operating table. A girl, fourteen or fifteen, lies on the table. She’s unconscious, with a tube in her nose. Marlene stands behind her, with a gun to her head.

“One wrong move and I pull the trigger. Don’t test me, Joel.” Marlene snarls.

“Don’t you do it.” Joel tells her. Dr. Anderson moves toward Joel with his scalpel, eerily similar to the way he had a year before. Joel doesn’t hesitate this time, he swings his arm around and fires. The man drops dead at Joel’s feet.

“NO!” Cries Marlene. 

Before she even has a chance to do the same, Joel shoots her, right in the middle of her forehead. The two nurses cower in the corner, trembling in fear. “You wake her up and return her to her family, in one piece. If she doesn’t have one, then you take care of her. No more experimentin’, no cuttin’ her open.” The women look up at Joel with tear-filled eyes and nod. “I mean it. I’ve found y’all twice, now. I can find you again, if need be.” Joel doesn’t wait for a response, he just turns and leaves the room. He gets into one of the trucks and drives off, as quick as he can, in the direction of the highway. He pulls over to study his map for a moment, trying to decide where to go. The only place he can think of is Jackson. Back to Tommy, to what remains of his family. The truck runs out of gas just after he passes a sign for Cody, Wyoming. He double checks his bandages and gets out of the car, preparing to walk. He only makes it a few miles before the blood loss gets to be too much. He stumbles off the road and into the snow. Then he hears her. His Ellie, calling for him. But he can’t find her.

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[lexluvswriting]

ꔫ L'autunno.

☆ Ch: 2 [last page] [next page]

-> Pairing: Eris x ballet dancer!fem!reader.

-> (CW): x fem!reader (she/her), slow-burn, rivals to lovers, tinkle of angst on occasion, fluff, non-specified identity Summer Court!reader, regarding canon ACOTAR time: after defeat of Hybern. Dual p.o.v!!

-> (TW): Eris Vanserra, slightly softer today, Lucien cameo!! Beron Vanserra is still a c-

W/C: 2.8k (what a coincidence)

╰┈➤ Lex's note: I hope this chapter was a bit more reader and Eris focused!! i wanted to add some backstory to Eris -even tho there isnt much to go off- (slightly ooc as i am embellishing a lil, teehee!) ALSO: I did a dual p.o.v!! Thought it might be cute! pls lmk how we feel abt it!!

A gentle breeze swept back the Lady of the Autumn Court’s hair as she sat out on her balcony. The moon dangled in the sky, and a small ball of auburn hair shifted in the lap of the Lady- two golden eyes blinking through baby tears up at the female who watched the moon with an expression Lucien had seen before, but could never name. There was angry yelling in the distance, deep within the manor as glass shattered and feet stomped around.

“Why does he always do that, mamma?” A little voice called out. The Lady sighed in response, lips parting to bestow more motherly reassurance when another voice answered.

“Because he’s a horrible man, Lucien.” Eris, stone faced despite his youth, stalked towards his mother and younger brother as he entered the balcony clearing.

Eris Vanserra was many things. A big brother. A good dancer, a cheater at all the games, a little fox. And he certainly wasn’t an idiot.

“Did he write to you again? Is that why he’s angry?” Silence hung on the end of his question, sliding off the words like a droplet of dew as the Lady extended her other arm, and ushered Eris closer. Both boys held their mother, who looked up at the sky with weary eyes.

But they weren’t weary- they were tired, but not exhausted. Sad but not miserable. It was like she was holding onto-

“I hoped to negotiate with your father about letting Lucien see… him. But it didn’t… work out well.” Her voice was hushed, like the whisper of a willow that swayed by the lake near the manor.

There it was. Hope.

“Why bother? You know he’ll only hit you. Why do you let him? Why can’t he- why can’t-” Anger bubbled up in Eris the same way it did in his father, and that only made the boy more angry as he pulled away, kicking a loose rock over the edge of the balcony.

“Why can’t he help you? And take you away from this?”

“But where will you go, Eri?” Lucien’s sleepy voice cooed, the little one rubbing at his eyes with chubby fists. Eris glared at his younger brother- as if he was foolish for not understanding.

“I would stay back with father- to make sure he…” The words constricted in his throat. The Lady of Autumn hugged Eris again, tears welling up in both pairs of eyes.

“I know. I know. You are so brave, Eris. My sweet little fox, the boy who would string up the world for me.” Her words were always flowery and poetic- they always made the tips of his ears go bright red, but tonight he allowed them to find their mark as he hugged his mother tightly while her kisses littered the side of his head. Little Lucien, who squirmed when he realised he was missing out on the affections, stood up on wobbly feet as he grabbed his mother’s hand.

“Mamma, if I hang the moon on a sting, will you kiss me too?”

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

Your brows were furrowed in concentration as you planted your foot firmly on the ground, counting in before sucking in a breath as you went up on pointe, earning a grunt of approval from Gustav, who simply let the music play as you began to run through the steps of the solo. 

“Wrong- immediately. Your transition from the pas de deux should be seamless- as if he wasn’t even there. They are focusing on you- You are the one with the power- you are the one with eyes following. They will be watching your every movement.” 

Every word that left his mouth made you scowl harder, and your pirouettes became faster and faster, until you were a blur. A ‘thwack’ startled you, a stinging sensation against your thigh made you flinch and fall to the ground.

“Gus!”

“Wrong! All of it- wrong! What is wrong with you? Where is my jewel? Bring her back, instead of this monstrous thing. Money is on the line- my studio is on the line- prestige and fame for you is on. The. Line! Get it together. Again!” The orchestral backing seemed to rewind and restart, and your eyes glowered at the ballet master who simply inspected his nails, elbow leaning on his ‘discipline stick’, a thin, long piece of wood that ‘thwacked’ against the limbs of any sorry dancer who ‘lacked discipline’. You had been very familiar with it- an arch nemesis from youth, yet you let out a huff, which Gustav mocked, though you rolled your shoulders and resumed first position.

You danced- your arms swinging around as your legs carried you across the wooden floor. You saw glimpses of your reflection- and you weren’t at all displeased with what you saw. Strong, dedicated, pretty- Primrose would croon these at you prepared before a session, and they had found a mark in your heart as you paraded yourself around. You tried to push all the worries out of your mind for the moment, honouring the music that played by worshipping it with the graceful movements of your body, twirling and leaping- not like a dancer, but like a leaf on the wind. Like a stalk in the long grass. Like the pretty ember in a lantern.

