#clinging to nothing but what gravity forces me to

[jojoturnip]

A response to a mother at war, the poem of a friend:

You think of things so cosmically, don't you? I'm not surprised. I've seen your poetry of angels and your notebooks brimming over with theories of the world to compile into your games and campaigns.

There is no problem with that. Maybe that's a part of why I'm drawn to you and others who do the same. I like deep thinkers. I'd like to consider myself one.

There's nothing wrong with having your head in the clouds but don't forget you stand on earth.

I've been asked to hold a science writing workshop for another university's students who want to put science on the ballot (go them!!), so I've been thinking of some of my best writing advice. One piece I think of constantly when I write I found a long time ago scrolling through Pinterest:

"Don't write about the Holocaust. Write about the pair of children's shoes left behind in the street as they were taken away."

That one resonates with me a lot. Maybe it's the Jewish fear. I think it's more than that, though.

I, too, have been torn apart and eaten by the cosmos. I was punctured by the points of stars that promised to light the way. I have known and loved the darkness of man, the darkness of voids. I saw the big picture before I knew what it was.

It isn't pretty. Stepping back and looking at the timeline of my life, it isn't pretty.

Come look closer with me, though. Do you see that smudge? That's where my sister and I used to spray men's shaving cream at each other in the backyard when it was too hot to play like normal in the desert. Oh wait, no, look at this one, it's me hanging up my first houseplant, a rabbit footed fern. Does this one of me playing Minecraft with my cousin even look like me anymore?

No, no, this one you should see. You'll remember it. I had invited my sister, my roommates, my creative writing friends, and you all to the award ceremony for my literary award. You came with me, no one else did. Did you see how close to crying I am? Not from sadness even, just joy that you were there and supported me even though you didn't understand and it wasn't your thing. You were just there.

Don't think me stupid for finding that joy, my friend. The connections of the universe may be hard to conceptualize, but the constellations look nice. Did you hear we're supposed to be able to see the Aurora tonight?

Stepping back, I see all the pain and suffering that you do. And it's true that it overpowers the rest. But isn't it lonely up there? Only seeing the big picture and none of the details that make it worth painting?

I'm no artist. Or ethics professor. I'm not the one to tell you what's right and what isn't.

I study life. Both in botany and in writing. And I'm convinced, even after all the ugly I have pulled my rubber boots up from to stay afloat, that life is beautiful.

My bus driver always waves to other bus drivers we pass. But, when we come across a bus on the same route going the opposite direction, I see the flash of toothy smiles and special waves and salutes, like secret best-friend handshakes. My coworker dug a digital camera out of someone else's trash so I could use it to take pictures of my niece. The girl I complimented in the coffee shop today on her leather jacket beamed and told me how she was pretending it was warmer than it really was.

One of my favorite quotes comes from a source almost as odd as Pinterest, Norman Borlaug's biography. He's the father of the green revolution, and credited with saving more lives than any other person. I read it as a Borlaug Scholar in high school, and it was mostly dry. But he talked about his grandfather a bit, who said,

"Don't look for God in the sky. Look for him in the ground. That's where things grow."

Some of the tulips in the horticulture garden are planted above a hot water pipe, and the soil is warm enough for them to bloom early. They always come up short and have purple anthocyanin stress marks on their leaves, but people stop by to see the early flowers anyway.

I understand where you are, up in the universe, seemingly above it all but feeling swallowed by the vacuum. There's a beauty in that, too, in having a mind that can untangle dark matter. So I'm not here to change you.

But I also know your feet are as gravity-striken as mine. Welcome to Earth, my friend, come dig in the dirt with me. We can find earthworms and seeds and a thousand lives too small for us to see. It does not take away from the big picture, or the acknowledgement of your pain to pay them notice.

I brought you an extra trowel, but I cannot help you find god or hope or love or whatever it is people dig for. You have to want it. Then you have to dig for it.

I'm just digging next to you.

[ceoofyearning]

Say Yes to Heaven - Lucien

Pairing: Lucien × Reader

Summary: You find the bed empty upon waking up. Bundled in your blanket, you head out to find Lucien and demand that he warm you up.

Tags & Warnings: Fluff, suggestive but nothing explicit (if i miss anything, let me know)

Word Count: 1077

Links: Masterlist

Sunight creeps languidly through the heavy drapes, heralding the persistent call of the waking world. The day has come, and in minutes, the entire room is bathed in golden light. You’re forced to relinquish the last dregs of sleep clinging to you. You roll over expecting to find Lucien beside you, only to see that his side of the bed is empty. You run your palm over the sheets and find them still warm.

With one last stretch, you pull yourself out of the bed and onto your feet. You wrap the blanket tightly around your shoulders, not ready to give up their warm embrace just yet. The manor is deathly quiet as you pad through the hallways as if the rest of the world is as reluctant to wake too. The persistent chill of winter remains in the air, the tiles as cool as ice beneath your feet. The blanket trails on the floor behind you, and you can already imagine the legendary scolding Jurian would give you if he were to catch you. You imagine Vassa would only laugh at you, if she wasn't too busy being a bird.

Thankfully, no such altercations occur, and you find Lucien sitting in the library, busy reading what you assume are reports from Prythian. He’s lounging by the fire, clad only in his rumpled, unbuttoned tunic and plain trousers. His legs are carelessly spread, his cheek resting on his hand - the picture of relaxed nonchalance. Lucien wears finery like a fine suit of armor, his bravado like a sword secured at his hip, and it’s rare to see him so unguarded, so candid. When he spots you, all bundled up, by the door, a bemused expression makes its way across his face.

“You left,” you sniff indignantly.

His only response to your complaint is a smirk. So you pad deeper into the room until you're standing in between his legs. The smug look on his face only seems to grow at the increased proximity.

“Why?” He asks. “Did you miss me?” Lucien’s eyes trail down your body with deliberate slowness, stalling over your exposed thighs. His hand comes up to grasp the side of your hip, a movement made instinctually, naturally, as though his existence only makes sense when you’re there, with him.

You don’t deign to respond, but you let him pull you onto his lap. He wraps his arms around you, tucking you under his chin as he continues to read. You sink onto him, enjoying the heat that perpetually radiates off his body. He’s basically a sentient furnace, your love. Your hands trail beneath his shirt and he jolts the moment your cold hands make contact with his skin.

“Mother’s tits, you’re freezing.” He exclaims, wiggling in his seat.

“Because you left,” you retort, running your hands languidly over his back. Goosebumps rise in the wake of your touch. “This is your doing, miscreant.”

Lucien cackles but recovers. “Apologies, my lady,” Lucien says with exaggerated gravity, his hand over his chest. “I’m adequately chastised. I’ll be sure never to abandon you in bed again.”

“You better,” you threaten, trying to fight the smile from emerging on your lips. “Or else I’ll find someone else to warm my bed.”

Lucien stiffens, holding you tighter against him as if readying to fight off anyone who dares to draw near. With his hand on your chin, he lifts your head to meet his gaze.

“What was that?” He speaks, something dangerous lingering in the depths of his words.

You raise your brow in challenge. “I said, if you keep leaving me I’ll find-“

He shuts you up with his lips on yours, but it’s a soft fragile thing. His lips move against yours like the back and forth of a waltz. Lucien pulls you tighter into his embrace, enveloping you in the scent of sandalwood, cinnamon, and smoke. You melt against him and think that you could stay like this forever, as long as you’re with him. You want to lay here even as the world cracks and burns around you, until the both of you are covered in ivy, moss, and memory.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Lucien deepens the kiss. Your lips willingly part for him and he licks into your mouth, eager for a taste. His hands are molten against your skin, kneading the pliant flesh of your hips from where your nightgown has ridden up. You can feel his chest expand as he inhales your scent as if reminding himself that you’re with him, in this moment, and there you will remain until your body gives out from the force of loving him.

Eventually, the two of you have to break the kiss. Just there, his forehead on yours, breathing the other in. Idly, you tap your finger over the freckles on his chest, parsing them like constellations in the night sky. You wonder what prophecies you’d be able to divine in the shapes they take. You press a kiss on the freckle over his beating heart, and Lucien shudders beneath your touch.

You move to the wealth of freckles spread across his cheek, over his nose, then on his chin. Lucien pretends to be preoccupied with the reports, but it’s a losing battle. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, and you plant a soft, chaste kiss at the upturned corner. You kiss him like he’s an object of worship, and only your heart, your body, your whole being would be a worthy sacrifice.

“Is that the only thanks I get for being your sentient, walking furnace?” He teases, brow arched, but not unkindly. “Threats and a few kisses?” Beams of sunlight hit his face like a lattice of amber, accentuating his sharp features, and setting his russet eye ablaze. And it strikes you just how damn pretty he is, scars and all.

“I’d prefer it if my sentient furnace did not walk away at all,” you retort, raising your brow in turn.

“Ungrateful,” he teases, even as he begins to trail tender kisses over your neck. “You’re lucky I adore you, dearly.”

You huff, pretending his words haven’t set you aflame in a way only he can.

“I suppose,” you begin, tapping your finger over your chin. “I could be persuaded to thank you properly if you go back to bed with me.”

Lucien glances at the report and pretends to consider it for three whole seconds, before setting it down the table with finality. He smiles, as bright as the sun, beautiful, blinding, yours.

“Let's go then,” he says, as he easily carries you back to your room.

AN:

Hello! I’m new to this fandom & I’d love to hear your thoughts. 💙

i’ve been so obsessed with Lucien recently. I made art of him and I love how people kept mentioning his freckles so here is we are. + I hate the cold and had the thought that Lucien would be the perfect person to cuddle up to in winter.

[suuuupernovaaa]

Taxi Cab

Hobie Brown x f!Reader

She would never hurt anyone. He would hurt anyone for her.

Before Hobie, nothing very eventful ever happened in my life. I grew up in a happy home, went to a good school, and decided to become an art teacher. I got good grades, I made life long friendships with people similar to me, and I kept my head down and minded my business.

Though it's been nearly half a year since he came rocketing into my life, I still can't put my finger what exactly drew Hobie to me. We don't have a lot in common. Where I am passive, Hobie is active and fierce. Where I am lenient, Hobie is harsh. Until Hobie, I had never listened to punk music, considered anarchy, or pierced a single thing on my body.

Well, I still haven't done the last one. Besides my ears. Needles are too much for me. Sometimes I get nervous that the spikes on Hobie's wardrobe are going to stick me.

Hobie is a force. He's dangerous, he's passionate, he's larger than life. Being near Hobie is addictive. He has a gravity around him that draws people in, but it tends to spit them out at much the same rate.

For some reason, I've been able to hang on. Sometimes it feels like clinging for dear life, until he reminds me how much he cares.

Even though he can do that in odd ways.

Like tonight.

Ever since I met Hobie, trouble seems to follow me around. I've been mugged twice, had my tires slashed, and even had to move because someone broke into my apartment and trashed the place.

My parents are becoming increasingly alarmed, only satisfied in the fact that Spider-Punk always seems to be nearby. They don't necessarily approve of Spider-Punk (I mean, most don't), but they do at least appreciate that he seems to be looking out for me.

Which is so weird! Hobie can't figure it out either, but he says Spider-Punk is a narcissistic asshole who only saves people to get attention for himself.

He might just be mad that I said I thought Spider-Punk seemed like he'd be cute, under the mask.

I was hoping my luck had turned around and I wouldn't need to run into Spider-Punk again for a while, but I guess that was just silly optimism. On my way to Hobie's with two large bags of groceries in hand, I'm stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk when a taxi cab crashes directly into a fire hydrant.

The fire hydrant lets loose a typhoon of water in my direction, and I scramble to the right to get out of the water, but it's too late. I'm soaked.

"Oi!" I hear the unmistakable sound of Hobie yelling. He was heading my direction after I told him the bags were getting heavy, and arrived just in time to witness the crash. He wrenches open the door of the car and pulls out the taxi driver. He seems unharmed, a little shaken up, with heavy bags under his eyes and a wobble in his step.

Drunk or high.

"You could've killed someone!" Hobie is shouting, looking over at me and then back at the driver. "I ought to kick your fucking arse." He pushes the man against the side of his cab as the water continues to spray. I drop the groceries, mostly ruined now, and approach Hobie.

The man is muttering something under his breath, and as I reach them, I can smell the liquor coming through his pores.

I grab Hobie's arm. "I'm okay. Come on."

"No, I saw it, he nearly killed you, Y/N. Just a few feet over, you'd be gone. Then I'd have to fuckin' kill him!" Hobie slams him against his car one more time, and I pull on his arm harder.

"But he didn't. The cops are on their way. Let's go. I need help carrying the groceries, and it's too cold for me to be all wet."

Hobie looks at me finally, really looks at me, and then with one more burning glance at the inebriated taxi driver, gruffly releases his collar and turns to me.

Effortlessly, he scoops me up into his arms, bridal-style, and I gasp. He strides with ease over to our drowned groceries, and bends down, picking them up in his hands.

"Jesus, have you been working out?" I ask.

His face is too tense for a smile, but the corners of his mouth twitch. Despite my protests, he carries me into his building and up three flights of stairs, only setting me down once we are safe inside the walls of his apartment.

Without me asking, he goes into his room and brings out a pair of leggings I've left here before, and one of his t-shirts. I change in the bathroom, drying my hair as best I can with a towel, before going back to the kitchen to see what can be salvaged of the groceries.

"I think I can still do something with this! The bread is gone but, homemade bread crumbs aren't like, necessary. They're just fancy." I turn to see Hobie leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, still scowling. "Uh, or I can go to the store, if the homemade bread crumbs were like, important."

I let out a yelp of surprise when Hobie pushes himself off the counter and strides towards me, grabbing me by the shoulders and bringing me to him for a rough, passionate kiss.

In moments, I meld into him, wrapping my arms around his waist as his fingers find their way into my hair, and his tongue enters my mouth.

This kiss feels different. Urgent, feverish, desperate. He holds me tightly, pressing me so close to him it feels like he wants us to be one person, like he would climb right into my skin.

I pull away for just a moment, gasping for breath. "Are you okay?" I say on an exhale.

Hobie stares down at me intensely, his hands still in my hair, his eyes wild and the corners of his mouth turned downward.

"I would do anything to keep you safe," he says flatly. "There's no limit to what I'd do."

I bring my hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks, nodding. "I know, Hobie."

"I would have killed that man if you hadn't stopped me."

I know he's exaggerating to make a point, but a chill runs up my spine a the way he says it so calmly, with no hint of irony. I remember his chest heaving, the wild look in his eyes as he held that drunk man up against his own car.

He looked out for blood.

"I'm okay, Hobie. So are you."

"Move in with me. You hate that new place. Stay here."

We've only known each other six months. We're barely adults. I make no money as a new teacher and I honestly haven't figured out how Hobie seems to make so much money off the gigs he plays. It's too soon to move in together. It's not smart.

But I love him. And he loves me. We haven't said it yet, but I don't know that we need to. I can see it in his eyes, feel it while he holds me, taste it on his lips.

He loves me.

"Okay."

"Today. Like, we can get your stuff later, but don't sleep there anymore. Stay with me."

I nod and lean forward, pressing my forehead to his chest. His hands finally leave my hair, and wrap tightly around my shoulders. I listen to his heartbeat - rapid at first, but as we stand there, silently clinging to each other, it begins to slow down.

He's pressing soft kisses to the top of my head, humming quietly, and I've never felt more in love.

I've never felt more cared for, more loved in return, more safe.

Six months or sixty years. I don't think it matters.

