#dormant sliver

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Dormant Sliver

"It triggers the hive's period of Ætheric fertility—a time when even feeding is a lower priority than reproduction." —Rukarumel, field journal

Artist: Lars Grant-West TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[redonionlover]

long time no see!

*hands you these*

[djarincore]

TAGS: incubus!ghost, smut, dubcon, somnophilia, fingering, PIV

A/N: i had a hard time falling asleep the other night and between that weird state of feeling awake but also asleep i felt this weird sensation of someone touching me sooo... INCUBUS!GHOST banner: @/cafekitsune

this version is definitely sexier than unsettling lol

Slipping between the realm of reality and dream, you lay on your stomach in a half-awake state of grogginess and confusion.

There's a hand on your leg—and, it's slipping further and further up your thigh.

It's heavy against your skin. You feel the individual fingers curve around the meat of your thigh. Then another trails your waist and down your hip.

For a moment you feel like there are hands all over you, touching you, caressing you. A light, unrestrained moan slips past your lips.

The part of your brain that typically jumps into action, demanding for you to kick or scream, remains dormant. You’re too tired to care enough to open your eyes and face what will ultimately be nothing.

In its exhaustion, your brain is conjuring up phantom touches. That's all this is. It will go away and you'll finally be able to slip back into unconsciousness. Or maybe you were already asleep and dreaming.

You bury your face into your pillow and ignore the tricks your brain is playing on you.

But the hands remain persistent, slipping between your thighs, cupping your cunt. You tense as the hand slides your panties to the side, a thick finger drags down the seam of your slit.

“You awake?”

A gruff voice jolts you out of your daze. You turn yourself onto your back and come face to face with a phantom.

A large figure looms over you. His body hides the sliver of moonlight shining through your window, shrouding you and him in darkness. Though his body is that of a man, he isn't entirely human. His face, if you can even call it that, resembles a skull, hollow eyes stare down at you.

Your lips part, only to realize your mouth is dry, a scream barely forms. You attempt to scramble away from his hands, pushing yourself against the headboard.

“Ah, not so fast,” he grunts, gripping your hands and pulling you back flat against the bed. He pins your hands against your chest, squeezing when you wiggle against his grip. “I’m not nearly finished with you.”

Your tongue darts out to swipe across your lower lip. “What do you want?”

The entity doesn't respond right away. He's distracted by the bobbing of your throat as you try to swallow your fear. A hand reaches out to skim the skin along your neck, tracing up the column of your throat with his knuckles.

You hate that his touch is so gentle—so gentle it makes your legs clench. Your brows furrow as you try to push away the desire pooling in your belly as he touches you.

“Same as you,” he says. His hand moves to cradle your cheek, but you turn your head, making him grab your jaw and face him once more.

He leans in close. You see nothing but darkness beyond the holes in his skull mask; the lower half of his face is simply shadow. “Need a good fuckin’. So, lay still and let me work.”

As you breathe him in, smoke and musk, your eyes feel heavy. It's almost pleasant to be stuck in this state, just on the edge of unconsciousness. Your thoughts are a haze, limbs relaxed and limp, pliant beneath him.

“That's right, just give in to it,” he coos, releasing your jaw and wrists. He slides your T-shirt up to reveal your breasts, running his thumb over your pert nipples. “I’ll make you feel good.”

Your mouth falls open when he grinds his hard cock against you. Your chest heaves, but you can't do much against him besides lay vulnerable as he touches you.

He slips a hand back into your underwear, rubbing slow circles against your clit, chuckling when your hips twitch. A finger pets your slit, gathering your wetness along the tip and guiding it back to your clit. He works you up until your legs tremble around him and then pushes two thick fingers into your tight hole. He moves slowly, fingers working inside of you like a caress.

You're a whimpering mess and awfully tired. The more he builds your climax the heavier your eyes get. “I- ‘m gonna-” you muster, weakly clawing at your sheets.

He lowers himself to your cunt, letting his tongue join his fingers, lapping at your juices and moaning. He hums, something low and lulling, “Good girl, let go for me.”

You do as he commands, tightening around his fingers and coming on his hand. The rest of the world begins to fall away as you come down from your orgasm.

You wake to the wet sounds of him fucking you. His cock slides out of your dripping, sore cunt only to thrust back in, fitting snug in your tight walls. Your legs are pushed up, spread and open for him to fit between.

You don't know how long he's been in you or how long you’ve been passed out. “S-Stop,” you whine, hoping to get a break. Even though you assume you slept, you're still exhausted. You fear whatever this entity wants from you, once he has it, you'll never wake up again.

“No,” he grunts. His voice now takes on a heavy rasp, grating and no longer soothing. “Fuckin’ take it.”

“Please,” you whimper. It's pathetic, breathless but all you can seem to muster. “Don't kill me.”

He laughs and the sound echoes through you. He rubs your puffy clit, making you flinch from the sensitivity and clench around him.

“Oh, ‘m not killin’ you; I'm keepin’ you.”

[wolven91]

Skin Deep

The crit'yun are an ancient race.

Chitin instead of flesh, feather, scale, or fur. A mind that was vast enough to include all their kind, but also individual minds, all working towards a common goal broken up into hives then castes. They were like ants of old, but massive.

As for the hives, in the deepest, most protected parts of their worlds, there were pools of a biological soup that gave birth to new and needed bodies. There was no 'set' appearance to the crit'yun. If they needed pincers the most, then the creature that crawled from the ominous goop had pincers. If they needed size or bulk, the goop would recede as a titan lifted itself clear of the liquid, allowing it to cascade from it in great waterfalls as it stepped into the galaxy.

The crit'yun had been around since the various races that now dominated the galaxy had begun to crawl from their own primordial soups millennia ago. They watched the galaxy and recorded its comings and goings with a careful eye. Nothing was forgotten, everything was shared. Perhaps once the crit'yun had spread themselves across the galaxy, like a grand empire? But that wasn't the case now.

Their territory with a sliver that spanned several arms of the galaxy. They stayed there, watching and listening to the galaxy that appeared and grew now that they stayed dormant.

But the modern galaxy feared them, even before their most recent awakening.

Not just because they had perfected what was important to the current races, war and weapons, but because they were an antithesis to what was considered beautiful within the galaxy. Skittering. Twitching. Eyes that didn't look like eyes, or none at all, still watched without blinking. Legs and hands that were weapons.

They were judged on their first introduction. The crit'yun were aliens, even to the aliens.

When humanity appeared, it created an almost visible ripple amongst the insectoids. Something new. Something they hadn't seen. Something they hadn't recorded with their incredible minds. Something, that was dying.

Like a locust swarm amassing, the crit'yun, after thousands and thousands of years in isolation and refusal to engage with the wider galaxy; was suddenly abuzz with activity. The galaxy feared the crit'yun despite the diplomats they sent to assure the Galactic Community of their honourable intentions. They avoided crowded systems, sent only the most appealing of the crit'yun to parley when needed, but they were still shunned as dangerous, foreign things.

This was where Max came in.

Max had been in the 'care' of slavers. He was one of the lucky ones. He hadn't even been aware of their foul intentions. They had lied, placed him in comfortable quarters and began their journey towards a buyer before being found by the crit'yun.

"We are still sorry. That this. Was your first step. Sorry, that we, no... you... did not find... ally, friend, family." Chittered the creature. It was the size of a large dog, perhaps a Great Dane? It's red membrane wings flutters and twitched, but the numerous black dots, that Max had come to learn were its eyes, watched him carefully. Its speech pattern was strange, but it sat next to the human on a raised bench of resin that coated the inside of the crit'yun ship.

"It's alright. I should have known, I just didn't... think I suppose?" The human said with a sigh, gesturing with his hand before it fell back down against his knee.

"Absence. No. Lack of knowledge. Ignorance. Not worthy of fault. " Assured the creature as its head tilted one way and then the other.

The human smiled idly, more to the floor than to himself or a crit'yun. His hand, ever moving reach over without thought and rubbed a hand against the almost perfectly rounded head of the alien insect. Although there was no fur there, the distracted human merely felt calmer by the action. It reminded him of his own dog, Max missed him.

It was almost a whole minute before Max turned his head to the crit'yun and blinked, seemingly surprised that he was petting the insect and immediately withdrew his hand.

"I'm sorry! I didn't-" Blurted the human, holding his hands up in apologetic surrender.

"Why?" Asked the creature. It's perfectly round head turning, the beady black eyes rotating with it. It was a perfect impression of a puppy tilting its head.

"I wasn't thinking." Replied the human honestly, lowering his arms once more, paying attention to the creature.

"Ah. This one knows this. Nature. No... Natural action... To act by instinct. True Freedom. Fear no. Fear not. No offence made or received." Confirmed the alien, bobbing its head. Unbeknownst the Max, the instinctual drive it spoke of was its 'purpose'. Every crit'yun was born and made with a goal, a true purpose in life. The broodmother's was to birth and care for their young and vulnerable. The guards was to defend and destroy threats. To this drone? It was to reapply the resin to the ceilings of the crit'yun craft.

Since the human had shown preference to it, it had already been replaced, its purpose was now to stay by the human and ensure it wanted for nothing until the broodmother's craft arrived.

Max gave a smirk as this giant insect spoke in such an odd way, struggling to find the correct words, all the while he had accidently just treated it like a favoured pet. His brow furrowed as he thought about it though.

"How come the translators don't work for you?" The man asked curiously. He was aware that translators normally just adjusted any word heard for the word the speaker meant, in the listener's language. It shouldn't have been hiccupping over the insect's words.

"They do." Replied the creature smartly.

"But you mix up your words?" Pointed out Max.

"Ah. Translators fine. It is mind that is... limited." The insect explained, bobbing on all six legs.

"Mind?" Max was only more confused now.

"Yes. This one. Crit'yun you see with your eyes. Is only drone. Mind limited. In time... We will present acceptable crit'yun to you." The drone explained, speaking the words the broodmother sent through the hive's mind. It was a delicate thing, to speak through a drone, but doable. They didn't normally have the drive to talk or even need to. It was pure luck that this done was a talkative one, often humming to itself as it happily worked. The broodmother could only whisper simple concepts and the drone would repeat them as best it could.

"What does that mean?" Enquired the human. The crit'yun was pleased with the new specie's curiosity but feared that this was the moment they would lose this creature's trust. The crit'yun knew what they looked like, and the diplomat form could only look so much like them before it caused distress.

"We hide. Will hide. What makes us. Robes will hide chitin. Our eyes will be only... One... Two..." Counted the drone, repeating the broodmother's words. Her signal was getting stronger, straining the creature's mind.

"You don't have to change for me you know? I don't mind." Promised the young man.

"You... flinch." Pointed out the drone.

"I'm not going to lie, its intimidating, being surrounded by bugs, but I bet I don't look great to you."

"Clicks for this one. True. Truth is spoken. Very well. When this drone... is returned to the hive. Hive will not attempt... much... to hide selves..." Promised the drone, settling down onto its folded limbs. Tired now.

"Good. I was always told be proud of who you are. And you guys saved my life, so in my book you're alright."

"We wish to record your book. Please present it." Asked the drone, it's mind growing tired now that the broodmother had relinquished her hold on its mind. She was on the ship now. The idea the drone could record new history and present it to the broodmother? As it slipped from the waking world, if it could smile; it would have.