Your heart raced in your chest, beating wildly despite the organised chaos of the accompaniment you danced to. All you had to do was dance- the rest would sort itself out, right? All you had to do was keep your head down, do your pretty dance, do it correctly and get the royal family of the Autumn court off your back. Then you could go back to being a normal dancer at a normal studio and pray that you weren’t swept up in the exodus that seemed to be occupying most of the Autumn Court. The shrill song of a violin pulled you out of the sea of thoughts just in time for you to complete a grand jeté before the coda started. As the steps got more complex- and dangerous, if you didn’t land them properly, you didn’t notice a bug eyed Gustav who had looked above to see a certain lordling glowering down at you- his russet irises blazing with an unreadable, but probably shrewd emotion as his eyes tracked your every movement while you danced.

You were having the time of your life- your blood always ran when you had to perform the more complicated sequences. Plié, pas de basque, pas de bourrée, glissade, a wondrous grand jeté- high enough for you to touch the ceiling if you really wanted to- land into another plié, and then, your favourite- the fouettes. You could get lost in these if you really wanted to, and perhaps you would, with the way you caught yourself smiling slightly in your reflection. Gustav hadn’t protested, or warned you not to go crazy, so you did the usual routine, body charging up to spin and spin and spin. A crescendo of the music made you stop spinning, and you saved yourself by doing a more ‘modern’ move as you tumbled across the floor, only to end up on your feet again, hands poised perfectly in the air in your finishing pose as the music slowly ceased. You laughed a little, amused at your ballet master’s silence before you noticed him staring at something, bug eyed and pale skinned. You realised he hadn’t looked at you at all, and your gaze followed, head tilting up until you noticed your voyeur, and froze momentarily.

What to do? Hiss? Swear? Burp really loudly and slouch? Throw something? A hiss from Gustav to ‘bow!’ made you slowly turn your head to look at him with blatant disgust, before your eyes slid back up to Eris, rolling them as your lip curled out and you let out a soft, delicate “Ugh.”

You heard something that sounded like a snarl and a squeak from Gus behind you, but you waved a hand, declaring airly, “I’m taking five!”

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

Eris’ face was the last thing you saw in your mind as you went to the studio’s small cafe to purchase a well-earned treat. It’s certainly handsome. Well- Grumpy, miserable-looking, arrogant, snobbish and so so so many other wonderful adjectives. But you had to give him credit… He was… pretty.

The croissant you purchased was steaming hot, so you tossed it in its brown paper bag between both hands, fingertips suitably warmed against the cool autumn weather. You walked along the hallway, your eyes focused on the large, golden gilded framed portraits of various dancers who had also traisped about the hallway you ambled through, croissant in hand as you appreciated each stroke of paint which captured their serious, serene expressions. You stopped in front of a painting to take a bite out of your warm treat- the clerk claimed it was filled with raspberry coulis, but you figured she was lying after the first bite, where you had bitten into nothing but fluffy, buttery goodness. The second bite was as uneventful as the first, but it was the third that made you jolt, as a hot, raspberry-ness flooded your mouth, your hand cupping under the treat a few seconds too late, before you heard a ‘splat!’, peeking down and swearing softly as raspberry hit the marbled floor.

“Oh… bloody… fuck.” You hissed, glaring at the dark pink splat, before stomping back to get tissues, kneeling down at your mess and sighing irritatedly- that would have been the perfect bite if the filling didn’t try to jump down your throat.

“Charming.” A voice replied, and you noticed the tips of brown, shiny leather shoes near your knees, making your eyes narrow. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Eris Vanserra peered down at you, his grating voice a drawl as you slowly craned your head to peer up at him with an unamused glare, to which his lips quirked to the side in a crooked smirk.

“I hope you won’t be this uncouth when you perform for my family.” You immediately stopped kneeling, lest to give him any more of an inflated ego than he already has, and glowered.

“I don’t really care what you nor your family think of me.”

“Charming, indeed.” He hummed, russet eyes filled with a smug gleam, the light seeming to dance in his irises the more you glowered and frowned at him. You both stared at each other, you more hostile in your gaze than he, before you turned away to distance yourself and ignore him, only for his grating voice to sound off again, your ears catching his reply a little too attentively for your liking.

“You’ll have to accompany me to the Equinox ball even after you dance, by the way. It is custom- and honourable for someone like… yourself.” His eyes slowly scanned your face, meeting your eyes before they found something else on you to hone in on.

Oh, brilliant. Here we go.

“Someone like myself?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow as irritation made itself known even more than before.

“Of course. Independent, apprehensive, different. I’m surprised you can even bear to be in those impossible costumes and tutus. It’s like putting a bonnet on a bear.” His smile- mocking, unserious, condescending, was all you could focus on- your ears twitching at his tone of voice.

‘Apprehensive? Different! I’ll show him apprehensive-’

“Hah! ‘Different’?” You kissed your teeth, nodding before standing in front of his face, raising your coulis filled croissant and taking an aggressive bite, letting a small, thick glob of raspberry splatter onto his shiny, pretty shoes. Eris let out a small grunt as he stepped back, glaring down at his shoes for a long time, before his gaze lifted up to you, only to see your back as you had stormed off promptly, croissant in hand.

“You have something on your face, by the way!” His voice called out, in what you could only figure was mockingly. A hand raised up to the corner of your mouth, and you swore under your breath, yet you doubled down.

“And you’ve got something on your shoes!”

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

Eris blinked at the dancer down below, his eyes wide with awe. From the first time he had seen her at the start of the week, she managed to become more and more brilliant over time- as if each day that he didn’t see her, she became more talented and beautiful. [Y/N] was your name. [Y/N] [L/N].

He had seen you when you debuted for one of your more high-achieving roles- had taken his mother privately for a viewing of one of the ballets that had played in the amphitheatre when just after Amarantha had been destroyed- a celebration of freedom. Your rendition of Swan Lake, and your variation of the white and black swan had brought the Lady of Autumn to tears- how could a small thing like you capture the understanding of being trapped, of isolation and grief so beautifully? For a long time he had wondered about you- even at balls, where he waltzed around with other nameless women that could never compare to your poise and discipline- your fluidity and grace. Did you like to waltz? Were you shy and reserved? Angelic and sweet? Or were you alluring and confident? Seductive and playful?