[joannasteez]

fall, for me

pairing: roman reigns x black reader

warnings: its smut written at two am, i was listening to pink floyd and was feeling a yearning vibe, sometimes you just want someone to be obsessed with you and vice versa yknow?

word count: 1k

could it be that you were falling, this fast slipping separation, where the earth moves, your feet staggering, the ground cleaving till the drop takes you. and the air here pulls from the lungs, draws up quick and terrible. the heat of your skin building till the fire from the friction of the air leaves you to burn. no, falling is easier than this, falling is simple, falling is old theory come to life. gravity and mass and so on and so forth. but this thing, this sweet aching in your chest, that which you cannot see, but feel all the same, is something else entirely, and to say that you were falling for him... 

that you were crashing with abandon for him...

breathless and hot and desperate...

his tongue tasted like everything, well like you and nothing much else really, but the feel of him, the slip of it through your lips, wet and lingering, controlling. it was everything. like when the sun breaks from off the horizon, a slow, sure, rise, burning into that rolling in of the dawn a warming sort of majesty. and your fingers, slipping through his hair till they took to the roots, pain turned pleasure pulsing in his skin as you pulled and formed to him. roughing into him things already understood, that did not have to be explained with great words and phrasings. he could simply feel the scorching in your skin, and know that you were his. that the clinging to him was not in vain. 

but you'll say it anyways. speak softly in your delirium. as his hips make no rush to slip into yours, but steady and exacting all the same. cock hard and heavy as it takes to the softness of you. your mouth parting from his, hesitantly so, growing small beneath him, beneath the weight of the ache in your chest.  

"would it be too much to-", your lips chasing the curve of his, each breath wanting and scared and needy. "to much to say that i-..."

but then the air about your words breaks, flattening to nothing as his hips dig in, taking purchase deeper. and you pull to take him, wet and hot and ill-controlled, moaning desperate and mindless. 

"say what?" 

and your nails nearly split into his back, hissing in time with your own pleasures and your pains, thighs burning as they spread wide, the muscles pulling, tired but working still to please the build of him. and you try, even in your failures to speak, to muster feelings into words, for an expression, even if broken, to say the burdening things he already knows. but everything falters, shatters to bits as you tremble beneath him, whimpering pretty nonsense. pleasepleaseplease, before the inevitable gratitude, thankyouthankyouthankyou, light like a feather, so good and so reverential and so needy. so weak and willing. 

"say it", he urges. feens to feel the slight of the words beneath his skin. like a cutting into the veins. a rushing in his blood. as you pulse and shake and curse. 

"'m a little...", a gasp and then a beat. gathering slowly the words despite the rocking in his hips. the way his hard body grinds and slips at your soft tender skin, at the swollen throb of your clit. and he can taste you still on his tongue, feel the slow sweet drip of arousal, patient in the way it'd met him, as if he'd been graced with something both beautiful and rare, only meant for the one worthy enough to receive it. and he'd taken it well, pushed his tongue in wet till he couldn't anymore, his face buried as he sought hard to please you. lips suckling till they released, teeth hissing, appetite greedy. sofuckingpretty, he'd moaned, rushed, lavishing your slit, his thumb caressing the wet pearl of your clit again, dazed in his own amazements. and the memory forced him to take you harder, to maybe abandon his methods, his steadiness, his temperament. maybe he'd just break you, knock you loose to form you back together again. maybe he'd- "...'m a little obsessed with you", you laugh amidst a moan. amidst the wet stroke he takes to your pussy. "...i think". 

"you think?", like mocking. his lips curving amused. it seemed to be a challenge, a call to action. but he would settle it ruthlessly, so that there was neither doubt nor hesitation. he would make up your mind, if you, amidst the delirium, could not yourself. "just a little bit?"

"...Mhmm...", feeling the twist and the burden of the ache. the slow to subside burning that only leads to some unrestrained bliss. "...fuck...maybe-maybe a lot", your body shivering as he shifts, thick fingers pushing into the bend of your knees to fold you in half, his own knees screwing into the bed as your lower lips spread further, splitting wet and messy to stretch perfect for him. and here, vulnerable to him like this, he takes you to the hilt with less consideration. 

"it ain't no maybes for me sweetheart", his hips rutting as he goes about fucking you with the deftness of a brute. his tongue pulling to lick over his lips quick as his eyes bare down on the beauty of you, fingers combing against the fall of his hair, his chest rising and falling with every breath, damp and red with heat, with lust and the purity of other things. and he grunts, rushes to chase the soft pull of you, pussy a soaked mess as it disgraces the sheets, tight and greedy as it works to keep him close. throbbing crazily to feel the fullness of him till it seemed impossible. 

and of course sooner or later, you'd have him at his knees, again, whether literal or metaphorical it did not matter, but if need be, he'd be the proof, of old theory's come to life. of mass and of gravity. he'd allow again, over and over like he does now, that fast slipping separation, where the earth moves from beneath his feet. he'd fall for you. 

"i can't live without you". 

[mechformers]

Could i request reader with daddy issues calling tonowari daddy by accident during sexy time?

I have no idea if this is anything close to what you were thinking of when you asked, and if it's not, I'm so sorry. You never specified a human/avatar/na'vi reader, so this just kind of landed on human lol Hope that's alright!

1008 words Tonowari x Human!Reader Content warning: Daddy kink (daddy issues? this gave me daddy issues XD), size difference, Na'vi x human, p in v, belly bulge, steamy nonsense with absolutely no plot whatsoever, fucked dumb (- both of them lol) not spell checked - we die like mansk here...

The lewd sounds coming from your cunt as he buried himself deeper still, would cling to his memories in the quietest of moments for years to come. Your slick, your evident excitement just from being with him, makes the slide irresistibly smooth as he bottoms out once more. Your tight insides quiver around his size, the hot walls all but strangling him as he holds still. Releasing a hot breath over the top of your head, he’s helpless to keep his massive body from pressing deeper into you. 

“P-please…” You beg of him, your lips, red and swollen where he’s kissed you to within an inch of your life. 

Pulling ever so slowly out of you allows for a ragged breath to be drawn before he sheaths himself within your scorching heat once more. His arms are trembling from keeping the full mass of his weight off of you, his ribcage feeling two sizes too small as he clenches every muscle in his body to hold himself back. Looking down between his elbows, your pink, sweaty face stares up at him, head bent backward on the woven mats. It shouldn’t be pretty the way you’re sweaty and blotched, but the sight sends a current through his body which results in an aborted thrust that still moves the entirety of your body up with the force behind it. 

“Ph-pl-se,” Your lips part once more, clumsily begging him for something he has yet to understand. 

Tears are falling from your beautiful eyes, the clear drops glittering in the low light of the setting sun. Not even the prettiest of pearls could compare to the sight, as it burns itself to his memories, joining a series of other wonders. Pulling out again, Tonowari watches intently as your small eyebrows knit together in displeasure. At what, he does not know, but until you tell him to stop, he will take what you freely give and he will give what you will willingly accept from him. 

“D-daddy, please,” You gasp, your voice raw, as just the tip remains inside of your burning cunt. 

Sheathing himself fully inside of you, Tonowari is unable to hold back the powerful thrust that reaches the end of your tight heat, only to push you further up between his elbows. Small arms cling desperately to his chest as your legs spread impossibly wide to accommodate the sudden width of him as he collapses on top of your small form. His head is spinning, his lungs refusing to pull much-needed air into his lungs as he holds as still as he can. From below, your small nails claw at his chest, while you mewl. 

“M-more daddy,” You somehow manage to push out and despite himself, he’s once more unable to stop his hips from thrusting into you, as if there’s still a chance he’s missing a tiny crook inside of you to bury himself in. 

“Little one,” Tonowari manages, his voice strained as his head swims, making him unfocused. 

“N-no,” Your desperation reaches a level that concerns him while he tries to move off of you. 

Instead, you cling to him tighter than before. Your weak arms wrap around his neck while your legs desperately cling to his waist, somehow managing to lock behind him. It’s an awkwardly stretched position you’re in, but you get your point across clear as day. Hushing you, Tonowari holds a hand to your bottom as he sits back up, taking you with him to sit in his lap. Looking down at you, you’re nothing but a toy as your arms loosen from around his neck. Gravity makes you sink further down on his cock, the obscene bulge pressing on your stomach as your tired body leans back. 

“Mh good, Daddy,” You mumble as your small body reaches for him, falling against his chest all boneless and fucked out. 

“Y/n?” Tonowari tries and to his utter surprise, your head actually turns to him as a soft smile crosses your lips. “Still good?”

Inside of your cunt, he can feel his cock twitching at his seemingly new title. There’s definitely something loaded behind it, but as of right now, sheath deep within your welcoming, tight heat, he couldn’t care less. You begged for him with everything that you were... How irresponsible would he be to deny you any longer? 

Thrusting up into the tight heat, the squelching sound of your slick making room for his cock, filled your kelku. There was no doubt in his mind, while he repeated the motion as you mewled babbles of “daddy" and "more”, that the people outside could hear your slick walls while he rearranged them. Tonowari would make sure that there was a permanent shape of his cock inside of you, one that you would never be able to erase. 

“Harder, Daddy,” Your small hands reach for his face and right then, right there, with your face looking so beautifully debauched - he lost all composure.

Holding you up by your middle, he moves you along his cock, watching as it bulges your stomach each time he bottoms out. He’s hitting something tight and spongy, bruising past it to reach the end of your passage, and with each passing, your cunt tightens deliciously until suddenly, your soft body grows taught in his hold. 

“I-I’m gonna - D-daddy!” And with your eyes wide open, staring into his, your cunt spasms hard around his cock, milking him with such force he’s helpless to resist your siren's call. 

With one final press, he buries himself sheath deep within your wet heat as he floods you with his blessings. There’s so much to unpack after this, but for the moment, all he can do is cling to your small body as he breathes heavily. His mind is still swimming deliciously, blank as a clear drop of water where only the reflection of you shines back at him. Kissing your forehead softly, he cups the back of your head as he holds you against his wildly beating heart. 

“Daddy… huh?” He hums, feeling your huffed chuckle against his sweaty skin. 

Masterpost - (under construction)

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - LII

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. Mind the tags. Chapter on AO3 here.

You walked barefoot across spongy, moist moss, enveloped in luxurious, dense flora.  Trees soared overhead, their trunks so thick it would take at least three people’s arm span to encircle just a single one.  Dusk birds let out call after all and the branches above jostled as squirrels and other animals darted through the heights.  The sun’s light was muted by the thick canopy, trickling through in long shafts where the layer was thinnest.

The air was heavy and sweat beaded across your forehead and at the back of your neck.

Despite lacking a compass and a map, you knew where you were going.  Nothing here looked familiar; it didn’t matter.

You came to a stream, the water gurgling quietly over the rocks as it ran towards its point of gravity.  Frogs chirped to one another in the twilight.  The surface shimmered where the sun managed to slip in.  Beneath your feet, tiny salamanders scampered through the soft silt.

Everywhere you looked teemed with sound, with life.

You dug your toes into the thick mud after stepping into the stream.  The water was cool around your ankles and clear as crystal.  You looked across the water when a tug pulled at your feet, silently urging you to the other side.  This stream rivaled even the narrower parts of Fontaine’s islands where the lake was thinnest; it was far wider than it looked at first glance.

It was pretty here but you couldn’t stay forever.  Not when the sun was already beginning to set.

Your feet parted from the mud with a wet sucking squish as you stepped forward and cautiously worked to find proper footing before putting your weight down again.  As you went, the mud seemed to realize it no longer had a hold on you and every step became harder.  Thankfully, you weren’t wearing shoes; you would have lost them by now.

Halfway across, the water up to your knees, you pulled and tried to shift your weight forward to no avail.  No matter how hard you tried, what way you moved, you couldn’t lift your leg again.  You frowned.  You weren’t sinking; that ruled out quick sand.  But you were now stuck in the middle of the stream and the sun was getting lower.

Would your steps be easier if you went back the way you came?  Maybe you could find a different way across that had a proper path.  Looking this way and that, you spotted no stones poking above the water as the stream stretched out in either direction.  Going back wouldn’t get you home, now would it?

Home.

Was that where you were going?

The tug from earlier crept up your ankles and sat low in your belly, still urging you onward as it curled up with other sensations that threatened to overwhelm you.  You needed to get across.

You wiggled your foot, loosening the mud and making the foothold wider.  With a little extra effort, your foot popped free and you were able to take another step.  You did the same with your other leg, every step growing easier as you worked your way to the other bank, silt clinging between your toes. 

On your last step, you overestimated the force and propelled yourself forward.  Instead of meeting the cool, wet ground, however, you immediately hit something hard, warm, and capable of sound.

“You could have made a bridge, you know."

Your hands searched and found that you hadn’t run into a wall at all but rather a person.  Their shirt was soft and their muscles were flexed from your impact and relaxed under your touch.  Your legs were precariously arranged, their thigh pressed against almost against you.  Every point where your bodies touched burned and yet soothed you like spring water.

“Or did you forget how to influence your dreams, rooh 'albi?”

Startled, you pulled away, just enough to get a look at the stranger’s face.  Zandik stared down at you, red eyes gleaming and a knowing smile on his lips.

“It worked,” you whispered, eyes wide as your hands traced the planes of his chest and reached for his shoulders.  “You’re…we’re…”

You took his face between your hands, tracing the familiar shape of his jaw and cheeks.  Emboldened, you pushed his hair back from his face and found the texture was the same as it was when you were awake.  Enhanced, even.

Zandik shook his head slightly and you pulled your hand away from his hair.  He took your wrist in his hand gently and guided it back to his cheek but not before pressing his warm lips to your palm.

The sun was lower still, the rays of light at the mercy of the canopy overhead again from its position.  But at this angle, Zandik’s eyes caught the sun and you swore you never saw more brilliant gems.  Certainly not in Fontaine.  And it was all yours to admire. 

Around you, the frogs continued, and the birds sang to one another.  The sounds never stopped but all that surrounded you was the wildlife.

“It’s quiet now,” you whispered.  “There was always wind before…it carried voices, echoes.”

“The Segments.  It was never possible to be separated from them before,” Zandik replied without missing a beat.

You nodded, recalling that they did always sound like him, even if you never clearly caught the words they spoke.

“There’s still much to study and take note of,” he continued.  “I don’t recall the environments being this vivid, for one, nor do I recall experiencing such a tangible draw to you before.  I have a perfectly fine sense of direction.  Perhaps that’s the magnetic draw others mentioned in their accounts…it’s quite distracting when one is attempting to understand their environment…”

“I felt that too,” you replied, keenly aware of how hot you felt and the demanding, burning ache that rooted itself in your very being.  You resisted the urge to buck your hips.

Zandik drank in your expression and gave a low chuckle before dipping his head down to meet yours.

“As pleasurable as that would be, it’s best to save that until we fully understand what changed,” he murmured.

So many questions came to mind but one stood out further from the rest.

His lips met yours with a familiar certainty.  The fiery desire burned low, stoking embers while keeping the sweeping flames at bay and something deep inside you finally settled.  When you finally parted, your mind was clear.

“Then what shall we do first, mon rêve?”

The next time you saw the sun, it was streaming through wide open windows, glaringly bright.  At first, it felt accusatory, demanding why you were still in bed when its warmth was here to draw you out instead.  Dust motes caught your eye and curiously, you stuck out a hand to change their course.  They danced around your fingers, the tiny particles floating elsewhere, but they did not gravitate to you as they had before.

Static, still.

Silence had crawled into the bedroom and muffled all noise.