"Oh. Uuhh..." The human said, unaware he was the only one present now.

[r/WolvensStories]

[AO3]

[Ko-Fi]

[illusivelle]

shake the frost / 2

pairing: william 'ironhead' miller x female reader rating: t (for now) length: 3,044 words content: established relationship with the triple frontier boys, cursing, bruises/cuts, tending to wounds (my jam) summary: you don't expect to find will waiting for you so late at night, and especially not for these reasons. a/n: just a sucker for one person taking care of another while they're hurt. really just feeding into my own agenda here. and also a sucker for some idiots who think their pining is unrequited. read part one link to ao3 here!

Next time.

Two words that had been ringing in Will’s ears, bouncing around his head. Words he’d been repeating to himself because he wasn’t sure you meant it, wasn’t sure what spurred it. Wasn’t sure why it awakened something in him that had been dormant for so long. Two words that felt like a promise of more – more time, more you.

It wasn’t as if it was something novel considering the way he’d looked at you, and caught you looking at him, too. All those fleeting glances you’d both share when he thought the other guys weren’t looking, tiny smiles and faint touches in passing. But this was something different, wasn’t it? A step in a direction he wasn’t certain either of you would make a move toward, or maybe he’d been overthinking the entire thing and it was just something polite you’d offered.

Either way, Will Miller couldn’t seem to get his mind off – nor wrap it around – the idea of ‘next time.’

If only said next time wasn’t under these circumstances, knocking on your front door in the state he was in, hoping that you were actually home. 

You’d just pulled into your parking spot, locking your car door three times as you walked up to your apartment. The silhouette that’s slumped over your door is enough to have all the hairs rising at the back of your neck, one hand digging into your purse to clutch for something you could potentially use as a weapon. Shit, if only you’d listened to Frankie all those years ago, you might’ve been better prepared for moments like this. The only thing you could feel as you rummage in your bag is the dull handle of a switchblade, the one thing you did accept from Frankie if only to appease him and make him feel better about your safety.

And now you were kicking yourself in the fucking ass for not listening.

Tentative steps bring you closer to your door, your fingers grasping the knife tightly as wary eyes assess every inch you can see. In the darkness, you can only make out the fact that the person is a) much, much larger than you and b) hunched over like they might be sleeping. At your door, though? It doesn’t tell you much, save for the fact that you had to be very fucking careful about what might happen next. One more step brings you only a few feet away but the rustling of your clothes is enough to have the other’s head snapping up, and you whip out the knife from where it’d been hiding. “You should–”

“It’s me.”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. Even in your haziest dreams, you could pick out that deep timbre and husky rasp that belonged to the one man that had no business occupying so much of your thoughts, especially as of late. “Will?” His name is a hushed whisper as you toss the switchblade back into your bag and quickly close the distance between you two. You’re crouching down as he’s pushing himself up, clumsily meeting halfway, your hands rising to settle on his shoulders. Not that he needed you to steady him, but you needed something to steady yourself, the sight of Will Miller sitting at your door something you’d never in a million years think would happen. “What’re you– is everything okay?” Immediately, your thoughts fly to all sorts of scenarios, a wary and assessing gaze raking over him as your palms work in a similar fashion, running up and down his arms like you might find a broken bone or a gaping wound. 

It’s only when your eyes finally land on his face that you notice, in the small sliver of moonlight peeking through a break in the sky, how dark red has matted along his hairline and paired nicely with the cut slicing his brow. Icy blue eyes dance as they search yours and Will remains quiet while you continue your inspection, finding more surface wounds on his lip and jaw, one that clenches when you linger too long. “Come in,” are the only two words you can think to say, reaching past him to shove your key in and unlock your door.

Maybe it’s your imagination, or maybe there really is only just a few inches between you and Will, his heat seeping through your clothes and prickling your skin. You swear you can feel his ragged and warm breath fanning out across your nape, a subtle roll of your neck like that might alleviate some of the tension thickening in the air when you push open the door to let both of you in. “Thank you,” his hoarse voice cuts in before he immediately tacks on an apology, “I’m sorry. I can go if you–”

“No.” You interrupt him before he can spiral. “Stay.”

His reaction is physical. His shoulders sag like that one simple word washed away all of his worries, the divot between his brows smoothing as he takes one step further into your place and then another. You’ve already dropped your bags and shrugged off your sweater, shuffling to the bathroom to grab your first aid kit and wet a towel with warm water. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Calling out to him, half expecting Will to remain planted where he stood because if there’s one thing about the stoic blonde man standing in your home, he always knew boundaries.

But when you close the medicine cabinet and turn on a heel, you nearly smack into a solid wall of carved muscle, one palm flying up to meet his firm chest to keep yourself upright. “Oh– Will–” blurting out his name while colour steals across your cheeks, “um, you can just have a seat there, then.” He takes orders so well, almost as well as he gives them. The only reason you know what that might sound like is because you’ve heard him bark them out to his brother Benny, even to Frankie and Santi. There’s no way it was anywhere near how he sounded when he’s on the field and you’re not delusional enough to think so, but it’s always been enough to strike a match in your gut. To spark that flame that burned for William Miller.

That same fire is ignited the second you lock your gaze with his pool of blues, tipping your head to the side with a cocked brow. Imploring him with your expression alone, hoping that he’d take the bait or feel comfortable enough to say something – anything – as you slowly and gently bring the edge of the warm towel up to wipe away the dried blood on his temple. “Benny got into somethin’ stupid after his fight tonight,” Will grumbled, those bright arctic irides breaking away from yours for a beat, “they didn’t like how he mouthed off too much in the ring. I told him one day it’d come to bite him in the ass, but you know Benny.” He huffs out a breath, one that tickles the sliver of skin peeking from your shirt, a lick of your lips to hide the way you noticed and zeroed in on the sensation so quickly. 

“Mmhm. In one ear–” “Out the other,” he finishes with a dry chuckle. 

Will barely flinches as you start to clean out his wounds, pressing damp alcohol-soaked pads to open cuts. It’s a testament to all that he’s endured out in the field, things far worse than you can ever imagine. Things far worse than what you’ve seen with your own two eyes at the hospital. You remember Frankie talking about a gunshot wound on their last ‘mission’ that Will simply patched up with a few pads of gauze, and even remembering the way Frankie told the story has your brows pinching together with distaste. “Is it bad?” Will murmurs, bringing your eyes down to his again.

“No, it’s not bad.” Were you really that easy to read, or maybe this close Will can just see right through you? “Are you feeling okay? Need a painkiller or something?”

“Probably just some water but I can wait.”

A hint of a smile teases the edges of your lips, wanting to lighten the sullen mood that’s fallen between you two. “I’ll make it quick, then.”

And you do, as much as you could. All of the open wounds were small enough that Will didn’t need any stitches; a few slips of the skin glue enough to close them, followed by pressing the thin adhesive strip bandages on top to make sure everything held. You lean in close when you get to the cut along his cheek, not wanting to mess up something that could’ve otherwise turned into a scar. Not that you thought Will would mind or didn’t have plenty of those, but you’d always been cautious about the face for any of your patients and he was no different. So focused on your work, steady fingers brushing back the small bandage, you don’t notice just how close your mouths are until you start to speak, the bristles of his beard tickling the edges of your pout. “Good as new,” you chime and without thinking, continue to say, “handsome as ever.”

If the ground could open you up and swallow you whole, you’d thank all your lucky stars and maybe even become religious. Had you really just said that? Heart hammering a bruise behind your ribs, you dare to steal a glance at Will’s face, hoping and praying and wishing you’d find something akin to indifference written over it. An indicator that he didn’t hear what you just said or maybe that he’d spare you and ignore it. Instead, you find a slick shine on his lower lip, a flirt of his tongue before he pulls it in while those thick, blonde lashes bat against his cheek. It’s silent for a few seconds, the weight of your words hanging over you like a blanket, and as soon as you open your mouth to say something, Will’s hand finds a home on your hip.

“It’s okay.” His tone stuns you, softer than you’ve ever heard it, swallowing thickly as you give him a shallow nod. “I didn’t mean to come here so late. Thank you for helping me. I was going to drive myself to the emergency, but Benny thought it’d be better to come see you directly. He all but followed me to make sure I actually didn’t go anywhere else.” All the while his thumb starts an absent sweeping motion, snagging on the hem of your shirt and sending goosebumps spreading fast on your skin.

“I’m glad you did, Will. You’d have been sitting in the waiting room for hours, you know.” Your fingers trail down until they brush over his knuckles, the same ones still holding you steady. “A heads up would’ve been nice, though, I guess.”

You’re not sure where this drop of courage is coming from. Maybe it’s the fact that Will took the lead here, the fact that his palm seems to press in more firmly where it lay. But as you search his eyes for a response, you can see the very second the moment splits into two. The moment where reality rears its ugly head and presents the staggering truth: too much. This is too much, too soon. There’s a faint quiver to Will’s lower lip, a muscle feathering in his jaw, and a few blinks is all it takes for those arctic blues to gloss over with something colder. Something you’ve seen in his eyes before, usually at the start of the night when he’s still had all his guards up and the others were around keeping a watchful and protective stance around you. Or when you’d overhear him and the guys talking about their pasts, especially their old friend. Or even the times you listened to Will’s speeches, recounting the eventful situation he found himself in at the grocery store when he all but lost his grip and sense.

“It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.” His hands drop as low as his voice, the words leaking of shame.

You won’t pretend to ever know what happened between Will and his ex, or even Will on the last mission, but it doesn’t take a genius to recognize the wheels turning behind those wary eyes. His entire face twists like he’s trying to hide the visceral need to run, and the warning signs flood the forefront of your mind as Frankie’s booming voice echoes between your ears: it’s a bad idea, he’s not ready, he’ll hurt you, you’ll hurt each other.

“It’s okay, Will.” Barely above a whisper, you say the three words you hope will settle in his bones the same time you step back to put a small gap between your aching bodies. His aching undoubtedly from the fight he’d put up for Benny and yours for different reasons entirely, emphasized by the fact that every fibre of your being is reaching out to return to his orbit. 

His hands clasp together in front of him, another sharp breath slipping past those lips before he rises to his full height. It takes you too long to point out that his knuckles still have dried blood on them, but it’s clear he has no intent on staying any longer than necessary. Hiding the hurt from your face was easy enough but the way it stings the corner of your eyes is something that’s more challenging to tamp down. Twisting your body away from him and ducking your chin into your chest, you try to stride out of the bathroom, but his words have you faltering right at the threshold. “Do I owe you something for this?”

“What?” Brows bunching together into a frown, you peer at him over your shoulder. “No, Will. You don’t owe me anything.”

Is it relief you see as tension uncoils from his body? Like maybe the fact that he didn’t owe you anything meant he didn’t have to talk about this night, relive it, or see you again? Your mind is racing a mile a minute, your steps faster as you make it to your living room and leave him following behind. “Hey,” Will’s voice is strained and again, it has your resolve wavering, leaning against the back of the couch as you slowly turn to face him, “thank you. I’m not sure what else to say. I know seeing a man sitting at your door late at night probably wasn’t the most welcoming thing, and out of the blue, too. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” You don’t mean to snap, the words falling out with a bite, but it’s too late to take them back. The only thing you can do is cast your eyes up at Will with a hint of regret flashing across your face. Because you did want him to stop saying sorry, to stop feeling bad for leaning on you when he needed help. Because you’re hit with the realization that refusing and turning him away at the door was never even an option. “It’s okay. Really, Will. I mean it. I’m happy to help you.” You admit softly, sucking in a breath to keep the momentum going, pivoting at the last second to turn the conversation into something less daunting as you murmur, “though I guess I thought the next time would’ve been under different circumstances.”