Neither, he had decided when you looked up at him with your evident disdain, and your uncaring sneer. You were a third, greater thing. And you were absolutely magnificent. He realised there and then that he had to speak with you, even if just for a brief moment- he needed to feel the brunt of your fire firsthand. So when he had spied you walking through the halls so prettily, each step poised and perfect even off-duty, it made him feel strange. He just had to be close to you.

“Charming.” He mused, though he had paused when he realised he had spoken out loud. He wanted to correct himself, but your gaze knocked the air out of him, and he panicked- opting for his signature smirk to disguise his awkwardness. 

‘Whatever is going on, snap out of it.’ He thought harshly, before blinking as he realised he had been staring- so he spoke again.

“I hope you won’t be this uncouth when you perform for my family.” His voice was smooth, cool and collected like it usually was, and he was amused by your glower. Were you this angry all the time? It was oddly endearing, in a strange, funny way. Cauldron, your gaze was unforgiving. He wondered how many stupid males had been on the end of it.

“I don’t really care what you nor your family think of me.” His ears twitched slightly at that tone, and something stirred within him, making him want to smile. Oh, you were really funny when you were upset.

“Charming, indeed.” He nodded, a smile growing on his face as he admired you, enjoying the banter you two seemed to share.

“You’ll have to accompany me to the Equinox ball even after you dance, by the way. It is custom- and honourable for someone like… yourself.” His eyes slowly scanned your face, and he hoped he didn’t sound too excited when he mentioned it. He’d get to waltz with you, and show off his skills, and hope that you’d be as impressed with him as he was with you. He was too excited indeed, though he was curious with the way your irritation grew.

“Someone like myself?” You repeated, and he wanted to laugh. You were so silly!

“Of course. Independent, apprehensive, different. I’m surprised you can even bear to be in those impossible costumes and tutus. It’s like putting a bonnet on a bear.” He joked, enjoying himself greatly as he caught your attention and held onto it as long as he did. You were quite apprehensive, yes. Very grouchy and unagreeable, but still certainly pretty. He was proud of his ‘bears in bonnets’ joke too- that usually worked wonders with anyone he mentioned it to.

So why were you still looking at him like that? And did you know about the smear of raspberry under your lower lip? He wanted to tell you, or wipe it off at least when you spoke again.

“Hah! ‘Different’?” You made a noise that he recognised as irritation, and Eris watched you shift your stance, as if you were aiming to lob the pastry you had been eating at him. Had he misspoke? He watched you move closer to him, his eyes on your mouth as you raised the croissant and bit into it messily, letting a small, thick glob of raspberry splatter onto his shoes.

How inconvenient.

Eris let out a small grunt as he stepped back, blinking dumbly at his shoes for a long time, before his gaze lifted up to you, only to see your back as you had stormed off promptly.

“You have something on your face, by the way!” His voice called out in a weak attempt to be helpful.

“And you’ve got something on your shoes!”

Hah! She was certainly... spirited. That was no way to treat a Vanserra. She wouldn't last a minute in front of his father. Eris chuckled as he glanced down at his shoes again, clicking his tongue.

He'd simply have to come back and see you again.

╰┈➤ Lex's note 2: AHHHH it's done!! almost 3k AGAIN lmfao. i hope the dual p.o.v was good & made sense!!! if not, lmk and i'll stick solely to reader p.o.v only!! tysm everyone for the love this is getting! ch 3: 29/04 Week!! 🥹🫶🏼

[cupidsdolll]

Hey! 17 & 28 if possible please!!! x

Valentine’s Gifts and Surprises

hii here you go ! <3

talk to me • masterlist • request a valentine's prompt

- - - -

17- roses

28 - ribbons

- - - - 

Y/N’s never been on the giving side of all of Valentine's activities. She’s always been the one receiving the flowers, chocolates and cards from her past lovers. But this year, she wants to do something different, step outside of her comfort zones and do something nice. She stares at the variety of flowers lining the shelves and walls of the flower shop she stands in. They’ve never discussed their favorite flowers and how they want to celebrate Valentine’s, it’s not that they don’t want to celebrate it, it’s just not that big of a deal for the two of them. 

But she wants to do something for Harry, to try to show just how much she appreciates him. So here she is, standing in the flower shop trying to figure out which flower to get him. Her eyes scan over the walls until she comes across a beautiful bouquet of red and blue tulips and immediately she knows that these are the perfect ones for him. She doesn’t want to be basic and give him roses, although she did think about it simply because she knows he’ll be over the moon anyway. She quickly walks over to where they’re sitting and grabs them and not long after she’s heading to the checkout section and buying them. Y/N smiles as she thanks the lady and walks out. The flowers were the last thing she needed to complete his gift. 

She didn’t want to go all out for him, she knows he’s not that kind of person. He wants something intimate whenever it’s a holiday or something for the two of them. She had intended on spending the day at home, to share their love and just be with each other. He’s never been one to indulge in all of the big public displays of affection, he prefers moments to be shared privately. So she knew he’d prefer to keep their love just between them, no cameras or loud noises, crowded spaces and no awkwardness. 

She drives to their shared apartment and sits in the parking lot, sending a quick text message to let him know that she’s home and not to come outside so she can put his present together (she left his present part out but she’s almost positive that he knows what she’s been out doing.) Almost immediately she gets a text back with a thumbs up and him saying he’s glad she’s made it home safe and that he can’t wait to see her. She smiles to herself before she begins to assemble it. She places the medium sized wooden basket on her lap and sets the small red shaved pieces inside of them of the basket and begins to set his gifts inside.She sets the folded sweatshirt that has a picture of them together on the front in first, then she sets the heart shaped box of chocolates in, then a couple bottles of his favorite drink and then sprinkles some other snacks in as well. After all that is set, she puts a couple face masks in and the valentine’s card she’s written for him. 

She admires it for a couple of minutes before she sends him another text saying she’s coming in, she grabs the basket and gets out of the car; she makes sure to close and lock the doors before she begins to make her way to their apartment. She quickly unlocks the door and she immediately gasps at what she sees. There’s rose petals scattered all over the floor and ribbons in her favorite colors tied around their smaller chairs and hanging from the ceiling. There’s soft jazz coming from the speaker in the living room and candles lit everywhere. The whole scenery is directly from her pinterest board, something she wouldn’t tell Harry about because she knew he’d try his best on recreating it and she just wants him to do whatever he wants.