And yet the notes were never louder.

You turned your head slowly and shifted your legs, only to find that Zandik was next to you, intertwined with you.  His arms held you in the same fashion you fell asleep in (he would bemoan that later, you were sure, when his shoulder was not quite right), his breathing even.  As soon as your head settled, his eyes flickered open and the excitement of multiple successes was palpable on every breath he took.  Instead of either of you throwing back the covers, however, you shifted and found a more comfortable position, pressed against one another, noses brushing.

“If I do not record this now, I fear I will lose it.”

His mouth was dry but he was still far from incentivized to leave you.  New-found energy hummed through him and manifested itself in his fingers finding yours, tracing every callous and every knuckle.  You could not bring yourself look away from his eyes unless it was to press your lips to his forehead, eyelids, cheeks, and lips.  Every touch was a different texture, a different rhythm to the syncopation that only the two of you seemed to understand. 

Your free hand traced notes across his arm and collarbone, humming all the while.  Zandik seemed to relax ever so slightly beneath your hands, tilting his head as you put note in front of another, his own musings falling into rhythm with your notes.

Neither of you acknowledged parting nor leaving the bed; it was not so much a conscious decision as it was a drifting of relieving touches.

Air was easier to breathe and you finally realized the color of the couches in the other room as you took up your cello.  Zandik was immediate in his search for paper and a pen, reaching for his notes to solidify the process that brought you both here, to this state of existence.

Notes flowed at a steady, even pace, and you only broke away from your bow long enough to draft.  You felt as if you were putting yourself into the very ink you laid upon the paper, the very sounds you brought to life.

You had no concept of time.  When you finally wrote Fin at the bottom of your last page, Zandik peered out from the bedroom, papers in hand and delight dancing across his face.

Time was irrelevant in such things, in such moments.

For once, you never felt more alive.

[claireelizabeth85]

Come Home To Me - Chapter 10

John Egan x OC!Female

Summary: When the idea of a past life turns out it isn't just an idea or a dream.

AN: I'm back!! I am quite proud of this chapter as it is the first one I've written since my writer's block grabbed her chute and left. It's not the longest but I think it packs a bit of a punch. The chapters from now on alternate between Sarah who is living life at Thorpe Abbotts and will follow the normal progression of time and Lizzy who we pick up after she has gone through the cloud back to her last mission, which was the Berlin mission in Feb 1945 with Rosie. Where the wording is in italics for Lizzy, these are memories.

AN2: This is a work of fiction and is based on the TV characters from the Apple TV series. No disrespect is intended towards the real men of the 100th BG.

Warnings: mentions of blood, injury, death.

The previous chapter can be found here

Lizzy tumbled through the sky, the wind roaring past her ears, tearing at her clothes, and stinging her eyes as she fought to stabilise herself. The overwhelming noise drowned out her thoughts, leaving only raw, instinctive fear. Panic surged through her like a cold wave, but she forced it down, clinging to the slender thread of training that remained. This was all new. This moment—falling, fighting against gravity with nothing but a piece of fabric between her and death—was something she’d never experienced in any of the fragmented but vivid memories she experienced in the future. Those memories, once her guide, now abandoned her at the worst possible time.

The ground was rushing up to meet her, an unforgiving blur of green and brown. Her leg throbbed, a sharp reminder of the injury that had slowed her down and threatened to ruin everything. She glanced down, trying to see through the wind induced tears and the disorienting speed of her descent. Where was Rosie? Was he alright? The thought of him being captured by the Germans made her chest tighten with a new kind of fear, one that clawed at her more fiercely than the impending impact. She could barely make out the vague shape of his parachute somewhere below, but it was impossible to tell if he had landed safely.

She tried to focus, tried to force her mind to clear, but the shrapnel in her leg was like a hot poker digging into her flesh, sending sharp jolts through her body with every heartbeat. She tried to concentrate because if she didn’t land correctly if she let herself lose control, she would be nothing more than a broken heap when she hit the ground.

With trembling hands, she yanked on the ripcord. The parachute snapped open with a sudden, violent jolt that nearly tore her in two. The force of it wrenched her body upward, the harness digging painfully into her shoulders, but the ground was still coming too fast—much too fast. She struggled to steer, to slow her descent, but there was no time, no room to correct her course. Her body hurtled downward, her mind a frantic mess of fear and determination.

In those last seconds, all she could think of was the life she had yet to live, the things she hadn’t done, and the people she might never see again. She tried hard to tuck her legs in, to roll just as she’d been trained, but the ground was relentless, unforgiving. The impact was brutal. Her body crashed down hard, the force of it rattling her bones and sending shockwaves of pain through her entire being. Her head whipped back, smashing against something solid. Pain exploded in her skull, blinding her to everything else.

For a moment, she lay there, stunned, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. It was as though her entire consciousness was trapped in a bottle that had been violently shaken, with no way to make sense of what had just happened. Darkness edged her vision, threatening to consume her, but then, through the haze of pain, a memory surfaced, as vivid and sharp as if it were happening all over again. A memory of John, his warmth, his strength, his touch. But it was a memory that, in this moment of stark reality, felt almost cruel in its contrast to the cold, hard ground beneath her.

“Ow!” Lizzy had gasped, her voice a whisper. They both started to laugh, muffling the sound behind their hands as if afraid someone might hear. The back of her head had hit the door, and she rubbed it gingerly, still giggling. “You know we could get into a hell of a lot of trouble for this, Major!”

John Egan, the Group Air Exec, had her pressed against the door inside the Control Tower’s lower supply closet. It was the third time this week that he had spirited her away to steal kisses from her. His warm body enveloped hers, and she felt safe, cherished, in a way she rarely allowed herself to feel. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the risk, too busy leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, each one sending a shiver down her spine. His lips were soft but firm, and they lingered on her skin as if savouring every moment. John was intoxicating, his unique smell of sandalwood and cigarette smoke making her forget everything—where they were, the danger they faced, even the war that loomed over them like a shadow.

“I know,” John murmured against her skin, his voice a low rumble that sent another thrill through her. “We could get into a lot of trouble, Lieutenant. Maybe we should stop.” He pulled back just enough to flash her that signature smile of his, the one that made her knees weak. It was devilishly charming, full of mischief and promise.

“Not on your life,” Lizzy shot back, her own smile mirroring his. She grabbed hold of his uniform, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. The world outside that closet ceased to exist as John leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss that made her head spin. It was the kind of kiss that left no room for doubt—it was full of desire, a hunger that simmered just below the surface, and a tenderness that she cherished, even if she couldn’t admit it to herself.

Lizzy could feel the heat of his hands through her jacket as they slid up her back, pulling her even closer. She responded in kind, winding her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. It was easy to get lost in John, to let herself drown in the sensations he stirred in her. Every time they kissed, it was like the first time all over again—new, exciting, and tinged with the knowledge that it was forbidden, that they could be caught at any moment.

But as much as Lizzy wanted to stay in this moment forever, she knew she had to leave. The reality of their situation was never far from her mind. Gently, she pushed against John’s chest, breaking the kiss. Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts, her heart pounding not just from the adrenaline but from the intensity of their stolen moment.

“It’s late, and I need to get going. I’m flying tomorrow.” Her voice was tinged with regret, the words she hated to say but knew she had to.

John frowned, his brow furrowing in surprise. “Huglin’s letting you fly?” The disbelief in his voice was clear. It was well known that Colonel Huglin didn’t approve of Lizzy’s presence in the Group. Despite the orders she carried, he had stubbornly refused to assign her to a squadron.

“Yeah, begrudgingly.” Lizzy rolled her eyes, the frustration evident in her tone. “One of Veal’s pilots broke his arm climbing out of the Fort after a practice run. There’s no one on standby here to take his place. I guess one of the supernumerary pilots could take his spot, but it’s too short notice to get them over here, and besides, I think Major Bowman reminded him that General LeMay might come checking up on me.”

John’s expression softened, concern replacing the earlier surprise. He pulled her into his chest, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just held her close, as if trying to memorise the feel of her in his arms. Lizzy rested her head against his chest, closing her eyes and breathing in the scent of his uniform, the faint hint of aftershave that clung to him.

“You be careful up there, d’ya hear me? No doing any stupid shit to impress people. The guys might give you a hard time, but they respect you 'cause you can fly.” His voice was soft but firm, the unspoken worry threading through his words.

Lizzy chuckled softly, her breath warm against his neck. “I got it, Major. No stupid shit.” But even as she said it, she knew that being careful was a luxury she might not have. Flying was dangerous, and she couldn’t afford to play it safe. But for John’s sake, she would try—she had to.

Now, as Lizzy lay crumpled on the ground, her body battered and bruised, those memories felt like a cruel joke. The pounding in her head and the searing pain in her leg made it difficult to think clearly. She was slipping in and out of focus, her consciousness struggling to hold on as the world spun around her. The sounds of gunfire, distant at first, grew louder, more insistent, until the chaos was all around her. She tried to move, to drag herself to some semblance of cover, but her body wouldn’t obey.

Through the haze, she saw them—two figures moving through the smoke and confusion. Russian soldiers, their faces hard, their eyes wary. They were surprised to see her, a woman lying badly wounded in the middle of the battlefield. Lizzy’s semi-lucid state made her feel as if she were moving through thick, syrupy fog. Her lips parted in a desperate, fractured attempt to communicate.

“British... British...” she mumbled repeatedly, her voice trembling with fear and pain. She tried to push the two soldiers away, her movements weak and erratic, as though she could somehow resist the help she so desperately needed. Her screams, hoarse and ragged, were filled with a primal terror as the soldiers began to carry her away from the chaos.

The two Russians exchanged glances, their brows furrowing as they noticed the blood coming from Lizzy’s leg and the back of her head. The sight of her suffering was so stark, so visceral, that it made them pause. They laid her back on the ground as one of the soldiers crouched beside her, mumbling something incomprehensible to his companion. Lizzy felt his hands tear open her trousers, exposing the shrapnel wound on her leg. The Russian sprinkled something on it and tightly wrapped something around her thigh. Lizzy screamed at the blinding pain that shot through her body as the embedded metal lit her nerves on fire. 

Breathing heavily, she tried to think clearly, but the pain consumed her. In the fleeting moments of respite, Lizzy’s mind flickered to memories of Rosie, her friend who practically manhandled her out of her set and told her to jump. Through the pain and confusion, she called out, her voice cracking. “Rosie!! Rosie!!” Her cries were weak, barely more than a whisper, but they carried the weight of her fear and despair.

Then, as darkness began to claim her again, Lizzy’s thoughts turned to John. The pain was overwhelming, and she could feel her consciousness slipping away. Sarah had found information in the future that she would die here. She had accepted that, but now, at this moment that acceptance crumbled. What if it wasn’t the crash that killed her? What if it was the Russians? What if they decided she was an enemy, a spy, and ended it right here? Panic clawed at her, her breaths coming in shallow, frantic gasps. She was terrified, more than she had ever been, terrified that she'd never see John again, that she'd never get the chance to tell him how much he meant to her.

With a final, anguished cry, she managed to call out his name, her voice breaking with the strain. “John!”

Her plea was swallowed by the void as she lost her grip on consciousness, her body limp in the arms of one of the Russian soldiers. The battlefield's chaos faded into a distant murmur as she drifted into the dark abyss, her last thoughts a jumbled mess of fear, love, and the faintest hope of reunion.

Tags: @ginabaker1666 @winniemaywebber @bobparkhurst @thedeviltohisangel @prettyinlimegreenboots @instructionsnotincluded @victoryrollsandredlips @luminouslywriting

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Good wife

Part 2 of Princess

Sihtric x reader

Authors note: initially intended as a Part 2 of Princess, but can also be read as a stand alone fic. This is my attempt for a happy ending for my little princess and I think I managed pretty good 😉

And before you start asking, I know I am not following the poll 🙈. I was carried away by the impression that Part 2 of Princess will win anyway and continued writing even before the poll was over. The modern!Sihtric smut request will follow next week, I promise 😅

My biggest and warmest thanks to awesome @arcielee for agreeing to beta read this fic and for all your comments and suggestions! You are incredibly talented writer! The way you play with words and conjure incredibly vivid descriptions make me awe each time anew.

Warnings: 18+, angst (you probably have noticed by now, I simply can't without it🤨), forced marriage, abuse, domestic violence, smut, revenge, blood

Summary: you return to Winchester for your father's King Alfred's funeral just to discover that Sihtric hasn't kept his promise.

Word Count: 4,966

Princess

It's early morning, and the sun is poised to rise above the horizon as you move silently through the corridors of the still-sleeping palace. Your dress glides over the worn steps with a light hush being the only sound disturbing the peacefulness of the new day rising. Upon reaching the garden, you effortlessly locate your favourite secluded spot – a stone pew  in the far corner, partially concealed by an ivy-covered wall and a sprawling bird cherry flower bush. You recall how it bloomed exceptionally early in spring, its inimitably sweet fragrance making you almost dizzy. It’s a scent of your happier days, and you inhale deeply, hoping to infuse every cell of your being with its essence. 

You settle down, embracing the calmness of the moment. A few birds are singing a praise to the sun, its golden fingers slowly stretching to brush the world awake. A gentle breeze frolics in the branches of the trees, adding to the calm beauty of the morning. You're aware that this tranquillity is illusory, yet you cling to it, you need this moment of calmness and silence to gather your thoughts.

The King is dead. Your father, King Alfred, is dead. You still haven’t had a chance to grasp the whole gravity of it. Wessex now stands vulnerable as never before with Cnut and his army preparing to invade, Aethelred of Mercia dreaming about restoring Mercia’s glory and your husband Ethelwold secretly seeking to sever ties with Wessex and secure his claim to East Anglian throne. Politics. You hate politics. Nevertheless, you are not blind and you are definitely not obtuse; the shifts in power and allegiances are impossible to ignore. 

You feel anger slowly unfurling within you, making your cheeks blush. Your fingers impulsively shred into small pieces the flower you had just plucked. You can't change anything and your helplessness suffocates you. You're nobody, a mere toy bestowed upon your husband to secure an alliance. This is exactly how he treats you – as a doll that gets retrieved from its box to showcase during special events, to be mistreated and locked away thereafter. There is nothing even close to love or mutual respect in your marriage. You’re his property, and he delights in ascertaining himself of it, evidenced by the concealed bruises and scratches beneath your dress’s long sleeves and high collar. Coward as he is, he's avoided striking your face – possibly fearing that would cause scrutiny from others, perhaps even your father. You catch yourself thinking that this might change now, that your father is dead. Although you are not sure he would have interfered anyway.

Led by a silly sense of duty to your land and your father, you’ve endured five years of this arranged marriage with a man that revolted you in every aspect, bearing mistreatment and humiliation. And what had it brought? Nothing. Your brother is weak and dependent on the support of his ealdorman. Will he manage to assert himself as the king? You haven't seen him all those five years. He has changed a lot, grown up and matured, but will it be enough? At least he had braved to disobey your mother, aligning with Lord Uhtred. His words and the way he spoke justice, keeping up the pardon your father had given Uhtred on his deathbed, ignited a flicker of hope in you. First hesitant and insecure, he had managed to seize control over the gathered crowd, including the ealdormen, and even the queen, whose authority seemed to prevail from the very beginning. Your brother steps into daunting shoes, but his first step was promising, you rethink the events of the previous day.

Your heart quickens its pace, and a wave of embarrassment begins to rise from your neck, tinting your cheeks with an even more intense shade of red than the preceding anger as the memory you try to suppress emerges. 