This seems to do the trick, lifting the veil of tension even for a brief moment, allowing you to catch a ghost of a smile when the lines on Will’s cheek deepen. “Mmhm, yeah. Would’ve been nicer if it were, I imagine.”

Fidgeting with your fingers yet unable to keep your attention away from him for too long, your eyes dance between your own hands and his. “Do you want me to take care of that, or…?” A little matted blood only needed a good wash, but you’d take the opportunity to tend to him if he allowed it.

Blue eyes dart down to meet where you’re looking, a quiet hum sounding in your apartment that feels like a ticking time bomb minutes before the inevitable crash. It comes far too quickly, and far too quietly, hitting you harder than you’re prepared for. “No, it’s okay. I should go.”

Whatever bubble you’d convinced yourself you were in pops, the moment once again splitting into pieces. This time, more than two, dropping around you helplessly and all you can do is agree with him as it slips like water between your fingers. “Okay.” After all, you'd have no right to ask him to stay. He’d already done that, and now Will’s decided it’s his time to leave. Palms slicking with sweat, you find yourself nervous. Find yourself wondering, not for the first time since you’ve known Will, why you were so nervous around him. It’s just Will, you remind yourself, something that’s becoming more of a mantra these days. “You drove here? You’ll be alright?”

“I’ll be alright.”

But would you be alright? It’s hard to tell because the longer Will lingers in front of you, the longer your mind strays. Is he second guessing himself? Is this all in your head? Is he going to shrug his jacket off and change his mind? Through the corner of your eye and in the dim light of your living room, you see the way his fingers twitch as it slowly rises. Inches before they can touch any part of you, it fades, your heart sinking into your stomach.

Only for it to crawl back up to lodge in your throat when the scent of Will threatens to overwhelm you as he steps in to press a kiss to the crown of your head, another muffled “next time, then,” before he’s skirting past you, opening your door, and leaving.

Leaving you with even more conflicted thoughts about Will Miller, ones that replay over and over again the entire night. Ones that blend into a flurry of emotions as you clean up and ready yourself for bed, ones that have you picking up your phone in the dark to type out a hurried text

'You should’ve stayed. Next time?'

[3vwritesthings]

𝙒𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀𝙍 (𝙁𝙐𝙇𝙇) 𝙁𝘼𝙍𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙂𝙐𝙄𝘿𝙀!

Includes: Level up, Talent, Weapon materials and where to find them. (Links) + Sig. Weapon + Artifact set.

< Level Up + Ascension Materials >

Mora: 2,092,400

[ Hero’s Wit: 421 ]

Vayuda Turquoise: Sliver: 1 || Fragments: 9 || Chunks: 9 || Gemstones: 6

☆ [ Rukkhashava Mushrooms: 168 ]

☆ Aeonblight Drake (Perpetual Caliber): 46

[ Hanguards: Old: 18 || Kageuchi: 66 || Famed: 93 ]

—————————————————————

< Talent Level Up Materials: >

Mora: 4,957,500

[ Shouki no Kami, the Prodigal (Daka’s Bell): 18 ]

☆ Praxis: Teachings of: 9 || Guide to: 63 || Philosophies of: 114

[ Hanguards: Old: 18 || Kageuchi: 66 || Famed: 93 ]

☆ Crown of Insight: 3

—————————————————————

< Weapon: Tulaytullah's Remembrance: >

Mora: 906,480 - (At least a million?)

(Refinement Rank 5 is another 30k)

☆ [ Mystic Enhancement Ore: 900-907 ]

☆ Fungal Nucleus: Inactivated: 23 || Dormant: 27 || Robust: 41

☆ [ Fungal Spore Powder: Fungal Spores: 15 || Luminescent Pollen: 23 || Crystalline Cyst Dust: 27 ]

☆ Scorching Might: Echo of: 5 || Remnant Glow of: 14 || Dream of: 14 || Olden Days of: 6

—————————————————————

< Artifact Set: Desert Pavilion Chronicle >

—————————————————————

A/N: This took 4 hours help-

[blakeswritingimagines]

Hush Little Baby

Summary: Thinking your happiness would only be between Daemon and Rhaenyra and the children you did have in your life, you can't stop yourself from loving another

A/N: Part 2 of Small Bump

Word Count: 4.6k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Sometimes you were curious as to what life would be like without your blonde lovers, would you live happily and blissfully with another? Perhaps having children who looked like you instead of sliver blonde hair and soft lavender eyes. Months of pain and pushing the two royals out as you attempted to save yourself from the drowning feeling of letting them down after losing the babe. Months of them respecting your boundaries as much as they wanted to kiss every inch of your skin and adore you they left it at lingering touches and small bouts of praise whispered into the candle-lit night when everyone else in the world slept soundly.

When you finally felt good enough to bare yourself to them they were quick to undress and lay you down. You moaned as you had laid back against Rhaenyra who kissed your neck and toyed with your breasts whispering teasing words in your ear, letting your eyes roll into the back of your tilted back head letting Daemon use you in a way that it seemed your body couldn't recall the last time. Feeling your warm wet cunt clench around his hard cock as you felt the delicious pressure of him stretching you out again. Digging your nails into his back and arms before you slowly opened your eyes looking up at him softly begging for what you all had been wanting all over again even with enough tragedies entering your shared marriage "Please Daemon….Give me a child." You really wanted this, he could tell. By that point, you had been trying again for a few weeks. He kissed your forehead and caressed your cheek gently, as he quickened the pace of his hips groaning at how you felt around him having missed it. "Of course, my love….As soon as I can." He was trying his best to hold back, but after a certain point, he gave in to temptation. You will hopefully be successful in having children soon. He smiled at you, ready to do it again knowing he would fuck his cum deep into you until dawn came. He hoped that this time you would be able to bear children. Your words were enough to make him want you all over again much like when he first laid eyes on you, it had been such a long time since you'd been intimate and this time, he intended to put his all into it. He reached his hand back and pulled your lips towards his, your tongues intertwining once more while your hands moved to his neck and caressed it. His grip on your hips tightened as he gave in to the moment once more. It was as if your love had come back to life, after several months of sadness. His body trembled, feeling alive once more as he moved his hand down rubbing your clit.

You softly moaned as your tongue mingled once again, his hand on your hip sent a shiver down your spine. You gave in to their touch, and allowed Daemon to take and do whatever he wanted with you. When he pulled away from you Rhaenyra was quick to kiss you, your lips collided together. She wrapped her arms around you, kissing you passionately. "Daemon…" You whispered after pulling away from the kiss, looking at him with love and desire. Rhaenyra bit your neck playfully, loving every moment with her husband and wife. Your marriage was back on track. You gave in to them and your love was stronger than ever. You gasped and moaned at the feeling of Daemon's kisses and caresses. Your hands moved down his back as you pulled him closer, your bodies pressing together as his cock went deeper once your legs wrapped around his waist. It was like you were all teenagers again. Your love and passion for each other had never died, it had only been dormant. You all were both eager, wanting, needing this. It would feel so good to have a child, one you could love unconditionally, one that would call you Mom, Mama and Papa. And there were more reasons than that, but they could be discussed later that night. "Yes. Please, give me a child, Daemon." As your lips parted once more,

Daemon looked at you with a smile and spoke softly, "I will. I swear it, you will have a child, my love." Your kisses, caresses, and everything else were enough to ignite a spark in him again, and all he could think about was making you happy again. I will not fail you this time, he thought, while his hands continued to wander and explore your body. He could not believe what you were doing, just after such a tragic event in your lives. But the emotions that were running through him pushed the sadness away for now. The love between you three filled your souls as your bodies intertwined. You weren't just husband and wives, but also best friends and lovers. Your marriage hadn't felt this good since you all had first met, and he truly believed that now there was nothing that could separate you after everything that had taken place in life. The feeling of being so needed and wanted by beautiful women that he adored made his blood boil. He would give my wives the children you wanted and deserved. Not just one, but many children, he thought in his mind, the thought making him smile. "Anything for you, my love," he whispered. You let out a loud moan of his name and sighed out of contentment, pressing your lips to his again attempting to stay quiet, moving your hips in time with his feeling the pleasure build while you pulled him down on top of you needing him closer. "Oh, gods…" You whispered, unable to control your body now. You bit your bottom lip and groaned softly as you bit it feeling close, your body starting to tremble with pleasure, your hands moving up and down his back slowly before moving to his chest letting your nails leave bright red lines against his flushed skin. You looked at him with a look of desire on your face. "Come for me…" You whispered, your eyes filled with lust met his. You looked into his eyes longingly before you kissed, your body shaking while both blondes pressed against you. "Yes, please." As Rhaenyra touched you and teased your body, you started to become desperate. "You… Daemon, Nyra, I missed this so much." You could wait no longer, as you held both of them as close as you could. The kisses became deeper and more forceful.

His heart raced as your moment of passion continued. His blood pumped heavily through his body as he let himself feel the ecstasy of being close to his lovely wives. He kissed you back with the utmost hunger he had ever felt in his life, your tongues exploring each other, your bodies pressed tightly against one another. Your nails against his pale skin were enough to drive a man mad and he was the maddest of men. "I missed this as much as you, my love," he whispered. "And I have missed you." He let you pull him closer as he let go of himself and truly enjoyed the moment the force of his hips became harder. He let out a grunt you felt like a tease to the passion you clearly felt in your soul. Your words drove him on even further, making him want you more than ever. You were truly beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to let himself go and enjoy, but he forced himself to wait. Just a second longer, he told himself. But it was hard. The temptation to surrender to his desires quickly grew as you wanted and needed him and his cock. The way you looked at him and whispered your begging pleas in his ear made him weak before he released deep inside of you with a groan.

You looked down at your stomach, praying and hoping that your child would be conceived. Your breathing was heavy, and your body was shaking with anticipation. You looked at them, waiting and praying that you would be able to make them happy and proud this time. You looked into Daemon's eyes and felt glad, feeling loved and wanted, it was everything you wanted in the world and more, having loved from your heart, and in their arms, you felt safe, like nothing could ever separate you from them and wrapped your arms around them when you felt Daemon thrust his seed deep inside of you. It felt as if you three were bound to each other, your souls mixed, and your bodies tangled in passion. "Yes…" You groaned softly as you enjoyed this moment with them more than anything in the world right now. Your grip tightened and your glazed-over eyes looked up at Daemon lovingly then your eyes filled with emotions. You pressed a light and sweet kiss to his lips. Your breathing became heavy as you lay back on the bed together, sharing this moment of passion.