She can’t help but to smile lovingly at the effort he’s put into this. She makes her way inside and follows the trail of rose petal leaves on the floor, leading her into their bedroom. The door is opened and allows her to see the inside, more rose petals leading up to the bed and stops in the shape of a big  heart and Harry stands beside it. He’s holding a bouquet of roses, all of them in different colors, with several pink ribbons wrapped around them and a bright smile on his face. He’s dressed handsomely, a white button down shirt with the first three buttons undone to showcase a bit of his chest and his swallow tattoos, a pair of black pants and his hair beautifully styled. 

“Hi, my love.” He says and she smiles at him, soft and lovingly. 

“Hi, baby. What’s all this?” She asks and he shrugs. 

“It’s Valentine’s. Did you think I wouldn’t do anything for my girl?” He says as he walks over to her. She can’t help the heat that runs to her cheeks as she watches him. He softly takes the basket from her hands and kisses her forehead softly. 

“What’s this?” He asks and she smiles shyly. 

“Your valentine’s day gift.” She says and he shakes his head as he continues to smile brightly.

“Thank you, baby, but you didn’t have to. I appreciate you thinking of me, but you will always be my present for every holiday. You’re all I need.”

[spacecowboyhotch]

Boundless Ch 1: The Rigid Hunter

summary: he’s looking for her— hunting her.

pairing: witch hunter!marc spector x witch!reader

contents: enemies to lovers, mentions of murder/torture, marc is a broken asshole, injury, blood mention

gif credit: @perotovar

wc: 2.4k

an: welcome to the boundless universe! i’ve really enjoyed writing this so far, i love the concept. i’d really love to build it together, so if anyone has any questions, thoughts, headcanons swirling around in your brains please feel free to come talk to me about these two! i hope that y’all like this and i’m excited to hear your feelings on it. 🤍

boundless masterlist | moonknight masterlist

Marc remembers the day he found out the legends were true. Say your prayers, lock your doors, and sprinkle your salt because they’re out there. Witches and wizards walk the streets looking for opportunities to spread pain and suffering. They look like us, and talk like us. But they can’t feel like us, love like us, care like us.

He was 10 years old the first time he witnessed the violence that comes with being in his family . He watched with horror as his parents tied up one of his teachers. She spewed nonsense, objects flew, and fires burned. Each hunter chose their weapons and that day he’d watched his parents use daggers he thought were for show.

He was afraid at first. He didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to be violent like her— like his mother. And though eventually he had succumbed to violence, realizing that there was no way to fight it, that it was in his blood, he always vowed that he would be different. Despite his disdain for witches, he has never been ruthless. He has always killed them quickly, painlessly with mercy, never been one to taunt them as they meet their deaths.

Today, almost 20 years later, Marc’s crossbow is slung over his shoulders, one of his hands resting over the dagger on his hip as he slowly makes his way through the forest. He’s hypervigilant and jumpy, eyes roaming the greenery that fades into orange and yellow and red. He’s ready to defend himself at the drop of a hat.

He’s looking for her— hunting her. The full moon is tonight, and witches always flock to their dens, charging their crystals, infusing their spells with the magic of the celestial being. Her den and a handful of others are in these woods, just on the outskirts of a camping resort so as not to draw too much suspicion. Time and time again witches fail with anonymity— he and his family follow the breadcrumbs they leave and pick them off one by one.

He’s looking for her darkness. He’ll know it when he sees it, he’s seen many dens and killed more witches than he can count. They surround themselves with smoke and blood and evil. This one will go down just like all the others, he’s sure. She’ll be just as vile, conniving. Just as eager to beg for her life when he lines the tip of an arrow up with her eyes. Emotionless and self-serving with a heart that bleeds black.

It’s easy to get distracted by the sights around him. He loves autumn, the symbolism of how even as an organism fails and dies, there’s beauty to be found. It gives him the hope that maybe there’s something to be found in him too despite all he’s been through.

There’s something soothing in the sound of leaves crunching beneath the weight of his boots. There’s a waterfall in the distance that feeds into the creek he’s following. Where there’s water, there’s life.

He continues up the stream, noticing the remnants of a paper sailboat coated in wax tangled in some brush on the bank. He bends to pick it up, noticing words sprawled across the side.

Sail under Hecate’s moon.

The words heighten his senses— she’s close, within walking distance of the area. And while that can mean a wide variety of things, Marc is prepared for the worst, to walk miles and miles if he has to. Standing quickly his eyes scan the area, wary of her. There is no one to be found, not an inkling of life in his sights so he carries on.

He nearly makes it to the waterfall when across the creek he hears the rustle of leaves and his heart lurches in his chest. No matter how many times he faces a witch, there’s always the unpredictable— they could have anything up their sleeves. Thousands of spells and enchantments and potions, each one more horrible than the next. His hands slick with sweat reach back, drawing his crossbow to line up with his sight.

Deer.

Two of them make their way to the bank, bending to drink, paying him no mind. His heartbeat slows and shakes his head, letting out a silent sigh of relief as he lowers the bow.

Marc’s eyes return to the waterfall that’s a short distance in front of him. He could simply go around, and walk a short distance so that he could get to the top of it at a steady incline. But that would be too easy for him. He was taught to never take the easy way, that anything that holds weight in this life is a challenge. It must be difficult for it to mean anything in his mother’s eyes. He still doesn’t quite understand why after all this time, her opinions have a hold on him. He bats the thoughts of her away as he eyes the rocks to the left of the waterfall’s mouth.

They are damp sure, but not completely slick and unclimbable. The summit of the waterfall is much higher than it looked far away, but he thinks nothing of it as he steps forward and begins to climb. The hood of his cape falls as he puts one hand above another, exposing his dark curls.

A bush behind him rattles and he glances over his shoulder, eyes going wide as he realizes how vulnerable he is right now. There’s nothing he could do if he were to face her now, this high up is too far of a jump to do it safely. The best course of action is to finish the climb, it’ll grant him a better vantage point to get his bearings and height is always an advantage in combat. But when Marc turns around, looking up to his goal, there’s a crow— the largest crow he’s ever seen in his life, cawing loudly in his face. He’s startled, losing his grip on the rocks, feet slipping as they try to find purchase and he falls, grunting as he hears his flesh and bone tearing and cracking before he goes unconscious.