He was there. You had seen him. Keeping himself in the shadows, leaning against an aged wagon with his hand resting on the shoulders of a young girl with plain features and dark hair, Sihtric watched in anticipation the scene transpiring before the palace entrance. Five years have passed since you appeared at his doorstep, head over heels in love with the handsome warrior, hoping for his feelings to mirror yours. 

The memory of that night when you willingly gave yourself to him remained untarnished; you have never regretted it. His tender, hesitant confession of love, the gentleness of his touch, the tenderness with which he had made love to you that night, and his eagerness and care to please and satisfy you, aware that it was to be your sole night together, were imprinted in your mind forever. You clung to these sweet memories with all your strength, them becoming your refuge, your shield against the day after and all the other days that followed, when your half-drunk newlywed husband flung you onto the bed, barking at you to disrobe. Undoing his breeches and letting them half down, he flipped you over to your belly, pulled you up to your knees, spread your legs, and placed his hard, dripping cock at your entrance.

“I will teach you now to be a good wife, princess. I am your husband, and you are to obey me. Do you understand? You are mine and only mine. Don’t you ever forget that,” he hissed, leaning closer to your ear, grabbing your hips with both hands and without any warning, forced himself into you in one single motion until the very end of his rigid length. 

You screamed out in pain, tears welling up in your eyes, to which he just started relentlessly thrusting into you, his groans of satisfaction echoing in your mind. Too drunk and consumed by chasing his own pleasure, he didn’t even notice you clutching a tiny pouch in your hand, blood reddening your fingers and your dress, as you squeezed it and hastily wiped your fingers against your thighs, faking the loss of your virginity. 

A chill crawls up your spine as these memories flood back. Why did you remember this? Wasn’t it torturous enough to witness Sihtric holding that young and pretty woman in his hands? He had promised to wait for you, a promise you never demanded, knowing how impossible and foolish it was. Yet, Sihtric’s earnest tone and self-assuredness as he made that promise, made you believe him. The notion that someone out there truly loved you, cared for you, recalled you and eagerly waited for you had become the light that guided you through your existence. It made the days bearable and warmed you when your husband's cruelty and neglect threatened to extinguish your will to live. 

Now the fragile and ridiculous illusion you had clung to for all these years lay shattered into thousand shards. You shouldn’t have come to Winchester. If only you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, you could have still preserved that naive dream. When Edward pronounced his verdict and the crowd erupted in cheers as he embraced Uhtred, you glimpsed the satisfied smile on Sihtric's lips. He playfully ruffled the girl's hair, and she nestled closer to him, her eyes gleaming with admiration. Unable to bear the sight, you turned abruptly, a heavy weight settling in your chest like a ballast stone, threatening to suffocate you. In that fleeting last moment, your eyes locked with Sihtric’s, surprise flickering across his face, followed by a glimmer of recognition before you managed to flee back into the palace. Your fairy tale had ended abruptly, leaving you with nothing more than bittersweet memories of that single night, when you felt genuinely loved, cherished, and valued. 

Tears start rolling down your cheeks, leaving a glistening trace behind them. All you can do is to hide your face in your hands, permitting yourself to cry out all the pent-up despair that accumulated over five years of abuse and humiliation. Your magical wand, capable of summoning light and dispelling darkness is gone, leaving you drowning into a bleak, frigid expanse of misery and hopelessness. 

The sun had already risen when sudden voices startle you from your melancholy. The palace has awakened to a new busy day, and you can clearly distinguish the voices of your mother and sister calling your name.

Of course, the feasting this evening! There will be a war council summoned by Edward to discuss how to deal with Cnut and his army, followed by a feast. Not that you anticipated it, but you obviously did not have much choice as your husband was invited to both and expected you to accompany him. Still taunted by the lingering thoughts and memories, you reluctantly rise from the pew  and head towards the palace, hastily wiping away your tears before anyone can see them.

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

 It is quite late already when you finally manage to bring up enough composure to get dressed. You had complained about a heavy headache to your husband, hoping he would agree to leave you alone in the chambers.

“Don’t be foolish and dress yourself,” is the response you get as he leaves for the council, which is supposed to start earlier.

You slow down as you reach the staircase, pausing to survey the hall beneath you. You see your mother and sister engaged in a lively conversation, sitting at the high end of the long table. Strangely you find your husband discussing something with Aethelred  – your sister’s  spouse – whom you know he can’t bear and despises deeply for being Alfred’s puppy – as he loves to call him.

Vultures start circling a carrion, Edward needs to be cautious in choosing whom to trust. I must speak with him later, you think to yourself.

And then your gaze lands on him. Your fingers clutch the railing with a desperate grip as you steady yourself, feeling your legs tremble, threatening to buckle beneath you. 

At the far end of the hall, alongside Lord Uhtred, stands Sihtric. His hands envelop an ale mug, his gaze fixed downwards, hovering between the table and the floor, concern and seriousness in his expression. Your breathing fastens as you strive to regain your composure; your knuckles whiten as you continue to clutch the railing. And as much as you try, you can’t force yourself to look away. He is still so handsome. Everything about him makes your heart pound faster and your breath twitch – his tall and robust frame with his black, curly hair braided on the top, but falling to his shoulders in the back. His strong jawline, the scars tracing his forehead and right cheek, his muscular arms covered by the long sleeves of his leather jerking decorated with gold and silver armbands. 

You can still recall these strong arms holding you tightly against his chest, his fingers tenderly raking through your hair. The memory is so vivid in your mind that you almost moan in longing. A captivating mixture of confidence, calmness, and strength emanates from him with the same intensity as when you first met. There is not enough strength within you to descend to the hall and confront him in a dignified manner, there is only one escape for you – to turn back and run to your chambers. Even if it means enduring your disappointed husband’s wrath later, you prefer it a thousand times to the possibility that you would need to speak with Sihtric, now that you are aware he is no longer yours. With the last remnants of your willpower, you force yourself to let go of the railing and want to turn away, your eyes casting one final lingering glance at your former lover as Sihtric lifts his eyes, his gaze meeting yours.

You are frozen, trapped by an invisible spider web that is restraining all your movements, paralysed by the intensive gaze of his big, expressive eyes that are scanning you from head to heels. There is something in his eyes, a lingering mix of confusion, sadness, and some hint of anxiety. Why is he looking so at you? He must be happy; you remember the gleam of happiness he directed to the girl in his arms.

“My dear wife, I am so glad to see you’re feeling better and could join us,” you hear the voice of your husband and in this very moment his ever so repelling voice sounds like a salvation to you. He beams at you, arms stretched as though you were the love of his life, like he has been desperately waiting for. Slowly, you manage to shift your gaze toward him forcing a smile to appear on your lips. Descending the stairs, you extend your arms toward him until you’re by his side and he clasps your hands, lifting your palms to his lips for a kiss.

“What a perfect couple,” you smirk inwardly. You have never understood this masquerade. Why all this pretence to be the loving and caring husband, only to let all his fury on you behind the closed doors?

You can still feel Sihtric’s gaze on you, his eyes drilling into your back as he observes your happy reunion with your husband. You spend the whole evening meticulously avoiding Sihtric. You notice him trying to approach you several times, but you anticipate his every move by hurriedly engaging in conversations with your mother or tugging your sister’s arm, leading her to follow you into another part of the hall away from Sihtric. You accept all invitations to dance, fully aware this will earn you additional scorn from your husband later.

At some point you see Lord Uhtred rising from his seat and striding toward your brother. There is a short conversation between them; Uhtred bows his head respectfully and nods toward Sihtric to follow him. They both leave the hall, and a sigh of relief escapes you. This is finally over. Absentmindedly you wave away the young ealdorman advancing you with a request to dance and head out of the hall, casting a stealthy glance at your husband. He is drunk beyond imaginable. Sitting in his place of the most honoured guests next to your mother, he struggles to keep his eyes open. With his ale mug still in his hand, his face droops onto the plate before him. A knowing smile graces your lips. His love for ale has actually made the last years more bearable, as he was often too drunk in the evenings to force himself upon you or to be able to hurt you. You head to the garden, to the very same place you sneaked out this morning; this will always remain your happy place, even if this morning turned out more sorrowful than you had anticipated.

You lower yourself on the stone pew and breathe in the sweet, intoxicating smell of the flowers, your gaze marvelling at the intricate maze of ivy covering the back wall. Lost in your thoughts you almost jump at the sound of an all-too- familiar voice.

“Good evening, my lady,” Sihtric greets you, obstructing the only way out between the wall and the bird cherry flower bush. “I am sorry if I scared you,” he quickly adds, noticing your wide eyes and face losing its colour.

“Good evening, Sihtric,” you manage to mumble, a heavy sigh escaping your lips.

The silence between you both hangs heavy in the air as nobody dares to speak, your gazes scanning each other with an awkward intensity. You rise from the pew and make a step toward Sihtric trying to side-track him. His hand reaches out, gets hold of yours and lets go of you instantly as if burned.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Your marriage seems to be very happy, my lady. I’m very glad to see it,” he murmurs, stepping closer, obliterating your attempt to escape. His breath is heavy and itching as his gaze locks with yours, an inexplicably sad and painful look in his eyes. His hand rises as if wanting to cup your jaw but lowers again, not daring to touch you, his uncertainty palpable. He is so close that you can feel his breath vibrating on your skin. His proximity suffocates you, his scent mingling with the aroma of the flowers, making your head spin with dizziness. In the moon's faint glow, his handsome face appears almost timeless, surreal. You are drawn to it, incapable of averting your eyes. His enigmatic, mismatched eyes scan your features full of awe and a hint of something that could be sweet longing, although you know it is not. 

You want to touch him, to caress his cheeks and let your fingers tangle in his dark hair, but instead you gather all your inner strength and utter, “Yes, indeed, as happy as yours I presume. Are you married to that lovely girl?”

“Married? Which girl?” Sihtric's genuine surprise momentarily throws you off, but in the next instant you discard your silly hopefulness. You can’t ignore what you saw. What does he want from you anyway?

“Sihtric, please, there is no need for pretence. Spare me the courtesy. I saw you yesterday before the palace. I don’t blame you. I understand. It’s been five long years. I never truly expected you to keep that promise,” your words tumble out in such a rush, you are surprised of yourself, “I just… I…” you can’t finish your saying, your voice breaking, tears welling up in your eyes. 

This is more than you can endure and with your face in your hands, you storm past him, pushing completely thunderstruck Sihtric aside. It’s unbearable. Your feelings for him are unaltered. You run. You thought you knew the garden as your own pocket, but in the weird moonlight everything looks different. You turn left and then right as you hope to be heading to the palace entrance just to find yourself facing the wall again. Tears roll down your cheeks obscuring your vision and making it even more difficult to navigate through the narrow passages as you feel yourself colliding with a muscular frame, strong arms enveloping your waist, pulling you against a broad chest. You can’t see anything, but the scent of the body you are pressed tightly against is so familiar that you have no doubts who is holding you.

“Let go of me!” you struggle against the firm embrace, “What do you want from me?” you shout, desperation evident in your voice as you can’t control yourself anymore.

“Please, calm down, my little princess. My love, just let me explain,” Sihtric’s voice is just a gentle flurry against the tempest of your ever-growing anger, but something in his tone makes you hold your breath, leading to a short pause in your frantic struggle against his embrace.

“What is there to explain? That you got tired of waiting? That you’re just a man …? That there is no hope anyway… I know, I understand… It was never meant to be…” your sobs become uncontrollable at this point, and you resume your futile attempts to break free from Sihtric’s hold, which gets only tighter in return.

“Please, listen to me. The girl you saw, it’s Uhtred’s daughter, Stiorra. She was terrified that Uhtred would be expelled again, forced to be an outlaw once more with no home, no hope and no man to follow him. I love her as my own child. I held her to assure that whatever happens I will never leave Uhtred. We are bound, we are brothers. And we were both just happy and relieved when Edward acknowledged Alfred’s pardon. That’s all. Since that night five years ago, there has never been another in my life. My little princess, my love, do you hear me? I love only you. Nothing will ever change that,” Sihtric’s voice remains a mere whisper against your ear as you let every word slowly sink into your consciousness. Can it be true? You want to believe him, you feel each and every cell in your body screaming in longing for his touch, telling you to cease your needless struggle and melt into his embrace if only for this one single short moment. It’s only your common sense that tries to object, whispering in the background that it does not matter. It will not change anything. You are bound to another forever. You can never be his. Why torture yourself and him? It’s time to let go. For his sake and for your own. You can’t live in a dream all your life. 

Sihtric’s embrace does not loosen, and your struggle gradually loses its intensity as you surrender to the burning need coursing through you. You let your body absorb the warmth, memorising this embrace for the future. One of his arms drifts from your waist to your hair, as his gentle caresses soothe you.

“Every single day and night, I’ve dreamed of holding you again,” Sihtric murmurs, his lips brushing your hair as your face rests on his chest, your tears soaking his fine leather armour.

“My silly little princess, I thought myself the happiest man alive when I saw you yesterday. But you wouldn’t even look at me. I thought you regretted our past, that you wanted nothing more to do with me. I simply couldn’t accept it just like that, I needed to hear it from you. Can’t you see what you do to me? I practically begged Uhtred to take me with him to that damned council,” Sihtric continues, his words lullabying all your fears and concerns. There is nothing else in this world for you, just the sweet sound of his voice, and you don’t care what the morning will bring. Tonight you want to be with him, you want to feel loved again, you want to be his.

 “Can you just take me away from here? Please, Sihtric,” you lift your head, and your pleading gaze meets Sihtric’s eyes.

“Princess, believe me, I don’t want to let go of you. But your husband is probably searching for you. Allow me to guide you to the entrance,” you hear his words, yet you sense desire consuming him, his arms refusing to let go, wrapping even tighter around you and pulling you closer. He can’t bear to let go of you, the same as you can’t let go of him.

“My husband is drunk and sleeps, his ugly face buried in the leftovers on his own plate,” you hiss with deep disgust in your voice, and Sihtric stiffens in astonishment as you grasp his hand and start pulling him towards the other end of the garden.

“Come with me. I’ll show you how I got out of the palace last time,” your voice is suddenly resolute and confident. Something has changed deep inside you. You have always silently let your life be predetermined by others, and have accepted your fate without questioning it. Except for that one single night, when for the first time you seized control and made a decision you never regretted. And now, you want to feel it again – the power to be able to choose, to make your own decisions. Good or bad, time will tell, but these will be your choices and you will atone for them. You are so sick of just watching life go by, of not partaking. It might have been easier to submit, blaming others for your suffering, but you can’t do it anymore. And with that thought, a surge of newfound power courses through you. 

You find the small concealed side door, trembling fingers gripping the handle; a squeak, and it yields. Your first step into the night feels like stepping into a new life, a fresh destiny. Sihtric follows you, his hand holding yours in a steady and tight grip, and you smile at him as you look back into his mismatched eyes. Once outside the palace walls, Sihtric leads you through the narrow town streets to the same tavern he stayed in previously. You climb the steps to his chamber, the doors close behind you and his hands and lips are upon you. His kisses, initially tender and soft, soon grow feverish and urgent. Desperate fingers rend at clothing, eager to get rid of layers that separate your heated bodies. 

As soon as the last piece of clothing has fallen to the ground, Sihtric grabs your thighs, pulling you up, and you follow his movement, wrapping your legs around his waist and letting him effortlessly carry you over to the bed. He sits down with you straddling him. 