Night after night of rolling around in the sheets with Daemon and Rhaenyra, finding whatever quiet spot you three could away from anyone needing you, but after feeling sick the last few weeks as Daemon and Rhaenyra feared something was wrong with you who put off getting checked as you thought you were just fine. Thinking of the last time you were this type of sick Daemon called it that you were, in fact, pregnant which changed your thinking as you went to go see a maester all by yourself not wanting to get any hopes up but laid back as you got looked over before your curiosity got the best of you and quietly asked: "So….What is it? Is it so?". Daemon and Rhaenyra were in a state of constant worry that you may have just experienced heartbreak once again. The maester looked at you, seemingly unsure of how to say the words. "There… is a small life in your womb, my Lady." The maester said softly, but he looked down at the ground as he said it unsure if this was good news after last time.

You looked at the maester who said those words with a small smile. Your eyes filled with tears, and you pressed your hands against your stomach as the butterflies in your stomach started flying. "Really? I mean… really? I am pregnant?" You asked in a quiet voice as you looked out of this world happy and overwhelmed with joy. You could feel your heart race in your chest as the maester confirmed your suspicions. All the nights spent in pleasure with Rhaenyra and Daemon, making love every second day had finally produced a small life in your womb. You looked at the maester with tears in your eyes, overwhelmed with joy. "A-a baby?" You spoke, in disbelief. A life has been created in the midst of the sadness, in the time of darkness. It felt like a miracle, something impossible to believe. "Oh, Gods." You hugged the maester and cried on his shoulder, so excited and overwhelmed with happiness. As the maester confirmed the suspicions, a smile crossed his face when he saw your excitement. Noticing you were so happy you and your lovers finally had the opportunity to have another babe. "Yes, you are indeed pregnant," the maester spoke, but in a hushed tone. He was clearly not expecting the level of excitement that your response brought. "However, it may be best to calm down a bit, my Lady." The maester said, trying to guide you back to reality.

You wiped the tears from your eyes as the maester spoke not wanting you overwhelmed. "Yes, yes, you are right. I just needed to hear it." You took a deep breath. "Please, this must be kept a secret. Just for a little while, please. I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but…" You looked at the maester as a ray of hope that filled your heart. "Do you think this one will…" Your voice breaks before you can even think about finishing the sentence. You tried to calm down and contain your excitement, even if it was hard to. You felt a pang of worry in your heart. You wanted to announce this miracle to the two most important people as soon as possible, yet there was still a tiny voice in the pit of your brain that made you think twice. You wondered what would happen if you miscarried again. The maester put out his hand in an attempt to comfort you. He knew that the situation was a difficult one. No mother wanted to go through the heartbreak of losing a child. But, this time was different. "We must take care and not do anything drastic from now until the baby is born," the maester said. His advice of trying to keep their secret from Daemon and Rhaenyra was also something you would have to take seriously. "You have my word, my lady. The child will stay a secret until you are ready, or until you need extra care. My Lady, let us pray that you remain healthy and safe throughout these months. The first trimester is always the most crucial with regards to ensuring a successful birth." The maester said while looking at you. He understood your fears, but there was no point in dwelling on what could happen. The future was uncertain but they had to focus on this moment and how it could mean a new life coming into the world.

You sighed with relief, grateful for the maester's word. He understood the gravity of the situation, as you laid back in the bed, smiling despite the tears in your eyes. "I understand. Thank you. I promise to take good care of myself for the sake of this." What should you call this new life? Your child? Your baby? It was your first, no, the only child you had ever borne. But it felt like an eternity had passed as the words filled your heart with happiness. Perhaps this is what it felt like to truly live. As days and weeks passed you kept the pregnancy hidden and quiet until the first month was over and you learned the babe was doing well, knowing the things both of your lovers were doing were important but couldn't help as you pulled them away as you led them both to your private chambers having them sit down. Pacing as you bit down on your lower lip trying to find the words before softly sighing as you looked at both of them speaking quietly "I'm pregnant." Daemon's eyes widened as he took in the news. He felt the same happiness that you and Rhaenyra felt. You all finally had another opportunity to have the child you had always wanted. "What?" Rhaenyra said in a questioning tone, as if the news had only just registered with her. Her face turned from one of surprise to one of excitement as her thoughts drifted to the future she now saw with you and Daemon. "We are having a baby?" She asked in a hushed tone, looking at you. "Do you think it's okay for us to say the words out loud?" Both Daemon and Rhaenyra were caught off guard by your sudden words. Is this really the case? Daemon stared at you with wide eyes, waiting for you to confirm what he already believed to be true in silence. "Is this true?" Daemon finally asked after a long pause. "You're pregnant?" He had to say the words aloud to make sure they were real. Rhaenyra also had a look of excitement on her face, a big smile plastered on the woman's face as she jumped out of her seat.

Smiling softly at Daemon and Rhaenyra. The news seemed to lighten up the mood significantly. "Yes. We are having a child." Your voice was soft, yet full of hope and joy. "I just wanted to be sure it was true first." You were still in disbelief that you had to hear the words yourself again before sharing it with them both. Daemon, who was looking slightly overwhelmed and surprised by the news. Rhaenyra was already jumping up and down with joy. "It's true, my loves." You nodded, looking at Daemon intently. "My belly aches… I have not felt this since…" But then you realize what you were saying and stopped. You could only smile as the three of you shared the most intimate moment yet. All of you would be parents again, together. This time, it will be different. "Yes, we're having another baby, my darlings." You smiled softly at the two. Your dreams are finally coming true. You reached your hand and rubbed your stomach gently, hoping for the best. Daemon's heart raced as he heard his wife's words. We were having a baby. The idea of being a father was something he had always dreamed of. He looked over to Rhaenyra to see that she shared his excitement.

Could they really be so lucky? Even without the news of you being pregnant, Daemon was looking forward to your belly growing as the months passed. He would kiss your stomach as he slept on your lap, loving the feeling of holding his wife as the pregnancy blossomed and grew. The baby would always be loved by the three of them. Daemon and Rhaenyra both cheered and smiled in celebration of the happy news. The three of you were about to be a bigger family. "My love," Daemon said as he kneeled down beside you. Your stomach already seemed a bit bloated, but you were so early in the pregnancy, that it would be more than a few months before it was fully evident. "We wanted this for so long and now it's finally upon us, our dreams." I wanted to be a father. Rhaenyra was overjoyed. "Our family is growing." You smiled once again and caressed your stomach gently. "I have wanted this since we lost our first little one. I pray that nothing will go wrong this time." You closed your eyes as you imagined the sweet child in your womb. All the excitement in the air made you feel more confident in sharing this with the two of them. The news of a new life in your womb filled you all with so much joy and your eyes lit up with happiness. "We have to celebrate," Rhaenyra spoke cheerfully as she reached her hand out as if in invitation to Daemon and you. "We'll have to plan something, let us celebrate our future child and family." You pulled Daemon close and kissed him passionately, your arms wrapped around his neck, your heart fluttering with each heartbeat. Rhaenyra jumped with joy and kissed your hand affectionately.

Daemon pulled you down gently on the ground with him, the three of you together in each other's arms. Was this a dream? You reached for Daemon's neck and pulled him back in for another kiss, this time a bit more intimate than the last. Daemon returned your passion with similar vigor as he grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him. "I've felt this way since our very first meeting," Daemon whispered in your ear. "Every second without you makes me feel cold." And every second with you fills me with passion. The months passed and your joy was still overflowing, as the days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. Your belly had expanded, your face glowing with true happiness. It felt wonderful to have Daemon and Rhaenyra with you, sharing this precious moment. And you were not alone, as the court and people of King's Landing were aware of your pregnancy, especially during the celebration of the newest baby, your secret of its duration and birth due to the growing belly that you had. Eventually, the day of your delivery came, and Daemon and Rhaenyra were by your side… And so was the maester.

The moment of the birth was almost the most tense for Daemon and Rhaenyra. It was a time of great happiness and anxiety. The risk of losing you was something that they couldn't live with. I will not lose my wife, nor the child we have created. The day of the delivery came, and everyone was nervous and in anticipation. But everything seemed to go as well as one could hope for. The gods are good today. Daemon's eyes were locked on your face, waiting for some sort of signal, give me anything. The moments before the birth felt like forever. You could sense Daemon and Rhaenyra's nervousness as they waited for the arrival of your child. "Daemon, Rhaenyra… I am ready." Your voice was firm, without any sign of weakness. You were ready to take this risk for the sake of bringing forth life into this world. The maester started preparing for the arrival of the baby. Daemon caressed my head and smiled lovingly as you went through contractions. Rhaenyra was there to hold your hand and assure you that everything will be alright. A few hours had passed and Daemon and Rhaenyra were both anxious but hopeful. Daemon was holding your hand, and yours squeezed Daemon's hand tightly as you were experiencing a contraction. "It hurts…" You cried in pain as another contraction started. "Hold my hand tightly, Daemon, and don't let go." Daemon gave a weak smile, knowing how badly you were suffering and how much pain you were going through, as they held your hands and pressed his lips on my forehead, as the maester was doing his work with the birthing.

Daemon could feel the strength leave his hand as he held his wife's hand tightly. Your baby is about to be born, this is actually happening. "Darling, you're going to be okay," Daemon spoke softly to you, not letting even a second of silence pass by. "Our baby is so close to being here, I can feel it. You're going to do wonderfully." A smile spread across Daemon's face as he imagined holding his daughter or son in his arms. Our world is about to change forever, she's in so much pain. Daemon could feel his wife's discomfort as he sat and saw your face contorted. Your grip on their hands tightened more and more as the birthing continued, the contractions becoming more and more agonizing. I will not let go of her hand. After all this time, he would not forsake his own beliefs and let you suffer alone. Daemon tried his best to ignore the pain his wife was feeling, giving you words of encouragement and love. "You're so strong, my love. Our baby is almost here," he said as he kissed your head.

Daemon and Rhaenyra both looked at each other, each holding their breath as the sound of a crying child filled their ears. Our baby has been born. A smile appeared on Daemon's face as he heard his child's first cry. The maester wrapped the child in swaddling cloth, handing you the child, who was crying loudly, their voice loud and healthy. Daemon looked at his wives with a bright smile, knowing that their family was complete in the way that they planned. Our baby is perfect. Daemon smiled, looking at the child as they were handed to him. I just became a father to another. Daemon's eyes lit up when he heard the cry of their child. There it was. You all waited through the agonizing contraction and now, you finally had your child, the reward for waiting just a bit longer. "It's so beautiful," Daemon said, his eyes still tearing up. A rush of love and joy was flowing through the man's body. Their baby was born. He had never been so happy. "Can you see her?" Daemon asked through his smile, turning back to you.

Your breathing was deep and slow as if you had just climbed a mountain. You looked at the bundle in his hands, your baby. It was so precious to see the bundle of joy that would fill your lives forever. "Daemon, she is beautiful." Your smile couldn't get any bigger as you spoke with happiness. Your baby was the sweetest baby in the whole of Westeros. She had Daemon's hair color and your eye color was already clear for all to see. She was perfect, and she was yours. Our daughter… Daemon's joy tripled upon hearing the words come out of your lips. He still couldn't believe the moment was finally here, after all these months and years of waiting."She is beautiful." Daemon agreed, smiling at you before turning his focus to holding his daughter. He carefully wrapped her in a tiny blanket, caressing her head and staring at her face. She looks just like you. Daemon thought with a smile, turning to you. Your happiness was contagious as Daemon looked down at the bundle of joy in his arms. The baby was the light of his existence in that moment, his life had meaning. He couldn't stop smiling as he cradled the crying child in his arms. She's perfect. Daemon saw the mixture of your features as the baby's hair color and eye color slowly became clear, just like her parents. "She really is beautiful," Daemon smiled softly. "What should we name her?" He wondered out loud, feeling more happy than he ever had before. This is my life now.