When Marc wakes sometime later, he hurts all over. There’s a splitting ache in his head, and a pain much sharper and dangerous sitting in his leg. He can handle pain, he’s been trained his whole life, day in and day out to handle much more than a slip in some gnarly wood. He blinks up to the trees, taking shallow breaths. If he can just lay here and gather his strength he should be able to get up.

What would his mother say if she could see him? All the things she said all his life, he imagines. Baseless shouts of this is not his calling, that he was meant to weld or harvest or research. That his attempts at living for Randall are in vain. Like he wasn’t bred for this. Like the mistakes he made has tainted his blood, taking away his right to hunt.

He tries to sit up and pain screams in his side. Had he broken some ribs? He lays back again, trying to get enough air to his brain so he doesn’t pass out again. His attempts are futile and soon, he drifts out again.

Somewhere in his mind, he can hear the graceful patter of feet near him. He feels when he is picked up by something as large as it is fluffy. A wolf maybe, taking him back to her cubs for a meal. He wonders if it would be such a bad way to go if it meant he’d never see his mother again.

A little while later his surroundings change. He’s somewhere soft and warm. Everything inside him is on edge. His instincts tell him that he’s unsafe, that he must get up and go, but his body is in no state to do so. He can’t even open his eyes, can’t speak a word, let alone take any steps.

Something—someone guides his head up, tipping a cup to his mouth. “Drink this,” A soft voice says to him gently.

He wants to resist but he’s weak to this person’s will. Whoever it is pours a steady stream of the liquid down his throat. It’s thick, warm, and tastes like black currants, mint and citrus. His body goes a little numb, relaxing further into the bed he’s laid in.

His pain waxes and wanes even as he sleeps. Though he isn't conscious, sometimes can feel the way his body cries and aches. He can feel the heat of healing, feel his muscles and bones scraping against each other as they slowly move back into place. He’s grateful for the braviety, happy to sink into a deeper place of unconsciousness, to run from the discomfort.

Marc wakes gradually. He first wiggles his toes, feeling the numbness in his right leg. He taps his fingers softly, enjoying the fullness of whatever bed he lies in. He tries to stretch his neck but he’s quite stiff and decides to just open his eyes. To do the inevitable and face his reality. When his eyes open, he frowns at the sight of paper boats hanging from the ceiling.

Paper boats, covered in wax, sailing under Hecate’s moon.

Marc knows right away where he is. He’s too warm. He can smell moss. The room glows from the outside in, candles lit but somehow he still feels the darkness. Maybe it is the deep dark reds and purples of her linens and furniture. Maybe it’s the white wolf that sits near the fireplace, eyes as dark as the night sky as it watches him. Or maybe the sense of dread as he takes in his surroundings, as he realizes he’s been made. He tenses, turning his head until his eyes meet hers.

Marc’s mouth drops open, going dry. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen— her soft mouth raised in a smile, her eyes clever. There are no words, just sensations that contradict each other. He feels wonky like his body can’t decide if he wants to stay or go. His brain tells him that he should fight, that he should leave. His heart pounds loudly in his chest as adrenaline builds. But in the pit of his stomach, there is nothing but ease as he looks into her eyes. All of this leaves him utterly confused and then some.

When he continues to stare at her quietly, she says, “You’re awake.”

He’s in the witch’s den and here she is, smiling down at him because she’s got him in her grasp. He’s not sure why she hasn’t killed him yet. He should be more afraid. He should kill her.

Where’s his weapon?

“Don’t. I don’t want to hurt you. Or paralyze you, drug you— maim you. Especially after fixing you up, I’d be destroying all my work,” She muses playfully, looking down into her book.

Marc’s eyes go wide with shock. Is she being funny?

“You know who I am,” He states, ignoring the way his heart starts to beat more quickly.

She nods, looking up from the pages, “The sigil on the crossbow made it pretty obvious.”

“You saved me anyway.”

“The wolves would’ve eaten you alive.”

“That would’ve been better than being taken hostage and killed by a witch.”

“You aren’t taken hostage— I’ve nursed you back to health. If I wanted you dead I wouldn’t waste my energy. I would’ve watched them feast,” She says matter of factly.

“Spoken like a true witch,” Marc scoffs.

She narrows her eyes at him, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know everything about you. My whole life is about you. Your kind,” He corrects.

“News flash Spector, I’m just as human as you are.”

“You might look human but our hearts don’t beat the same. You’re a monster, it’s in your blood.”

His words punch her in the gut. She knows that witch hunters are cruel, she’s been taught that all her life. Spell writing, potion brewing, ingredient harvesting, and the all-important learning to murder witch hunters in any and every fashion. There are many rules to be followed in witchcraft— regardless of one’s craft or coven but the most important of them?

If you see one, there should be one less in the world.

She knows they’re raised to hate her as much as she’s raised to hate them. But the hate never stuck. It was drowned in curiosity, in a yearning for peace and understanding. Because how dare she want to live a life that is fruitful and soft. How dare she see the humanity in them. She blows out a breath, eyes raising to the ceiling as she tries to keep her tears in. Even as her heart aches, it roars, begging to retaliate. Begging to lash out and hurt him. She ignores that urge like she always does, wiping at her eyes.

He sees the way her tears twinkle in the soft candlelight— she truly is beautiful. He quickly bats the thought away again. Beauty can only run so deep in her, she is a witch after all. It stops at the surface, he knows that. But, he feels bad for making her cry. She’s a witch, the bloodsucker of the human race. He shouldn’t care if she lives or dies, let alone if she cries. But before he can think better of it, an apology sits on his tongue. He doesn’t get the chance to say it.

“You’d prefer to be alone,” She sets down her grimoire and stands, reaching for a cloak that’s hung on the wall. “I’ll go to look for matching wood to repair your crossbow, part of it broke during your fall. Don’t try anything stupid, your leg is still setting.”

The white wolf that hasn’t taken its eyes off of him makes growls under its breath and Marc glares.