Your lips trail down his jaw to his neck, so greedy, so hungry. Your fingers tangle in his braided hair, pulling hard on them as you allow yourself to immerse in the arousal, building up in your lower stomach and quickly taking you over. You lean back and your hips start moving against Sihtric’s body rubbing your clit against him, your pussy aching in anticipation. Holding you with one arm around your waist, Sihtric’s hand reaches down, and you feel his fingers rubbing at your clit, parting your folds, and sliding inside your soaked pussy.

“Gods, how wet you are,” he grunts against your skin, his already hard and leaking cock is the wordless confirmation that he burns with the same overwhelming desire as you. His lips travel around your breasts, covering them with wet open-mouthed kisses and sucking at your hard nipples.

“I need you. Now,” you moan, and your hand takes hold of his throbbing length, placing it at your wet entrance. A loud groan of relief and satisfaction escapes you both as you lower yourself on Sihtric’s cock, taking him in completely, to the very end of his shaft, instantly starting to move against it. 

His hands land on your buttocks, helping you to push yourself deeper against his pelvis, but allowing you to determine the pace of your movements, which grow faster with each thrust. A loud moan vibrates deep in Sihtric’s throat as your pussy clench around him and your thrusts get frenzied, almost hysterical, your climax building up unstoppably fast and intense.

“Oh my god, Sihtric! I am close … I …” your head snaps back and your nails dig into Sihtric’s flesh as you come with a loud scream, your body twitching and your walls spasming around his cock. 

His hands grab your waist and start moving you up and down, not letting you stop, his hips pushing up against you deeper, faster, just a few more thrusts and he follows you with a heavy moan, his breath panting. Your shivering body collapses against his and he wraps his arms around you, steadying, holding, caressing you. You remain in each other’s embrace, savouring the sweet aftermath of your peaks, before he gently lowers you on the bed next to him. His fingers trace the contours of your figure, and suddenly his eyes widen in astonishment as he notices the bruises of varying colour on your skin – some fading, faint, and pale, while others in intense shades of blue and violet.

“Gods, what is this?” he breathes, his voice quivering, “Who did this to you?” His hands cup your chin, raising your head to meet his gaze. There is no need for an answer; a pained growl escapes his lips as he pulls you into his embrace, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he murmurs, almost inaudibly, “I should never have let you go. I’ll kill that wretched bastard with my bare hands. Let them hang me for it, but you’re not going back to him.”

“I am not leaving this time,” you whisper, your fingers threading through his hair. “But that bastard is mine. Promise me.”

Sihtric lifts his head, gazing into your eyes, disbelief plainly written on his face, but the certainty in your gaze is unwavering.

“Whatever you wish, my little princess. As long as you are finally mine,” Sihtric whispers, a broad smile gracing his lips as he wonders silently what he's done to earn the favour of the gods, to have his wildest dream come true.

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

“Are you sure about this?” Sihtric cups your face with both hands, his eyes questioning yours.

“More than anything else,” you reply.

“He’s all yours, my love. Do you want me to stay?”

“No, this is between him and me,” you respond, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. Sihtric nods, steps aside, and heads toward the door, opening you the view on a man’s frame sprawled on the bed, his hands and legs tightly tied to the grid, a gag obstructing his mouth and muffling all sounds and attempts to scream. He looks at you with eyes widened in fear, struggling against the ropes with all his strength. His head starts shaking vehemently as he sees you drawing a dagger and walking slowly toward him. You lift your dress and climb the bed, straddling him.

“I will teach you now to be a good husband, my dear,” you murmur into his ear.

—----------------------------------------------- 

With a heavy breath, you shut the door behind you. Your eyes are wide, your hands smeared with blood, clutching bloodied dagger against your chest. Sihtric waits outside, and as you stagger towards him, your legs wobbly, he catches you in his arms. He doesn't utter a word, merely enfolding your trembling shoulders and pulling you close in a firm embrace.

 “Is he dead?” he finally inquires.

“He lives, but he’ll never be able to hurt anybody, the way he hurt me,” you reply with a quiver in your voice. “I must speak with my brother,” you add, wiping your hands on your dress.

“I am here with you. No matter what comes, we’ll face it together,” Sihtric leans in to kiss you and squeezes your hand encouragingly.

Princess

[delirious-donna]

Keep Me Warm [Kakashi Hatake]

Oct. 5 - Kakashi Hatake x female reader

An intimate camping trip turns unseasonably colder than expected, it'll be up to Kakashi to keep you warm right through 'til morning.

warnings: cockwarming, teasing, outdoor sex, Kakashi being a damn teasing motherfucker, it's lucky he is hot as fuck and hung...

Masterlist

A chill wind swept through the clearing, far colder than you’d expect for this time of year. It forced you to huddle closer into the blanket that was slung around your shoulders. 

The crackle of flames from the lit campfire burned bright, logs popping merrily as if it had no reason to worry about the wind that was startling to howl between the trees. 

Kakashi turned from where he was making you hot tea on the camping stove, a frown deepening on his face. His eyes swivelled around the area, scanning for goodness knows what but clearly not finding anything.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just surprised by how cold it’s turned. Do you want my fleece?” he asked, already pulling the zipper down.

“I’d rather have you,” you purred sweetly. Patting the ground next to you and parting your blanket to invite him inside.

His saccharine smile forced the saliva in your mouth to turn runny, swallowing it down as he took the few steps to your position. His steel grey eyes twinkled in the dusky evening light, he knew your game and he was down to play.

It wasn’t long before the low temperature was forgotten, sweat clinging to your bodies as you tumbled around the clearing floor in search of the perfect way in raising your heart rates and scratching the itch that had been simmering for hours.

The hours spent on the hike to arrive here, the flirtatious banter that Kakashi was far too adept at. It was always too easy to fall into his traps, to fluster at his salacious words as he tells you his favourite parts of the latest Icha Icha book and for your cheeks to ignite when he stood just a little closer than was necessary.

All of that had led to this, the blanket spread out and Kakashi feasting on you like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Your taste on his tongue, cheeks and chin spattered in your arousal, making you taste it. His tongue twisted around yours after gliding across the points of your teeth.

“Kashi. Kashi! I’m - oh fuck - I’m…”

~

The tent was cold, more than cold. The wind howled, an actual raging storm as you burrowed deeper into your shared sleeping bag.

You found solace and warmth in Kakashi’s form, his breathing was slow and even, and you wondered how he had managed to succumb to sleep.

Then again, the rigorous evening activities might have had something to do with it. Even now your muscles were aching, thighs burning from how long you had straddled his waist and fucked yourself up and down his cock.

A quick nudge pressed a frown upon his face, the silver hair that usually defied gravity in that stupidly attractive way fell across his forehead and his nose crinkled.

You shivered harder, and that was the cue needed to rouse your man from his slumber. Eyes heavy with drowsy sleep blinked, shuffling around and an arm pulling you further against his chest.

“Waz wrong princess?” he slurred into your hair. His nose rubbed into your locks, a leg hooking over your own and it certainly helped to abate the cold that was seizing up your joints.

“S-s-so cold.”

At your chittering words, the grip of your fingers on the thin mesh shirt he had worn to bed and your trembling body, he propped on his elbow and looked at you. Kakashi touched your cheek and hissed at how icy it felt beneath his fingers.

“Jesus, sweetheart, why didn’t you wake me sooner?” he scolded, but there was no real heat behind the words.

You shrugged, feeling foolish for trying to tough it out when you knew that Kakashi would never want to suffer like this. “You looked so peaceful and I thought I’d drift off eventually…”

“Turn over, let me be the big spoon.”

He waited until you were facing away from him, wrapping tightly behind you, an arm around your waist with his hand resting against your chest.

Kakashi’s heat quickly began to sink into your body, chasing the cold away from you with feverish intent. You thought he was going to hook his leg over your thighs as he often did back at home, but you stiffened as his knee slid between your thighs instead.

His hot breath fanned over your neck, lips smearing messy open-mouthed kisses to your pulse point and it made you jerk in his hold. Your butt found the semi he was hiding in his pants, rocking yourself against it and earning a low growl in your ear.

“I know what’ll keep you warm, princess.”

The remnants of sleep lowered his voice, it was an octave deeper and far more sultry, if that were even possible. You bit the inside of your cheek, the wind that continued to rage outside slipping from your mind as fingers dipped into the waistband of your pyjama bottoms.

Kakashi bit at your ear, rolling his hips in leisurely motions as his cock thickened against you. The ache from your muscles was forgotten in the same way as the storm, your need for the man at your back too much to be denied your full attention.

He was your personal hot water bottle and he was more than ready to ensure you were cosy and snug. The hand pressed to your chest lightly groped at your tits, teasing the peaks that stiffened beneath the cotton until he could pinch them and hear you squeal.

His other hand found its way between your legs. Stroking along your bare slit whilst he cooed softly in your ear, “Oh, sweetheart. You don’t feel cold here, should I stop?”

You whimpered at the empty threat, deep down you knew he wouldn’t stop.

Kakashi might be a tease but he was never truly mean and you needed him. Didn’t think you’d need him so soon after the evening spent fucking in every possible position, but here you were.

“No, Kashi. Need you… need you to warm me up.”

“Okay little one, but remember that you asked me for this,” he chuckled whilst pulling his pants down enough to free this heavy cock. 

You wrapped a hand around the thick base, pumping toward the crown that was searingly hot and wet from oozing precum. The sharp intake of breath puffed your chest, along with the groan from the chest that was pressed lovingly to your back.

Cool air caressed your butt as your bottoms were yanked with force down your thighs, just enough to let him sink between your folds. Kakashi rutted his length along your slit, the tip of his cock catching every forward movement against your hood and it was maddening.

The little bud of your clit throbbed, you arched your back and offered your pussy to him on a silver platter. 

It seemed impossible that the stretch to accommodate his fat tip would still ache, the dull pain far overshadowed by how fucking good you felt, but still, you assumed your cunt would be shaped to fit him and only him at this point.

“Ah… that’s it’s princess, taking me so well. Nearly - there!”

With a grunt of exaltation, Kakashi buried himself up to the hilt. Your velvet walls gripped his length, hugged it and clenched good as if begging him never to leave. His arms curled around your upper torso, face nuzzling into your neck as you panted and waited.

After a minute of not moving, you frowned and tried to draw back your hips only to be met by the steel bands of Kakashi’s arms holding you in place.

“Nuh-uh. No moving, you just let me keep you warm all night long. Get some sleep, you’ll need it for the morning.”

He sounded drowsy, feline and you knew he was smirking. You weren’t sure if he was referring to the hike back to the village or something… else.

You gripped down and he hissed through his teeth but remained perfectly still. You were drooling down the sides of his cock, could feel his steady heartbeat through the vein that ran along the underside of his shaft and you ached for the dam of pressure in your belly to be released.

A hearty fire burned in your core, kindling smouldering and stoking the fire until it was a towering inferno. Beads of sweat broke out along your brow and a tiny squeak passed your lips. It made Kakashi’s fingers spasm against your front, but he didn’t wake - lucky bastard.

It took an age to drift into any semblance of sleep, drowsy waves crashing over you and making your eyelids so heavy that you couldn’t keep them open.

One thing for sure, you were no longer cold…

[lirotation]

I Hail from Silverymoon: The party night

POV my little fanfic. Astarion X Amaara(my wizard Tav). Seriously though, who didn't see through his theatrics? It was pretty bad the first couple of hours into the game. I wanted to smack him and ask him to talk normal.

__________________________

The Tug of Influence

Astarion reveled in the satisfaction of his successful influence over Amaara. After almost two centuries, he finally had control over something. It had become a game for him, a way to get what he desired with seemingly minimal effort. He had grown comfortable in this dynamic, his requests and desires granted without much resistance. Yet, he knew that the time had come to aim for something more substantial, something that would truly solidify his hold over her thoughts.

"We can unlock immense abilities if we embrace the tadpole's power," Astarion's words flowed smoothly, a silver-tongued promise hanging in the air. "Imagine how powerful we could become, side by side."

Amaara's expression remained uncertain, a reflection of the internal battle waging within her. "Power without wisdom is perilous. The risks are too great, too unknown. I do not want to venture into something I know nothing about. It can corrupt us, change us in ways we can't anticipate."

"Or," Astarion leaned in closer, his voice dripping with seduction, "it may secure our survival. Don't you want a future with me? Imagine what we could overcome together."

Amaara turned away, a mixture of frustration and concern etching her features. "I've studied forces beyond our control. They always turn on those who wield them."

Astarion's patience was wearing thin, the careful façade of tenderness starting to crack. He reached out and turned her chin to face him, his eyes locking onto hers. "You cling to dusty books and denial. We must use everything at our disposal, especially when faced with the unknown."

"Not when it may cost our body and soul," Amaara's voice held a firm resolve, her gaze unwavering.

A flash of frustration flickered in Astarion's eyes as her words echoed in his ears. He had assumed she was firmly within his grasp, malleable to his will.

"If you won't embrace strength, then stand aside. I'll claim this power myself," he declared.

"I cannot let you take such a risk!" Amaara immediately countered

Astarion contained his surprise at her quick refusal, though it rattled his perception of control over her. The familiar feeling of being powerless - as he had been for two centuries under Cazador - came crashing back, filling him with equal parts of fear and rage.

"Have it your way then," he retorted, all pretense of charm gone. His voice now dripped with unveiled venom, his true impatient nature exposed. "Keep standing between me and what I want, and I will have to go through you."

Amaara's eyes widened, taken aback by the intensity of his words. The venomous tone of his threat cut through her, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

As her pained expression met his gaze, a pang of regret shot through Astarion's fear-fueled mind. His haste and frustration had gotten the better of him, and he realized the gravity of his words. Seducing Amaara required subtlety and finesse, a gradual erosion of her defenses over time. He had grown too comfortable in their dynamic and had acted recklessly, potentially undoing the progress he had made in days of careful effort. He may have overplayed his hand in this instance, but he was determined to regain control of the intricate dance he had been leading.

_______________________

The party night

After the argument last time about tadpole power. Astarion went on like nothing had happened. Amaara won't deny that doubt started to plague her mind. She reflected and regrouped, clung to the memory of the tenderer exchanges. She was well aware of Astarion's struggles, the demons that haunted his past and cast shadows over his present. His scars run deep, etched into his very being, and she felt a profound ache to be a balm to his wounds. So she carried on as if their rift didn't exist, welcoming him with warm gazes - though her smile never reached its former radiance, betraying her heavy doubts.

Astarion smiled as Amaara walked towards him in the chaos of merriment, "Here is my little treat with her cheeks all flushed. You will come to my bed tonight, won't you?"

Amaara was caught off guard, "I... I'll consider it."

Astarion was actually expecting a consent with eagerness, but it's not a no either. He said, "I see, you need some enticing. How about this? All these accolades from the Tieflings are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips."

Amaara turned bright red, "Please, not so loud, they'll hear you..." She glanced around nervously but can't suppress a tiny smile, "Your name does sound rather lovely."

Astarion hid a chuckle and continued, "every part of your perfect body whispers temptation - it's as if the Gods made you just to ruin me."

Amaara was both flustered and flattered, "I...you flatter me too much. I'm no celestial beauty."

Astarion whispered, "I can go on all night with the flattery, but is that really all you want?"

Amaara had a serious expression, looking up at him, "I enjoy our conversations too...learning more about you." 

Astarion was very amused by her innocent response and he said, "How about if I said these little words...Everyone's favorite...I love you."

Amaara's eyes widened, her heart racing. She searched Astarion's face earnestly, daring to hope it was true. But her keen intellect pierced through the pretty lie.