Looking up at Daemon, your baby in his arms, her crying voice filling your heart with joy, happiness, and relief. You wanted to be the one who held her and be the first one to kiss her, but Daemon was worthy of that honor and you felt happy to share that moment with Rhaenyra and him. You knew you wanted a girl at the beginning of your plans, so as to not bring even more trouble to your position. And yet, looking at this child, you knew you could not love a boy nearly as much as you loved her. She was your light. You looked at Daemon with a smile, as your daughter was wrapped in a soft blanket now in your arms. She looked exactly how you imagined she would look, a combination of you and Daemon and you couldn't be more proud. "She… She will be a princess and she has to have a beautiful name." You looked down at the child and caressed her cheeks, while Daemon's arms were wrapped around you. "What do you think about Shaera?" Rhaenyra asked softly as she smiled with tears in her eyes due to the babe. You looked up to Daemon, with your baby in your arms, awaiting his approval.

Shaera. Daemon took the name in, imagining his daughter having it. The name was unique and beautiful. "Shaera. I think that's a perfect name for her," Daemon said with a subtle smile on his face. Daemon had always believed that the name of a child was a crucial decision, something he had spoken about many times over the last several years. A name that would be her own and something she could take pride in. "Shaera…" Daemon said again. "She's beautiful. We made the most wonderful child." "Shaera," Daemon repeated, the name slowly and smoothly speaking as he looked upon the bundle of joy. Our daughter… Her name is perfect. "A perfect name for our perfect babe," Daemon said, touching her skin softly and smiling at you as he looked back at his daughter. She is the meaning of my life, all I ever dreamed of. "I love you, darling," Daemon spoke softly, not wanting to speak too loud for fear of waking up his precious daughter. Our family is complete, it's everything we ever wanted.

[immeasurable-depths]

I think it makes perfect sense that Imogen doesn’t want to save the gods, given that she’s tried to connect with them before and been ignored.

It’s sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy - of course the gods are going to avoid her, when her powers come from an entity designed to destroy them. If gods can recognise greatness, and strength, and dormant powers, I’m sure they can detect that sliver of Ruidus tied to her soul. She feels tainted, and she didn’t know why for such a long time, but I suspect the gods did.

And given that her Ruidus powers have been dormant inside her for her whole life, it makes sense that she’s been influenced by its desires, Predathos’ instincts bleeding through and quietly influencing her. Of course she’d be predisposed to rejecting the pantheon as a result.

I know a lot of people read that as selfish, but I think it’s way more complicated than that - and that’s why I love Imogen, for her complicatedness. She’s constantly fighting for control, trying to make sense of powers she didn’t ask for and sometimes making poor choices, wrong judgements. And that’s okay, it’s what makes her interesting.

[eddies-house]

Whatever She Wants; I Will Do Anything - E.M.

Eddie x fem reader

2.9K Words

Inspired by the song Graceland Too by Phoebe Bridgers. Or where you’re very good at keeping your guard up and not letting others in only to crumble under the pressure. And Eddie is there to help you put the pieces back together.

Warnings - angsty, depictions of mental illness, dark thoughts

A/N - This shit is emotional and this song has been stuck in my head for days so I had to do something with it. Any feedback is appreciated 🥹

Masterlist

— I would do anything you want me to

I would do anything for you

I would do anything, I would do anything

Whatever you want me to do, I will do

—

If you could pick the scenery to describe your own brain, it wouldn’t be a field of daisies, fresh and heavenly, or rainbows after a light summer rain, sticky but romanticized.  It wouldn’t be angelic beach views with sunsets marbling the sky or even the starry night with the moon soaking the earth in its celestial light.   No, these things were magnificent, pleasing to look at, easy to take in.  Very unlike your brain.  

Your idea would be more of a tsunami ripping everything apart, having no mercy on anything in its wake—destroying everything it touches.  Emotions receding into the sea quietly before ultimately coming back in a massive wave and disrupting the quaint living of those around.  Murky skies and shattered hope.  People running, and running far just to avoid the disaster—the impending doom that was you.  That is exactly how you’d describe your brain. 

Sometimes if you were lucky there were a select few weeks in between the storms of your mind where you’d feel a sliver of relief, a drought in the ever flowing thoughts that dismantled your life.  Times where there would be a glimmer of ambition and an inkling of motivation.  It never lasted long, fleeing as soon as you were starting to get better.  A colossal wave consuming you once again, and people would go running as they always did—the commotion of the storm too turbulent for them to brave.  

And the agonizing thoughts would begin to stew at the very core of your brain.  Simmering until they boiled over at random.  

Too hard to love.

Useless.

Worthless.

Barely a person, a walking corpse devoid of emotion due to the burnout.

Not worthy of love.

Not worthy of anything.

I should have never even made it this far, sixteen years was my limit.

I don’t want to do this anymore, please don’t make me do this anymore.

It was all so daunting, so intimidating and heavy.  It truly felt like you did not belong on this earth and there was absolutely no way to combat it other than merely surviving.  Days passed and you were trapped in the endless cycle that was existing without purpose.  

Your boyfriend, Eddie, sweet Eddie had a life to live and you couldn’t bear to burden him with the sorrows of your aching soul.  Eventually he’d realize what a nuisance you were, how crippling your state of mind could be.  He didn’t deserve to be detained by the relationship you so thought was out of pity.  Ever so generous, kind, enamoring, handsome, loving, gentle, loud, assertive—everything Eddie was made of, was something you believed you never once deserved.  You dreaded the day he would glance at you and come to his senses.  She is too broken for me, I can’t love her.

The convincing mask you were able to automatically put on was all too familiar.  Being able to physically front that you were happy when the reality of it all was that demons swam through your bloodstream and never left, only lying dormant every once in a blue moon only to come back at full force.  It felt like poison, the way you would be okay one moment and suddenly in seconds you were grasping onto your sanity, clinging onto any bits of reality—of your mortal self only to be swallowed up by harsh accusations toward yourself that would have you sinking back into your bed for as long as it required.  And that’s how you got so good with the mask, forcing yourself to conform to the world around you when you absolutely couldn’t rot in bed, other obligations taking priority despite the poison coursing through your body.  A smile on your face, a compliment here, a joke there, sprinkled with some stupid story from the other day that always seemed to appease your audience.  It was all fake and no one could sniff it out.

Until Eddie came along and he was able to detect even the slightest shift in your demeanor.  Though you could throw the mask on, it didn’t always work with him and he would encourage you to take it off.  You never did.  Insisting I’m fine, just a little tired.  Lying through your teeth.  You couldn’t help it, you’d never let your guard down with anyone ever.  How were you supposed to when it didn’t even feel like an option?  A people pleaser to your core, you’d take your feelings with you to the grave.  

The first time Eddie stumbled upon you crying, he was at a loss, not knowing how to approach the situation.  Do I hug her?  No, what if she doesn’t want me to?  Do I hold her hand?  Does she want me to leave?  Did I do something?  What if I made her cry?  Does she want to break up?  Every thought flew at him at lightning speed, practically slapping him in the face.  Before any decision could be made, you sucked back the tears and used your sleeves to aggressively clear your under eyes.  I’m fine, I just watched an emotional movie.  Lies.  Not wanting to push you further, he nodded and held you close.  But he knew.  You were suffering, drowning in your own fucked up world and he had no idea how to pull you out.  When his own mind started suffocating him he could at least voice that he wasn’t having the best day, also being the type to never burden others with his invading thoughts.  He’d leave it at that and sulk in his room but you would always sit with him, if he allowed.  If not, that was okay too and he was eternally grateful.  

The more he studied your behavior when you just felt off, the more he gathered the way you would often go blank during a conversation, eyes becoming void of a human and turning into a shell of yourself as you picked yourself apart internally.  Anxiety looming in your eyes and hands the slightest bit shaky, he would touch his fingertips to yours in the smallest touch hoping to lure you back, praying that he didn’t overstep because god he was so scared.  And when you did return, you still weren’t fully there although you claimed you were just tired.  Again.  He just wanted you to be happy.  And you wanted to be happy.  

It took almost a year into the relationship for you to even be able to ask him to come over when you wanted to just be with him.  Before that it just felt like you were pestering him for attention even though that was far from the truth.  You could call him just to complain about how your lunch tasted and he would savor every moment.  Even still, you had your doubts about calling him or texting him, the nasty demons lurking within you telling you he didn’t care.  Eddie picked up on your patterns from the very beginning and learned that the way you worded things really indicated your mood, if you were genuinely doing well or if things were bad again.  A simple phrase popping up on his phone and he would bolt to you if he had the slightest inclination that you were in a pool of your own self deprecating thoughts.  

Are you home?  Really meant, I need you, I need you and I’m too afraid to outright say it.

Are you busy?  Either meant that you wanted to go on a gas station run with him or that you wanted to vent about your family.  

Want to come over?  Generally translated to I’m in a good space right now and would love to spend time with you.

I love you.  Told him I’m thinking about you.

Love you.  Was an indicator that you were on edge, it could be because of him depending on the nature of the situation or it could just be a bad day. 

Food?  Was the phrase used to tell him I’m hangry and we better be getting Mexican food otherwise you better suggest something that sounds yummier.

I’m fine.  Was as clear as day.  I’m the opposite of fine.

So when it’s ten o’ clock at night and the cicadas are chirping outside his trailer, his fingers dancing along the neck of his guitar to a new riff he recently learned and he sees his phone light up with your name, he eagerly reaches over to pick it up and read.  His eyes scan over three key words.

Are you home?

Immediately he’s setting his guitar on top of his mattress, calling you as he scrambles around his room searching for his car keys, finally locating them underneath his copy of Lord of the Rings he had been rereading earlier, tossing the book aside.  The dial tone rings through his ears a few times, heart beating fast.  On the other end, a meek little hey is heard along with a sniffle that you swore you would hide.  

“Baby, what’s wrong?”  His voice is laced with concern while he makes his way out to the living room to collect his leather jacket.  

“I-I-nothing.  I just—wanted to hear your voice.”  Part of it is a lie.  Everything is wrong and your world is crumbling as you stare out the window lifelessly.  Panic is taking over while you endure thoughts about your past, present, and future.  Why did I say that one thing that one time?  I’m such a bad person.  I should have never been born, that way I could save everyone the embarrassment.  You’re instigating yourself and there’s no sign of stopping.  Eddie would be happier without you, he’s too good for you, good things don’t happen to you without a price.  Bullet after bullet hits your soul.  

“I’m coming over.”  He tells you without giving you the option to say no, the line going silent as he hangs up.  This only coaxes more humiliating things out from the depths of your brain.  See what you did?  You ruined his night, now he’s on his way over and he’s probably so mad.  He has so many better things to be doing than sitting with a cry baby.  