“Neither of us is going to hurt you. She simply wants you to be kinder to me. How a wolf knows that and you don’t….” She clicks her tongue in scolding, turning to look at the wolf, “Come along, Nimbus.”

He watches them leave, letting out a deep breath when he’s finally alone. He’s still confused. He doesn't understand her.

Kinder to her? She must not understand their dynamic— she must be out of her mind. That much is clear since she’d brought him back to her den to help him instead of killing him. Could he really trust that? A witch so unstable? She could’ve brought him here to nurse him back to health for a challenge, all to kill him again. That makes more sense, that aligns with all of his previous experiences. There must be ulterior motives for why she’s brought him here. He won’t fall into this trap.

let me know if you'd like to be tagged (18+ only)!

boundless taglist: @campingwiththecharmings, @grogusmum, @ninebluehearts, @mdnigts

[monaisdark]

KEN x READER

➵ cws; f!reader, noncon, misogyny, talk of virginities, unrequited feelings, slight thoughts of death at very end, reader is a doll, bad ken :( ➵ a/n; ken is definitely ooc but idc i need him carnally. wrote this so fast after seeing the movie (amazing btw) spoilers be warned!!! p.s inbox is open ^^

Barbie's plan is in motion, and it seems like everything is going perfectly. Dolls are getting un-brainwashed left and right, including you. The moment you snap out of your trance and look down to see the incredibly small pink skirt and lace top dawning on your body, you can’t ever believe you agreed to wear that when Beach Ken gave it to you from Stereotypical Barbie’s wardrobe.

Ken. The one who started this mess. The one had you serving brewski beers and listening to long explanations on stuff you pretended to care about. A certain emotion pooled in your would-be stomach.

The Ken you used to watch pine after Barbie so deeply, the one that you always tried to console when Barbie rejected his advances. Now he’s taken over her house; well, Barbieland in general. How could he?

As Stereotypical Barbie hugs and welcomes you back as you leave the van, a thought pipes in your head. Maybe he’s doing this because Barbie doesn’t want him. She was so headstrong, front and center in every party she hosted, her smile iconic in every way imaginable. And Ken… was always on the side. Whenever he danced with you at her parties, his eyes were glued to her.

It hits you, he thinks this will work. That maybe she’ll turn around and jump into his arms once she notices what a big, strong, man he is. It won’t work and you know. But, he doesn’t. 

A Barbie fills you in on what they’re doing, and how they want you to distract Beach Ken as long as possible while they round up more Barbies to un-brainwash them. Telling you how it’s perfect since he had you around a lot and he’ll be none the wiser to realize everything that’s happening.

♡♡♡

“Hi, Ken!” You exclaimed as he let you into his dojo mojo casa house. “Hi, (Y/N)!” A smile framed his face once he saw you. The artificial-looking moon hovered in the sky as a quiet hum surrounded you in the empty neighborhood.

“I was looking for you, how come you aren’t with everyone at the bonfire on the beach?” His face seemed to drop but he didn’t let go of his macho persona. “Wasn’t feelin’ it. Rather…” He thought for a second, “Watch horses. Y’know. Man things.”

You nodded, “Oh, yeah! Love all these horses you have around.” It clicked that he was avoiding things, avoiding Barbie. He wanted so desperately for her to come to his door. For her to come to him. Instead, it was you who knocked and stood in her clothes. 

He huffed thanks and sat on the couch, you following beside him as he stared at a white horse gallop loop on the screen in front of both of you. It was obvious he was still bothered by his situation. A pang of sympathy left at the tip of your tongue, “Are you okay?”

This seemed to stir something in Ken, the air felt thick. “What am I doing wrong?” His voice was low. So quiet that you were almost sure it was like he didn’t want you to hear him.

But you did and you felt… bad for him. You grabbed his hands that laid on his lap with one of yours, “Ken, you can’t make something that won’t happen, happen.”

He brought his eyes from the TV to now stare at you. His blue eyes held something brooding behind them, but it didn’t deter you from continuing. “Some Barbies don’t have a Ken. Not everyone is made to follow a set of expectations, like how there’s one Alan… or me.” You trail off to include yourself, hoping he sees how you understand him.

“What I’m saying is, it’s okay that Barbie doesn’t want to be with you. I’m sure there’s more for you out here. Someone for you.” You tighten the soft grip you have on his hands to show comfort. 

His face is almost unreadable, an uncomfortable silence echoes in the living room as you wonder if you messed up in trying to help. His hands now grasped yours, although a lot tighter than you’d liked. Ken chuckled, but it carried a sense of something you couldn't quite place.

“I’m an idiot!” His voice finally booms to break the silence in the house, “You’re right. You’re right. I don’t need her.” You would’ve been more optimistic in helping with his realization of independency but the grip he had on your hand was starting to hurt.

“I’ve spent so long trying to make her notice me, but why would I need her when I have you?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to stand but he immediately brought you back down on the couch.

“No, no. That's not what I meant, listen to me–” He inched closer to you, using his strength to pin you down on the large couch. “No, you’re supposed to listen to me.” Betrayal, sadness, fear. So many emotions you weren’t used to swirled inside of you. 

“You’re perfect, y’know? I’ve been thinking about this, us. I wasn’t sure but the way you’ve been by my side all this time, so ready to make me feel better.” He speaks as one of his hands leaves your wrists to dough at your breasts through your lace top.

“So happy to follow me around with bewski beers and to wear the cute little outfits I picked out for you. Dare I say, you look better than Barbie in them.” A dark laugh left his lips, the contrast making your stomach turn as he ignored your small pleas for him to let you go. “Now I see so clearly. We should’ve been together all this time! Ken and (Y/N). I like the sound of that more.” 

You weren’t sure why your chest seemed to pound, or your mouth felt dry, or why tears pricked in your eyes. This wasn’t meant to happen. “What– what are you doing?” You felt almost twice as small as you normally were, wishing your body would shrink and wiggle out of his grasp.

His hand trailed from your chest to under your skirt, between your legs. A gasp left you when he rubbed the foreign part of you covered by a thin underwear.

“The books I’ve read said this,” His hand gave you an oddly warm sensation down there, “It’s important for us to be together. To make you mine.” Suddenly he spread your legs apart to peel down your underwear.

You’re terrified to move, not even noticing that there wasn’t a grip on your wrists anymore. His demeanor alone was enough to keep you down. 