Her shoulders slumped imperceptibly with disappointment and renewed uncertainty. Yet she managed a small, bittersweet smile to mask the pang in her heart.

"It's alright, you needn't say such things just to please me," she said softly, turning away.

Those three little words - "I love you" - had been tossed her way so freely in the past by those who never truly meant it. How she longed to hear them spoken with genuine intention. She would give anything to have Astarion be the first to utter them sincerely, and then she could finally reply in kind, with all her heart.

Astarion noticed the glimmer of disappointment and sadness in Amaara's eyes before she turned away. He paused, unsure why his failure to convince her stung. This was merely a game to him...wasn't it?

Quickly regaining his nonchalant composure, he gently turned her chin back towards him. "Come now, why the gloom? You know you alone hold my fascination," he purred gently.

Letting his thumb caress her cheek, he gave a roguish smile. "There will be time enough for pretty vows and labels later, when the dust has settled."

He leaned in, voice dropping lower. "For now, we have each other for more pleasurable pursuits, do we not?" He brushed his lips temptingly close to hers, hoping to dismiss her melancholy and reestablish his thrall.

Yet despite succeeding in lighting her cheeks with a blush, the lingering shadow in Amaara's eyes gave him pause. An unfamiliar discomfort stirred in his chest. But he shrugged it off - such trifles were below him.

For now, it was enough that he still commanded her desire. The rest was meaningless. Wasn't it?

His honeyed words still managed to sway her. The temptation of his allure and the familiarity of his intimacy always pulled her back into his orbit. As they stole away together again after the party, her initial hesitation was gradually overridden by frail hope that they could strengthen a weakened bond.

The first night they shared, Amaara was too engrossed in her own embarrassment, inexperience, and overwhelmed by brand new sensations. But as they came together this time, Amaara's senses were more attuned, her heart weighed down by a mix of uncertainty and determination. She focused on Astarion, observing him closely. Beneath his seductive façade she sensed not affection, but repulsion and scorn she could not understand.

Amaara felt utterly lost. She had opened herself to him fully, only to find contempt rather than care. She hid her welling tears and retreated in silence after the deed, unable to process why he would shower her with sweet words yet harbor such bile towards her. He didn't enjoy their intimacy, it's plain as day. It felt like every fiber of his being urged him to escape as he moved inside her. she had felt like an unwelcome presence in his world. The contradiction between his words of admiration and the coldness she sensed gnawed at her, leaving her wounded.

Her thoughts briefly drifted to her previous romance. The golden haired half-elf with the tender smile and voice of an aasimar. She remembered the kiss they shared on the moonbridge, the sweet words he whispered. Didn't she think his eyes were filled with the most sincere adoration until she saw him in another nobleman's arms?

Realization dawning along with a profound sadness. She had allowed herself to be thoroughly deceived once more.

It doesn't matter, a voice whispered in the back of her mind, just enjoy his performance, he's a skilled lover. Keep him around for pleasure. Just keep your heart shielded from the inevitable pain. The suddenness of her inner monologue startled Amaara.  It was a stark reminder that she was hopelessly in love with Astarion. Her heart yearned for him, craved his presence, and any excuse to be near him seemed reasonable, even if it meant compromising her own feelings. But her logical mind, her better judgment, screamed at her to recognize the facts: Keeping her emotions aloof, detached from the whirlwind of attraction and affection, would be far easier said than done. The best course of action, her mind reasoned, was to walk away right now. She recognized how right it was, but her heart rebelled against the mere thought of losing him.

[mari-lair]

Ohhh your actually dead Akane theory makes me wonder how the other characters would react to learning that, especially Teru given that Akane is his first friend! Like ever! And he's already walking on a thin line because Akane's a half supernatural, but then he's actually dead? And he has to deal with the fact that he would lose the first person to see him for himself? Heartbreaking.

If we pretend my Akane is already dead theory is right, I think it would be revealed when he dies, and there are two alternatives: He could lose all connections to supernaturals when he dies and become a normal spirit or he is already intertwined with the clock keepers and will immediately be a full supernatural.

If his contract does force him to be a full supernatural when he dies, or if he chose to linger of his own accord after death, he will go against the natural order of the dead and cease to be the ‘person’ we know.

We can’t say how much Akane would change as a supernatural, but I personally believe he would have a big denial stage, convinced that he is not like other supernaturals, his soul is still human, since delusions and arrogance is something that don’t seem to be altered too much from their human self. They may even became stronger in the years and years supernaturals spend refusing to change their core beliefs.

I can picture Aoi trying to delude herself that “Akane is still around” if he became a supernatural, cause his apparence likely won’t change much, and she isn’t very familiar with this fantastical world. She was herself on the far shore (when ‘dead’) so Akane would be himself too, right? Ideally to me, they would cling to denial, mutually hurting each other out of love and a selfish insistence to not let go.

And if he just moves on, I can imagine Aoi locking herself in her room, trying to detach herself from it all but breaking down at a seemingly random moment because they were so ingrained in each other's life, everything must remind her of him.

Nene wasn’t as close to Akane as Aoi or Teru, but his death could be her wake up call. We are shown many times that Nene doesn’t want to think about death, doing her very best to put an optimistic spin on things and push any thoughts that make her uncomfortable away. Because of it, she ends up self-sabotaging herself and does not fully understand the gravity of losing a life. Be it her own, or of other people.

I can see his death being used similarly to Sumire's soul being eaten: Something that forces her to face loss head-on, but worst than Sumire because her ghost was of a different time, and as depressing as it sounds, no one Nene knows cares about Sumire, she will not be missed, but Akane dying would affect everyone. People will feel his loss and react to it, be it by her close friends joining in on her depressive mood (which makes it harder to push her negative feelings aside) or by her classmates not remembering him. Which is a good pipeline to what she doesn’t want to see but needs to face it “The one dead could have been you. This is you. You’re a walking corpse too.” route. There are just a lot of cool possibilities.

Kou would be shattered, take it as another failure. Even if it is completely out of his hands. Cause they weren't very close, but he trusted Akane.

As for Teru!

I believe Teru doesn’t care that Akane is half supernatural, he sees him as a normal human with supernatural powers, so Akane becoming a full supernatural would fuck Teru up a lot. There is no space for denial with Teru, he knows how the world works: Regardless if Akane moves on or if he becomes a supernatural with memories, the person Teru could comfortably call a friend will be gone.

Is very hard to know how Teru would act. On one hand, the people he gets attached to are irreplaceable to him. He treasures them dearly, and I doubt he can comfort himself with the knowledge that this is Akane's fate and there is nothing he can do to change it, like he did with Nene's situation.

Teru could try to be close to this new Akane (cause he always prioritizes the people he loves over his exorcism job: stealing from the shrine he works for to save Aoi, not exorcising Hanako cause Kou might hate him, tolerating all the mokkes cause ‘tiara like them’, using being a ‘cool big bro’ as his main motivation for working hard as an exorcist, and so on), but Teru is awful at handling change. He will make a mistake at some point. Or ‘Akane’ will say something that is far too disconnected from his human self to keep the illusion that “not much changed”. This approach would end badly, it's only a matter of time.

On another hand. Teru can stay level-headed about anything related to the supernatural, and he is used to death and radical situation. If he knows Akane is beyond saving and trying anything would do more harm than good, he may as well... Not do it.

When his mom died, it must have greatly affected him, and he was far far younger than now, but we never got any hint he obsessed over it. He was just... forced to accept it. To move on.

Loss is a part of life. And Teru knows that well.

If Akane became a supernatural that can hardly be called Akane anymore. I can imagine Teru visiting Akane’s grave more than “the keeper of the present”

[kokobako]

So. I did a thing. I cried doing the thing. This was supposed to be a fun WangXian drabble, but the characters took a life of their own? I don't know.

P.S. I didn't use names because, well, I generally don't. Please don't hate me for this!

It felt like something, and nothing at the same time. Maybe I’d been desensitized to the touch of my beloved’s skin. Maybe the electricity I felt was quelled, somehow, by the knowledge that we could never be. The difference between us was that of the artwork and the viewer. I could only ever look on, hopelessly, at the beauty, the grace that he held.

And oh, what a sight he was. My master, a force of nature to be reckoned with. As he stirred in his beddings in the morning, sunlight scattering as it reached his sleeping visage, I was reminded of why I fell in love with him in the first place. He was always the sun to my mere existence. I would always, incomprehensibly, be pulled in by his gravity, his dazzling shine. Yet, my entirety would burn on closing the distance. He was always mine to adore, to worship, but never mine to be had. 

I was but a greedy man, a thief, who would steal what I could. A glance, a touch, a soft sigh, the brush of his skin against mine as I dressed him. I knew that, one day, these days would end. But I was already ruined, wasn’t I?

My heart, mind and soul had been his, since all those years ago, on the first day that I met him and he gave me a reason to live.

***

Some things must always be hidden away. An ace up your sleeve, your bank account password, the name of your first love, your internet search history. He was my secret.

The one who always hid behind me, who lived as my shadow, whose being was for my sake, and yet, I could never believe those words. Because why would I exist in a world where he wasn’t? It was obvious I needed him more than he’d ever need me.

Home. I can’t think of a better way to describe him. The storms I braved outside were nothing compared to returning to him. To be met by his small smile, his comforting food, his entire presence were small luxuries that I, the wanderer lost at sea, could afford. He was the last good thing to happen to me, and the best. 

Somedays, I felt bad. How could I possibly hoard this much happiness? It wasn’t mine to own, to deserve. I knew he was preparing to leave me, possibly forever. When that day would come, I wasn’t certain I could let go without a fight. That’s the thing with wanderers. Very rarely are they adrift by choice. I’d been thrown into this sea of loneliness by circumstance, and he was my last sliver of hope. I would cling to him like the drowning man I was.

I was wrong, I was bad, I was an asshole, but hey. If you want to judge me, fuck off. I wasn’t about to back off without a fight. My home. MINE.

***

Since I told the Master my departure date, he seems to be listless. Oftentimes, I catch him staring blankly into empty space, a frown marring his perfect features. I do not understand why it seems as if me leaving will affect him worse than it will me. He is only losing a loyal dog. I’m losing my sun, my reason for being. And oh, will I miss him terribly. I know that, in the quietest corners of the night, I will weep silently for him, aching for the eternal darkness to end.

The household seems less bright these days. The master is home lesser and lesser. I understand. He must be spending time with his betrothed, the woman who captured his heart in ways I never could. She must cherish him so, and I wish she loves him more than I do, for I know that he deserves so much and more. 

As the marriage date, and the day I leave, draw closer, I can’t help but wish things had turned out differently. That I’d been born better, lived better, been someone better suited for the master. That I’d been a woman. Someone the master could love without worries and inhibitions. 

My only solace is that I’ll be far, far away before the marital night. I won’t be here to watch my heart be placed on a chopping board, then agonise over the master and his wife. They don’t need me here anymore. The young miss will have a mother, the master will have someone to care for him, and I will have a painful, agonizing life away from the both of them.

But they will never know. I won’t let them. They’ll be happy, healthy, and enjoy their happily ever after.

***

He said it yesterday. Told me he would leave because his services were no longer needed. Wished me the best for the future and walked out of the study with no second thoughts.

What about me? I never needed his services, I needed him. Craved his presence, his attention, those small smiles reserved for me. Was I so easy to leave behind? What of the decades we’d spent together?

What of my heart, which had been waiting for him? Waiting for him to let me in, so I could worm my way into the crevices of his soul, softening his hard edges with my own? 

He was leaving me, and he didn’t want to know my opinion about it. He wished me well for my marriage, and he truly meant it, too. What woman would I even marry? I’d loved him for as long as I knew what love was. I’d wanted to tell him, then and there, that it was all a big farce. There was no woman to be married, no happiness waiting for me at the end of the road.

My home was moving. I wouldn’t let it. Wouldn’t let him. It wasn’t right, after all. We belonged together. 

***

He lied. There was no book deal. No mansion in Malibu, no riches and fame to be had. He never sold our story. All he had was this small, run down apartment, which had a view of our household. A place for him to rest, to observe from. My home was near, and I never knew.

How could I not know he was dying? His smiles had begun to fade, his skin becoming paler and more sallow. He’d hold my hand tighter, indescribably cold and lost to me forever.

And now he lay before me, in a hospital bed too big for him, with wires and tubes sucking the life out of him. His eyes were shut, yet he seemed to be at peace. Why? Why wouldn’t you ever fight for me? Did you never love me?

I couldn’t help but cry that day. Watching the love of my life fade to nothingness was something I’d never considered. He’d always been there for me, at my highs and lows. When my parents died. When I was shot. When we first met, and he showed me what love felt like.

Yet here he was, a candle about to extinguish. The doctors said he only had a few weeks, at best. I didn’t know what to do anymore.

I was hopelessly, truly lost.

***

The last thing he ever said to me was that he loved me. His eyes sparkled with tears, as his weak hands held mine for the last time.

The funeral was an open casket. I choked up as I spoke of him to an empty room, cradling my half-empty glass of alcohol. He looked young, younger than he ever had. Even in death, he had so much peace. 

I couldn’t do it anymore. I smashed the glass on the edge of his casket, and watched as my cut wrist bled out on the white carnations I’d arranged. My vision blurred as I buckled to the floor, the crimson vivid. And then, suddenly, he wasn’t in the casket anymore.

I looked up at the him who offered me his hand, smiling. The same him, who offered me that same hand two decades ago, gestured at me, asking me to join him. And I did. Why wouldn’t I?

I was returning home, after all.

[pocket-lad]

CH 12- An Unceremonious Departure

Prev

The operations building - it was right there! They’d made it!

A scream from behind them caught their attention, and Ian whipped around, leaving Adelaide clinging to his shirt for dear life.

Her jaw dropped. A raptor had appeared from seemingly nowhere and lunged at Sarah. It had her pinned to the ground, furiously chewing and ripping at her backpack.

“Ian, do something!” Adelaide yelled.

There was nothing they could do but watch. Ian had to keep Kelly and Adelaide back and trust that Sarah could fight her way out of it, but every second they stood there, the horror grew.

Ian was right, though. Sarah pushed the raptor off her and left her backpack behind, hoping it distracted the dinosaur for at least a couple seconds. The group tried to sprint around it toward the operations building, but it was too close to the door. Their movement caught its attention and it suddenly wasn’t very interested in the backpack.

Ian lifted Adelaide higher, and she saw what he was trying to do. “Don’t!” she said forcefully. “We’re sticking together this time. Don’t even try it.” He was going to pass her off to Sarah and tell them to run. For somebody who studied chaos and unpredictability, he sure was predictable. And Adelaide wasn’t having it. Plus, if he had her with him, he was much less likely to run into danger and get himself killed.

There wasn’t any time to argue. Ian set Adelaide on his shoulder and ordered Sarah and Kelly to go inside while he banged on an old car with a stick, calling the dinosaur to him.

“Della-”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Adelaide said. She slid into his pocket from his shoulder, trying to keep her hand out of the way. She landed softly in the bottom, but as always, needed to see what was going on.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, two more raptors appeared, again out of nowhere. They preoccupied themselves with getting into the building Sarah and Kelly took refuge in, which was deeply concerning, but they were safe for at least a little while longer.

Ian sprinted (as best he could) into an empty building with glass windows and slammed the door behind them, but before they could even think they were safe, the raptor leapt through the window, smashing through the glass like it wasn’t even there. It hissed and bared its sharp teeth, claws raised in an attack position.