The sobs rack your body, chest heaving and vision completely blurred with hot tears traveling down your face.  You’re shaking, the words assaulting you over and over.  Even if you wanted to stop crying you couldn’t, the dam was flooded.  It was an oversight on your part, you didn’t need to text Eddie but you did it out of impulse.  Everything suddenly becomes so overstimulating, so gross and uncomfortable.  The way your clothes hug your body makes you wince, rubbing your arms to somewhat soothe yourself but it only does so much.  The clutter on your bedside table aggravates you all of the sudden but there’s not any energy to straighten it up, leaving you sitting on the bed in full on breakdown mode.  You’re now way too aware of your own body, yearning to immediately cease existing.  A blanket once thrown over your legs is now tossed across the room, the material now disgusting you.  Everything becomes unbearable.

So unbearable that you don’t even hear Eddie using his key in your front door, the hinges squeaking as he enters, or the click of the lock as he locks it again before rushing upstairs, his boots stomping on every other step.  You don’t hear the bedroom door creak open as he carefully approaches, toeing off his boots near the door and then speaking to you.  

“Sweetheart, what’s goin’ on?”  His tone is gentle enough to soothe a baby.  Shrugging his jacket off and tossing it on a nearby chair, he slowly strides closer to the bed but still keeps his distance.  

All you can do is cover your face in your pathetic palms, attempting to hide away the misery you have become.  A wet and whimpered I don’t know is made out from you muffling the words into your hands.  His heart shatters.  All he wants to do is hold you but only if you’ll allow him to.  The last thing he wants to do is make it worse.  The last time he saw you cry was also the first time and you’d sucked it up and brushed it off like it never happened.  This was drastically different, you were a puddle of tears and snot, sobbing uncontrollably and unable to hold back any longer.

“Baby.  Look at me.  Just for a minute, okay?”  He’s trying to convince you but you shake your head, palms still gathering tears.  “Please?  Please?”  He begs, voice hoarse as he tries to map out a gameplan in his head.  It still falls upon deaf ears.  “I need you to look at me.  If I’m going to help you, you need to look at me.”  He leans over the bed attempting to catch your eyes.  “I need you.”  He speaks desperately, his own eyes becoming wet.  For some reason, the phrase makes you stop for a second, makes you freeze.  If he needed you, then you were going to give him anything he wanted, anything he needed.  It was some type of reverse psychology that he hadn’t even realized he performed.  You were falling apart but the moment he begged for help you stopped everything to be by his side.

Shock written in his features, he looks at you while you look at him, big doe eyes full of anxiety and worry.  The atmosphere was stagnant at that moment.  Hiccups erupted out of you but your full undivided attention was on him.  He pondered his next moves carefully, not wanting to scare you off or chase you back into your corner.  His next words were spoken with the utmost care.

“Tell me what you need me to do.”  His voice was shaky and his eyes blinked rapidly.  “I—I’ve never done this before.  Please tell me what you need.”  His voice wobbled on the last few words as you tried to process everything.  “Whatever you want me to do, I will do.”  The way his tone wavered broke you, choking out a sob before stopping yourself.  You did this to him.  So you force yourself to provide an answer, it’s the least you could do.  

Voice cracking, you reply “Hold me.”  The dam continues flooding, sending a river down your cheeks.  He’s quick to crawl across the bed and gather you in his arms like the most fragile thing he’s ever held.  Arms wrap around your middle to pull you in between his legs, pulling your back flush against his chest as you then maneuver your body to curl into him like he’s your bunker, face buried in his chest and trembling hands fisting his shirt.  

“I’m right here, I’ve got you.  I’m here.”  Whispered reassurances against the top of your head as you soak his shirt in a mixture of tears and snot.  He lets you cry for as long as you need, as long as you want.  

“I’m always here for you.  Okay?  I would do anything for you.”  He promises, stroking your back soothingly, placing a kiss to your temple.  Everything about you is so ugly in the moment and yet, he’s so patient and warm.  So attentive and loving.  His gestures begin to chip at the walls you built around yourself so long ago.  It would take time but he’s made the first cracks in those sturdy walls and he would spend forever helping you tear them down.  

The sobs and hiccups begin to settle down, not completely but enough that you have some composure.  Your wide eyes stare into his kind ones.  You’re forced to recognize the unconditional love swimming in his eyes.  The genuine concern for your well being and his necessity for your comfort and happiness.  

“I love you.”  An offer through your tears of that same love on a silver platter that he would gladly indulge in.  Hand brushing against the bottom of your chin, tilting it ever so slightly while the other rests on the small of your back, he delivers a nudge of his nose against yours, a piece of his heart.  

“I love you.  I will always love you.”  His words have a greater meaning, an oath that even through the bad times, the times where you were isolated and hated yourself, kicking yourself to the curb,  he would be right there to help you back up.  A brush of his thumb against a rogue tear on your cheek has you hanging onto his every action.  The way he continues to use his thumbs to clean up any remnants  of sadness that had been acquired over the last hour or so.  How his lips curl up in fondness when you brush your fingertips along his stubbly cheek.  A whispered thank you against his skin.  When he lays back and pulls you onto his chest, his breathing lulling you into a post cry sleep that you very well needed, one hand running up and down your back and the other tracing shapes into your arm—calloused fingers providing every bit of comfort needed.  How his lips press a kiss to your forehead.  The scary thoughts were at bay for now and Eddie would without a doubt help you to battle them the next time they invaded your mind, whether it be tomorrow or next week.  His words have you melting, insides gooey and sticky when he thinks you’re fast asleep but you’re really still clinging onto these last waking moments as you mold into each other.   

“You’re everything I could ever ask for.  I would do anything for you.”

~end~

Masterlist

[wannaeatramyeon]

Word quantity: high. Word quality: low. You have been warned.

Goo Kim x Reader: School Days with Princess & the Delinquent

Chapter 8 - Please read chapter 1 first!

Index: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Epilogue

Tiptoeing around anything doesn’t come naturally to Goo, not when he doesn’t need to, and definitely not when there’s no cash incentive.

He likes to stomp in, loud and sure-footed with a dramatic flourish.

So then, the near misses, the yearning and longing gazes are killing him.

He understands himself enough to know that if he didn’t leave soon, if he stayed any longer, if he took anymore of you which you would happily give, he would never be able to go.

.

.

Goo tries to withdraw, to add a little distance and to keep his hands to himself.

You become the one chasing after him without even realising. Previously, he had never been self conscious in seeking you out, and you subconsciously followed his lead and followed him. 

On the rooftop alone, Goo sits and stares until you join him, taking his silence for melancholy.

He should pull away but instead leans in, pressing his shoulder against yours until the heat from your body sears him.

Unpleasantness surfaces with harsh words, becoming every bit the juvenile he’s known for and spitting venom at you.

You flinch at his malice, knowing this Goo Kim only by reputation rather than experience and storm off.

Good, he thinks, a bare-faced lie. Good riddance.

Is it that everyone is born with a conscience? Maybe Goo had one when he was younger before he learned to silence it. 

Hasn’t heard from it in years. Not when he uses unscrupulous methods to get rich, not when he beats someone that looks at him the wrong way to within an inch of their life. 

Due to you, today it rears its ugly head after lying dormant. Screaming at him, ear-splitting and shrill until all he feels is regret.

Tail between his legs and not even an hour later, Goo looks for you.

He doesn’t apologise, but you recognise the remorse at his outburst from the way he touches his glasses, the slump in his form, the contrite look in his eyes and forgive him anyway.

“Princess,” Goo purrs, giving you a dashing smile when you throw him a furious look instead of teary eyes. When you stay instead of running away.

So much for that then.

.

.

Like a joke, Goo also starts reaping karma for all his past wrong-doings.

He cannot miss the way your eyes drop to look at his lips, your tongue darting out and wetting your own as he talks.

Notices how when he leans close, murmuring something to your ear, your skin prickles with goosebumps at his proximity.

The way you gulp as he stretches, shirt lifting and revealing a sliver of inviting skin, is impossibly loud. And when the blush creeps from your collar up to your hairline, your ears burning crimson, it has him crawling out of his skin from how much he wants you.

Goo Kim has a terrible effect on you. You make no secret of it.

It’s a very cruel and terribly timed joke. 

He’s not sure how much longer he can hold out. If he has any restraint left so the words won’t just gurgle up and slip out, shouting and declaring how much he likes you.

You’re the flame and to his moth, and he thinks maybe it’s not so bad to burn.

.

.

To make matters worse, because truly things do come in threes, you become ever brazen with him.

Emboldened by the months of having Goo Kim being at your side, his shamelessness rubbing off on you and dirtying your previous squeaky-clean disposition. 

Hands squeezing his waist as a way of greeting. Or ruffling his hair, fingers running through his blonde tresses when the urge takes you.

Turning the tables, whispering into his ear, sharing inside jokes, hot breath ghosting his skin as he tries not to pant.

Lecherous grins as innuendos and entendres that are so Goo spills from your lips and he also tries not to imagine you in compromising positions.

You tell him he looks good, casual niceties and compliments that you have learned from him, and his brain stutters.

Goo really has made a rod for his own back.

.

.

Worst of all, Goo notices, is the way you wait for one another.

A familiarity of routine that comes from lives being intertwined and always wanting to be in each other's company.

The few classes you’re not in together, you can always find one or the other lurking outside in the corridor.

Waiting to spend more time together. Waiting to spend lunches together.

Either in empty rooms, libraries or in the cafeteria as you both laugh, you still somewhat demurely and Goo like a hyena, ignoring everyone else giving you nervous looks.

You never really know what Goo gets up to after school, but he still accompanies you when he can. You wait for him to walk you home from extracurricular clubs or in the evening from your job.

If his schedule doesn’t allow it then Goo is the one waiting. On the other side of the phone, he waits to hear from you.

.

.

.

.

Trouble finally arrives.

There’s nothing special about the day.  An ordinary Thursday sitting in classes together. Almost the weekend. 

There’s nothing special about the trouble either. It doesn’t announce itself with a bang. It’s a special kind of trouble that has been years in the making, seeping into everything it touches. Of yours and Goo’s life path diverging for good.

Goo receives a text. He should be elated, instead finding he needs to school his face to hold back a frown.

Oh well. What’s done is done.

Hand in pockets, whistling, he leaves the classroom, not caring about the class he’s disrupting or the teacher's lecture on a Physics theorem.

(But he doesn’t look in your direction. He can’t.)

No-one bats an eyelid. Typical Goo shenanigans.

Yet he doesn’t return 10 minutes later. He doesn’t return for your next period. You don’t see him for the rest of the day.

Or for the next week. Or the next month.

.

.

Taking a page out of his own playbook, you bombard him with calls and messages. Double-texting, triple, whatever to get a response.

Initially, he leaves you on read, and your calls ring out.

Eventually, the number is not in service.

You keep trying and keep hearing the same automated voice.

In your desperation, you ask around for anyone that knows where he lives.

They don't. He's been a stranger to everyone but you.

[the-mom-friend-dot-com]

falling leaves- Optimus prime x bot!reader

authors note: ok so it's not really specifically optimus so you can put whoever you want in it i just didn't know what to put and he was my first choice

TW: death, abandonment, denial?

Autumn leaves pooled around a foreign creature in the woods. Sad, cold metal rested, seemingly rusted together. Colorful paint faded and chipping. Centuries have passed and no sign of life had come from the large metal being. Why was it there? Was it hiding? Was it waiting for someone? How did it get there? Perhaps it was exploring and got lost. Maybe it ran out of energy and sat down to rest, not knowing when it would get up. These are the things that the little critters wonder as they pass by the large metal being. Some say that it was once a tall, shining robot searching for a lover. Some say it was a criminal, hiding away. Stories were told by the creatures over many generations but none truly knew why it was there. 