You knew what you had down there, a vagina, and you knew Ken had a penis. Though everyone in Barbieland had one or the other, nobody acknowledged it. It wasn’t something that was shunned per se, but it was like how some dolls had breasts and other’s didn’t. The peak of anything suggestive was making out, and even that disinterested you.

Now, whatever Ken is doing, is making you feel as if you're about to melt. His fingers circle around your entrance and you don’t even get enough time to get used to that feeling before he pulls away and starts lowering down his joggers to free his aching cock. His stupid faux mink coat already having been long discarded right next to your underwear. 

His breathing is heavy, “That should be good, right? You’re ready now? For the sex?” Ken stares at your flushed state with lidded eyes, “I can’t wait anymore. Don’t worry, it should feel amazing!”

You have no idea what he’s talking about. He’s kissing you now, loud moans leave his lips as he sinks into you. Pain. It hurts so bad. Whatever he said about being ready, you definitely weren’t.

The stretching tears you apart and you’re unsure if the burn will ever go away. Ken’s body lays on top of you, a blubbering mess. “Ah, ah, this– this is great, so good.” 

So many feelings overwhelm you in a way that it makes you want just to scream. Hate. Hate is the strongest one. You guys used to be good friends. Everything used to be right. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. You can only repeat that in your head once he starts to thrust into you. 

“Y-you’re mine, aren’t you? Ah– I, I took your virginity. That means, agh– that means you have to stay with me.” His voice mixes in with the sound of his skin slapping into yours, he says something about patriarchy and virginities. He’s claimed you, as the book says. 

You wonder how long this is going to last, you’re pretty sure he’s feeling amazing, but all you feel is an ache. The pain travels up and down your body as all you can do is whimper weak cries. “(Y/N), ah-- I love you.” Ken’s thrusting faster, trailing kisses down your jawline. “Say it back, (Y/N).” 

No, you can’t and you won’t. Ken keeps moaning and saying he loves you over and over again. Each time it’s like he expects you to respond with the same thing back, you don’t. It doesn’t stop him though, his movements become more and more messy. You think he’s getting tired when a harsh snap of his hips with an especially loud moan takes your breath away. A new feeling. Full. 

Again, you didn’t know what just happened. A confused sob is finally let out once you catch your breath, “Ken, what did you do?” You hope he understands you through your choked breaths.

He ignores you, taking sight at the mess he just made. White cum drips out of you, a beautiful scene. “Oh, (Y/N). I wish you can see how perfect you look right now.” His hug around your body is suffocating, "I'm so excited for us to do so many new things tonight."

The new thought of dying creeps into your mind. 

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @imogenkol and @thesingularityseries thank you both <3

Got a few things i'm working on right now, I am all over the place with my WIPs lately. But first some art:

On vacation this week and with the little in preschool I can delve into some major line art with this piece because I have the time and the patience. (saved the weapons for very last because I hate the intricacy of them and the body armour took enough time) Thinking this one will likely stay grey scale rather than color.

And some writing, a little snippet from the end of chapter 1 of "Penumbra" aka the Ladyhawke AU:

Dusk begins to settle, the sun fading through the shivering oak leaves that rustle in the wind. Striations of coral and tangerine blend like watercolours in the sky, dripping into one another as the trees darken into silhouette in the foreground. The last calls of the birds are a witness to the coming night and Price’s hackles begin to rise. He’s on edge, a common occurrence the closer the moon comes to rising. He needs a place to settle, to rest, travel can wait once more for the harsh light of the sun.

“We’ll make camp,” he says offhandedly, over his shoulder to his newest companion, the first one who can actually answer back in years. 

Pulling on the reins he slows Nikolai’s gallop to a saunter as they look for a clearing, and through a thicket of trees, an old serfdom farm comes into view. In the falling darkness it’s hard to tell whether the farm is in a worthwhile state or whether it's worn to nothing but rotted wood, there’s little else around for shelter and the prickle of his nerves down his spine and his clenching knuckles tell Price there’s no point in looking further, time won’t wait any longer for him. The closer they get it's easy to see that the roofs of every structure have caved inwards from the deluge of rain received in the winter, shingles crumbling, walls splintered and bowing under the pressure of standing stable without any upkeep. They’ll make do for one night, carrying on in the morning. Tying Nikolai to the nearest sturdy oak tree, Price unloads the pan and pot for cooking, ordering Garrick to go collect the firewood. 

Alone at camp, he unloads the final saddle bag, pulling the tiny lamb from inside it and cradling it in his strong arms. A calloused finger caresses the underside of the animal’s chin as large eyes stare up at him. Heart squeezing in his chest, his brow furrows as he looks down at the little being in his arms, so totally reliant on him. He wishes he was deserving of the trust she gives him – he knows he’s not. 

Carrying his most prized possession over to the barn, Price places the woolly creature down on the cloak he has draped on the hay for her. A large hand that covers nearly the entire head of the lamb strokes softly, his thumb drifting upwards along the snout against the soft wool between dark mirror-like eyes. “Rest well, my girl,” he whispers in a husk. His armour sits tight on him as muscles begin to expand and shift with the coming night, as the first stars begin to twinkle his chest swells and his back wants to hunch. He hates this in-between stage, where he can feel himself slipping away, losing himself to an instinct that isn’t even his own – everything that makes the man falls by the wayside as the silver light of moonglow threatens to overwhelm the dying sun. Stripping himself of his last vestiges of clothing, folding them neatly, handling them with the pride and respect they deserved, he packs them away. Left bare, the chill of the night settling into the scars on his skin and the patches of hair that start to sprout from him, he looks over at the little lamb resting curled up. He sighs, knowing the time will come where once more he’ll have only a fleeting moment with her. A sight for sore eyes that lasts for a fraction of a second before they are once more separated. It never gets any easier, a constant burden that follows him – Always together, forever apart. 

The sun finally dips down, darkness blanketing the world and crickets begin to chirp as the quiet of night takes the helm, and before him as he reaches out his hand, watching it transform into a massive paw with black sickled claws, stands the woman he’s been aching for every day for the last five years. Unable to touch her, his heart pounds in his chest and he could nearly weep at the sight of her beauty. It’s his fault they’re trapped like this, he’s done this to her, and he could scream at the curse that hangs over their head like the executioner’s axe. She’s his whole reason for living and this is what they’ve been reduced to: a yearning that can never be ended, a lifetime of heartbreak, a loss worse than death.