Thinking fast, Ian ripped the door off its hinges and used it as a shield between him and the dinosaur. It was probably an old, rusty door, but regardless, Adelaide was speechless at the level of strength that must have taken. Human Beans were strong. Terrifyingly strong. She was lucky to have this one on her side.

Undisturbed by the door, the raptor lunged again, knocking Ian backwards. He crashed through the window behind them, legs catching on the window ledge. He hung upside down for a moment, but it was long enough to send Adelaide tumbling out of the pocket.  She fell straight onto the dirt below. It was a long fall - she’d experienced worse, but it hurt all the same. The wind was forced from her lungs and her head and ribs ached from the impact. She groaned and tried to roll over to push herself up, but a tremor shook the ground, forcing her to fall over again.

Adelaide looked up to see Ian also tumble out of the window. He rolled backwards over his shoulder, narrowly missing her. She wouldn’t have been able to get out of the way in time if he’d landed a couple inches to the left.

It was a scary thought, but she didn’t spend much time with it, since Ian’s hand was suddenly in the picture. It scooped her up and deposited her back in the pocket, unconcerned with speed or roughness.  Adelaide’s hand was jostled at the movement, and she clenched her jaw to keep from screaming. Gravity forced her to the bottom of the pocket as Ian stood up and ran.

Just as she was able to finally pull herself up again, her vision filled with car door and raptor. Ian took refuge in an old car, but the raptor was close behind. It leapt at them, forcing the door shut and Ian backwards, which also meant Adelaide was forced backwards.

Everything had been a blur so far. A blur of danger and fear and darkness and dinosaurs and it was all too much. It was only when everything stilled did Adelaide register everything that just happened.

“Oh my god,” she breathed.

Ian could only spare her a glance, since the raptor wasn’t done trying to get to them. She didn’t look like she was dying, so his attention returned to the dinosaur.

Together, they watched helplessly as it carved a bigger and bigger hole into the passenger window, the high-pitched sound of its claws against the glass bordering on painful. If they didn’t move soon, it would get to them.

“Ian, we have to move,” Adelaide said.

He didn’t move.

“Ian, look at me!” she said, louder.

“Huh?” He looked down as if he just realized she was talking.

“We have to move. Now.”

Ian glanced between her and the raptor repeatedly, still not moving. Adelaide felt his heart hammering in his chest. He was paralyzed with fear, and while she didn’t blame him, they couldn’t stay here forever.

Twenty feet in front of them was the building Sarah and Kelly hid in. It was as good of an option as any, so Adelaide picked it as their destination. “See that door in front of us? That’s where we’re going. Okay? Just to that door.”

Ian blinked a couple times, slowly processing her words. He looked ahead at the door, figuring out if he could actually make it.

“Hey!” Adelaide called, and he finally, really looked at her. “It’s not far at all. It’ll be easy. Nothing to it. We go on three, okay?”

Ian nodded. “Yeah, yeah, that’s um…”

“One, two-” Adelaide couldn’t even get to three before Ian pushed the car door open and sprinted (again, to the best of his ability) toward the door. He made it inside, and they breathed a sigh of relief together.

“Nice j-” Adelaide started.

“Look out!” Kelly and Sarah called.

Ian turned, and they were faced with a raptor crawling its way toward them from underneath the wall. Truly an unstoppable force.

“Up here!” the girls called again.

Wasting no time, Ian clambered up some equipment to a higher level, hoping it would be far enough away. It wasn’t. The raptor fought its way in, and with its strong hind legs, leapt higher than Adelaide thought possible, right up to their level.

Taking Kelly’s hand, Ian jumped back down while Sarah climbed up to the roof. The raptor chose to follow Sarah.

They ran together outside and waited impatiently. Both Ian and Kelly’s heads were on a swivel, looking out for the other raptors which were certainly lurking close by, camouflaged by the dark greenery.  The sound of beating propellers filled their ears and bright lights dotted the landscape. A helicopter arrived. Nick did it.

“Come on,” Ian ushered Kelly toward their rescue, but Kelly pushed back.

“We can’t leave her!” she cried.

Ian sighed. He needed to get Adelaide and Kelly out of here, but Kelly was right. He couldn’t leave Sarah. He wished he didn’t have to be the one to make the call.

Luckily, Sarah came tumbling down out of a window. She crashed to the ground below. Ian and Kelly helped her up, and all four of them moved as fast as they could in their frazzled, injured states toward the helicopter.  Nick stood in the doorway, ushering them along and up some stairs.

Adelaide collapsed into the bottom of the pocket and plugged her ears as they got closer, unable to handle that level of noise. She felt Ian shout something overtop of it, but she couldn’t make out what it was.

When the movement stilled and the noise of the engine mostly disappeared, Adelaide unplugged her ears. Her heart thumped in her chest, her head throbbed, and her limbs kept twitching. Her body simply couldn’t comprehend that they were safe now, and her mind wasn’t doing much better. She should probably just go to sleep. She was exhausted. But if she tried to sleep, she’d be left alone with her thoughts, and that certainly wouldn’t do.

Adelaide also didn’t want any Bean interaction right now, but that felt like the lesser of two evils. She resigned herself to getting up. It was difficult without her left hand, but she managed. She doubted she’d be able to make it all the way to Ian’s shoulder, though.

Ian was in the middle of comforting Kelly, who Adelaide belatedly realized was crying.

Oh.  She supposed this was all pretty traumatic.

“It’s okay. It’s over now. You’re safe. I’m safe. I’ve got you, alright?” Ian continued spouting a stream of comforting words to his daughter, though he wasn’t sure if it was working.

Adelaide felt tears form as she watched. Why were tears forming? That’s dumb, she didn’t need to cry right now. She wasn’t a child and crying wouldn’t help anything. Ian was right, they were safe. She was being stupid. She willed the tears away, but an inexplicable emptiness overcame her chest and the tears kept coming and eventually they spilled over.

Adelaide wanted her parents. She wanted her mom.

Watching Ian comfort his daughter widened the pit in Adelaide’s stomach that had been forming ever since she was fifteen years old. When they were separated.

She was sure Ian would comfort her too, but it wasn’t the same. Ian was her friend, but he was a Bean. He couldn’t relate to her. He couldn’t hug her. God, what she would do for a hug from her mom right now, for her mom to tell her everything would be alright.

Adelaide was on the verge of sobbing at this point. She welcomed the dark, humid depths of the pocket where she could cry in peace. Her fit would only make it warmer, but it was a price she was willing to pay. She wanted to miss her parents in peace.

Ian must have either heard her or felt her shaking, because a moment later, the pocket opened wide and Adelaide’s sight was filled with his eyes.

“Uh…what’s up?” he asked awkwardly.

“Nothing,” Adeaide said, hurriedly wiping the tears away and failing miserably to hide her sniffles. “I’m fine.”

Ian went to reach in because she was not fine, and they’d been through this ‘I’m fine’ / ‘you’re not fine’ dance a million times.

“Don’t!” Adelaide called, voice shaking, not strong enough to face anyone just yet. She knew her face would be visibly red, even from a distance, and she wouldn’t be able to stop sniffling for a while.

“Okay,” Ian placated, withdrawing his hand. “No worries, it’s alright. We’re safe, Della.”

“No,” Adelaide swallowed. “No, it’s not…it’s nothing. It’s not Jurassic Park. Just forget it. Sorry…can you pull me out? I’d climb but…” She showed off her poorly bandaged hand.

Ian reached in again and slowly and gently wrapped his fingers around her, trying to give her as much space as possible without letting her fall. Once Adelaide was on his shoulder, she felt the stares of everyone in their small group.

Deciding the tension needed to be broken, Nick pulled something out of his pocket and let them fall to the floor. Bullets. “Welp. That’s one souvenir they won’t be taking with them.”

Adelaide stared at him in awe. “Did you…” The question hung in the air. Did you steal their bullets ?

Nick nodded smugly.

“That’s awesome,” Adelaide said, forgetting about her worries for now.

“I try,” Nick said, and he casually reached out for a fist bump.

Adelaide screamed and tumbled backwards as Nick’s fist plowed toward her. She would’ve fallen directly off Ian’s shoulder if he wasn’t leaning against the seat. As it was, she had to slowly peel herself off the seat when Nick’s fist hung in the air a couple inches in front of her. Her heart pounded as she stared at it, wondering what to do next.

“It’s a fist bump,” Kelly giggled. Tears stained her face, but the distraction was a welcome one.

“Right…” Adelaide trailed off, still not getting it. She stayed propped up against the seat, not wanting to get any closer.

“You can't leave me hanging,” Nick said.

Adelaide’s eyes were wide as she tried to figure it out. What did they all know that she didn’t? A lot, probably.

“You do it back,” Kelly said, and she held her fist out to Nick, who tapped his against hers. His hand returned to its original position right after.

Was this normal? Why hadn’t Ian done it before? Tentatively, Adelaide stood up straight on Ian’s shoulder, holding her arms out for balance. She slowly approached his fist, having to get really close with how short her arms were. She gave one last wary look to Nick and Kelly, then reached out and tapped her fist against his. Her hand didn’t even cover the width of one knuckle, so she could hardly call it a ‘fist’ bump, but whatever.

The speed with which Nick withdrew his hand created an air vacuum that almost pulled Adelaide with it, her arms pinwheeling. When she was sure she wouldn’t fall, she looked at everyone as if they were aliens. “Beans are weird,” she muttered, which made Kelly giggle again.

“Adelaide, do you know rock, paper, scissors?” Kelly ventured.

“Uh, yes?” Adelaide asked, disoriented by the introduction of all these weird new Bean things when not too long ago they were running for their lives from dinosaurs. She was pretty sure she knew what rocks, papers, and scissors were, but the way Kelly asked had her hesitant.

“Do you wanna play?”

Adelaide blinked. “Play?”

“I don’t think she knows, hon,” Ian said.

“Hey!” Adelaide argued.

“It’s a game,” Kelly said. “Here.” She shifted so that her back was pressed against Nick and she faced Adelaide.

Adelaide steadied herself, refusing to back down.

“Hold out your hands like this,” Kelly explained, and she held out a sideways fist and rested it on the palm of her other hand.

Adelaide flinched again at how fast the girl moved. The bumpiness of the helicopter didn’t help, either.  She slowly held her hands out in the same position, unsure where this was going.

Kelly continued. “You tap your hands three times like this, and then on the fourth time, you pick either rock, paper, or scissors.” She demonstrated each of the hand gestures. “Scissors beat paper, paper beats rock, and rock beats scissors. Here. Dad, play with me.” They demonstrated a couple rounds. Adelaide watched intently. “Like that, okay?”

“Okayyy,” Adelaide trailed off. It seemed easy enough.

“Okay, ready? Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” Kelly held out her hand in the shape of scissors and Adelaide in the shape of rock.

Realizing just how small Adelaide’s hands were, Kelly leaned in for a closer look, which caused Adelaide to fall back into Ian’s neck.

“You win!”

Eyes wide and chest heaving, Adelaide peeled herself off Ian’s neck. “That’s it?”

“Well then we just keep playing.”

“Oh.”

They played round after round. Adelaide didn’t like that Kelly stayed so close, but it wasn’t the girl’s fault. Eventually, she completely forgot about the proximity, and even got pretty competitive about it.  She also realized somewhere in the back of her mind that this was a good distraction for them both. Neither wanted to think about what just happened, so they were better off playing a silly game.

Sarah abruptly opened the helicopter’s door, assaulting their ears and letting in a huge gust of constant wind. Ian stood up as she did so and made his way to the open door. Adelaide shouted at him for interrupting their game.

Then she saw what the Beans were looking at. Down below, a massive cage laid on the dirt, and in that cage was a T-Rex.

Nobody could say anything. InGen succeeded. They were taking the dinosaur to the mainland. 

Resigned, the Beans sat back down.

“What are we going to do?” Adelaide asked.

“We’re going to stop them,” Ian said.

“Yeah, but how?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Hmmmmm,” Adelaide grumbled. She no longer felt like playing games. After all that time, after all their efforts, all their suffering, they failed. Ludlow won.

Adelaide remained lost in thought until the helicopter landed and they said their goodbyes to Nick. It all felt very unceremonious, despite the life-threatening adventure they all experienced together. That was it. That was the end. Adelaide would probably never see Nick again, and all they exchanged was a polite ‘see ya’.

They decided to stop at Sarah’s while they waited, which wasn’t far away, to drop off Kelly and freshen up. Adelaide was just along for the ride, too tired to ask questions. She hid in the pocket most of the way and only emerged once they reached Sarah’s apartment.

Adelaide wasn’t sure what she expected. She’d never been in another Bean’s house before, but this was vastly different from Ian’s. It was a lot smaller and warmer, and it was definitely more lived-in. Even as Ian fished her out of the pocket and set her on the table, she gazed around, unable to pick something to focus on.

Why couldn’t she have ended up here? Adelaide was grateful Ian was so gentle and patient, and she wouldn’t trade him for the world, but borrowing here would be infinitely easier than borrowing at Ian’s house. She’d never get caught here! There were so many hiding places and so much junk to sort through.

“Sarah, this is amazing,” Adelaide mumbled.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“It’s so messy!”

“Della!” Ian scolded.

Adelaide turned to look at him, wondering what she did wrong. Then she remembered that humans didn’t like mess. That probably came off as offensive. “Oh, sorry…”

Sarah just laughed, though. “No, it’s alright. It is messy. You are not wrong.”

She rummaged through some drawers and threw something at Ian, then carried clothes for herself into another room. Ian went to follow, but stopped and looked at Adelaide. “Don’t get into trouble.”

“How could I possibly get into trouble here?”

Ian gave her a look and then left. Adelaide threw her arms in the air, exasperated. She was up on a table. There was nothing to do up here but breathe and exist.

She glanced over at Kelly, who laid on the couch watching TV. Adelaide could hardly see it from where she was, so she resigned herself to laying down on the hard, wooden surface and staring at the ceiling, already bored.  Despite how tired she was, her body couldn’t rest. It still felt like it was in danger and she felt the need to keep an eye on her surroundings. At the very least, she wanted to explore, but something told her she didn’t have a ton of time to do so. Also, her hand continued to throb.

Adelaide didn’t have to wait too long, though. She heard rhythmic thumping that indicated the humans’ return. When she sat up, she saw that they looked a lot better than they did two minutes ago. Fresh clothes, clean faces, the works. Adelaide was bummed she wouldn’t be able to change until they got back to Texas.

“You uh, you want to stay here?” Ian asked hopefully.

“Not a chance,” Adelaide said as she got to her feet.

“Great.” Ian scooped Adelaide up and placed her in his pocket.

Adelaide was miffed, but at least it was a new, clean jacket. “Give me a warning!”

“Right,” Ian said, mildly in a hurry. “Kelly, behave,” he warned as he gathered his keys. Kelly gave a distracted wave in return, eyes glued to the TV.

With that, Ian, Sarah, and Adelaide left to go on their next adventure. Adelaide wasn’t sure if she missed something, but she didn’t really know what the plan was. Either way, she wouldn’t sit this one out.

They hopped in a red car without a roof. Adelaide wasn’t looking forward to the wind, but it wasn’t a long drive, and beyond the jumpscare of the engine turning on, it was relatively peaceful.  When they parked, Adelaide chanced a look. Up ahead was a massive group of people all crowded around a pedestal, so she’d have to stay hidden. She fell back into the pocket as Ian and Sarah approached a gate with a guard behind it.

“Is this the Ludlow affair?” Ian asked.

“It’s private property,” the guard responded.

“We’re on the list. This is Dr. Harding, I’m Dr. Malcolm.”