These thoughts continued until one day a strange noise emitted from the metal creature. It sounded like someone was speaking but the creature remained still. The forest became silent, curious as to what was happening. The voice returned and a faint glow came from the metal being. Was it alive? The light shone brighter and brighter until a loud stomping was heard. The critters scattered, scared. What is that? The metal thing hasn’t moved an inch! where was this sound coming from?  

As the steps became louder and louder the trees parted and out emerged another large, metallic being. This one was bigger than the dormant one. It was colored brightly with strange patterns, a stark contrast to the faded paint on the other bot. 

The new bot looked around, searching for something until it found what it was looking for. It walked over to the unmoving robot and wiped away the vines and leaves. It attempted to wake the dormant bot but upon finding it unsuccessful, it put a hand to the side of its head where its ear would be and started to speak. It spoke of finding what they were there for and bringing it back to base. The bot wrapped its arms around the smaller bot and lifted it with ease. The dull robot looked small and frail next to the newcomer.

The standing bot took one last look around the silent forest and walked. He walked away from the clearing where he had found the bot. He walked and walked until he emerged from the forest and neared his ship. The mech arrived at the shuttle the hatch opened. There stood his best friend. He watched as the mech’s face fell at the sight of the seemingly lifeless bot. He had found them. His long-lost other half. His best friend. His soulmate. 

His eyes dulled as he took his lover from the arms of his friend. Soft words were whispered to his lover, unheard but meaningful. How long had they been there, waiting for him to arrive? The guilt was overwhelming for the mech. While he was out fighting they were here, waiting on a long forgotten promise of a new and bright future. 

He would make it up to them. He would fix what had happened and build them the life they had dreamed of. If only they would wake up. He was not a doctor so he knew not what to do. He had to hurry. Who knows how long you have been out and how much time you have left. Would you wake up? He does not think he would be able to bear it if you didn’t. 

So they shoot off into space, racing the ticking clock of life, unknowing of the outcome and praying. He prayed that you would wake up. That you would wake and be happy to see him. That you would not hate him for the mistake he had made that may have cost you your life. He prays for their forgiveness and love. He prays because that small sliver of hope is all that he needs to continue. That he will be able to see you smile at him once more. 

These prayers continue as he waits. Grasping onto that slim chance that all will be fine. That small chance is all he needs. He has gone off of less before. He believes. 

He keeps believing. It’s what keeps him going. Every day he believes. He believes even when they say the chances are slim. He believes that you will wake up. He believes that you will come home to him one day. He believes until there is nothing left to believe in. He believes until there is nothing left. Until you are gone because believing is the least he can do. After all he has done believing is the least he can do for you. And he does so until the end. Until your time has run out and there is no fight left in you. Until you're gone and there’s no bringing you back. Until he is forced to realize the truth.

[hrefna-the-raven]

A forbidden kiss

Bela Lugosi!Dracula x female reader

Words: 805

Warnings: none really, it's rather "cute" 😊

Summary: You were residing with Count Dracula for months now and one fateful night, he decided to give in to his growing feelings for you.

@groovyqueer I gonna tag you as you wanted more Lugosi stories 😉

Notes: this has the potential for a smutty part 2 . Should I do a smutty follow-up of this? 🤔😏

In the dimly lit castle, the crackling fire cast eerie shadows on the stone walls. Count Dracula sat beside you on the opulent couch, his penetrating gaze fixed upon your every move. Silence surrounded the room, broken only by the occasional gust of wind that whispered through the cracks.

As you took tentative sips from the rich red wine in your crystal goblet, you felt Dracula's intense gaze upon you. It sent shivers down your spine, but strangely, fear wasn't the emotion that coursed through your veins in this very moment. No, it was something entirely different - a mix of curiosity and a certain...excitement.

Dracula, too, found himself captivated by your presence. When you had first arrived at the castle months ago, his intention was clear - he sought a fresh and interesting source of sustenance. You had received the usual invitation to his castle, as countless others had before you for the very same reason. But from the instant you stepped through those towering doors, there was an inexplicable connection forming between the two of you, a feeling he had not experienced since his mortal days. The fool in him was almost tempted to call it love. He huffed at the thought, louder than he anticipated, as you now curiously turned your head to face him. The way your gaze clearly got lost in his icy blue eyes would have made his undead heart skip a beat, that were, if it would still be beating. He had long forgotten the taste of love, the touch of tenderness, but in your presence, those forgotten emotions stirred within him once again, like dormant embers reigniting into a blazing inferno. With each passing second, Dracula's restraint was tested. He yearned to feel the burning warmth of your skin lovingly pressed against his lips while tasting the sweetness of your life force as it flowed through your veins. Yet, he held back, knowing that once he tasted you, there would be no turning back. He was a creature of darkness after all, and you were too precious to simply feed upon, he had to give you more.

In that moment, as if you felt his silent longing, when your hand reached out to his face, halting mid movement as if the sudden courage to caress his cheek left you again, all the restraint the Count had possessed shattered like fragile glass. With a hunger that surpassed mere physical desire, he gripped your wrist and pulled you towards him, closing the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light caress. It was a kiss that held centuries of longing and unspoken truths, a kiss that transcended time itself. But as quickly as it began, it ended. Count Dracula pulled away, his eyes filled with equal parts longing and regret. He knew that allowing himself to fully indulge in this forbidden love could be his undoing and yet here, sitting beside you, he felt a sliver of hope that perhaps love could find him once more. He let go of your wrist, expecting you to retreat and rush out of the room but to his surprise, your hand moved up to finally caress his cheek.

His pale skin felt cold against your warm hand and you slowly trailed your fingers along his jawline, gliding up to the corner of his mouth and gently pressed his lip up, revealing one of his fangs. Your glance moved up, your eyes locking with his, the blue now completely superseded by a dark crimson. A mixture of emotions flickered across his face - desire, restraint and a hint of vulnerability. The Count's lips slightly parted and he let out a shaky breath, whispering your name with a voice that seemed to echo through the ages. The initial doubts and that tiny amount of cautious fear of his true nature quickly vanished as the love you harboured for the Count since you first got to know him took over. You leaned in and pressed your lips on his, your kiss dripping with much more need and passion than his earlier. The touch of his lips against yours sent shivers down your spine, and you felt a surge of power and excitement coursing through you as you felt the tip of his fangs gracing the soft flesh of your bottom lip. At this moment, everything seemed to fall into place. It felt right, and you felt like you belonged to him, right here and now. You felt as if you finally arrived at home.

As the final moments of the kiss melted awayand unwillingly you left him with a mix of desire and uncertainty. The passion was intoxicating, but with the underlying darkness that rooted deep within his undead nature, he questioned whether you were truly ready to embrace a love that came with such a price.

[thesorcererpoet]

Screaming a lesson through a screen, lurch forward and answer

                a prayer. Puncture through this dissociated state; the location of dead mud and

longing to be satiated, to touch grass, dormant under concrete; break the surface

                with your outstretched hands. Green sliver- fingers, tapping to the rhythm

of the wind. A chilled wind screams, impeded by a hard landscape of walls.

               Agony of misrecognition, waiting to be heard: the God of churches, shrouded in rules,

was mans slight of hand. The wind screamed at man; ignorantly staring, overlooked

                the screams of the dying child: beg mercy; man, forgiveness; although he knows not

what he’s done.

[shieldofiron]

La Hiedra Venenosa

The soil remembers what Billy forgets.

In fact the last thing that he remembers is the cement slamming into his face once more, his dads finger in his hair and Max screaming.

Then the dirt, the aching packed lung feeling and digging his way out. A new way of breathing, breath that stretched up to big sur and down past pathetic human boarders. He’d been buried in a forgotten little sliver of land off of a closed off road. The land was forgotten, but it never forgot, not anything.

His dad never laid a hand on him after that. Not after Billy came back to the house covered in grave dirt and a vine of California Dogwood grew through the floorboards, through Neil’s boot.

The people at the ER didn’t know what to make of that.

No, Billy’s dad never laid a hand on him again, freak though he was. He settled for words at a distance, but Billy wasn’t listening any more.

The soil remembered. It spoke to him, though that word didn’t feel quite right for how it happened. How he would go wandering late at night, his mind filled with blood watering the ground. The soil remembered and it taught Billy.

His friends weren’t quite sure what to make of him anymore either, and when Neil announced that they were moving, only one of them said he would miss Billy.

“La hiedra venenosa,” Argyle frowned, “Who will become luchadores with me when you’re gone?”

“You can do it by yourself, Argo,” Billy laughed.

“But who will have your plant power,” Argyle smacked the back of his own fist, “Miss you brother. Don’t fall in love and never come back, okay?”

Billy made the promise not knowing, making Argyle laugh by recreating Neil’s face when Billy had grown a redwood through the house, busting its retail value and leaving the area to the land, because who would cut down what appeared to be a thousand year old redwood.

Funny how it grew right through the garage of a regular suburban house. Right through the concrete.

His dad wanted him to give up and be normal again but Billy wasn’t interested in that. The dirt remembered, taught Billy not to forget. He wouldn’t reveal all his tricks to these Indiana hicks right away though. Not before he could be sure his new friends wouldn’t fly off the handle.

Billy didn’t know what Indiana would be like, but he never expected the plants to weep over a hidden weed, tunnels that ripped through their roots and a rot that wasn’t of this earth.

The first night he’d tried to drown it out, drinking until he could hardly see. But he sobered too quickly when he saw him. Prettiest face Billy ever saw.

That’s him, the dirt said, That’s her.

Billy almost didn’t believe their story until the face floated up. Baseball bats and hesitating at a car. The rot going dormant, no longer sheltering itself in the trees. The girl, the dark haired skinny one who had ventured through the rot and come back out. They were missing the haunted looking boy, but the plants screamed out for Billy to go to them, so he did.

Tommy Hagan’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard, but Billy was swimming through images of the woods, glowing tree bark and the pretty boy’s face bloodied and bruised.

Don’t fall in love, Argyle had said. But it was too late, not when he saw that face. The girl turned to leave and the pretty boy followed. Billy was helpless to do more than follow too, honeysuckle knotting into the carpet with every step he took. His boots always had dirt on them, and the soil never forgot. He caught the pretty boy on the edge of tears, fleeing down the upstairs hallway.

Billy’s arm shot out, and he blocked him.

“Harrington, right?” Billy lifted his chin, noting how the boy’s dark eyes slid down Billy’s chest, “I’m Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

“Not now,” The pretty boy scowled, “I gotta-“

“Tell me about these tunnels with underworld monsters,” Billy said.

“What? What… what are you talking about?”

“Monsters, heads like flowers, but there ain’t anything natural about them. At least nothing native to earth.”

The pretty boy gaped, “How do you know about that?”

“Friends of mine.”

“What friends?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” The pretty boy crossed his arms.

Billy reached out, fingers circling one of Harrington’s wrists. He wasn’t thin, not like the girl. His hands were big too, masculine and lightly dusted with hair.