But the pain relieves itself, because in the blink of an eye he is no longer a man.

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[pupyr0arz]

mermaid!soap x ghost. Unfinished Drabble.

He speaks thrice a week. He has it down to the ticking of the clock in his hut, the one source of noise down there by the rocks aside the wave and the braver sea-birds. Every Monday when the sun crests the horizon he takes the long path down to the docks and stops by Price’s inn. He greets him with a fatherly grunt and a comment about the weather, cautious and concerned. 

He doesn’t listen to any of Price’s warnings of bad weather, and Price knows it too. 

Wednesday is the next time he hears his voice, when he takes the catch in. Gaz comes by and if he didn’t count the handful of responses he gave it still would because he speaks for an entire village. Tells him what feels like every detail of every man, woman and child’s business up and down the country. Trots beside him on the fussy beast of a creature he calls a horse and sticks like a burr to his backside all throughout the afternoon. Gaz minds his business when it comes to him, though.

The third and final time is in the dead of night. He walks up the craggy path with a lantern and waits for the moon to rise to light it. He settles on his knees in front of the gravestones, carved deep and true so their names don’t fade for years, and he talks. Inanities, comments and jokes, the happening around town. Old and new, he speaks and speaks and speaks until his throat bleeds and his knees cramp and he nearly tumbles off the cliff when he gets up at dawn. It’s a long ranting, raving speech, he’s sure he’d look entirely mad to anyone stupid enough to follow him up there. He doesn’t let them get a word in edgewise, but it burns in his head nonetheless as he makes his way down, unsteady as a fawn.

Mum wouldn’t be happy at all, she’d be right cross. She was never a fiery woman though, all sad-eyed looks and mournful sighs when she found wrong in the world. She’d fuss over the state of the hut and sit by his bedside, offering wet rags like he’s a lad and sick with a fever like she always did when she wanted to help him. She’d fuss about all of this silence, the loneliness of the ocean. She never did like it when he went quiet as a youth, saying that nothing was worse for the head than filling it full of thoughts left to rot. She’d wanted better for him then, wanted him to go to the city and find work there, leave the craggy cliffs that scraped the sea with their claws and left the great widow-maker to her own devices. She’d wanted him to take that butchery apprenticeship and pack away, leave behind the salt and spray rather than be one of the many non-people to sink among the waves.

Tommy would just be pissing mad, that is. He had their fathers temper, both of them  when had to admit to himself in the quiet of the night. Tommy’s only flared brighter and hotter because he struck out at the world first, clawed at it for his place. Ever the older brother, determined to be the first. He had wanted out since the moment he heard of the city at all. He would’ve been miserable here.

He tries not to let it taint his days. It’s a losing battle, but his trade has settled in his bones now. He wakes and sleeps by the sounds of the tide and he’ll find himself at dawn with the taste of salt in his mouth. He keeps his boat towards the southernmost end, where the sea is as still as stone most days, silent quartz mirror broken by the gentlest of ripples. It reflects him, smoothing the turmoil in his head into quiet nothingness, clouds a blip on the surface of the water. Not once does he dip a finger in. There’s nothing under that calm surface but danger, he knows better than to try it.

He’s not married, and isn't interested in any of the girls that float though or anchor themselves in town. They don’t approach him often, eyeing him with caution. Better odds on picking the humble, inviting town boys than the silent, scarred fisherman. It doesn’t change a thing to him, even if Gaz and Price prod at him every once in a while.

Life is as it is, cyclic, endless in repetition, formation of a thousand possibilities in lockstep. The sun rises, yellow disc carelessly spilling over onto the ocean, flames at the bottom of his boat. The moon rises, perched high in the sky and watching over the rippling grasses. His name loses meaning, and he becomes that loss. Rumors rise and fall. Calm weather and storms trade turns, finding him unmoving as the cliff-stone.

It’s a silent day when the cyclic abruptly crawls to a halt. When the still, silent and waters of Ghost’s soul finds itself parted abruptly, tugged into a fierce upheaval. It comes without warning, without sense, swifter than any arrowhead and sharper than his knife. The apathy that colors his eyes vanishes when they meet his, all blues and greens like the ocean fed a bit of herself into two jewels and placed them for anyone to take in his head. It’s replaced so fast, Ghost doesn’t even notice. He doesn’t miss it, either.

One nameless day, the blue sheen of the water is cut by something, a foreign color that shimmers beneath the surface. He doesn’t recognize it immediately, that catches his eye more than any of its unusual features, blurred beneath the ripples of murky  water and the shadow cast by his boat. It’s slow moving, placid, then it thrashes once the net covers it, but Ghost is used to being jerked around and bites down on his tongue and digs his heel in, cursing to himself as he hauls it’s struggling form inch by inch. It’s almost respectable how violently it fights for its life. 

“I swear on the lord,” he snaps, twisting the net around his hands, the rope biting into his skin sharply, “I will gut you and eat you right bloody here right now, no matter how much you cost.” 

That is novelty enough, the fourth time already breaking the ritual, the strange appearance of the thing in his net that seems more wide-fins and shiny scales wrapped up in a ball than any sort of dish he knows, but then at the sound of his rough cracking voice it stills Ike a frightened rabbit. He nearly falls over from the sudden slack before he recovers.

The net spills open onto the deck, the mistake suddenly so minuscule Ghost forgets the net even exists as the catch flops onto the deck. It’s no fish he’s ever heard of, no eight armed man eating beast that idiot Graves once bragged about catching himself.

It looks almost like a man, almost, head and hair and hands even, but it’s body extends, serpentine and scaled like a fish. It glistens with copper red scales and bright blues, fins sprouting from its skin like any other creature from the sea. 

It looks up at Ghost, wide-eyed. Crystal blue, like sea-glass and the stones the town-men brought back from travels to adorn their brides throats, soft lips and nose.

The first thought, which is less of anything in any coherent language and more of an urge that builds in Ghost’s bones and tugs deep within him at his navel, is that he wants to touch it, cup its face into his hands and trace the contours of skin and scales and the boundaries where they blend and dance together. The second thought is that it’s trying to pull itself overboard. 

The third thought is lost when he leaps forwards to bind it, cut off amid the clumsy scuffle.