“We have Mr. Ludlow’s test results,” Sarah chimed in.

Ian continued her train of thought. “We have good news and we have bad news.”

Adelaide heard the sound of a gate shut. So much for that. But before she could ask what the backup plan was, another voice rang out.

“Dr. Harding? Dr. Malcolm? Come with me.”

The gate opened back up again and they were on the move. Despite the circumstances, Adelaide found herself quite bored. It was hard staying in the pocket all the time, missing all the action. That is, until everything suddenly became not boring, like right now.

Ian’s heart picked up pace and his body froze. “We should’ve stayed in the damn car,” was all the warning she got before a massive crash echoed across the harbor. It sounded like the wood of the dock was being torn apart by something massive, and for a short, irrational moment, Adelaide thought it might have been a dinosaur.

Ian was thrown backwards and Adelaide braced for impact. It wasn’t anything too bad, especially compared to the last forty eight hours, but her existing injuries felt exacerbated by the fall.

Ian quickly checked to make sure Adelaide was still in one piece before he stood up and took off. Once Adelaide was able to fight gravity, she looked out to see a gigantic boat taking up most of their field of view. That was the thing that had crashed. But why?

Everyone seemed to have the same question as they made their way onto the boat. An eerie silence filled the air when they saw dead crewmen littered across the floor. Most of them rested in gruesome positions, likely attacked by dinosaurs. One was clutching onto a remote control with two buttons on it, and behind them was a massive cargo hold that could only contain one thing. The T-Rex was here.

Another guard waltzed over to the crewman, curiously lifting the remote control. Seeing that it likely controlled the now malfunctioning cargo hold, he pressed the top button.

Ian, Sarah, and Adelaide all caught this at the same time and in unison screamed at him to stop, but it was too late.  The sound of breaking machinery and an angry T-Rex filled their ears. It was loose, and it was headed straight for them.

.

Next

[spotsupstuff]

I don't know why, but Beppi just makes me smile. There is something funny in that a Raindeer, the most pacific animal in Rain World we know of, is just pissed off at anything and anyone.

I bet Beppi has a favorite person, and my take is that is Brook for some reason. That child can pacify anything with their nap powers and their blankie. Nobody knows how that works.

Also love that worm of the string in ancient times au. Sparrow teaching him to walk, the shenanigans of taking him to know the family, the Beppi ride, the first reaction of Sparrow's family at a iterator just showing up in their house with Sparrow...*afectionated sighs* the possibilities...

raindeers are assholes, man, they might not actively attack the player physically but urgh the mental damage. that's where Beppi's whole shtick comes from

IF HE IS TO HAVE A FAV PERSON MY MONEY IS ON GRANDA ACTUALLY. they can be pissy and spiteful against everything ever together <3 however Brook is the only one who wields the power to do Something about that rage. what she do? she throws her blanket over his head and five seconds later his head just flops fowards. completely conked out immediately. just like parrots.

with the worm off the string au i'm mostly thinkin about like,, when it Happens,,,,,

cuz i'm imagining that the puppet just kind of pops off in the middle of the night and for *some* reason he's still functioning normally. but now there is no Project Caper of Euros: Hivemind, it's just him. one creature. little Caper. so small and lonely and scared- he can't even move properly. he doesn't know what's happening, why is it happening to him and if he's going to be alright- didn't he needed that tube in his back to survive? is he going to die? he doesn't want to die- wait, no- please

he still manages to contact Sparrows on her Mechanic's watch. he quietly pleads her for help, unlike usually when he's loud. so she's worried and he isn't responding to any of her follow up questions

as fast as she can she throws her masks and jacket on, doesn't even bother with the hair, and books it to the structure's entrance

everything seems mostly normal! the walls are still beeping as they should, the water is rushing through, the gravity generators seem to be working in order. even the neurons before the puppet chamber are flicking around as they normally do

"caper, i swear if this is some kind of prank-" she starts to say as she enters the chamber, but stops short when she registers how dark the room is. that the umbilical arm is lying motionless and, much to her absolute horror, the puppet is miserably curled up a ways away. nothing of the umbilical equipment is connected to it. it's going to *die* right in front of her. one of his most important pieces is just going to wither away

shoving herself out of the tunnel, tumbling down and then quickly forcing herself back on her legs to run to the puppet, she starts to inspect its back to figure out what could've happened and how could she fix this

and the most surprising and scary thing happens. the puppet Moves. but not in the spasming kind of way that dying puppets allegedly tend to do, it's a slow movement of a hand intentionally trying to plant itself on the floor. then it's a slow movement of curling in on itself even more. that's not supposed to be happening

"...caper?" she settles a hand on the puppet's side, then comes around to get a look at its face. and oh look at that... that face is twisted in fear and panic and now when she looks closer, he's shaking

then he cautiously looks to her. "sparrows help, i don't- know what's happening. *it's so quiet,* it's so so quiet i-"

that's not expected death happening before her, that's a panic attack. she doesn't understand how this is possible, all of education says that this is not supposed to be possible at All, but oh she is familiar with panic attacks

gingerly she collects him into an embrace. softly presses him against her chest. he clings on and whines and trembles apart. she gives him the time he needs, hushing him and gently rocking, stroking his bare back

and he does calm down! because maybe he is disconnected from the rest of what used to make him Him, maybe everything changed and he can't understand it- Sparrows is here and she's still the same. he can't reach out into his components for safety, but he Can find safety with her

she is still part of his heart just like he's part of her and judging by the look on her face when he finally dares to peek, she will be here to help him solve this strange thing

she then helps him sit up, bundles him up in her jacket all fussy about it. they don't leave the chamber right away, because he's still unsure about it- he isn't Meant to leave himself behind like this. and also Sparrows needs to quickly check if the structure is still running alright (thankfully, it is. even if way less organized)

it quickly becomes apparent that Euros won't be able to learn how to walk all that quickly, so she resorts to carrying him on her back while they get out of the structure and then when outside and she doesn't need her hands, she takes him bridal style to the Mechanic's house. or her current home, i suppose

and while she's carrying him all bundled up, with his head resting on her shoulder, eyes half closed, he gets the feeling that despite all of this being so scary it will turn out alright

stars and FUCKIN heavens above, they'd finally for the first time ever get to sleep together in one bed..... UGH. all curled up together, hugging, under a blanket... it kind of sucks cuz Euros isn't made from the softest fucking material ever, but oh for the comfort of Finally getting to properly cuddle up with her lover Sparrows will weather it gladly

AND THEN ONE DAY WHEN HE WILL KNOW HOW TO STAND AND WALK AND SUCH SHE WILL GET TO DANCE WITH HIM IN THE KITCHEN HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH oh ňo i'm gon cry

[joanquill]

"Yep. We're lost. In the fucking woods."

Number : 26 Character : James Bonde Relationship : Platonic Type : Fluff, Crack Nothing like getting lost in the woods with Bonde! Ty in advance! I really love your writing.

James Bonde

Tag/s: Platonic, Crack-ish

"Well, isn't this just nifty," you deadpanned, staring at the bright blue sky with your whole body hanging on a tree branch and feeling your back about to give out from the force of gravity.

"Haha," Bonde sarcastically mused, grabbing the tree's trunk as he reached for you.

 "Very funny (N/N). Now, grab my hand," he reached out to you, making you turn to him and stretch out your hand, careful not to tip your balance.

"I must say, I haven't seen anyone make a car flip mid-air when as you turn. You're really something, Double O' Seven."

"Should I shake the branch instead and let gravity do the work?"

"Thanks," you dusted yourself off as you and Bonde reached the ground.

"Don't mention it," he reassured, fixing his suit as you both looked at Herder's car you borrowed for your road trip.

"Do you think he'll notice?" Bonde asked as you blinked at the car.

It was hanging between branches with the hood completely popped open, smoke coming out, one of the headlights hanging by the wires, and a tire rolling across you and Bonde.

"I'm sure he can dent it out," you waved your hand, followed by a loud bang from the engine.

"...Shall we walk?"

"Nothing like a little nature hike to calm the mind,"

"How long do you think 'till they notice we're gone?"

"Knowing Herder? I'm surprised we made it this far," Bonde chuckled as he moved away the branches, letting you pass through.

"What? Don't tell me you're scared," he teased, making you scoff.

"Of what?" you taunted, making Bonde shrug his shoulders.

"You don't know, maybe someone or something is lurking in the dark..." he quickly moved to the other side, "...waiting for an opportunity to strike," he whispered, making you roll your eyes.

"We kill people for a living. Some shadows aren't enough to scare me," you denied, making Bonde pout.

"If you say so... But don't come clinging to me if you get scared,"

"Not in a million years,"

"Uh... James?" you called out, staring at the landmark you carved on the tree five minutes ago.

"Yeah?" he replied, his eyes not leaving the map.

"Are you sure you know how to read the map?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know," you shrugged, "I just think there's a possibility we're... you know..." you shrugged, "The L word?"

"Lesbians?"

"Lost, James. We're lost,"

As you and Bonde roamed the forest, your eyes landed on a dirt path.

"James!" you gasped, shaking his arm as you pulled him to the path.

As you followed the path, you saw a village up ahead.

"Was there a village on the map?" you asked, making Bonde look through it again.

"Doesn't look like it..." he answered, making you hum.

"Let's go ask them for directions," you smiled, marching to the village before Bonde grabbed you by the collar.

"I don't think that's such a good idea..."

"Why not?"

"Have you never read a single horror novel in your life?" he furrowed your brows, making you sigh.

"Then what? Continue to roam the forest until nighttime?"

"So you'd rather enter an uncharted village in the middle of the woods?"

You both stared at each other, waiting for one to give in.

"...Rock-paper-scissors? Whoever wins, we follow and blame for our possible deaths?"

"...Yeah, why not."

[outpost51]

Tiny Scene (Monday)

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

never/nowhere/nothing

Drag me to bottom of the deep blue—

Whoever I’d been before died in that wreck weeks, months, years ago — was hard to track the passage of time in a place where the very definition of it seemed to ebb and flow with the tides. Maybe I died again the night I proved my theory.

Maybe I died every time I went into the water.

My lungs didn’t burn anymore. I stopped fearing the sea the moment it failed to keep me dead when I’d all but handed myself to it on a silver platter.

“Got that look in your eyes,” Xoctosz grunted beside me. I stopped fearing him, too — at least, his sudden appearances stopped startling me. The fear still lingered, tarry crude oil clinging to the back of my mind, impossible to ever completely scrub away. “How stupid are you gonna be today?”

I bared my teeth in a mockery of his grin. “What level of stupid gets me swordfish steaks for dinner?”

He snorted around his pipe as he tried to light it despite the wind whipping saltwater straight at us. “Swordfish, eh?” It flared to life and he paused to take a few puffs. “Somewhere ‘tween pretty and very. Fuckers are fast an’ like to wrestle.”

“That’s all? Easy,” I simpered, shucking off my flight suit. It was some poor soul’s spare, kept safe from the ravenous sea by a watertight compartment in his plane. “I’m always pretty.”

“That you are.”

The utterance had taken us both by surprise, it seemed, as I’d never seen his beady eyes quite so wide and my jaw had grown far too heavy to lift off the ground. I decided for both of us that it was probably best if I left it be, and gathered up my harpoon before hoisting myself up on the rail.

“Fuck are you off to?”

Whoever I was before had definitely died; I’d never been so bold or comfortable in life, and there I was, stark naked, harpoon in hand, and staring Death in his face. “Getting a swordfish, Xoctosz, keep up.” It was only when I hit the water with far less grace than I intended did I figure out why, exactly, my dive had fucked up midair.

And it was only when something massive hit the water behind me did I realize the gravity of it.

I hadn’t choked on his name.

I did, however, choke on the water forcing its way into my nose as he dragged me along beside him.

“You swim too slow,” his voice rumbled around the inside of my skull. It shouldn’t have made my heart race that he tugged me tight against his side, and then it started racing for an entirely different reason: two thick, scarred fingers forced my mouth open, hitting the back of my throat before my gag reflex could even start to catch up.

My lungs burned. The oily fear at the base of my brain ignited, and when I figured out the water pressure immobilized my arms, I bit down as hard as I could with my jaws wrenched so wide.

Xoctosz let go.

Holding my harpoon tight and ready to go, I kicked my feet to look around and around and around. He was gone. He’d left me alone in the cold dark of the open ocean, with no idea where I was or how far he’d taken me—

“Lower the weapon, Keeper.”

I twisted around. Nothing was behind me but more water.

“Some fuckin’ way to thank me for givin’ you gills.”

Around again. Not there either.

Something punched between my shoulder blades, forcing me to release the breath I’d been holding and take another—

Oh.

I inhaled again. Exhaled. Inhaled, and used the oxygen to snap: “A little warning next time, maybe!”

Finally, he swam into view. I promptly turned away.

The oilskin coat did, in fact, come off, and Xoctosz was a little more than just a very annoying shark. “Not like you’d a’ been any more okay with it,” he chuffed, wrapping one thick arm around me again. “You don’t know where my hands’ve been.”

No, I didn’t, but I had a sudden intrusive thought of where I wanted them to be, and thank fuck he decided then to speed off with me in tow. With nothing but more deep, dark blue above and below and before and behind us, it felt like flying — much better to think about. “Faster,” fell from my mouth unbidden and without hesitation he obliged, speeding through the water like the water itself propelled him.

Maybe it did. I’d seen him conjure storms from nothing but his temper, it wasn’t so farfetched that the sea listened to him, too.

“It does,” he said. Before I could ask how he knew what I was thinking about, he added: “You think too goddamn loud. S’not eavesdropping if you’re yelling across the house.”

Thankfully, he spotted our dinner and I was spared from the mortifying idea that it wasn’t just my conscious thoughts that I was projecting.

“Harpoon up,” he told me, and as soon as I did, I felt him pick up speed. “Brace, Keeper.”

Xoctosz let go.

Without the safety of his arm around me, it really felt like flying as I sped towards the unsuspecting fish. I kicked to keep up my momentum, braced for the impact—

Rough ropes rushed up from beneath me, slamming me into my target and pulling, pulling, pulling upward so fast I couldn’t breathe. My ears popped right before I broke the surface. The swordfish also wasn’t terribly happy with our situation, thrashing its big body around in the net. I wasn’t sure if it was the ropes or its scales that covered my skin in a thousand tiny cuts, but the seawater made them burn all the same.

I tried to scream for Xoctosz. The swordfish thrashed again, knocking the wind from my lungs, and before I could try to get another breath, my back collided with salt-soaked wood. It was fine, I tried to rationalize; these fishermen were doomed anyway, because we were on our side of the fogline, and one way or another, I would end up back at the lighthouse.

He wouldn’t be mad at me for stabbing a few of the forsaken bastards before we got there, right? The things that lived in the water would eat anything. He didn’t need the sailors alive.

I held onto my harpoon, aiming it as far away from my face as I could and readied myself for the drop.

The net released.

Wooden decks felt shockingly similar to concrete when you fell straight onto your back and didn’t make any attempt to catch yourself. Good news, I didn’t drop my harpoon. Bad news, my head bounced twice off the deck and left my vision spinning.

That had to be the reason, obviously, that the occupants on the ship didn’t look human. That what stared down at me was a gaggle of creatures clearly spat from the depths, but had too many eyes and teeth and barnacles where they shouldn’t be. That slashing one with the business end of my harpoon spilled rancid seawater, not blood, into my screaming mouth.

They were doomed anyway. Xoctosz would come for me.

He had to.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

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