Harrington jerked back, nearly falling into the wall when he looked down and a honeysuckle vine circled his wrist like a bracelet. Lonicera hispidula, California Honeysuckle, more precisely.

Harrington’s eyes were wide, his big soft Bambi lashes fluttering.

Billy was too drunk to think of the risks of Harrington flying off the handle. Somehow, instinctively he trusted the dirt, the way it felt about Harrington. Billy didn’t have to be there last year for the memory to stick. Harrington would take out the rot.

“Amazing,” Harrington breathed, touching the honeysuckle with long pretty fingers, before he glanced up. “The monsters are back? In… tunnels?”

Billy smiled, “Yes.”

“Then… fuck, I guess there’s some people to introduce you to.”

Funny how things worked out. When the Pretty Boy took his hand, Billy let the vine grow up and along, locking them together.

“You’re fucking weird,” Harrington said, but he didn’t tug away either. His dark sad eyes just fluttered, sticking on Billy’s chest again.

Billy licked his lips, smiling, “Normal’s overrated.”

---

Thanks to @adelacreations for lending me the Poison Ivy Steve-verse for a little what if. Can you tell I was listening to Pet Semetary too much this morning and I'm longing for Halloween Season? Also on AO3 here.

[markrosewater]

"as they find the game play of a Sliver on Sliver match-up to be frustrating, where you have to often not play your own cards because it helps the opponent more than you." That was part of the fun, figuring out when to strategically play your slivers to help you more in a mirror match than an opponent. It also made Plague Sliver and Dormant Sliver cool interactions.

The players that enjoyed that the most tended to be the Spike-iest players. It’s the same group that got mad when we took mana burn away.

[nelapanela94]

Can u do one that reader is a Marley warrior and she leaves Levi to go back to Marley with Levi and they meet again when the scouts attack Marley

Hi Anon, I hope I got this right!

TW: Angst, love during war times, canon violence.

WC: 1.6k

Some bonds are unbreakable. They survive everything.

The sea kindles its own symphony, a humming tune pulsing and murmuring with cadence, the waves crawl gently to the shore and their foam sizzles into the sand. Seagulls squawk above him, diving into the water for the last catch of the day, and the palm trees rustle, clawing to the sky.

The sun slowly dips behind the horizon. The horizon, a thin seam that stitches together the canopy of the sky and the flat of the sea into a line of silver. Unreachable, never ending.

The yellowish beam gilds the gamboling clouds, suffusing the sky with a blend of violet and orange streaks.

Somewhere beyond that line...

Who would've thought that there was a world outside those walls.

The breeze tousles his hair, and the briny air sails into his lungs. A drizzle of sand thrashes against his shins, and his shirt is tugged at in some places, stuck to him in others.

Sand and water slip through his toes, silkily; four years swiftly gone like that, through the gaps, taking away the memories, erasing the moments. And there were so many things left unsaid.

Silver burns his skin, and the edges of the gemstone threaten to gash through his palm.

His tongue is pressed against the back of his teeth, containing, as if it would stop his incandescent rage, pain and disappointment rippling through every inch of him.

How much pain is a person suppose to endure? How damn you have to be to lose everyone you care about?

He did not shed a single tear for you in all that time, the pain nestled in his chest, swelling around the thorn he just can't pull out.

But it's time to put an end to his misery.

His shoulders relax. He winds up his arm with all the strength he can muster, and finally let go of the ring. It glints with the last glow of the day, his eyes following the perfect parabola until it plops into the water, the depths slowly engulfing it.

How stupid he was, falling for your lies. You awoke in him feelings that had been dormant for a lifetime, showed him the bliss of dancing under the moonlight. You read all the stories etched on each of his scars. You swept him of the ground and made him believe that this world is not a terrible place to live. He fell on his knees and kissed your feet.

He was going to propose. The only thing he was sure of was that he wanted to spend the rest of his days with you. He had practiced the speech before the mirror countless times so that his nerves wouldn't betray him when time would come. Though no matter how much preparation, he knew he'd stammer and quiver all the way through, the velvet bound box jiggling in his clammy hands.

But you were gone before he had the chance to kneel. 

And he finds himself wondering, like he so often does, what you’re doing at this very moment. Buying flowers in the market, eating ice cream, strolling in the park, or if it is raining, maybe curled up in the couch reading a book, making tea, taking a hot bath.

He spent four years trying to scrape you off his head, four years itching to hold your hand again.

If only he could see you again?

He tucks his hands into his pockets and closes his eyes, but the boulder of resentment doesn't crack. Throwing the ring didn’t put an end to the story. To a chapter, maybe, but there are plenty of blank pages to fill.

He sucks in a long breath that squeezes back his tears, swivels around, and pads back to the harbor for the tea.

*

You've been flitting, and tossing around in bed for the past hour, turning the pillow to the cool side, fluffing it and bashing it with a fist. Two bells toll in the distance, and the moon slices your face with a sliver of light. She hangs big and yellow and gibbous.

It's going to be a long day. People from all over the world have been gathering in Liberio for the festival and Tybur's conference. People have worked hard in setting up stalls to impress the foreign visitors, but you just weren’t in the mood for festivals. You long for this day come to an end and get back home to your lonely routine. The white uniform perched on the wall across the room is the eternal reminder of that day and the hardest decision you’ve ever made.

Torn between the devotion to your nation and the love of a man. Not just any man, the love of your life. Two souls died the day you took the green cloak off and turn your back to him. You just couldn’t see the marbled eyes of a broken heart. What you did can’t be forgiven, and you must live with that for the rest of your life.

Forward! Forward! For today Marley is ours, and tomorrow the whole world!

Soldiers chant on the street, swinging pewters, stubbing cigarettes on the cobblestone road, bragging about love affairs. Menacing and friendly at the same time, and you wonder how some people would relish in torturing other humans. Shooting an enemy is the most merciful act amidst war, most prisoners are brutally punished, famished and forced to work until their bodies give up, others used for experiments, flayed alive, fed to dogs, turned to titans, your stomach churns and your shake your head to push those harrowing images away. And those guys down there are comrades, some even friends.

But they didn’t see what you did during those five years in the island. You mingling with the demons, that after all are normal people, thriving, anchored to the past maybe, fighting for their freedom.

What is in the blood?

Levi was far from being what you imagined a demon to be.

Behind his aloof and impassive demeanor, hides the most caring, selfless, and protective human being. And you hurt him, the tenderest heart, you crushed it in your palms. But you chose your country, your people, what you thought home was, and when you came back, you realized that home is what you left behind.

When the moon gives way to the sun, you slip off bed, wash your teeth and brew tea. How sad it is to heat the tea pot for one.

You dodge into the kitchen table and wrap your hands around the warm cup, steam still oozing into a spicy swirl. The smell of his room and office comes back to you every morning, and when you take a sip, his lips materialize.

You sprinkle water on your face, take a shower, slip on into your uniform and sling the shotgun on your shoulder. All units have been summoned to Liberio for this evening. A rumor huddles in every corner. The enemy is moving closer and might strike during the festival, we must be prepared.

Where are you now? You sigh, lost in the waves that crash against the ceramic. You bring your fingers to your mouth. A billow of nostalgia.

*

The sky cracks.

Intercoms crackle. Like the hum inside a seashell. You are on your own now. There are not instructions to follow. Adrenaline rushes through your veins, tearing all the will to go on living. The clatter of zeppelins grows louder from the east.

Your heart beats with frenzy as panic zigzags on the streets. You focus now on evacuating townspeople. Prostitutes, spinsters, men over sixty. Non-believers, procrastinators, drunks. The orphans, the poor, the stubborn.

It’s like an avalanche descending on the city and there aren’t mountains nearby. The earsplitting sirens have fall into a deafening shrill. Suddenly everything is inaudible. The roar has become loud enough to break the membranes in the middle ear. You’re dizzy, and the world moves in slow-motion as is you were trapped in a dream, unable to scream, unable to move.

Windowpanes rattle in their housing, and doors soar away from their frames. Bricks burst into powder and clouds of debris spout in the sky. Dirt and dust sail straight into your lungs. Automobiles turn in fireballs, and flames scamper up walls. The fires pool, and the wind strengthens them, making them ripple like tide waves along the streets.

Something explodes above. Roof slates blow into the air, and then it all turns black.  

When your consciousness switches on again, reality spins around. You still can’t hear a sound, ashes make the air unbreathable. But the rotting pain in your crushed arm is the proof that you're still alive.

You tug up the helmet, and the first thing you see is the gun’s muzzle aiming right between your brows, and even if you want to say “shoot me” you can’t. You can’t string words together; you can’t open your mouth.

Tears swell in your eyes, and a wistful smile curves in your lips. The world is falling apart, but yours is rebuilding.

“Levi,” you mutter the name when the edges finally smooth. His pupils have overtaken the gray of his eyes, his face, his beautiful face is rucked up with hatred. Or resentment, pain perhaps?  He tosses the gun away and grabs you by the collar of your uniform. He hauls you; the warmth of his shallow breaths scorches your bleeding cheek.

“Shoot me, please shoot me.” You cough a clog of blood. “May the last thing I see before I die be your face. Just give me that.”

You close your eyes, and wait for him to reach for the gun, aim at you, pull the trigger. But instead, you feel his heart beating against your chest, his strong arms wrapped around you, and for a second you wonder if you’re dead and this is heaven. Even if you don’t deserve it.

He sobs and his tears blend into the cradle of your neck. The second time in your life you see him cry.

“Don’t die.” He blubbers. “Don’t die.”

“I’m sorry, Levi.” Through the pain, you wrangle out your words. Every breath is like sandpaper scraping your throat. “I know I don’t deserve it but at least, let me ask for your forgiveness.”

“You’re not dying, Y/N, you’re not dying on me tonight,” he snarls, and holds you tighter.

Neither of you is listening to each other.

“I never wanted to fight Levi, but during war times, we don’t have control over our lives. All those dreams we shared, that’s the life I saw for us. A little house in the country side, and orchard, kids playing around. Perfectly ordinary lives.” Your voice sinks to a feeble whisper. “You gave me those dreams.”

“Shut up!”

He clears his throat and his head cools down to think. He tears a piece of his cloak and ties it around your arm to stop the bleeding. All he wants to do is to hold you in his arms, to hear your laugh, to see the spark in your eyes and your smile. To feel your skin and his fusing.

His heart is pounding while yours struggles to beat.

After all, we can’t erase the past, no matter how much we want to. We are free to make our choices, but we fall prisoners of their consequences.

You’re no longer trapped in rubble, it no longer smells of smoke and gasoline. You breathe on your own, you’re wearing clean clothes. The whiff of bleach is pungent it makes you sneeze, and with a sneeze every inch of your body quivers with pain.

“Hey.” You swallow the lump in your throat and groan.

He peels of the wall, smiling, arms folded on his chest. “Don’t move, you halfwit.”

That’s him.

“Thank you.” You cough. “Why did you do it? Why did you save me?”

“It was my duty.” He drags a chair and sits next to you.

“But I’m the enemy.”

“Cut the nonsense and rest.” He growls, looking out the window, his cheeks singing as if he was talking to his teenage crush.

The hospital should be crammed, understaffed, people weeping and shouting, but you have a room for yourself, and it’s quiet. It just doesn’t make sense. How long have you been asleep?

“Where am I Levi?” You turn to him.

“Home.”

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